For many years, we’ve been inundated with articles, books, podcasts, and blog posts espousing the importance of self-care. As the increasing rate of unexpected head turnover remains a conversation point, the advice from other heads has ranged from survival to work-life balance, from drawing clear boundaries to embracing the volatility.
The metaphors abound: We’re careening over a precipice or steering top speed out of the curve; we’re spiraling up or spiraling down; we’re juggling, treading water, or carving marble. The image is less important than the advice that follows. They say to keep an elevated gaze, take care of yourself, read the tea leaves, hang on for now, use the buddy system, trust the process, know that you’re not alone!
It was in this environment of “don’t sweat the small stuff but know the fine print on your contract,” entering my third year as head of school, that I became pregnant and had a baby.
Preparing for Leave
In the mountain of wisdom shared among heads of school, I was never successful in finding the official line on navigating pregnancy and childbirth. Headship, perhaps particularly for women, involves a careful interplay between a person’s public and private persona. So much of ourselves is outward facing, often our families included. But I was hell-bent on keeping my pregnancy to myself until absolutely necessary. I wanted to limit anxiety about my impending absence among the board, parents, and faculty members.
But despite my best efforts, the news got out quickly that I was pregnant. When a fellow head of school called to congratulate me, I responded in a shocked whisper that I hadn’t even told my own mother yet. He offered to connect me with an old colleague of his who had had a baby while she was head 20 years ago. I thanked him profusely, and one afternoon in the parking lot of my doctor’s office, I called her. “Draw clear boundaries,” she told me. “Don’t bring your baby to work, outsource, offload, distribute, and rest.”
Embarking on the Journey
In late June, against the backdrop of Shakespearean thunderstorms, aerial flooding, and power outages, my son arrived three weeks early. The actual birth was a quiet, efficient affair.
A couple of weeks later, while my older daughter was at summer camp, I went into work, equipped with a newborn and a diaper bag. I had planned to put things in “away mode” and begin the nebulous blend of leave and work-from-home that I had concocted with my team. Instead, I found myself staying at work for most of the day. My baby was lovingly passed around, and he snoozed in the arms of my colleagues while we talked through the work at hand.
Over the next couple of weeks, I kept returning, completely eschewing the conventional wisdom. My son came with me to work, I stayed deeply connected to various summer projects, even launching a few new initiatives. My leadership team was functioning at the highest level; we joked that nothing kept the temperature down in a debate like a baby in the middle of the boardroom table.
When the school year began, my son went to daycare during the day, but I would wear him in a carrier at community events in the evening and on weekends. I drew no boundaries, and I blurred all the lines. I did not outsource or offload.
Merging My Roles
I’m keenly aware of the tightrope of perception women in leadership must take on when it concerns mothering. If being perceived as maternal undercuts one’s authority, or if youthfulness is not desirable in a job that favors experience—I’m not sure what message it sends when you routinely attend 5:30 p.m. finance meetings with a baby in your arms and a 5-year-old dressed as a Ninja Turtle in the background of your Zoom square. And yet, I unabashedly comingled my roles as parent and head of school this past school year. It was not out of survivalist necessity, nor as some LinkedIn-inspired act of work-life integration, but rather because I love parenting, and I love my job. I’m proud of both, willing to be exhausted by both, and able to see the long-term trajectory of both deep within my soul.
The era of self-care has called for the careful drawing of boundaries, the bean counting of what is and is not on your plate, the compartmentalizing of the personal and the professional, and the carving of time for moments of relaxation or recovery. And while parenting is an exhausting role with no relief in sight, those fortunate enough to raise children often choose fully immersive child rearing over the touted advice of self-care.
They are staying up late and getting up early, building summer camp spreadsheets, sewing Halloween costumes, cutting SunButter sandwiches into animal footprints, reading books about toddler tantrums and teenage anxiety, and pushing themselves to be better parents so their children can be better humans. And they count these as blessings every day, even when their children are not grateful or even a little bit kind. I have had to work hard at my parenting, and not all parts of it have come naturally or joyfully.
So, this year, as parenting and headship merged, I couldn’t help but see the parallels. The amazing individuals on my leadership team, the ones who held my newborn baby while passionately arguing the value of program shifts or deliberating on a new donor tracking system, are not in their roles by accident. I nurtured that group, set the culture of work and camaraderie, held the standard high, and cared for each of them personally and deeply.
Finding Alignment
In the muddiest of waters, as I navigated tough parent conversations or tricky relationships with trustees, I found clarity through honest to goodness purpose. I am all in for my school, its mission and our vision, and the people who dedicate themselves to its work. And I’m willing to put in long hours, to say hard things, hold tough lines, and learn humbling lessons about myself because I really truly believe in what’s coming next.
I don’t need to compartmentalize, set boundaries, or practice self-care because I am so aligned with my work that both my appetite and my tolerance are sky high. I can push through hard moments without falling apart. Just as in parenting, so too in headship.
My journey this past year has led me to believe that in our pursuit of self-care, perhaps we need to look upriver. Rather than finding ourselves in a job that chips away at our energy, and then searching for ways to replenish it, maybe we should be focusing on finding a job that doesn’t do that in the first place. Alignment matters. I am acutely aware of the fact that I would not have been as successful or happy or even logistically able to pull off what I did had I not been totally aligned with the work of my school. It was this school in this market with this mission for this head.
At first take, I recognize that the notion of “seeking alignment” might sound like musings from a lucky outlier. But I think there is something to shifting the way we talk about taking care of ourselves. I think we should be thinking about a more durable, sustainable kind of care. Something with a higher integrity. Finding a match that really does feel like family. To be clear, make no mistake: I am tired all the time. But I don’t buy into the loathsome narrative. I do not resent my fatigue or wish it away. I see it as a natural output of my care.
Last year, when I had every right to pull back, trade off, and reserve energy, and I did the opposite. And it was lovely. My son revealed to me an important truth. Just as I had room in my heart for another child, I had room on my plate for another journey. I did not need to choose or replace.
My hope is that more of us can stop building boundaries, stop practicing the art of saying no, stop honing self-preservation techniques, and instead strive for alignment with schools that make those things unnecessary.