Over the past nine months, I’ve had the distinct privilege of spending meaningful time with hundreds of system leaders across the country. Not in fleeting, surface-level exchanges. Not in rushed hallway chats between conference sessions. But in real conversation. In quiet conference rooms, over shared meals, during long walks between school visits—I’ve had the luxury of listening deeply.
These moments have offered something rare: space for leaders to speak candidly about what it feels like to do this work right now. I’ve listened to superintendents, assistant superintendents, and other central office leaders from urban, rural, and suburban districts; from expansive regions and small towns; from Connecticut, Massachusetts, Michigan, Wisconsin, Rhode Island, Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey, and beyond.
The specifics differ, of course. But striking patterns have emerged.
They are worried.
Almost every leader I’ve spoken with has voiced concern about the elevated politics that have come to dominate our public discourse. They describe a public square consumed by ideological battles and performative outrage—disputes that too often engulf our schools in distraction and fear. Topics once considered professional and instructional—like how to teach history, what books are appropriate, and how to support all learners—are now politicized flashpoints. Leaders are navigating volatile terrain, constantly gauging the political winds, anticipating blowback, and trying to protect their educators and students in the process.
They are exhausted by politics—and pulled from their purpose.
Many spoke about how much of their time, energy, and mental bandwidth is spent managing political dynamics, rather than leading instructional improvement. They didn’t enter this work to become public relations professionals or political operatives. They came to lead learning, to build cultures of belonging, to elevate outcomes for students. And while they understand the public nature of their role, the constant need to manage optics, soothe frayed nerves, and navigate misinformation takes a toll. One leader put it plainly: “I miss being in classrooms. I miss the work.”
Yet, remarkably, they still believe.
Despite the pressure, despite the fatigue, despite the constraints, these leaders hold fast to a vision of what public education can be. They still see schools as sacred places—where young people develop not just skills, but a sense of self. They believe in education as a public good, a shared investment in a more just and vibrant future. They want our systems to nurture critical thinkers, informed citizens, and compassionate neighbors. They want our schools to be places of healing, especially for those who have been historically marginalized or harmed.
And they are lonely.
Again and again, I’ve heard leaders name the solitude of their role. Not the kind of solitude that comes from being alone in a room—but the kind that comes from carrying something few others understand. The external-facing politics. The moral weight of the work. The impossible trade-offs. The budget that requires laying off staff. The policy decision that pleases no one. The realization that someone will always feel disappointed, unheard, or let down. Even those with strong teams and supportive boards confess: there are very few places they can be fully honest, fully themselves.
So, where do we go from here?
If you are a system leader reading this, let me offer a simple suggestion: find your people.
Whether it’s a professional network, a community of practice, a leadership cohort, a book club, a running partner, or a Thursday night bowling league—find spaces where you don’t have to be “on.” Places where you can speak without filtering, ask without fear, laugh without pretense—spaces where you are seen not as a position, but as a person.
Because while the work is heavy, you don’t have to carry it alone.
And because listening, when done well, is not just a leadership move. It’s a gift—one we owe to each other.
In Partnership,
Richard Lemons
Executive Director
Partners for Educational Leadership
rlemons@partnersforel.org
Twitter: Richard_Lemons
