There are very few things that can humble a leader quite like the flu.
Not the "I think I'm coming down with something" kind of flu. I mean the proper, body-aching, head-pounding, can't-decide-if-you're-hot-or-cold, staring-at-your-coffee-wondering-how-you-forgot-how-to-drink-it kind of flu. The kind where simply standing upright feels like an achievement worthy of a staff morning tea. Unfortunately, leadership doesn't stop just because your immune system has waved the white flag.
Whether you're a Deputy Principal trying to keep a school running, a classroom teacher trying to make it through six periods without coughing your way through explicit instruction, or a mum at home who is somehow still expected to locate the missing soccer socks, make dinner and remember library day while running a fever, life keeps moving. The emails don't stop arriving. Decisions still need to be made. Children still need us. Staff still need support. Families still have questions and leadership doesn't politely pause while you recover.
As I write this, I'm sick. Really sick. The kind of sick where every email feels like a thesis and every conversation requires more energy than it should. My instinct, as I'm sure many leaders can relate to, is to keep pushing. To keep showing up. To convince myself that if I just work a little harder, I'll somehow get through it. This week has reminded me of something I already knew but arrogantly just don’t pay heed to. Leadership isn't about proving how much you can carry. It's about building a team that can carry the load with you.
We spend so much time talking about instructional leadership, strategic planning, difficult conversations, coaching and leading change. There are endless books, podcasts and professional learning sessions dedicated to helping us become better leaders. Strangely, very few include a chapter titled What to Do When Your Brain Has Turned to Soup but Everyone Still Needs Answers. Yet these are often the moments that quietly reveal the health of your leadership. When you physically can't do everything, you discover whether you've genuinely built leadership capacity or whether you've simply become indispensable. Those are two very different things, and I'm not sure we realise which category we've fallen into until life forces us to find out.
I'll admit something. Delegation has never come naturally to me. It isn't that I don't trust people, but like many leaders, I often convince myself it's quicker if I just do it. I know I'm not alone in that thinking. It can feel easier to answer the email yourself, organise the meeting yourself, solve the problem yourself or make the decision yourself. We tell ourselves we're saving time, when in reality we're often robbing others of the opportunity to grow while quietly increasing our own workload.
Then the flu arrives and suddenly "I'll just do it myself" isn't actually an option. You have to let go and have someone else chair the meeting, or trust someone else to answer the parent email, manage the issue, solve the problem or make the decision. There isn't much choice when simply concentrating on one task feels like an Olympic event.
What has struck me most this week isn't that people have stepped up. It's how naturally they've stepped up. They've simply said, "I've got this." No fuss. No drama. No hesitation. Just genuine care and quiet competence. It has made me realise that delegation isn't about offloading work when you're overwhelmed. It's about sharing leadership. There is an enormous difference between handing work to someone because you're drowning and confidently trusting someone because you've intentionally built their capacity over time.
That realisation has stayed with me all week because it hasn't actually been about being sick… it's been about everything that happened before I got sick. It's been about the conversations in the corridor that weren't rushed. The cups of coffee. The check-ins. The laughter in the office. The moments spent listening when there wasn't an agenda. The difficult conversations handled with honesty and respect. The promises that were kept. The consistency shown every single day.
All of those moments are easy to dismiss at the time because they don't appear on a strategic plan or school improvement dashboard. Yet they are quietly doing the work that matters most. They are building trust and strengthening relationships. They are creating a culture where people know they matter and where everyone feels they are contributing to something bigger than themselves.
Trust isn't built in the crisis. The crisis simply reveals whether it was already there.
People often ask me how to build staff ownership or create teams who take initiative. They want to know how to develop buy-in and create high-performing cultures. There isn't a magic strategy, a fancy leadership framework or one professional learning session that suddenly transforms a team. People don't buy into schools. They buy into people. They buy into leaders who notice them, who genuinely care, who celebrate their successes, support them through challenges, listen to them, follow through and remain consistent. They buy into leaders who treat them as humans before employees.
You can't suddenly create trust on the day you need help. Trying to do that is like attempting to build a bridge halfway across the river. The investment has to happen long before the crisis arrives. It happens day after day, conversation after conversation, through hundreds of seemingly ordinary moments that slowly become something extraordinary. Looking back this week, I've realised those ordinary moments have probably been some of the most important leadership work I've ever done, even though they rarely felt urgent at the time.
This week has also reminded me how uncomfortable it is to be the one who needs help. Leaders become very good at being the helper. We're the problem solver. The calm one. The reliable one. The person everyone comes to when things become difficult. Needing support ourselves feels unfamiliar and, if I'm honest, a little uncomfortable. Yet there is something incredibly powerful about allowing people to look after you too. It reminds your team that you're human. It gives others permission to be human as well. Ironically, showing vulnerability often strengthens leadership far more than trying to appear invincible ever could. In saying that – I don’t think I’m ever going to feel 100% comfortable in that space.
The greatest reflection I've had while lying on the couch after work wondering whether I'll ever feel normal again is this: schools are not built by one exceptional leader. They're built by ordinary people doing extraordinary things together. They're built by the teacher who quietly covers an extra duty without complaint. They're built by the office staff member who notices you're fading and shields you from unnecessary interruptions. They're built by the colleague who sees you're struggling and simply says, "I've got this."
Those three words have stayed with me all week. When someone says them and you genuinely believe them, you realise you've built something far more valuable than efficiency.
I'm still sick. I'd much rather be writing this wrapped in a blanket than answering another email while surviving on cold and flu tablets, cups of tea and wishful thinking. Strangely enough, I'm also incredibly grateful for what this week has reminded me. Leadership isn't measured by how indispensable you become. It's measured by what happens when you can't be everything to everyone. Sometimes it just takes being completely flattened to remember it.
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