Danita Cummins

09/17/2026

Last week I told you about the morning I yelled at my boss. I didn’t tell you what happened next.

I had to go back and apologize.

The hard part wasn’t knowing I shouldn’t have yelled. It was allowing two things to be true at the same time: I still believed my concern was legitimate, and I knew the way I carried it into that room was wrong.

I didn’t have to surrender one truth to acknowledge the other.

I think that gets harder when you’re accustomed to being the capable one. We get very good at knowing, solving, carrying, and being the person others trust when something matters.

And then three ordinary sentences can become surprisingly difficult to say:

I don’t know. I need help. I was wrong.

This week on Entrusted to Lead, we’re talking about why — and what the people around us learn when we can’t say them.

Episode 82: 3 Things Strong Leaders Struggle to Say (Link below)

09/16/2026

There’s a particular pressure that comes with being the person people expect to know what to do.

You become good at anticipating problems, making decisions, and figuring things out when everyone else is looking around the room wondering what comes next. And that capability is a gift.

But I’ve noticed something in myself over the years: the more accustomed I became to having the answer, the harder it was to simply say when I didn’t.

Somewhere along the way, knowing had gotten tangled up with what I thought it meant to be capable.

And that matters beyond us. The people around us are always learning from what we’re willing to admit.

If I can’t say, “I don’t know,” what does that teach everyone else about what’s safe to say in the room?

How comfortable are you saying “I don’t know” when people expect you to know?

09/12/2026

One afternoon, I sat in my car in the driveway and told a friend, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

The strange part was that I couldn’t name anything that was wrong.

I was leading, serving, building, and doing work that genuinely mattered. The decisions were being made. The responsibilities were being handled. From the outside, everything appeared to be working.

But holding everything together wasn’t the same as being whole.

C.S. Lewis wrote that the more we let God take us over, “the more truly ourselves we become.” I love that because it reminds me that God is not asking us to erase ourselves—or become smaller, quieter, or less capable. He is inviting us to bring our whole selves into His care.

That is the conversation at the center of the Season 5 premiere of Entrusted to Lead:
The Cost of Being Capable: Holding It Together Isn’t the Same as Being Whole

As you listen, ask yourself: Where am I applying more effort when the deeper work may be integration?

Link in comments!

08/27/2026

Faith doesn’t make leadership weightless.

For a long time, I thought faithful endurance meant continuing.

Keep going.
Figure it out.
Do what needs to be done.

But there is a difference between faithfully carrying something difficult and refusing to admit that something is heavy.

Sometimes faithful leadership looks like perseverance.

Sometimes it looks like rest.

And sometimes it begins by telling the truth about what we’re already carrying—without immediately trying to fix it.

So today, I’m sitting with a simpler question:

What are you carrying?

I wrote more about this in my latest essay:
https://www.danitacummins.com/blog/faith-in-leadership⁠�

08/17/2026

I’ve been thinking a lot about wholeness lately—not doing more, but learning to care for the whole person God created me to be.

Body. Mind. Spirit.

So I made myself a 12-week journal to help me be intentional about the journey.

Because faithful stewardship isn’t only about asking, “What has God entrusted to me?"

It’s also asking, “How am I caring for the person He entrusted it to?”

One faithful choice at a time 🌿

What’s one faithful choice you’re making for your own wholeness right now?

07/09/2026

Wanting something different doesn't mean you failed.

It means you grew.

The person who said yes to this life five years ago isn't the same person living it now. You've learned things, lost things, become someone new. And what you needed then was never meant to be what you need forever.
We're taught that God's will is one fixed thing — one calling, one coat we're supposed to find and wear forever. But Moses had seasons. David had seasons. Ruth and Paul had seasons. Even Jesus did. God doesn't call you to a role. He calls you to Himself.

If you've been quietly carrying the sense that this isn't it anymore — and feeling guilty for even thinking it — this week's episode is for you.

New episode is live: "You're Allowed to Want Something Different." Link in the comments. 🎙️

06/27/2026

06/18/2026

It's here — the last episode of Clarity Season.

This whole season started because I couldn't hear myself think. It ends with the few honest questions that finally quieted the noise. Not the ones that pile on more pressure. The ones that set something down.

Eight episodes. One season of learning to be still. I'm grateful you walked it with me.

Come close it out with me today.

06/16/2026

I started this podcast season because I couldn't hear myself think.

Too much noise. Too much carried for too long. The kind of tired that sleep doesn't touch.

The final episode of Clarity Season is about the questions that cut through the static — the honest ones we tend to avoid because we already suspect the answer will ask something of us.

But here's what I keep finding: the right question doesn't add weight. It sets some down.

New episode Thursday. Come sit with this one.

06/01/2026

The thing nobody tells you about fog is that it doesn't lift on command. 😏

You can be faithful. Prepared. Doing the next right thing. And still not be able to see three feet ahead.

I used to treat that as a sign I'd missed something. A wrong turn somewhere back there. Lately I'm wondering if the fog isn't a detour at all — if it's just the part of the road where you're asked to stop straining your eyes and stand still for a minute.

Not lost. Just in the fog. There's a difference.