Written by: Adam Cheney on December 1, 2025

Soul and Identity Mapping: Thresholds of the Leader’s Inner Life

Revisiting Friedman and Walker during this second phase of reflection has forced me to look not only at leadership theory but at the deeper terrain of my soul—the places where anxiety, identity, vocation, and grace intersect. What has emerged is a clearer understanding of how their insights have shaped my inner life, even in the very real pressures of ministry, family, and public conflict.

One of Friedman’s most disruptive gifts to me has been naming the truth that anxiety is not merely an emotional experience—it’s an atmosphere, a system, and sometimes a culture. When I started this program, I carried an inner narrative of not knowing enough, not being smart enough, and not belonging. I remember walking the streets of Oxford feeling like an imposter, wondering who exactly I was to be pursuing a doctorate. That sense of inner fragility ran deep. Friedman’s emphasis on self-differentiation exposed how much of my identity had been tethered to external affirmation and my ability to perform.[1]

Walker, on the other hand, placed the language of ego, defense, and “front stage/backstage” into my hands.[2] Reading him, I realized how often I had been leading from a defended posture—guarding perceptions, anxiously curating my image, and trying to prove that I deserved to be in the room. His vision of undefended leadership hit a deep nerve. I resonated with his insistence that the leader who is free—free from the need to protect, posture, or perform—is the leader who can truly offer a non-anxious presence. That was the threshold I did not expect to cross this semester: not only learning to understand undefended leadership but learning to live it.

A recent incident crystallized this shift. In a newsletter, I shared a thoughtful, nuanced conversation I had with a Somali Muslim woman about Israel and Hamas. I described how listening carefully, leading with curiosity, and allowing nuance actually opened a door to share the gospel. The backlash from supporters was swift and harsh—some even withdrew their financial support. A year or two ago, this would have undone me. I would have spiraled into self-doubt, stress, or anger.

Instead, I waited a day before responding. I prayed. I reflected. I wrote from a posture of calm, asked ChatGPT to check my tone, and sent a response that was both gracious and honest. People still left. But I remained undefended. I felt anchored—led by the Spirit, not by fear. And I realized this: it does not diminish me to consider someone else’s perspective.[3] Their accusations did not define me; nor did their withdrawal threaten God’s provision. For the first time, I felt the fruit of undefended leadership in my bones.

This connects deeply with what Friedman describes as the leader who maintains a solid sense of self in anxious systems. For me, that anxious system is not hypothetical—it is my home, my city, the political climate, my workplace, and sometimes even my church community. Parenting my son, for example, remains one of the hardest parts of my life. His early trauma, medication shifts, and puberty have often triggered my own frustration, anger, or exhaustion. In earlier years, I interpreted his behavior as a reflection of my leadership or fatherhood. Now, I am learning—slowly—to lead him from a place of stability and peace. That shift did not come from technique; it came from identity. As I lead from the pasture, as Geoff and Cyd Holsclaw would say,[4] I show up differently: more grounded, more compassionate, more attentive. Leadership, I am learning, begins with presence, not performance.

One of the deepest thresholds of the soul for me has been realizing that leadership is not about fixing people or problems—it is about presence. That shift—from performance to presence—has changed how I view myself, my son, my work, and even conflict. It has softened the edges of my leadership while sharpening its clarity.

My identity as a leader has evolved intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually. Intellectually, I now see leadership as layered, consilient, and systemic—more about navigating complexity than offering quick solutions. Emotionally, I am less reactive, more reflective. Spiritually, I am more rooted in Christ, less concerned with outcomes, and more attentive to the slow work of formation.

What sustains me amid pressure are the rhythms I intentionally cultivate. Study, prayer, quietness, and reading anchor my days. Family rhythms—walking with my wife, Sunday games with my kids, spontaneous ice cream runs, hikes—create peace within our home. Structuring work rhythms (certain tasks on certain days, limiting email, protecting boundaries) provides margin. And my weekly calls with a small group of like-minded believers passionate about refugee and immigrant care grounds me in community and shared mission.

Where do I sense new thresholds emerging? I sense the Lord inviting me into deeper discernment about vocation—how my writing, teaching, and bridge-building might expand beyond this program. I don’t know precisely where I am headed, but I trust the One who leads. I plan to keep reading, writing, and guiding others with the peace I have received—encouraging those entrusted to me to live in a non-anxious, self-differentiated way.

This program has taught me to lead through the swamp, not avoid it—to create bridges across messy terrain, not stand on either side shouting about who is right. And perhaps most importantly: to walk the swamp undefended, grounded in Christ, and attentive to the Spirit’s gentle leading.

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[1] Edwin H. Friedman, A Failure of Nerve: Leadership in the Age of the Quick Fix, 10th anniversary revised edition, ed. Margaret M. Treadwell and Edward W. Beal (Church Publishing, 2017).

[2] Simon Walker, Leading Out of Who You Are, The Undefended Leader Trilogy 1 (Piquant Editions Ltd., 2007).

[3] Quote from Jason Clark during some cohort session, during 2025.

[4] Geoff Holsclaw (PhD) and Cyd Holsclaw, Landscapes of the Soul: How the Science and Spirituality of Attachment Can Move You into Confident Faith, Courage, and Connection (Tyndale Refresh, 2025).

About the Author

Adam Cheney

I grew up in California, spent five years living along the beautiful coast of Kenya and now find myself working with refugees in the snow crusted tundra of Minnesota. My wife and I have seven children, four of whom have been adopted. I spend my time drinking lots of coffee, working in my garden, and baking sourdough bread.

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