Reflections of an Educational Leader: The Power of Stillness in Leadership

This morning, in the biting cold of Hatfield Forest, my wife Amy Nichols led me towards something I hadn’t realised I needed...

Zero degrees...

The lake frozen at its edges...

The world around us suspended in a crisp, white stasis...

A setting so still, yet alive with the quiet hum of nature—birdsong threading through the skeletal trees, the frost-laden air sharp in my lungs. We were there for a breathwork session, an intentional pause in the otherwise relentless rhythm of life.

I have always likened education to an ocean—a constant, moving force that leaders ride like surfers. Some days, you catch the perfect wave, balancing with ease, propelled by momentum. Other times, you’re caught in the swell, tumbling beneath its weight, struggling to find the surface. This past week, I took a hit. One of those moments where, despite all experience and resilience, I found myself knocked off the board. Two, maybe three days spent swimming against the tide, trying to reach the shore. It had been a while since work had left me feeling this way, but the feeling was familiar.

Fleeting as it was, by Friday, I was back on the board. But that moment of struggle reminded me of something important—self-compassion is not just a luxury, it is a necessity. It is not about indulgence but survival.

A simple act helped bring me back. Devon-Louise Oakley-Hogg , ever the voice of reason, reminded me to take ten minutes for myself during the school day. Ten minutes. That’s all. But those ten minutes were enough to realign, to anchor myself, to stand up on the board again.

Then, today—this forest bathing experience. Breathwork. The sheer power of something as simple as inhaling and exhaling with intention. Sitting by the lake, focusing on nothing but the rhythm of my own breath, I found myself slipping into a near-trance. A state so immersive, so detached from the usual noise of my thoughts, it was almost hallucinatory—without the chemical input. Just air. Just breath.

I have spent years advocating for the well-being of others. Encouraging staff to find balance, reminding students to reflect, leading conversations about mindfulness in education. And yet, it is so easy to forget that I, too, need to stop. To breathe. To reset.

This morning was a reminder that balance is not found in pushing forward relentlessly, nor in muscling through exhaustion. It is found in the moments we pause, recalibrate, and grant ourselves permission to be still.

So, to my fellow educational leaders—to those who feel the weight of their responsibilities, who ride the waves of this profession with determination—know this: It is okay to stop. It is okay to breathe. And sometimes, it is in those very moments of stillness that we find the clarity and strength to keep going.

I, for one, will be seeking out more of these moments. Not as a reaction to burnout, but as a deliberate act of self-preservation. As an essential part of leading well.

Because the ocean will always move. The waves will always come. The question is—will we give ourselves the space to breathe between them?