Heart and Fire: The Leadership Trait We Rarely Talk About—But Desperately Need

When I was asked to speak to a group of Latina community leaders about my leadership style as a university vice president, I paused. It’s the kind of question that seems simple—until you try to answer it. Leadership isn’t one thing. It’s not just traits or strategies or philosophies. It's all of it. Search for “leadership qualities” and you’ll get pages of results: visionary, organized, accountable, strategic. I recognize myself in those descriptions, and I live by these, but they don’t tell the whole story.

There’s a part of my leadership that doesn’t show up in slide decks or leadership books. It’s rarely discussed at conferences. But it’s one that’s shaped how I lead—and how I persist—in rooms where I’m the only Latina at the table.

It’s the part of leadership that’s both soft and steel.

When I stood before those Latina leaders—many of them also navigating spaces where they were “the only”—I knew they’d understand. Because they’ve lived the same paradox I have. They’ve been told they’re too nice or too aggressive. Too soft-spoken or too intense. One minute, you’re not assertive enough; the next, you’re "too much." And let’s be real—these labels don’t stick to our white male peers the same way.

I asked the audience:

“Have you ever been told you’re too nice to lead effectively? Or that you're being too harsh just for holding someone accountable or speaking your mind?”

Heads nodded. Whispers turned into murmurs. The room came alive with recognition.

Let me tell you a story.

A senior member of my team discovered a six-figure deficit in her department’s budget. The budget manager’s errors were buried with incorrect data; even close oversight didn’t catch them. Senior leaders—above me—were furious. They wanted a public example made. “Terminate her,” they said.

But I wasn’t convinced that was the answer. While new to my role, I’d noticed how this department head had been left out of key conversations and denied resources and data. Termination would have made a headline, but not a solution.

I pushed back. Respectfully, firmly, repeatedly.

I laid out a new plan: restructure support, fix the data gaps, hold everyone accountable—including those higher up who had failed to provide oversight in this department as they had in others. I wasn’t soft. I was precise. I wasn’t emotional. I was strategic. Eventually, those leaders relented. One told me afterward, “You’re tougher than people think. You have an iron fist in a velvet glove.”

She meant it as a compliment. I took it as a calling.

I lead with kindness—and toughness.

I’m rooted in the lessons I learned from my Mexican grandmother, who taught me that kindness, humility, and respect go hand-in-hand with courage. In her time as a teacher’s aide, she greeted janitors and principals the same way: with grace and dignity. I observed these same traits while greeting folks in our community. When a situation called for assertiveness, she didn’t shrink from tough conversations, either.

I try to live that duality. Most days, I listen—really listen—to what people are up against and what they’re trying to build. Leadership isn’t abstract for them; it’s personal, high-stakes, and often lonely. Sometimes the weight of it shows up as frustration. Sometimes, as tears. I keep tissues nearby, not as a signal of weakness, but as a reminder: this is a space where it’s okay to feel. Whether I’m working one-on-one or in groups, I meet people where they are—with honesty, compassion, and a commitment to help them figure it out. Together.

In one staff meeting, a frustrated team member lashed out at his colleagues. I redirected him and moved the conversation forward. Later, in private, I asked him about his behavior and helped him name the frustration behind it. He understood the impact of his behavior and worked to change his future interactions. But because that conversation happened behind closed doors, others assumed I had done nothing. One person even told me I was “afraid” of him.

I told her, “A good leader knows when to go public—and when to handle it quietly. If this were you, wouldn’t you want that same respect?”

Another time, a leader on my team verbally attacked a colleague during a meeting. I asked him to stop. He didn’t. I made the timeout sign with my hands and firmly made my request. Still nothing. I stood up and sharply asked him to leave the room. He finally relented.

I’ve rarely raised my voice like this. But leadership requires range. Most days, the velvet glove is enough. But when needed, the iron fist comes out.

This duality—kindness and strength, grace and grit—isn’t a flaw in leadership. It is leadership. And it’s especially vital for those of us from communities where we were taught to be humble, to listen, to pause and understand the conflict. Those lessons matter—but so does the ability to support our teams and lead with our values with clarity and intention.

This is not weakness. It’s wisdom.

It’s not indecision to take time, reflect, and act strategically.

But doing nothing? That’s how toxicity grows.

A leader can coach, redirect, support—but also has to make hard calls when change doesn't come.

Given the lived experiences and passion of my audience, I spoke about how this duality shows up in diversity, equity, and inclusion work across our organizations and communities.

We have to hold both truths: change demands compassion and courage.

Cultural transformation is exhausting. It’s messy. Nonlinear. It takes long hours, emotional labor, and political skill. But because we believe in the pursuit of diversity, equity and inclusion for all, we stay in it—gracefully and relentlessly.

And that’s what I told the women in that room:

• You can lead with heart.

• You can lead with fire.

• And you don’t have to choose between the two.

  
  

Those of us who’ve walked this path know exactly what it means.

We lead from the margins, with power rooted in experience, integrity, and hope.

We don’t fit into outdated molds—we redefine leadership on our terms.

Action Items for Leaders: How to Lead with Grace and Grit

1. Separate kindness from weakness.

Kindness is not a lack of standards. It’s an intentional way of relating—with high expectations and deep humanity.

2. Don’t default to public confrontation.

Private conversations can be more effective. But if toxic behavior continues, step in decisively and visibly.

3. Push back with purpose.

When you disagree with a directive, offer solutions—not just resistance. Respectful persistence can shift outcomes.

4. Create a culture of coaching.

Let your team know that feedback is part of growth, not punishment. But also make clear: some behaviors require change—or consequences.

5. Know when the iron fist is needed.

Most of the time, grace will carry the day. But when a firm boundary is called for, don’t flinch. Be direct. Be fair. Be unwavering