What Wakes You at 4 a.m.? The Quiet Cost of Leadership and the Way Back to Connection

There’s something about those early mornings—the stillness, the coffee, and the space to finally listen to what’s stirring beneath the surface.

One of my favorite reflection questions is: “What keeps you up at night?” If you’re like me, the counterpart might be “What wakes you up in the morning and keeps you from going back to sleep at 4 a.m.?” Anyone else… just me? Probably not. Even as a morning person, 4 a.m. is a bit early. But I’ve learned to treat those wake-ups—thankfully less frequent now—as signals that something heavy is

stirring and needs attention.

As a business owner and Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC), I’ve lived both sides of leadership—running teams, carrying risk, and sitting across from men and women doing the same. I’ve seen what leadership really asks of people. It’s not just the long hours, the pressure, or the decisions. It’s the quiet weight of responsibility that rarely has a place to rest. Leadership doesn’t just come with influence and impact—it comes with a very real and often unspoken loneliness.

The loneliness of leadership

Loneliness in leadership can sneak in quietly. It’s not usually dramatic—it just shows up one decision, one long night, one unreturned call at a time.

The higher you rise or the more you carry, the fewer peers you tend to have. The people who once stood shoulder-to-shoulder with you may now look to you for direction. And while that shift can be gratifying, it also creates distance.

Add to that the pressure to “have it together,” the expectation to stay composed, and the endless list of people depending on you—and suddenly, the space for honesty shrinks. You start holding things in, not because you’re hiding, but because you don’t want to burden anyone else or appear uncertain.

Over time, the very role that once gave you meaning can begin to isolate you. That gap between what you carry and what others can see? That’s where loneliness and burnout grow.

Behind the calm exterior, burnout can feel like a slow erosion of energy, vision, and connection.

How burnout really feels

If loneliness is the soil, burnout is the wilted plant that emerges when the weight never lets up. It doesn’t usually crash in overnight—it builds slowly, quietly.

It’s the kind of exhaustion sleep doesn’t fix. The ideas still come—but they no longer spark excitement. You find yourself reacting sharply to things that never used to bother you. And simple decisions? They suddenly take twice the effort.

For many, burnout shows up spiritually too. You might feel distant from God, your purpose, and even from your people. You go through the motions but feel detached from the meaning that used to drive you.

And often, underneath it all, there’s the voice whispering: “If I don’t hold this together, no one will.” That’s a heavy way to live. And it’s not sustainable.

What’s still true beneath the pressure

Yes, the stress is real. But so are the truths that existed long before the weight of leadership settled on your shoulders. These truths don’t fade just because you’re tired—they just get harder to remember.

You matter.

Not because of your results or your role, but because of who you are. Your worth isn’t earned by output—it’s built into your humanity.

You are worthy of love and belonging.

Performance and perfection are poor substitutes for connection. You were made for real relationships, not just results. And the moments you feel least “together” are often the moments you most need others.

Not everything depends on you.

Leadership can fool you into thinking the mission rests solely on your shoulders. But healthy leadership builds capacity—it trusts, delegates, and shares the load.

You are not as disconnected as you feel.

Loneliness may convince you that you’re cut off—but connection is still possible. Return to the rhythms that restore you. Pray. Rest. Call a friend. Take a walk. These aren’t luxuries; they’re lifelines.

The turning point often begins here—in quiet reflection, where honesty opens the door to connection again.

Moving toward connection again

Awareness is a start—but it’s only the beginning. The antidote to burnout isn’t more effort; it’s more honesty and connection.

I recently heard a quote on one of my favorite podcasts, Dadville:

Anytime we come together sharing our strengths it breeds competition. Any time we come together sharing our weaknesses, it breeds community.

What strikes me most about this quote—whose exact origin is unknown—is how true it feels, and yet how easy it is for us to keep hiding behind our “successes.” Even when we know better, we often lead with what’s polished instead of what’s real.

So how do we move beyond awareness into action? Start small. Find one space where you can tell the truth. Maybe that’s a trusted peer, mentor, therapist, or friend—someone who can handle hearing “I’m not okay” without rushing to fix it.

Let yourself speak the story of what’s been heavy. Because when you put words to the weight, it begins to loosen its grip.

If you lead others, consider what it would look like to model vulnerability. When you admit you’re human, you give permission for others to do the same—and that shift can transform a culture.

And maybe, most importantly, reclaim rest. Not as another item on your list, but as an act of trust—the reminder that the world keeps turning even when you pause.

Each morning (yes, even at 4 a.m.) remind yourself: I am first a person of value. I am first loved. Then I lead.

That order matters more than you think.

A glimpse of what’s ahead

If any of this resonates, know you’re not alone. I’m currently working toward creating a small-group experience designed for leaders navigating burnout, loneliness, and disconnection—those looking to reconnect to their stories, their faith, and their purpose.

It’s a space for honest conversation, meaningful rest, and the kind of renewal that leaders rarely make time for. More to come soon.

To the leader who keeps going

If you’ve made it this far, you probably are the one who keeps going. You show up. You push through. You care deeply. And maybe, if you’re honest, you’re also tired—mentally, emotionally, even spiritually.

So hear this clearly:

It’s okay to feel the weight. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to admit that something’s not working.

You were never meant to lead disconnected.

You were never meant to carry everything alone.

And your worth has never depended on how much you can hold.

You matter. You belong.

And yes—you can lead from abundance, not exhaustion; from connection, not isolation; from rest, not hustle.

Here’s to building safe spaces, honest conversations, and communities that remind you: you are not alone.

Reflection questions

• What’s waking you at 4 a.m. these days? (Or for the “normal” crowd—what’s keeping you up at night?)

• Where do you have room to say, “Here’s what I’m wrestling with”?

• What’s one step you could take this week to slow down, reconnect, or ask for help?