The Danger of a Hardened Heart: Why Leadership Requires Both Strength and Softness

A softened black anchor rests against a bare wall—symbolizing the quiet strength found in vulnerability and the burden of a hardened heart.

Growing up, I was always warned: “Don’t be soft.”

In my neighborhood, in the church, and even in the locker rooms and barracks, “softness” was something to avoid at all costs. It was synonymous with weakness, vulnerability, and being unprepared for the harshness of the world. But I’ve come to realize something powerful—something I wish I had learned sooner: many of the men who were considered the “hardest” were actually the weakest in all the ways that truly matter.

Yes, they had a tough exterior—quick with a glare, ready to fight, emotionally closed off, and often cold. But when it came to criticism, communication, responsibility, hard work, emotional expression, or even showing love—they broke down. They were strong in silence but fragile in intimacy. Hard on everyone else, but soft in their convictions when faced with the consequences of their own choices.

They were “hard” in church—loud in praise and fluent in Scripture—but outside the sanctuary, their behavior betrayed a deep disconnect. You didn’t see the fruit of the Spirit. You saw the scars of a world that had either truly battered them—or worse, a mindset that had convinced them they had to stay hardened in order to survive.

I never fully understood how that could happen—how men from my same environment could harden themselves so much that kindness, compassion, and even joy felt foreign or unsafe. But I started to see the roots.

The difference wasn’t just the streets—it was the home.

I grew up in a rough place, too. But my home had structure. It had rules, consequences, and a sense of spiritual grounding. My mother was tough—real tough—but she wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable. Her strength didn’t come from denying her softness; it came from knowing when and how to use it. That authenticity shaped me more than I realized. She wasn’t perfect, but she was real.

There was no father in the house, but I learned about manhood through older men, community mentors, and experiences—though many of those lessons didn’t hit home until I became a young adult. By then, I had started to become hardened in my own way. Violence didn’t bother me; in fact, I liked it. The adrenaline, the control, the release—it became part of how I coped with my own battles.

But even then, something felt off. I knew deep down that being numb wasn’t the same as being strong.

Now, as a leader—of organizations, youth, and my own household—I see it clearly: A man must lead with both softness and hardness. One without the other creates imbalance. And many of the lessons I learned growing up—especially about what it means to “be hard”—need to be reinterpreted for what they really were: survival tactics, not sustainable leadership traits.

What Scripture Says

The Bible warns against a hardened heart. In Exodus 8:15, Pharaoh hardened his heart and refused to listen, even after witnessing miracles. In Ezekiel 36:26, God says:“I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.”

Why? Because a hardened heart makes you unreceptive—not just to God, but to people, to growth, to correction, to love. And without those things, a leader becomes a tyrant, a father becomes a disciplinarian without grace, and a man becomes a shell of himself.

Strength Is Not the Absence of Softness

We must redefine strength.

• Softness is not surrender. It’s the discipline to be empathetic in the face of anger.

• Hardness is not power. It’s a tool that must be directed by wisdom, not ego.

• Leadership is not dominance. It’s stewardship. It’s shepherding. It’s the ability to respond with the right measure—tough when needed, tender when required.

I’ve learned this not just from Scripture, but from failure, mentorship, service in the Army, and watching young men today try to find their footing in a culture that still sends mixed messages about masculinity.

Final Thoughts

Leadership, especially as a man, means knowing how to manage both warrior and wounded healer. It means being a protector, but also a listener. A corrector, but also an encourager. A fighter when necessary—but more often, a peacemaker.

If we raise men to be all hard and no heart, we don't create leaders—we create landmines.

And if we raise boys to see softness as weakness, we rob them of the very traits that make leadership transformational: empathy, patience, humility, and grace.

I’m still learning, still evolving. But I know this for sure:

“It takes more strength to feel than to fight. And it takes real courage to lead with both.”