Courageous Compassion
When I think of Leo, a few things come immediately to mind, but the first, of course, is the lion and all it symbolizes. Strength. Boldness. Courage. The lion is king of the jungle for a reason—it radiates power. But power is a tricky thing. Leo is a sign that is often associated with royalty and Kings, Emperors, and World Leaders… people not necessarily associated with empathy and altruism. This is why the lesson of the month of Leo is about learning to shine in ways that elevate others, not just ourselves. And you don’t need to be a Leo to feel this energy. We are all invited to join in the work of this month: to take responsibility for our impact, to stand in integrity, and to lead with both strength and kindness.
Leo is ruled by the Sun, the celestial body that everything revolves around. The Sun shines without judgment, discrimination, and certainly doesn’t choose how or when. It may not be a sentient being, but it’s still a powerful metaphor and model for our leadership. This month invites us to use our voice, to take up space, to be seen. But it also asks us to balance that visibility with compassion, empathy, and vulnerability. True power isn’t about domination. It’s about devotion.
It’s easy to think leadership is about how we show up “out there.” But it starts much closer to home—with our thoughts, our words, our inner dialogue. If we’re gossiping, judging, repressing, or resenting, we’re not leading—we’re also not in integrity. An effective leader holds their energy with intention. They know that empowerment isn’t about being perfect—it’s about being connected. But this is challenging, right? Just like the Sun, our egos want us to be the center of the universe. When others hurt, judge, or embarrass us, the last thing we want to do is to extend them compassion. But this is work of this month. It’s also the gift. When we offer kindness and compassion in this radical way, we strengthen our hearts.
Rav Ashlag, one of the great Kabbalists, was often criticized and judged; some people openly sought to embarrass and ridicule him. While he was hurt by these words and actions, he never retaliated. The Talmud teaches that a person who is hurt and embarrassed but does not strike back “has the strength of the Sun within him.” The gift of this month is one of strength, and it offers a spiritual kind of royalty—one that doesn’t react in weakness but exhibits a true mastery of self.
We’ve all had encounters where we felt deeply hurt or embarrassed by the actions of others.. Me, too. My immediate response was to set a boundary, and I did. While this boundary was necessary, I found myself stuck in an emotional limbo, really bothered by the fact that I couldn’t find compassion. I didn’t want to reconnect with them or excuse their behavior. But I also didn’t want to hold onto all the anger. I asked myself: What if this is happening for me? What if this is an opportunity for growth?
And something shifted. Suddenly, I didn’t have to force myself to feel compassion. By reframing the experience, I was able to honor my feelings and my experience while simultaneously seeing the other person more clearly. I could see their fear. Their wounds. Their humanity. Suddenly, understanding came easily. I could forgive. I could let it go. I could be free.
Brene Brown echoes a similar experience. She said that compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity, even in the face of judgment or difference. And when we’re not met with that same energy, we often have to draw boundaries—and not just any boundaries, but “boundaries of steel.” But even those can be created with love. She once told the story of inviting a friend who was an active alcoholic to her annual Christmas party. Before the event, she gently set a boundary: “I can’t have you drink at my house,” she explained lovingly and clearly. Her friend reacted with hurt and anger and chose not to attend. Brene didn’t back down from her boundary in the face of her upset, but still expressed understanding of her friend’s choice.
But it is not easy. Sometimes, the last thing we want to do is extend compassion to people we don’t understand, who have hurt us, or whom we’ve judged. But to do so transmutes and transforms not just us, but our relationships and our lives.
What does courageous compassion look like for you? Ask yourself:
Is there an area of my life where I can show up more honestly, with authenticity, and integrity?
Is it having an honest conversation? Breaking a habit? Repairing a relationship?
Where am I being challenged—and how can I act in ways that are strong and still kind?
My son David always inspires me. One night a few years ago, David came into the house and said something off-the-cuff that was so profound to me. He said, “You know, I realized something. Life is too short to do the wrong thing.”
Now, I always say that life is too short to not do what you love, but this was even deeper than that. Yes, it means not to go out of your way to hurt people, to act selfishly, to lie, or to cheat. But it also means that life is too short to hold on to resentments, anger, and hurt, and to withhold compassion.
This month, we are being asked to lean into our greatness but also to lean into our ability to offer compassion to everyone. Including ourselves.
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