When Life Questions You: A Lesson in Real Leadership from My Father Martin

Me and my dad, ca. 1983

In the early 1990s (I must have been 14 or 15), I witnessed something at a family gathering that I’ve never forgotten. It wasn’t a business deal or a boardroom negotiation, but it taught me more about leadership than most management books ever could. It was a moment between my father Martin—a hard-working, no-nonsense man—and his cousin Robert, a man who, despite being in his 40s, had never really grown up.

Robert fancied himself a leadership coach. He’d recently taken some kind of course—probably something fashionable at the time about emotional intelligence or “authenticity”—and now felt qualified to tell others how to lead. And that day, over roast pork and potato salad, he made the mistake of lecturing my father.

Big mistake.

“A Real Leader Questions Himself Every Day”

That’s what Robert said. I remember the exact words, or close enough:
“A real leader must question himself—every single day. Put himself in question. Doubt himself.”

My father went stiff. My mother, sitting beside him, squirmed nervously. She could feel what was coming. So could I.

And then it came.

My father slammed his fork down and stared at Robert with a mix of disbelief and fury. Then he exploded:

“Who do you think you are? I work bloody hard every day. I don’t need to question myself. Life questions me! My clients question me. The market questions me. My team questions me. My bills question me. I wake up and the world is already trying to knock me down. And you think I should waste time doubting myself? I don’t have that luxury. I have to keep going. Keep figuring things out. Keep surviving. So shut up and leave me alone.”

It was raw. Brutal. Honest. My mum was mortified.

But I knew Dad was right. And I knew that Robert deserved it.

The Cult of Self-Doubt in Modern Leadership

Modern management culture often romanticizes self-doubt. We are told that great leaders are humble, self-critical, constantly reflecting on their mistakes. And there is some truth to that. Arrogance is dangerous. Reflection is important.

But there’s a fine line between healthy self-awareness and paralyzing self-doubt.

What my father understood—and what most coaches like Robert don’t—is that leadership isn’t about sitting in a circle, holding hands, and talking about your feelings. Leadership is about getting things done under pressure, about enduring when the odds are against you, and about taking responsibility when no one else will.

My Father’s Reality: Leading Without Applause

Martin wasn’t a famous entrepreneur. He never made millions. But he led. In his business. In his family. In his community. And he did it with courage.

He worked in the social care sector within the Catholic Church—an environment that, quite frankly, often resembled a mafia. Not in the romanticized, cinematic sense, but in the suffocating, bureaucratic, crony-laden reality of institutions that reward loyalty over merit and punish independent thought. He had to navigate a minefield of power plays, corruption, and moral hypocrisy—while trying to actually serve the vulnerable.

And still he showed up. Every day.

He had staff to manage. Clients to satisfy. Budgets to stretch. Suppliers to negotiate with. Bureaucrats to appease. And yes—he made mistakes. But he didn’t wallow in them. He reacted. He adapted. He kept going.

He didn’t question himself. Because life was already doing that for him.

Leadership Is Not a Philosophy Seminar

Too many so-called leadership experts today are selling an abstract, bloodless version of leadership. They talk about “vision” and “servant leadership” and “emotional alignment.” They host retreats in the Alps where they sip kombucha and write mission statements. They congratulate each other for being vulnerable.

But you know what?

Real leaders don’t have time for that crap.

Real leaders are too busy putting out fires, making payroll, meeting deadlines, and fending off regulators, creditors, and competitors. They don't need another course in “mindful leadership.” They need mental resilience, clarity under stress, and the ability to take action when everyone else freezes.

The Difference Between Theorists and Practitioners

Robert was a theorist. Like so many “experts,” he’d never actually built anything. Never hired or fired. Never negotiated a deal. Never signed a lease or laid awake at night wondering how to make next month’s payroll.

But he had ideas. Lots of them. All second-hand. All untested.

My father was a practitioner. He got his hands dirty. He made tough decisions. He bore the consequences. He didn’t talk about leadership—he lived it.

And that’s what matters.

The Invisible Burden of Real Leaders

There’s another reason I remember that day so clearly. Because in that moment, when my father shouted, I saw something else behind the anger: exhaustion. And pain.

Leading is lonely.

When you’re in charge, there’s no one to catch you when you fall. No one to blame. No excuses. You carry the weight of others. Their paychecks. Their expectations. Their lives.

You are the one who has to stay calm when everyone else panics.

The world expects you to be invulnerable—but never thanks you for it.

That was my father. Old-fashioned. Upright. Proud. But under the surface? Carrying more than most people ever knew.

And when some loser cousin who had never done anything came along and tried to lecture him on how to be a “real leader”? Of course he lost it.

He had earned that right.

Leadership Means Moving Forward—Despite the Questions

Should leaders be reflective? Yes.

Should they examine their decisions? Yes.

But the best leaders don’t stop there. They don’t spiral into self-doubt. They don’t lose themselves in existential questions. They don’t let the noise paralyze them.

They act.

They learn by doing, not by endlessly questioning.

They don’t let theory override instinct. They don’t let feelings override facts. And they certainly don’t let people like Robert tell them how to lead.

Don't Take Shit from Losers

If there’s one thing my father taught me—through his actions, not just his words—it’s this:

Don’t take shit from people who haven’t earned the right to give you advice.

Not in business. Not in life.

You can—and should—listen to mentors. To peers. To people who’ve walked the walk. But some people? They haven’t earned your attention. They’re not worth your doubt.

Leadership means filtering out that noise. Staying focused. Staying true.

When Life Questions You—Answer With Action

That day, at that family table, my father taught me something I’d never read in any management textbook:

You don’t need to question yourself every day.
Because life already does.
Your job is to answer back—with strength, courage, and clarity.

That’s real leadership.
That’s Martin’s legacy.
And that’s a lesson I’ll carry with me always.

Epilogue: I Am My Own Man—But I Carry His Fire

That day at the family table was a turning point—not just in how I saw my father, but in how I would later think about leadership, work, and conflict.

His message stayed with me:
Don’t waste your time doubting yourself when the world is already doing that job.
Act with conviction. Move forward. Stay alive.

I’ve taken that lesson deeply to heart. It shaped how I approach my own life, my work, my ambitions. But the truth is—I’ll never be exactly like my father.

I grew up in a different time. I’ve had different opportunities. I’ve learned to communicate differently. And I’ve learned to get what I want using different tools—often softer ones.

Unlike him, I tend to avoid conflict when I can. Not out of fear, but because I’ve learned through experience that most conflicts can be defused. And many battles aren’t worth fighting.

Maybe I am just… softer. And I don’t say that with shame.

When my father died in 2011, my beloved Oma—his mother-in-law—said something quietly profound at his funeral. She said:
“Martin was really an artist. A soft man, a good soul. But life hardened him.”

I like that thought. It brings him closer to me.

Because I saw both sides of him too—the fire and the poetry. The harsh words and the tender silences. The discipline and the devotion.

And maybe that’s the final lesson:
Leadership isn’t about becoming your father. It’s about honoring what was true in him—while finding your own way to lead, to love, and to live.

That’s what I try to do. Every day. Not by questioning myself—but by moving forward with clarity, heart, and just enough steel in my spine to carry his legacy on my own terms.