As leaders, we often pride ourselves on being reflective, switched on, and in tune with the people we serve. We attend the courses, we read the books, we preach the importance of self-awareness and presence. But sometimes leadership gives you a moment so disarmingly simple and so brutally honest that it knocks the wind out of your certainty and shows you, quite clearly, what everyone else could see except you.
Mine came in the form of a desk, two doors, and one very unfortunate seating arrangement.
When I first moved into my current office four years ago, I walked in with grand visions of creating a warm, inviting, functional space. One of my two doors couldn’t be permanently closed, which was annoying, but I accepted it and tried to design an environment that would still allow me to work effectively, meet with people, and foster that sense of openness I’ve always valued. In my mind, the result looked great. Inviting, even. A space where staff could pop in, chat, decompress, brainstorm. And of course, my famous open-door policy - literal and metaphorical - was in full swing. Both doors open, nearly all the time. Unless I was in a deeply confidential meeting, I kept the room accessible.
So naturally, I thought I was accessible.
Fast forward to this year, when I was given the opportunity (and I do say opportunity quite deliberately) to undertake a full 360° review. Eighteen staff members, my Principal, my SLT colleagues, and a wide range of middle leaders all generously agreed to give honest feedback. I braced myself, ready for constructive critique and sharpened insights.
What I wasn’t ready for was the category where I scored below 50%: availability and openness.
I actually blinked at the number. Then re-read the comments. Then closed my laptop and had a small cry behind a very safely locked office door. Not because people had been cruel - quite the opposite. Their feedback was thoughtful, consistent, and stunningly clear. What hurt was the realisation that I had genuinely, wholeheartedly believed that I was approachable and present… and yet the perception among many staff was entirely different.
How could I have got something so fundamental so wrong?
I rang my mentor, equal parts distressed, confused, and determined to understand what I was clearly missing. I explained my office setup, my desk orientation, the doors, the layout. She asked me to send a quick video so she could see for herself.
Thirty seconds later, she said something so simple, so brilliant, and so painfully obvious that I felt every ounce of humility rush straight to the surface.
“You’re sitting with your back to the door.”
And suddenly it made sense. My desk was side-on, my computer facing the two open doors. Every person who walked into my office was greeted by the back of my head and the intensity of my typing. While I always said, “Yes, absolutely, come in - what can I do to help?” I said it over my shoulder. And worse still, I often kept typing, convinced that multitasking was efficient, helpful, even respected.
Wrong. Again.
What people actually saw was a Deputy with their back turned, eyes on a screen, half-listening while appearing to be “too busy” to fully turn, look up, or give undivided attention. My intention had been to work hard for my staff so they would feel supported. The perception was that I was working so hard near my staff that I wasn’t truly present to them.
Perception had completely outrun fact. And the worst part? It took someone else seeing the space for me to realise how absurdly simple the fix was.
The second I hung up the phone, I rearranged my office so that my desk faced the door. Then I wrote a little Post-it note and stuck it right where I’d see it every day. It reads: “Get up and go to them.”
A gentle reminder that presence is not a passive state; it’s an active behaviour.
Now, whenever someone walks in, I stop what I’m doing. I literally get up, step away from the screen, and sit or stand with them at the front of the office. No back turned. No half-listening. No multitasking disguised as dedication.
And here’s the thing that surprised me most: the shift hasn’t just changed how staff experience me - it’s changed how I experience leadership. I feel more connected, more grounded, and more attuned to the people who trust me with their challenges, their ideas, their frustrations, and their triumphs.
So, the vital things I learned from this that I share with you are:
- Perception is the truth people live and work with.
It doesn’t matter what we think we’re projecting; it matters what others experience. - Presence is not symbolic - it’s behavioural.
Open doors mean nothing if your back is facing the entrance. - Multitasking is the great illusion of competence.
People don’t remember how fast you typed; they remember whether you truly listened. - The environment we create speaks long before we open our mouths.
A room can unintentionally undermine your entire leadership philosophy. - Growth often hides in the sting.
The feedback that hurts the most is usually the feedback that transforms us.
I thought I had an open-door culture. I thought I was accessible. I thought intention was enough.
But leadership, in its quiet wisdom, reminded me of a powerful truth: You can’t lead people you’re not truly facing.
And so, I turned my desk around. And with it, I turned my leadership a little more in the right direction.
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