Cool Heads Prevail – Why School Leaders Should Always Keep Calm In The Face Of Frustration
To be an effective leader means remaining level-headed – but many, The Primary Head included, can recall a time when they’ve blown their top… As a deputy, I had called a meeting. As we waited for the final member of staff to arrive, I said we should probably start without him. Someone then nervously informed […]
To be an effective leader means remaining level-headed – but many, The Primary Head included, can recall a time when they’ve blown their top…
As a deputy, I had called a meeting. As we waited for the final member of staff to arrive, I said we should probably start without him. Someone then nervously informed me that this person wasn’t coming, because he felt the meeting had been called at too short notice. I carried on, finished the meeting in about 20 minutes and everyone went home on time. The next day I asked to speak to the non-attender during assembly. I was very calm, and said that I was disappointed he had chosen not to attend a meeting the deputy had called – and also hadn’t informed me that he wasn’t going to bother turning up. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but he remained adamant that 48 hours was too short notice and that he would complain to the chair of governors that middle leaders were having too much pressure put on them. At this point, words like ‘accountability’, ‘upper pay scale’, ‘TLR’, ‘professional courtesy’, ‘respect’ and ‘basic set of good bloody manners’ may have come out of my mouth. I was aware that I was now standing and also shouting – I may even have thrown a whiteboard pen at my desk in frustration. He was, it has to be said, remaining beautifully calm, and as he asked me to stop shouting – in a way that made me want to summon up the power to make his head explode – I remember thinking, I think I’ve lost this one.
Gazpacho soup leadership
I have no idea how it ended. I think he just left. I know I felt like a complete fool. I licked my wounds and considered the way forward. I can’t, hand on heart, say if I apologised to him. I should have, and that’s the sort of thing I would do, but I can’t remember.
That was seven years ago. To this day, I remember the feeling of inadequacy brought on by ‘losing it’, and I fail to see how it worked for, apparently, so many other leaders before me. I’ve been cross. I’ve sworn and shouted and berated incompetence at all levels – but I’ve never directed it towards an individual. For me, dealing with mistakes, incompetence, rudeness, misunderstandings, unprofessionalism, bad decisions and other people’s stress are dishes best served cold. And a cool Head is better for everyone. Unfortunately, my gazpacho soup style of leadership still doesn’t stop the nightmares.
The Primary Head is the moniker of a headteacher currently working in a UK primary school. Follow him at @theprimaryhead
I became more reflective and planned more effectively in order to meet the children’s needs. It gradually dawned on me that if the children weren’t ‘performing’, it was most likely down to my own poor performance as a teacher. And then I became a leader. Now, working with children can have its frustrations – but working with the adults who are working with the children can be even more frustrating. I hear tales of ‘old’ deputies or heads who had tempers. Established staff members have regaled me with stories of red-faced fury being unleashed on staff by ex-senior leaders. That managerial style was never part of my own personal succession plan and would listen to these histories with wonder and astonishment, for I still try to adhere to my first head’s challenge. Well, apart from this one time…
Beautifully calm
As a deputy, I had called a meeting. As we waited for the final member of staff to arrive, I said we should probably start without him. Someone then nervously informed me that this person wasn’t coming, because he felt the meeting had been called at too short notice. I carried on, finished the meeting in about 20 minutes and everyone went home on time. The next day I asked to speak to the non-attender during assembly. I was very calm, and said that I was disappointed he had chosen not to attend a meeting the deputy had called – and also hadn’t informed me that he wasn’t going to bother turning up. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but he remained adamant that 48 hours was too short notice and that he would complain to the chair of governors that middle leaders were having too much pressure put on them. At this point, words like ‘accountability’, ‘upper pay scale’, ‘TLR’, ‘professional courtesy’, ‘respect’ and ‘basic set of good bloody manners’ may have come out of my mouth. I was aware that I was now standing and also shouting – I may even have thrown a whiteboard pen at my desk in frustration. He was, it has to be said, remaining beautifully calm, and as he asked me to stop shouting – in a way that made me want to summon up the power to make his head explode – I remember thinking, I think I’ve lost this one.
Gazpacho soup leadership
I have no idea how it ended. I think he just left. I know I felt like a complete fool. I licked my wounds and considered the way forward. I can’t, hand on heart, say if I apologised to him. I should have, and that’s the sort of thing I would do, but I can’t remember.
That was seven years ago. To this day, I remember the feeling of inadequacy brought on by ‘losing it’, and I fail to see how it worked for, apparently, so many other leaders before me. I’ve been cross. I’ve sworn and shouted and berated incompetence at all levels – but I’ve never directed it towards an individual. For me, dealing with mistakes, incompetence, rudeness, misunderstandings, unprofessionalism, bad decisions and other people’s stress are dishes best served cold. And a cool Head is better for everyone. Unfortunately, my gazpacho soup style of leadership still doesn’t stop the nightmares.
The Primary Head is the moniker of a headteacher currently working in a UK primary school. Follow him at @theprimaryhead
I have one reoccurring nightmare. It is always school-based, and involves me losing control to a staggeringly impressive degree. I am normally shouting or screaming at a child who is coolly ignoring me, rendering me completely ineffective. I know why I dream this; it is all about control. I started to have these dreams when I became a deputy and they have continued into my headship. I am no dream expert, but it doesn’t take Sigmund Freud to work out their deeper meaning: as the level of my accountability has increased, so has my unconscious fear grown about failing to inspire anyone to follow me. In my dreams I am haunted by disobedient and passive pupils; in reality, I am constantly trying to keep the adults in my school united and on the straight and narrow.
Red-faced fury
When I started teaching I must have been quite shouty. I think I quickly got into a groove of being disappointed that the children weren’t ‘performing’ and then getting cross. I remember my first head, after a lesson observation, challenging me to not raise my voice for the rest of the term. I gave it a go and was genuinely surprised at how much more pleasant teaching was.
I became more reflective and planned more effectively in order to meet the children’s needs. It gradually dawned on me that if the children weren’t ‘performing’, it was most likely down to my own poor performance as a teacher. And then I became a leader. Now, working with children can have its frustrations – but working with the adults who are working with the children can be even more frustrating. I hear tales of ‘old’ deputies or heads who had tempers. Established staff members have regaled me with stories of red-faced fury being unleashed on staff by ex-senior leaders. That managerial style was never part of my own personal succession plan and would listen to these histories with wonder and astonishment, for I still try to adhere to my first head’s challenge. Well, apart from this one time…
Beautifully calm
As a deputy, I had called a meeting. As we waited for the final member of staff to arrive, I said we should probably start without him. Someone then nervously informed me that this person wasn’t coming, because he felt the meeting had been called at too short notice. I carried on, finished the meeting in about 20 minutes and everyone went home on time. The next day I asked to speak to the non-attender during assembly. I was very calm, and said that I was disappointed he had chosen not to attend a meeting the deputy had called – and also hadn’t informed me that he wasn’t going to bother turning up. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but he remained adamant that 48 hours was too short notice and that he would complain to the chair of governors that middle leaders were having too much pressure put on them. At this point, words like ‘accountability’, ‘upper pay scale’, ‘TLR’, ‘professional courtesy’, ‘respect’ and ‘basic set of good bloody manners’ may have come out of my mouth. I was aware that I was now standing and also shouting – I may even have thrown a whiteboard pen at my desk in frustration. He was, it has to be said, remaining beautifully calm, and as he asked me to stop shouting – in a way that made me want to summon up the power to make his head explode – I remember thinking, I think I’ve lost this one.
Gazpacho soup leadership
I have no idea how it ended. I think he just left. I know I felt like a complete fool. I licked my wounds and considered the way forward. I can’t, hand on heart, say if I apologised to him. I should have, and that’s the sort of thing I would do, but I can’t remember.
That was seven years ago. To this day, I remember the feeling of inadequacy brought on by ‘losing it’, and I fail to see how it worked for, apparently, so many other leaders before me. I’ve been cross. I’ve sworn and shouted and berated incompetence at all levels – but I’ve never directed it towards an individual. For me, dealing with mistakes, incompetence, rudeness, misunderstandings, unprofessionalism, bad decisions and other people’s stress are dishes best served cold. And a cool Head is better for everyone. Unfortunately, my gazpacho soup style of leadership still doesn’t stop the nightmares.
The Primary Head is the moniker of a headteacher currently working in a UK primary school. Follow him at @theprimaryhead
