My Mother's Slap That Changed How I Show Up as a Leader
You can't lead the world if you fail at home
I was traveling for the last five hours. I pulled my car into the garage, got out, and walked in through the garage door that opened into the hallway between the kitchen and the family room.
I was busy on a conference call discussing a deal we had been trying to close for five months, and the quarter close was just around the corner. I walked in through the door, saw my mom standing a few feet away, gave her a quick nod, and continued talking on the phone.
In the next few seconds, my mom walked up to me, pulled the phone from my ear, switched it off, and gave me a hard slap on my face.
At that point, my whole world felt like it came crumbling down. I was completely bewildered, shocked, taken aback, not sure what hit me.
It took me two or three seconds to recompose myself. I was extremely frustrated and angry inside because I was on an important call, and I had not announced my departure. At the same time, I realized one thing: when my mother is angry, she is always right, and I had done something profoundly wrong.
Yes, mothers are always right.
I glanced around the room. My wife was standing at the kitchen counter with my one-year-old son in her arms, who was trying to push away and run to me. I looked to the left; my dad was sitting on the sofa with a somber look on his face. Both of them were not sure how they wanted to respond. I looked back at my wife; she communicated through her eyes that I needed to be calm and composed.
But I was really angry and frustrated. Here I was, a young leader trying to grow through the ranks, working hard, leaving on Sunday nights or Monday mornings, coming back on Thursday nights, traveling around the US trying to close deals with my teams. We were on a trajectory to exceed 120% of our target for the year. That was a big achievement and a big year for me, hopefully setting me up for a promotion the following year.
I looked back at my mom. She had walked back to the sofa. I started to question her. “What happened, Mom? Why did you do that? That was a very important call. I cannot be off the call.” I was so engrossed in myself, my head wrapped around the deal. She just motioned with her left hand for me to come and sit on the chair next to the sofa.
As I was walking over, my little one escaped from the arms of my wife and trotted toward me, trying to catch my attention. I lifted him up, went and sat on the chair, reconciled to the fact that I would have to come up with some excuse to explain to my team why I had abruptly gotten off the phone.
The phone was lying right next to my mom on the sofa. I kept looking at it, not having even a bit of courage to touch it or go close to it. I sat down, plopped myself on the chair, my son at my feet pulling on my pants, trying to get my attention, wanting to play. But I was completely in a state of shock.
Then my mom spoke up.
“I’ve been here for a few weeks,” she said, “watching you leave on Sundays and come back on Thursday nights. I understand you’re working hard. You’re a rising leader. You’re trying to build something.”
She paused.
“But remember this: you are a leader first at home, and only then to the rest of the world.”
“A man who does not know how to lead at home will never truly lead anywhere else.”
“Your wife and your son wait all week to see you. They deserve your presence. When you walk through that door, it is not just a door, it is hope. It is excitement. It is a future this family believes in.”
“When you walk in, you must bring energy. You must bring warmth. You must bring sunshine.”
She looked straight at me.
“I hope you don’t walk into your office the way you walked into your home today, distracted, frustrated, lost in your own world without even noticing the people around you. Because if you do, you will never be a great leader.”
“That is not the son I raised.”
Her voice softened, but her words cut deeper.
“Leadership begins at home.”
“You are the same person who walks out and the same person who walks back in.”
“Learn to respect moments. Learn to recognize the frames you walk through.”
“For centuries, people have decorated the entrances of their homes with flowers, rangoli, symbols. Why? Because that frame represents transition. It represents intention. It represents hope.And when you cross it, you must be aware of what you are bringing with you.”
“Every single time.”
“Whether it is your home, your office, an event or even a funeral you must be intentional about your presence, your emotions, and what your face communicates.” She paused.
“Next time you walk to that door, pause. Take a deep breath. Hang up your phone. Let go of the world outside. Put on a smile.”
“And then walk in.”
“Lift your family. Bring them energy. Bring them hope.”
“That… is leadership.”
Silence.
I had no response.
All my anger drained out of me. My frustration disappeared. I felt myself retreat inward to the deepest, quietest corner of my being.
She could see it. She got up and walked away, leaving me there. I sat for what felt like an hour just staring at the floor.
Processing.
Realizing how wrong I had been. Realizing that in chasing what I thought was success, I had stopped seeing the people who mattered the most.
That night was one of the longest nights of my life. I couldn’t sleep. I replayed everything like flipping through the pages of a book questioning how I had been showing up, what I had been prioritizing, and what I had been blind to.
The weekend passed slowly. Few words were exchanged.
My dad, always a man of few words, came up to me a couple of times, put his hand on my shoulder, tapped on it, nodded at me. As if just saying: you know your mom is right, you have got to work on it. And walked away. He always had this uncanny ability to communicate everything without saying a word. My wife tried to pep me up, giving me the best support she could.
That Sunday night, as I was leaving for the airport, I walked up to my mom. She was angry and sad at the same time. Angry because she was not happy with my approach to life. Sad because she had to take a tough action to get me back on the road. She was always a tough mom, having raised us through incredible stretches of hardship and poverty. But she always took the tough action when she needed to jolt us into becoming better human beings.
I went up to her, gave her a kiss on her cheek, said goodbye, and walked to the door. I paused. Looked back at her. She had a neutral face. I walked out, got into the car, and headed to the airport.
That day, I made a vow to change how I show up as a person.
When I showed up in the office on Monday morning, I stopped outside the door. I thought about myself and what I was walking into. I put on a smile. I walked through the door. I said hello to a lot of people. I shook hands more than I generally did. I was more present than I had ever been.
That one slap of my mother taught me a lesson that stays with me throughout my life.
Even today, twenty+ years later, when I walk up to my home, I always make sure I tell my colleagues I am getting off the phone and will not be available for the next thirty to forty-five minutes, or I schedule my calls around it.
I walk up to the door, take a couple of deep breaths, tidy up my clothes, put on a big smile, then walk through that door. I am intentional and aware. I try to make my family feel it. I bring my best into the home: excitement, happiness, and as my mother said, sunshine.
That one act has made a profound difference in my leadership, at home and at work.
Many people over the years have admired and given me feedback, asking me how I bring so much energy, positivity, and optimism to even the toughest meetings.
I refrain from reciting the long story of my mother. But I always smile, think about my mom, and say:
Thank you, Mom. That slap changed my life.
Here is the question I will leave you with: The next time you walk through a door, any door, what are you carrying in? And more importantly, who are you failing to see because your head is still somewhere else?