Theodore Teddy Bear Schiele

Feature Essay

Leadership Starts at Home: How My Father Taught Me the 7 Traits of Transformational Leaders

When I began crafting the Circle of Growth framework back in 2015, I thought I was simply writing about the traits that make a good leader. I believed leadership started with who you are, not just the title on your business card. Many leaders like to assume they already embody these traits – some even fancy themselves heroes. But as I gathered research and reflected on my own life, I kept returning to one inspiration that shaped my understanding of true leadership: my father.

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My father, Theodore Roosevelt Schiele, was the youngest of 12 children born to a humble family in rural Frogmore, Louisiana. He carried the name of a U.S. President known for strength and reform – and indeed, he lived up to it in his own quiet way. Born in 1931, he grew up in an era of great challenges. He served in the Korean War from 1952 to 1954, earning an honorable discharge. After the war, he made his living as an oilfield mechanic, raising a large family and helping anyone who needed a hand. He never held an important corporate title; he wasn’t a CEO or a famous general. But in our community and in our family, he was the definition of a leader.

He led by example – through his integrity, his kindness, and his unwavering work ethic. He and my mother raised ten of us and still made room in their hearts for neighbors and friends. My father’s influence rippled out to dozens of grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and countless others. He didn’t just live life – he built a legacy of values and love. When he passed away on November 13, 2015, I realized that the richest inheritance he left us wasn’t money or possessions. It was an example of his character.

That realization lit a fire in me. I set out to understand what made him the kind of person who could quietly shape so many lives for the better. The answer became the foundation of this chapter: Personal growth isn’t optional – it’s the foundation of leadership. You cannot truly lead others if you haven’t learned to lead yourself first. Who you are when no one’s watching – your habits, your mindset, your “internal compass” – determines how you show up when everyone is watching. My father taught me that. And later, I found that business research confirmed it: for instance, leaders with greater self-awareness make better decisions, build stronger relationships, and even lead more profitable companies. In other words, inner growth drives outer success.

I eventually organized these lessons into what I call the SCHIELE Method of personal growth – a tribute both to the traits themselves and to my family name. It’s built around seven core traits that I believe form the bedrock of transformational leadership. These aren’t trendy buzzwords or “feel-good” platitudes. They are the character traits I saw in my father and in great leaders everywhere, the traits that any of us must cultivate if we wish to inspire and lead others. When you truly live these seven traits day in and day out, something amazing happens: you don’t just improve performance – you uplift people. You influence teams, cultures, even entire communities, because who you are inside radiates outward and sets the tone for everyone around you.

Self-Awareness

Self-awareness is ground zero for growth. It’s the trait that everything else builds upon. To be self-aware is to know yourself – to understand your strengths and weaknesses, your values and fears, and to recognize how your behavior affects others. My father had a quiet confidence that came from this trait... Nothing changes until we do. Self-awareness gives you that chance to change – to align your leadership with your deepest values and to ensure that the face you show the world genuinely reflects who you are inside.

Courage

If self-awareness is knowing what needs to change, courage is the resolve to act. It’s speaking the truth, making the tough decision, or venturing into the unknown without guarantees. Courageous leadership doesn’t mean being fearless; it means moving anyway. Every brave act widens the path for those behind you – that’s how teams break new ground.

Humility

Humility isn’t thinking less of yourself; it’s thinking of yourself less. The most transformational leaders are often the quiet ones who share credit, absorb blame, and keep learning. Humility creates a culture where feedback is welcome, voices are heard, and people go the extra mile because they are seen as partners, not peons.

Integrity

Integrity is doing the right thing when no one is watching. It aligns words and actions and turns values into daily practice. Teams follow leaders they trust; trust is built by consistent honesty, fair dealing, and owning mistakes. Integrity makes life simpler and leadership stronger.

Empathy

Empathy is seeing through another’s eyes and leading with human connection. It converts managers into mentors and workplaces into communities. People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care – empathy is how you show it.

Learning

Leaders who stop learning stop leading. Curiosity, feedback, and adaptation turn setbacks into stepping stones. A learning mindset keeps you relevant, resilient, and ready – and it spreads, creating learning organizations that can navigate change with courage and clarity.

Execution

All the vision in the world means little without follow-through. Execution is where intentions meet actions: disciplined systems, clear ownership, real deadlines, and the habit of finishing what you start. Talk builds trust; results build credibility. Do the work. Finish the work.

Legacy If you commit to these seven traits, you won’t just hit targets—you’ll change lives. That was my father’s quiet lesson: leadership starts at home, and the richest inheritance we leave is our character, lived out loud.

Personal Growth
Faith & Leadership
Turning Points

Naming My Demons – The Turning Point

Rock Bottom and a Homeless Laugh

In 1999, with one semester left before college graduation, I hit rock bottom. I lost my apartment and found myself technically homeless for a short while – yes, homeless. I can laugh about it now: I joked that I had an open-air apartment with five billion stars as my ceiling. (Rent was free, if you don’t count pride as a form of payment.) In reality, sleeping wherever I could just to finish the semester was anything but glamorous. It was the lowest point of my life – I failed every class that term, turning my anticipated graduation into a nightmare of academic probation and disappointment.

Looking back, that rock bottom was oddly the foundation I needed. At the time, of course, it just felt like despair. Psychologists describe “hitting rock bottom” as that dark, hopeless pit where you feel you have nowhere lower to fall. I was certainly there – depressed, ashamed, and out of options. But as it turns out, when you’re at the bottom, the only way to go is up. Rock bottom became the solid ground on which I could choose to rebuild. It frequently works that way: the end of your rope often marks the beginning of a new path. For me, it set the stage for an awakening I didn’t know I needed.

Running Away from My Demons

Instead of immediately trying to climb upward, I first ran sideways, away from my problems. After that disastrous semester, I drifted to New Orleans for about six months under the guise of a “fresh start.” In truth, I was running from my demons – all the failures and flaws I didn’t want to face. New city, same problems: I arrived and almost instantly life smacked me again. My old pickup truck got towed as soon as I got there, which felt like a cruel joke by the universe. With no transportation and no plan, I ended up riding a beat-up bicycle around town, going from one temp job to another that a buddy hooked me up with.

I’d work a day or two at a temp job (just enough to buy my next meal or, shamefully, my next drink), then spend the rest of the time goofing off. I was “f*ing off” – wasting days, drinking, smoking, doing anything but confronting the mess I’d made of my life. I wasn’t owning my mistakes; I wasn’t even admitting I had demons. I told myself I was just taking a break, having fun in a new city, but deep down I knew I was avoiding the truth.

In psychological terms, I was in full-blown escape/avoidance mode – a common response to shame and failure. It’s like I thought if I changed my scenery, I could outrun the guilt and regret that clung to me. (Spoiler: You can’t outrace your own shadow.) I hadn’t yet learned what I now know: avoiding your problems just gives them time to grow. My unresolved flaws – call them my demons, my shadow self – trailed me to New Orleans and made themselves right at home.

A Much-Needed Wake-Up Call

Sometimes life intervenes with a dose of tough love. My wake-up call came from a blunt temp-agency manager. After I botched yet another short-term job by oversleeping and arriving late, she pulled me aside. She didn’t sugarcoat it: “You are wasting your potential,” she said, looking me dead in the eye. “Whatever you’re running from, you need to go back and face it. Go home, figure your life out.”

That stung. My first reaction was defensive anger – Who is she to judge me? But on the lonely bike ride “home” (to the couch I was surfing), her words sank in. She was right. I was failing my true potential, squandering the talents and opportunities God gave me. I had been blaming bad luck or tough breaks, but now I faced the uncomfortable truth: my choices had led me here. No one forced me to drink or skip class or run away; those were my decisions. This realization marked a critical shift inside me. In psychological terms, I began moving from an “external locus of control” (believing life just happened to me) to an “internal locus of control” – accepting that my own actions had power to shape my future. I had to take responsibility.

Accepting responsibility is painful, but it’s also empowering. As I pedaled that rickety bike through the New Orleans streets, I felt something new amidst the shame: a faint spark of hope. If I had gotten myself into this mess, then I might also have the power to get myself out. That temp manager’s candid advice and my willingness to finally listen was a turning point. It was time to stop running. It was time to go home and face everything I’d been avoiding.

Facing the Man in the Mirror

A few weeks before my 25th birthday, I packed up my bruised pride and went back to Ferriday, Louisiana – the hometown I’d tried so hard to escape. Returning home with my tail between my legs was humbling, but it gave me the quiet and support I needed to confront myself.

One night, in that uneasy calm, I experienced what I can only describe as a spiritual confrontation. I felt God’s presence weighing on me, pressing truth into my heart. In prayer or maybe just in my own haunted thoughts, I “heard” what God had been trying to tell me all along: I was a failure – not inherently, but because of what I was doing with my life. It was as if God said, “Look at yourself. All you do is drink, and smoke, and throw away every chance I give you.” This wasn’t God condemning me to hopelessness; it was Him holding up a mirror. I saw, with painful clarity, the truth of that reflection.

That moment broke me open. I remember literally falling to my knees, tears of frustration and desperation welling up. To say it was a dark night of the soul is an understatement – it was the lowest emotional point I’d ever been, even beyond the physical hardships of homelessness. Yet, in that darkness, a decisive light flickered on. I surrendered. I admitted to God and to myself that I couldn’t keep living this way. I finally called my demons by their names: Alcohol. Laziness. Fear. Pride. I acknowledged each one, like checking off a roster of personal failures.

This act of naming my demons was incredibly powerful. In psychological terms, I was doing something akin to shadow work – a concept from Carl Jung, who taught that we all have a “shadow side” of flaws and hidden fears. Jung said that confronting and integrating this shadow is crucial for wholeness. I was, at last, confronting mine. Instead of denying my weaknesses or making excuses, I dragged them out into the light. “Here they are – my addictions, my excuses, my anger, my shame.” I laid them at God’s feet and at my own.

There’s a saying in recovery circles: you’re only as sick as your secrets. By owning up to every demon that had been secretly pulling my strings, I took away their power. It’s like I had been fighting an invisible army, and suddenly I could see the enemy clearly. I was done running. On my birthday – May 4, 2000 – I made a vow: I was done “f*ing off.” The party was over. The pity party was definitely over. My life had to change, starting right that moment.

The Decision to Grow (A Leap of Faith)
Deciding to change was like stepping off a cliff and hoping God would teach me to fly. I adopted a growth mindset before I knew its name: my past didn’t define me—it informed me. “Not yet” became oxygen.

Climbing Out: Discipline, Purpose, and Providence
The Army National Guard became my forge: 5 AM wake-ups, cadences, and the quiet dignity of keeping promises. Each day built self-efficacy. Post-traumatic growth bloomed—gratitude, stronger bonds, new possibilities, deeper faith.

No Cape Required: A “Black Batman” with a Twist
I kept the detective’s mindset—research, assess, adjust—minus the mask. In leadership, patience, empathy, and ingenuity are superpowers enough.

Servant Leadership & Imperfection
Serving others healed me. My flaws became bridges, not barriers. There are no extraordinary people—only ordinary people who answer extraordinary moments with courage and grace.