Who shaped you?

This month's Think-Well has been written by Lead-Well founder Peter Seehusen.
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Recently, I've been contemplating the leaders we remember most. Recent sporting events probably has something (everything) to do with it.

Watching triumphant players speak so fondly about the coaches, mentors and teammates who've shaped them is always a fast route to the feel-good hormones. But beyond that, it got me wondering: who are the leaders that have stayed with me most, long after I've moved on from a workplace, a team, or a particular chapter in life?

Before putting pen to paper, the person helping me shape this article (as in an actual person, not ChatGPT) asked me a handful of deceptively simple questions.

• When you think about the people who've shaped you most, who immediately comes to mind?
• Was there a particular moment, conversation or quality of theirs that has stayed with you?
• Why do you think it has left such a lasting impression?

As I sat with these prompts -preparing to reflect on the leaders I've worked, studied, or played sport under- I was genuinely surprised where my mind went instead. What set out as an article about the traditional "leadership influences that have shaped me”, quickly became a reflection on the people who have subtly but powerfully influenced the way I think, the way I relate to others and the world around me, the way I work and, ultimately, the kind of person and leader I continue to aspire to be.

The faces that instantly came to mind weren't all "leaders" in the traditional sense. They belonged to my parents, my revered Uncle Gustav, the elderly gentleman I shared a hospital room with several years ago but whose name I regrettably can't remember (my face was mangled from a near death experience so I've found a way to give myself some grace), and more recently, Ben Waterman from The Resilience Project.

It's been a powerful reminder that the kind of leadership that truly imprints us isn't always something we recognise in the moment. More often, it’s the way someone makes us feel, or a conversation that changes the way we think about something. Sometimes it's a special quality in how they show up, or a question they ask that helps us understand ourselves better.

I can now appreciate that, growing up, my parents demonstrated leadership long before I understood what leadership actually was.

My mum, a retired librarian, has always had an incredible ability to navigate difficult conversations with genuine care, humility, and kindness. She never avoided what needed to be said, but delivered it with warmth and somehow always made people feel heard in the process. One of her favourite sayings was, "If it was meant to be easy, we'd all be champions." Looking back now, I realise she wasn't simply teaching resilience and healthy communication - she was modelling it to me every day.

Dad, a retired builder, taught something equally valuable, albeit in a very different way. He led by example through quiet demonstrations of generosity, hard work, steadiness, and sacrifice. One of the greatest gifts he gave our family was remortgaging our home in 1999 so we could experience Europe together as children, retracing a journey he and Mum had taken many years earlier. At the time, I simply saw a family holiday that put a previous trip to the Gold Coast's Movie World to shame. As an adult, I marvel at the immense sacrifice and risk that sat behind this decision - all to enrich his children's cultural experience in early life.

Then there's my Uncle, Gustav. His life has been one of pure adventure, resilience, bravery, and selflessness. From establishing schools for disadvantaged communities in Ireland to leading development programmes for organisations including BMW, Mercedes-Benz, and Boeing, his career has always centred on helping other people grow. Even after a devastating cycling accident left him with a brain injury, the loss of a leg and a finger, followed later by Parkinson's disease and more recently early-onset dementia, that instinct has never waned.

Every few weeks we meet around Borough Market in London to share stories over coffee (or a pint depending on the day), a ritual I will cherish forever. I always leave our meetings with a fresh perspective. Gustav has never consciously tried to teach me how to lead; he simply lives in a way that continually reminds me what humility, curiosity, empathy, resilience, and genuine care for others look like.

One of the people who has stayed with me most, however, wasn't someone with decades of leadership experience or an impressive CV. It wasn’t even someone who played a significant ‘role’ in my life, because I only knew him for five days. It was the 80 year old gentleman recovering from heart surgery in the hospital bed beside mine after I was hit by a car in 2015.

Despite everything he was navigating himself, he made a habit of asking how I was feeling every day and genuinely listened to my responses. Needless to say, I was feeling extremely sorry for myself, and it was one of the first times in my life where I was in too bad a state to put a positive spin on things. At first, sharing with such honesty felt self-indulgent. But the man made me feel like that was the only way to do it - with vulnerability and honesty. He never provided solutions or silver linings himself, but sat with me exactly where I was at, and made me feel cared for despite being in such a vulnerable state himself. He checked in on the nurses daily too, and even shared his jelly with me because it was the only thing I could stomach.

Looking back now, what strikes me isn't that these key players all shared the same magnetic influence, authoritative personalities, communication styles, or leadership qualities. In fact, they were all remarkably different people. What they did share, however, was an ability to make the people around them feel seen, valued, understood, and genuinely cared for in their own special ways. They weren't trying to be memorable - they were simply very present and intentional.

All of this is to say that the leaders we remember aren't always the loudest, the most senior, or the most decorated with accolades in the room. They're often the ones who made us feel known, who listened without rushing to fix our problems, who spoke with brave honesty but did it kindly, who made us believe we mattered at a time when we were questioning ourselves, and who met us where we were (rather than where they expected us to be). They also seem to embody the same simple truth: life was never just about themselves. They chose, over and over again, to invest in the people around them and make them feel like they truly mattered.

I figure that's the real invitation for all of us: not to ask whether people will remember our title or our achievements, but whether the way we offer our presence and care today, might become one of those moments for somebody else?

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