Speaking the truth when others aren鈥檛 ready to hear it can feel impossible. Engaging in difficult conversations can make your heart race and your mouth dry. However, if you鈥檙e going to build and curate a healthy organization, there will be times when leaders must tell the truth, despite it being the last thing they want to do.
Leadership means being honest. Leadership means recognizing what people need even if it goes against the organization鈥檚 immediate need.
Sometimes, it means telling an excellent teacher that it鈥檚 time to leave.
In this biweekly column, principals and other authorities on school leadership鈥攊ncluding researchers, education professors, district administrators, and assistant principals鈥攐ffer timely and timeless advice for their peers.
Which brings me back nine years鈥攖o Michael.
Michael was in his eighth year of teaching, and I had just become the principal of his school. He was smart, held high expectations, was an excellent teacher, worked incredibly hard, and had voted for me to get the job.
He was also done teaching but didn鈥檛 know it yet.
I saw it. Others did, too.
Michael arrived early and left late. Every moment was urgent. Michael struggled in team meetings when folks didn鈥檛 agree with his positions. He once told the school secretary that he didn鈥檛 like being interrupted for questions about attendance during class because 鈥測ou wouldn鈥檛 interrupt a firefighter.鈥� Michael felt like he was fighting fires every day.
We should all want someone with Michael鈥檚 passion teaching our kids. He expected the best out of himself and others at all times. Michael鈥檚 passion was a gift.
That鈥檚 where Michael existed. All heart, all the time. His reality was one where the challenges of our community were personal.
But without healthy limits, passion can destroy a person. Passion, especially in the daily struggle for educational equity, requires pacing.
Michael and I established a relationship during our weekly one-on-one check-ins. We would talk about all manner of topics ranging from life to love to dogs and to teaching. We built trust and a mutual respect. We laughed. We commiserated. Michael knew that I cared about him, and I knew that he trusted me.
Then, in the middle of the year, I told Michael that I thought he was done teaching鈥攈e just didn鈥檛 know it yet.
Just like that. In no uncertain terms. It wasn鈥檛 easy. I was scared about the conversation and the implications. I was worried that my words would shatter the world that he had crafted for himself. I was nervous that it would create a rift in our community and would negatively impact our team.
But I knew it had to be done. For Michael, for the team, and for the kids.
I told him what I saw. His passion had overtaken his perspective and made him unable to see or sustain the big picture. He couldn鈥檛 continue existing like this, and, if he did, it would eventually hurt our kids, our adults, and him. He wasn鈥檛 healthy and he wasn鈥檛 happy. He deserved to be both.
Michael was surprised by my remark. When we talked it through, he understood my perspective, even if he didn鈥檛 agree. We continued our wonderful relationship (which we still maintain). He completed the year with our school. Giving his all, every day.
At the end of the year, a close friend offered Michael a teaching position at another school. Michael was conflicted about leaving. I encouraged him to go.
He took the job.
The next year, he left that school.
Then, he went to one more.
Then, he left teaching.
He was done. He knew it.
When Michael began his career, someone should have been honest and said, 鈥淭he fire will still be there tomorrow.鈥� You have to take care of yourself first. You have to prioritize your own needs, and we鈥檙e going to show you how.
Leaders should have told Michael to slow down. To pace himself. To breathe. To pick his head up, look around, and understand that there is more to this life than his classroom. They should have told Michael that his best would look different each day because he was a living, breathing person. No one expected him or needed him to be perfect. They just needed him to be whole.
That鈥檚 what a culture of care will do鈥攁llow you to have the difficult conversations and still move forward together. When people know that you truly care about them, it鈥檚 amazing how honest you can be.
I tried to do that for Michael, but I was too late. When I met him, he was already done. The most human thing I could do for him was to tell him the truth鈥攅ven if he wasn鈥檛 ready to hear it. That was kindness. That was caring.
I spoke to Michael recently. He鈥檚 happier than ever. He鈥檚 pursuing a variety of interests and has cultivated a full life outside of work. He鈥檚 whole now.
I asked Michael what he would tell his past self. 鈥淚t鈥檚 tough not to slip into cliche: 鈥業t鈥檚 a marathon, not a sprint.鈥� 鈥榊ou can鈥檛 be good for students if you aren鈥檛 good for yourself,鈥欌�� Michael shared. 鈥淢aybe it would have been most effective to frame it in the context of modeling for students. As much as I would have wanted for them to have a healthy school/life balance, I certainly didn鈥檛 provide a strong blueprint for them. Unfortunately, I鈥檓 honestly not sure past-Michael would be able to hear the advice, but that doesn鈥檛 make it any less true.鈥�
The key to long-term success for organizations is developing and curating a culture of care. It means creating a foundation of trust through honest conversations. It takes leaders who are willing to understand that organizations are best served by healthy, growing individuals. It means creating space for those individuals to evolve in ways that may even have them leave your school.
And it means telling the truth, to people you care about, even when it鈥檚 hard.
