Not because anything exploded, necessarily—but because of the quiet, heavy truths you can’t unsee once you’ve seen them.
When we opened the doors of Illume Wellness Group in 2022, we knew there would be growing pains and steep learning curves. But what I didn’t fully grasp at the time was that owning a business—especially a thriving group counseling practice filled with highly skilled providers—requires more than waving a magic wand or barking out orders. It asks for presence. It asks for self-awareness. It asks for the kind of leadership that doesn’t hide behind a title, but shows up willing to learn in real time.
Those moments come often—when the mirror turns around and you see the cracks in your systems, in your responses, maybe even in yourself.
Leadership, I’m learning, isn’t about control. It’s about presence.
It’s not about being the loudest voice in the room—it’s about being the calmest one.
And it’s certainly not about demanding respect because of a title. I’d rather be respected for who I am than for any authority that comes with my position.
That’s a harder road to walk, honestly. Because it means you have to show up as yourself—vulnerable, evolving, imperfect. It means you have to confront your blind spots, not just manage the ones in everyone else. It means you have to admit when something isn’t working—not just outwardly, but inwardly, too.
And sometimes, it means facing the guilt that comes with realizing you could’ve done better.
It’s easy to slip into ego-driven defensiveness—especially when people are looking to you for answers or accountability. But I’m trying not to do that. I want to normalize that mistakes are part of growth, yes—but I also don’t want to minimize them. Brushing them off only lets the problems fester.
It’s like that children’s book There’s No Such Thing as a Dragon that I often read to my adult clients. In it, little Billy Bixbee wakes up to find a dragon in his room. But every time he tells his mother, she says, “There’s no such thing as a dragon.” And so the dragon gets bigger. And bigger. And eventually, it’s carrying the house away.
That’s what happens when we ignore problems—in our personal lives, but especially in leadership. Avoiding them doesn’t make them disappear. It makes them grow until they demand our attention in far more disruptive ways.
That’s why I’ve been sitting with a truth I heard recently that’s both uncomfortable and clarifying:
Success doesn’t come from avoiding mistakes—it comes from analyzing them well.
That says more to me in one sentence than some leadership books say in 300 pages. Because mistakes will happen. They already have. But leadership isn’t about pretending you’re above failure. It’s about owning it fast, repairing what you can, and learning what you need so it doesn’t keep happening.
That’s what I’m practicing: Letting mistakes teach me without letting them define me. Setting clearer expectations. Listening more deeply. Acting before the dragon grows too big to ignore.
And maybe most importantly, I’m working on not abandoning myself in the process. Because leadership that costs you your own well-being isn’t sustainable. People are counting on me, yes—but I need to be counted on by me, too.
One of my professors, Dr. Rob, used to say, “Humans are terrible self-assessors—every single one of us.” And he wasn’t wrong. That includes all of us in leadership roles. Maybe especially us. The more people look to us for guidance, the more tempting it is to believe our own press—or to ignore the parts we’d rather not face.
So here’s to a different kind of leadership.
One that’s rooted in presence, not performance.
One that invites respect instead of demanding it.
One that tells the truth—even when it’s uncomfortable.
Because dragons don’t shrink when we ignore them. They shrink when we look them in the eye and give them the attention they’ve probably needed for a long time.
That kind of attention takes courage.
It’s easier to look outward—at the problems around us, the people we lead, the noise of the world—than it is to turn inward and ask: Where am I still avoiding? What truth am I not ready to name? What part of me still wants to be seen but has been sitting quietly in the corner, waiting for permission?
This is the inner work of leadership. And it’s not optional—not if you want to lead with integrity. Because the people who count on you don’t just need your strategy. They need your clarity. Your honesty. Your vulnerability. Your willingness to go first.
So if something’s growing in the shadows—some overlooked dragon, some pattern you’d rather not face—don’t wait for it to carry the house away.
Look at it. Analyze it. Name it. Then start shrinking it.
That’s the work. That’s the way. And the kind of leader the world actually needs more of.
Peace my friends,
~Travis
P.S. If you’ve never read Jack Kent’s There’s No Such Thing as a Dragon, do yourself a favor—it’s short, wise, and well worth your time.
Billy Bixbee was somewhat surprised when he woke up one morning and found a dragon in his room. It was a small dragon, about the size of a kitten.
The dragon wagged its tail happily as Billy patted its head. Billy went downstairs to tell his mother. “There’s no such thing as a dragon!” said Billy’s mother, who said it like she meant it.
Billy went back to his room and began to dress. The dragon came close to Billy and wagged its tail, but Billy didn’t pat it. If there’s no such thing as something, patting it on the head is silly.
Billy washed his hands and face and went down for breakfast. The dragon came along. It was bigger now, almost the size of a dog. Billy sat down at the table. The dragon sat ON the table.
This sort of thing was not usually permitted, but there wasn’t much Billy’s mum could do about it. She had already said there’s no such thing as a dragon, and if there’s no such thing, you can’t tell it to get off the table.
Mother made some pancakes for Billy, but the dragon ate them all. Mother made some more, but the dragon ate those, too. Mother kept making pancakes until she ran out of batter. Billy got only one of them, but he said that’s all he wanted anyway.
Billy went upstairs to brush his teeth. Mother started clearing the table. The dragon, quite as big as Mother, made himself comfortable on the hall rug and slept. By the time Billy returned downstairs, he had grown so much that he filled the hall.
Billy had to go around by the way of the living room to get to his mother. “I didn’t know dragons grew so fast!” said Billy. “There’s no such thing as a dragon!” said Billy’s mother firmly.
Cleaning the downstairs took Mother all morning, with the dragon in the way and having to climb in and out of windows to go from room to room.
By noon, the dragon filled the house; its head hung out the front door, its tail hung out the back door, and there wasn’t a room in the house that didn’t have some part of the dragon in it.
When the dragon awoke from his nap, he was hungry. A bakery truck went by; the smell of fresh bread was too much for the dragon to resist. The dragon ran down the street after the bakery truck. The house went down like the shell atop a snail.
The mailman was coming up the path with some mail for the Bixbees when their home rushed past him and headed down the street. He chased the Bixbees’ house for a few blocks but couldn’t catch it.
When Mr. Bixbee came home for lunch, the first thing he noticed was that the house was gone. Luckily, one of the neighbors could tell him which way it went. Mr. Bixbee got in his car and went looking for the home.
Finally, he saw a house that looked familiar. Billy and Mrs. Bixbee were waving from a window upstairs. Mr. Bixbee climbed over the dragon’s head onto the porch roof and through the upstairs window.
“How did this happen?” Mr. Bixbee asked. “It was the dragon”, said Billy. “There’s no such thing…” his mother started to say. “There IS a very BIG dragon,” Billy insisted as he patted it on its head. The dragon wagged its tail happily.
Then, the dragon started getting smaller, and Soon, it was kitten-size again. “I don’t mind dragons this size,” said Mother, “Why did it have to grow so BIG?” “I’m not sure,” said Billy, “but I think it just wanted to be noticed.”
