Leadership KPIs You’ll Never See

Some days in leadership don’t feel like success. They feel like exhaustion, hard choices, and a thousand small interruptions. Some days, it feels like failing is the only consistent thing I do.

There are days when nothing on my calendar gets done. Days when the metrics on the spreadsheet look flat… or worse. Days when instead of working on KPIs or long-term goals, I’m holding space for a staff member crying in my office (yes, I keep leveled up lotion tissues for those moments). There are days when interviews eat up teaching time, audits pile up, or chaos replaces every plan I made.

One of the hardest moments came one Thanksgiving. The schedule had been set for a month, and I had checked in with each nurse about their holiday assignments. One of them had simply refused to acknowledge her shift—until the day arrived, and she didn’t show. She told me later, “I didn’t pick that day. I have my kids.” But she never communicated, never asked, never traded.

My team saw a side of me that day they don’t often see. Quiet anger. Righteous indignation. I wasn’t going to let her decision make an already tough holiday shift unbearable for the rest of the team. I worked Thanksgiving for her. Really, I worked it for the patients and the nurses who did show up.

When I walked in, my charge nurse’s eyes widened. He quickly rearranged assignments, grateful for my presence but worried I might slow them down. He told me he’d rather I start IVs, insert catheters, or pass meds—things he normally shouldered when the team was stretched thin. So that’s what I did. We worked side by side. And strangely enough, the shift turned into one of my favorite memories.

We had several discharges that afternoon, and things grew calm. My team smiled as they sent me home to my family. My adult son had taken on his first Thanksgiving dinner by himself, working from the prework and the to do list and the piles of food in the fridge. He nailed it. By the time I walked in the door, supper was ready, and we laughed and ate together.

It’s funny how the days that begin as disasters sometimes turn into the ones we treasure most.

Because here’s the truth: leadership often feels like failing. When you fire someone, when someone quits, when you can’t be in two places at once—those moments sting. I’ve had weeks when two people had to be terminated, another retired, and one moved away. The losses felt heavy. The hits felt personal.

And yet, even there, little wins shine through. One of the staff I had to let go texted me later: “I wanted you to know I wasn’t hanging up on you when our call dropped. I love you and thank you for your patience with me.” Another had tears in her eyes as we walked the long hallway. She hugged me at the door and whispered, “I understand.”

Those moments don’t show up on dashboards. They won’t ever become part of an annual report. But they matter.

The wins of leadership are not always visible. Sometimes the win is showing up on a holiday shift when you’d rather be home. Sometimes it’s the gratitude in your team’s eyes when they see you roll up your sleeves. Sometimes it’s knowing you did the right thing in the face of someone else’s wrong choice. Sometimes it’s the quiet dignity of being thanked in the middle of a firing.

Failing every day? Maybe. But loving it anyway—because in the cracks, the gold shows through.

🎧 Listen to the podcast: https://open.spotify.com/episode/5bBulr3Q8P0iIx3BaoLr8d?si=FD-bZtpUQWaN6w8irrdgfg