The Labyrinth of Leadership and the Erosion of the Self

Leadership is not the throne people imagine, nor the stage from which one commands admiration. It is, more often than not, a labyrinth built quietly around you. You do not notice the walls forming at first. They are made of promises you gave too quickly, responsibilities you accepted because silence felt like betrayal, and unspoken contracts with those who saw you as more than you truly were. The corridors of this labyrinth are paved with your own footsteps, and as you advance, the turns become sharper, the exits fewer, the air heavier.

In Morocco, I have seen leadership turned into theater. Faces smiling in public while privately choking on the dust of endless meetings, fake agreements, and unending ceremonies of self-congratulation. I have watched leaders become actors in a script they did not write, reciting words they do not believe, clapping for visions they no longer see. It is not leadership. It is preservation of image, a choreography performed to convince others that the structure is intact while its pillars rot in silence.

The danger of this labyrinth is that it seduces you into believing you are moving forward when in truth you are merely circling the same center. You meet the same demands dressed in new language, face the same manipulations wearing fresh smiles, and carry the same burdens repackaged as “opportunities.” Leadership promises to be a path, but it often becomes a loop. And loops, no matter how golden they appear, are still cages.

I remember times when my own “leadership” was praised, when people introduced me as if I had found the secret to building bridges and breaking barriers. I played the role well, sometimes too well. I answered calls at midnight, solved problems that were never mine, gave speeches that drained me for audiences who clapped without hearing the words. The applause was not for me; it was for the idea of me. Slowly, the man inside the role began to fade, until I wondered if the role itself had swallowed him entirely.

The Moroccan leadership scene is fertile ground for this erosion. Here, titles are treasured more than truths, presence is valued above performance, and proximity to power matters more than the purity of one’s purpose. Many “leaders” I have met are no longer leading; they are simply protecting their access to the table. They measure their success not by the change they ignite but by how long they can remain seated without being replaced.

The labyrinth is cruel because it feeds on your virtues. Your willingness to serve becomes obligation. Your patience turns into stagnation. Your belief in others morphs into dependency. And somewhere between the meetings, the projects, the speeches, and the expectations, you stop asking yourself the most important question: Do I still recognize the person doing all this?

I have seen leaders emerge from this maze as shadows. They are praised for their resilience, but their eyes betray a quiet fatigue. They smile for photos, but behind the glass of the frame is a life that feels borrowed. In chasing the image of the leader, they have forfeited the intimacy of the self.

True leadership, if it exists, must be a constant act of rebellion against the labyrinth. It must be the courage to break walls instead of decorating them. It must be the refusal to confuse being seen with being understood, and the discipline to protect one’s soul even when the role demands its sacrifice. And perhaps most of all, it must be the ability to walk away, to choose disappearance over erosion, knowing that no title, no applause, no illusion of greatness is worth the quiet death of who you are.

Because the truth is simple, even if the labyrinth is not: if you cannot hold yourself within leadership, leadership will not hold you. It will consume you, and in the end, you will not even remember where the center was, or why you entered at all.