There is a moment, often inconvenient, often unwelcome, when your body steps in and says what your mind has refused to hear: enough.
I want to be very clear from the outset: I have not experienced burnout. But I have, twice in my leadership journey, reached what I now believe is the checkpoint just before it, the moment where you realise you are standing far too close to the precipice. The work is still being done. The standards are still high. You are still showing up with energy, commitment, and professionalism. But the margin is gone. And that is the moment that matters most.
Twice now, I have reached that point. Not because I lacked capacity, commitment, or care, but because I had pushed myself beyond the point where sustainability and effectiveness intersect. As leaders, we often pride ourselves on endurance. We become highly skilled at managing the constant movement: from classroom to meeting, from rehearsal to the sidelines of children’s sport, from strategic planning to student wellbeing matters, from drafting communications to designing assemblies, writing speeches, leading major events, and then returning home to the equally important roles of parent, partner, and organiser of life’s daily logistics.
I was doing all of it. And on the surface, I was doing it well.
But beneath that capability was a pattern: never stopping. Not for five minutes. Not for a moment that was simply for me.
I have always been a “go-getter” - and that is not a particularly well-kept secret. Across multiple executive assessments over the years, the same qualities consistently emerge: Activator, Achiever, Responsibility, Adaptability. They are strengths I value deeply. They enable momentum, accountability, responsiveness, and progress. Colleagues have affectionately joked, “Andrea, you’re the human Energiser Bunny, you just keep going and going and going.” And they are right. I do.
For the most part, I can function with what feels like a million plates spinning in the air at once. In fact, I thrive in it. Until I don’t.
Because what I have learned, twice now ,is that when you ignore the quieter signals, your body finds louder ways to communicate. For me, those moments came not as gentle nudges, but as undeniable interruptions: significant illness in the form of three back to back ear and chest infections, and, at another time, severe physical symptoms that quite literally showed up on my face. Visible. Unavoidable. Impossible to manage behind professionalism or pace. The kind of wake-up call that requires you to stop, to seek medical advice, and to confront the reality that you have been running beyond your limits. It is a confronting lesson. Particularly for leaders who are driven, committed, and deeply invested in the people and communities they serve…but it is also an essential one.
Because leadership is not just about what we can sustain in the short term, it is about what we can sustain well over time. And the truth is, there is nothing effective, strategic, or admirable about running ourselves into the ground in the name of service. When we do that, we are not modelling excellence; we are modelling imbalance.
What these experiences have taught me is that self-care is not an indulgence. It is not optional. It is a leadership responsibility.
And importantly, it is not about stepping away from the work or lowering expectations. It is about being intentional and purposeful in how we sustain ourselves within the work.
For me, this has meant designing small, deliberate moments of pause into each day, moments that do not require me to drop balls or over-delegate, but that ensure I am not operating in a constant state of output. It might be a short walk between meetings without a phone in hand. It might be five uninterrupted minutes of stillness before the day begins. It might be choosing, consciously, to close the laptop at a set time and be fully present elsewhere.
These are not grand gestures. But they are powerful.
Because they represent a shift in mindset: from believing that relentless motion is the marker of effectiveness, to understanding that sustainable leadership requires rhythm, periods of high energy, balanced with moments of restoration.
As leaders, we speak often about knowing our people, about recognising when a colleague or a student needs support, encouragement, or space. The challenge is that we do not always extend that same attentiveness to ourselves.
So the question becomes: are we listening? Are we noticing the early signs, the fatigue, the tension, the subtle indicators that we are stretching too far? Or are we waiting until our bodies make the decision for us?
If there is one reflection I would offer this week, it is this: the most effective leaders are not those who can go the longest without stopping. They are those who understand when to pause, how to recalibrate, and how to return with clarity, energy, and purpose.
Your body will always tell you what you need.
The real leadership work lies in choosing to listen before it has to shout.
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