The other day, I asked my wife a couple questions that felt both simple and risky: How do we keep getting to know each other as we change? How do we stay self-aware enough to share what we are learning about ourselves along the way?
When you live with someone for more than a decade, you start to realize that a relationship isn’t just shaped by love but by seasons. There are years when survival takes over, when raising kids and managing life leaves little space to reflect on who you are, either individually or together. You adapt. You keep moving. You rely on what you already know because it feels easier than slowing down to reassess.
As our kids become more independent and our lives begin to shift again, that constant motion has slowed just enough to make reflection possible. I realized how easy it is to confuse familiarity with understanding and how much intention it takes to remain curious about yourself and the person you share your life with.
In this biweekly column, principals and other authorities on school leadership—including researchers, education professors, district administrators, and assistant principals—offer timely and timeless advice for their peers.
A decade is a long time to grow, evolve, and quietly renegotiate a life together. And I realized that if we hadn’t considered those questions, we might have continued moving forward on assumptions rather than awareness, loving each other well but not fully naming who we were becoming.
Schools, like marriages, are built on relationships over time. Leaders do not simply manage faculty, staff, and communities. They enter into long-term professional relationships shaped by trust, compromise, communication, and growth. And just like in any long-term relationship, change is inevitable.
Early in leadership, we often make silent compromises. We tolerate behaviors, structures, or practices because we are new, eager to build trust, or unsure of our impact. We focus on survival, acceptance, and learning the culture. Over time, however, our perspective shifts. Experience sharpens our values. The role changes us. The weight of responsibility deepens our clarity.
Things that once felt manageable may start to feel misaligned. What we once ignored begins to bother us not because others changed but because we did.
Yet, too often, leaders fail to name this change, both to themselves and to those they lead.
There is a quiet myth in education that longevity equals self-awareness. That if you have been a principal, superintendent, or instructional leader long enough, you must know yourself well.
But time alone does not create reflection. In fact, the longer we stay in a role, the easier it becomes to stop asking hard questions. We begin to rely on reputation, familiarity, and feeling comfortable. We assume others know how we operate. We mistake consistency for clarity.
The reality is this: The leader you were five, 10, or 15 years ago is not the leader you are today.
Your tolerance has changed. Your priorities have shifted. Your understanding of equity, instruction, adult behavior, and school culture has evolved. What once felt acceptable may now feel like a barrier to the school you are trying to create.
And when leaders do not acknowledge this internal shift, frustration often follows, both for the leader and for the people they serve. This internal reflection is not about nostalgia. It is about taking inventory.
Leaders should ask themselves:
- What mattered deeply to me early in my career that no longer does?
- What am I less willing to compromise on now?
- What behaviors or practices frustrate me today that I once tolerated?
- Have my expectations of staff changed, and have I communicated that clearly?
Without asking these questions, leaders risk holding others accountable to expectations they have never articulated. They risk reacting emotionally rather than responding intentionally. They risk believing the problem is resistance when it may actually be misalignment.
Just as in personal relationships, unspoken changes surface as tension.
One of the hardest parts of growth is naming it out loud. In leadership, this means having the courage to say: “I see things differently from what I used to. My expectations have evolved. What was once acceptable no longer aligns with who I am as a leader or what our school needs.”
This kind of honesty can feel risky. Leaders worry it will create instability or expose uncertainty. In reality, clarity builds trust. Faculty and staff do not need leaders who are static. They need leaders who are self-aware. They need to understand not just what is expected but why expectations may have changed. When leaders fail to communicate their evolution, people fill in the gaps themselves, often inaccurately.
What struck me most about the conversation with my wife was not just her response. It was the realization that the question itself gave us permission to grow. Permission to be vulnerable. Permission to admit we may be operating on outdated assumptions.
In schools, this means asking your staff questions like:
- How has our work together changed over time?
- What do you need from me now that you did not before?
- What do you think I have grown in as a leader, and where do I still need to grow?
These questions can strengthen your leadership.
Just as strong relationships depend on ongoing dialogue, strong leadership depends on continuous reflection and communication.
Growth does not announce itself; change does not come with a memo.
If we never ask the questions, of ourselves, of those we work with, and of those we live with, we may never realize how much we’ve changed.
Leadership, like a marriage, is too important to muddle through on autopilot.
