Leadership is, at its core, the art of navigating human complexity. I personally walk into each day armed with policies, experience, a well-organised calendar, and a pair of shoes that could either command a room or end me on a set of stairs. What we are never quite fully prepared for, however, are the complications that arise without warning: the unexpected reaction from a parent, the terse email from a staff member, the disagreement that should have stayed a discussion but somehow mutated into something sharper.
These moments, if we let them, can take up residence in our minds long after their usefulness has expired. They set up camp, build extensions, and start subletting. The problem isn’t the complication itself; it’s how long we allow it to live rent-free in our heads.
For a long time, I was guilty of giving these moments far too much prime mental real estate. Early in my career, and if I’m being honest, right up until about a couple of years ago, I found myself wrestling with a persistent and exhausting voice of self-doubt. It whispered (occasionally shouted): “Did you manage that situation perfectly?”, “Did you get every second right?”, “Was your tone correct?”, “Did that person walk away thinking you’re incompetent?”
Leadership, at that stage of my journey, felt like one long internal performance review.
Part of this stemmed from the promotions that came earlier than expected. My career seemed to move at a pace that got ahead of my confidence; doors opened before I believed I deserved to be standing anywhere near them.
While the world around me celebrated these leaps as proof of capability, my inner monologue was running a very different script: Are you sure? Did they choose the right person? Are you genuinely ready?
So, when a parent raised a concern or a staff member disagreed with a decision, I automatically interpreted their emotional response as evidence that I must have mismanaged something.
Instead of viewing the situation as a collision of multiple valid perspectives - each shaped by context, emotion, personal stressors, and legitimate fear - I saw it only through the narrow lens of self-fault.
They were emotional? Then obviously, I must have been wrong.
They pushed back? Clearly, I’d mishandled it.
They disagreed? Time to re-examine every millisecond of the interaction in forensic detail.
They pushed back? Clearly, I’d mishandled it.
They disagreed? Time to re-examine every millisecond of the interaction in forensic detail.
It didn’t take long for this pattern to become exhausting - and intrusive. Self-doubt doesn’t politely wait for business hours. It happily follows you home, kicks off its shoes, and sprawls out across your family time.
Sunday afternoon barbeque? Not anymore. There I was running mental replays of conversations with the intensity of an Olympic coach reviewing game footage.
The irony? While I worried constantly about whether I was getting everything perfect, the people around me, the ones I was fretting about disappointing, were simply navigating their own emotional landscapes. Sometimes they were stressed, pressured, overwhelmed, tired, or scared. They weren’t responding to my competence; they were responding to their context.
It took me embarrassingly long to realise that an emotional reaction is not the same thing as an accurate critique. Not every storm you encounter is yours to absorb.
Here’s the truth I eventually had to learn the hard way.
If you let every complication or disagreement linger in your mind beyond its actual value, you are essentially paying premium rent for something that doesn’t even belong in your suburb.
Leadership requires reflection. But there’s a stark difference between reflective practice and obsessive rumination.
Reflection asks: What can I learn? How can I grow?
Rumination asks: How can I blame myself more thoroughly for this?
Rumination asks: How can I blame myself more thoroughly for this?
One fuels growth. The other fuels sleepless nights.
So, what shifted?
Time. Experience. And a conscious decision to approach the emotional landscape of others with curiosity rather than guilt.
Now, when someone reacts strongly, I pause and ask myself: What might they be carrying today? What fear or frustration is walking into this room ahead of them?
And just as importantly: Does their reaction actually reflect the quality of my leadership, or simply the depth of their emotion?
The difference is life changing. I haven’t quite got it 100% squared away. I’m human after all. But I’m well on my way.
These days, I work deliberately to keep perspective, protect headspace, and draw boundaries that honour both my professional judgement and my personal wellbeing.
Yes, complications happen daily.
Yes, leadership requires constant calibration. But no, not every disagreement deserves a long-term lease in your mind.
Leadership is difficult enough without us turning our own heads into hostile work environments.
So let the moment arrive, let it be processed, let it teach you what it needs to, and then let it leave.
No rent. No residency. No weekends stolen.
That’s the kind of leadership clarity worth walking into Monday with - heels and all.
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