Merciful Distance
The case for stepping back, away, and toward
Happy New Year. To be candid I resisted the “branded urge” to do a 2025 recap and a 2026 declaration. By the time the clock struck midnight on January 1st, I was still not sure I had much to contribute to the collective conversation that arises from the calendar change. I really didn’t feel like I had much to add because I was still in the midst of enjoying the “space in between”. For the past two weeks- I, like many other district C-level administrators, tried to balance holidays, breaks and the real responsibility that comes with a seemingly, 24/7 job. Even in that, I tried to honor the “lull” between December 25th and January 1st. It’s a naturally occurring phenomenon. Everyone is not “off” and most people are not “on”. It’s awkward and if you see it for what it can be…it’s a glorious place to let your leadership decant. Let your leadership breath.
There is a particular kind of wisdom that comes not from pushing forward, but from stepping back. Cynthia Dillard names this practice “merciful distance” in The Spirit of Our Work: Black Women Teachers (re) Member, a deliberate withdrawal that is neither retreat nor resignation, but rather a sacred repositioning. It is the space we create when we recognize that our proximity to a problem, a conflict, or even a calling has become so intimate that we can no longer see clearly. In that stepping back, we discover we are simultaneously stepping away from what drains us and stepping toward what sustains us.
This concept resonates deeply with what Kevin Quashie explores in The Sovereignty of Quiet, the idea that our inner lives, our quiet selves, hold a sovereignty that resists the constant demands for public performance and productivity. Quashie reminds us that there is power in the parts of ourselves that are not always visible, not always engaged in the fray. The quiet is not passivity; it is a place of complexity, reflection, and profound agency. When we honor this sovereignty, we give ourselves permission to exist beyond the relentless cycles of response and reaction that leadership so often demands.
Together, these ideas offer leaders a pathway through the particular challenges of our moment. We are navigating a world that is both volatile and ripe—trembling with instability yet pregnant with possibility. In such times, the instinct is often to grip tighter, to work harder, to stay closer to the problems we’re trying to solve. But merciful distance invites a different approach. It asks us to trust that some clarity only comes from afar, that some healing requires us to stop managing and start listening.
This practice becomes an act of grace-giving ; to ourselves first (and don’t we all need it), and then to those we lead. When we step back, we create room for others to step forward. When we honor our own sovereignty of quiet, we signal to our communities that they too are entitled to their inner lives, their rhythms of rest and restoration. This is not abandonment of responsibility; it is a deeper form of community building, one that recognizes sustainability over martyrdom, wholeness over heroism. There is a community advocate I follow who says, “the community never sleeps.” They are right in that, strong leadership is sensitive to the needs of a community that isn’t on a school bell schedule. The needs of our community don’t turn on at 7am and turn off at 3pm. However, it must rest. Just like our cells only regenerate in deep sleep; community organizations, leaders, advocates, organizers and educators must take some distance from the day to day.
In the work of managing complex change, merciful distance becomes a strategic necessity. Change efforts fail not simply because of poor planning or insufficient resources, but because leaders and communities become so enmeshed in the struggle that they lose perspective. The distance allows us to see patterns we missed up close, to recognize which battles are essential and which are distractions, to understand that transformation is not a sprint but a series of deliberate movements; some forward, some lateral, and yes, some backward.
“Going backward seems the opposite of a New Year’s theme Barb.” I know and I pull this notion from the Adinkra symbol “Sankfoa” aligned to the proverb ”Se wo were fi na wosankofa a yenkyiri” or “It is not taboo to go back for what you forgot” The image of the Sankofa bird facing forward with its head craned and facing back signals to me that with merciful distance, one can see more clearly the path forward and that in many cases, this path is viable and possible.
As we consider the road ahead, it’s worth distinguishing between three stances that are often conflated but are fundamentally different: optimism, hope, and faith. Optimism is the belief that better days are coming; a general confidence in positive outcomes. It is valuable but can be fragile, easily shaken by setbacks and disappointments. Hope goes deeper: it is the belief that you have the power to bring those better days about, that your agency matters, that your actions can bend the arc. Hope is muscular, active, and fiercely personal.
But faith? Faith is the anchor that holds when optimism fades and hope exhausts itself. Faith is the conviction that something greater than you will lift you when you run out of steam, that you are held by forces and communities and purposes larger than your individual capacity. Faith allows you to step back in merciful distance without guilt, to honor the sovereignty of your quiet without shame, because you trust that the work does not rest on your shoulders alone.
This is the grace we extend to ourselves and to each other as rooted leaders: the permission to create distance when we need it, the trust that our quiet holds wisdom, and the faith that in the spaciousness we create, something necessary and beautiful can emerge for ourselves, for our communities, this world that needs us whole.
What distances do you need to create? Where might your sovereignty of quiet be calling you? I’d love to hear your reflections in the comments.
This is really beautiful. I read it a few times. Each time getting something different. Today this statement I got curious about. “The distance allows us to see patterns we missed up close, to recognize which battles are essential and which are distractions, to understand that transformation is not a sprint but a series of deliberate movements; some forward, some lateral, and yes, some backward.” Thank you for sharing!