There’s a quiet truth about leadership that often goes unspoken: while headteachers spend their days looking after everyone else, they rarely talk about whether anyone is looking after them.
The headteacher’s role is fundamentally about care — for children, for staff, for families, for the community. You notice who’s tired. You check in on the teacher who looks stressed. You give time to a colleague who’s overwhelmed. You read the mood of the school and respond, constantly balancing competing emotional needs.
But who looks after the head?
It’s an uncomfortable question, isn’t it? Because leaders are supposed to be self-sufficient. We’re the ones who are expected to be calm, resilient, available, endlessly supportive. We are, as the cliché goes, “always fine.”
Except, of course, we’re not.
A simple story about Hobnobs and human limits
Let me tell you a small but telling story.
It started innocently enough — a pre-school dash to the supermarket for lunch. As I walked past the biscuit aisle, there they were: chocolate Hobnobs, on offer, almost calling my name.
And I am weak. I picked them up without hesitation, justifying it as a treat for later. No harm in that, surely.
Except by the time I got into school, my day had already started to unravel. None of the tasks that I was hoping to achieve had even been looked at, I had been faced with a number of situations to deal with. All of them were urgent.
By 10:30am, I finally made a coffee, and sat down to face the biscuits. I sat down, ate the first one, then the second, then the third. Before I knew it, I’d eaten more than half the packet, mindlessly but gratefully, seeking a small comfort in the midst of chaos.
At that exact moment, my deputy walked in.
Without judgement, without a lecture, without fuss, she sat down beside me, quietly observed the scene… and then gently reached over and took the biscuits from me.
"I’m trying to protect you from yourself," she said with a smile, carefully moving the remaining biscuits just out of reach.
And in that simple act — kind, funny, and rooted in genuine care — she reminded me of something important: leaders need looking after too.
Leadership, trust, and permission
That moment was about far more than biscuits.
It was about trust.
My deputy could step into that space — gently, compassionately, without fear or awkwardness — because we have a relationship built on mutual respect and honesty. She knew I would not snap or bristle. She knew I would understand the gesture for what it was: care, not criticism.
But it was also about permission.
Permission is key here. As headteachers, we are so often conditioned to present a composed front, to appear endlessly capable. The myth of leadership strength suggests we shouldn’t need looking after. We are the carers. We are the protectors.
Yet that stance can isolate us. It can create distance — even from those who would most willingly support us — because we rarely let anyone see us wobble.
In that simple scene — biscuits, coffee, exhaustion, and a deputy’s quiet intervention — there was a beautiful reversal. I was cared for. And not because I asked explicitly, but because I had created a culture in which people felt they had the permission to look after me.
Do you give your staff that permission?
Do they know that while you’re looking out for them, they’re allowed to return the favour?
Creating a culture where care flows both ways
In most schools, staff instinctively know that headteachers look after them.
You ask about their wellbeing.
You check in when they seem off-form.
You protect them from unreasonable demands where you can.
You absorb a huge amount of emotional energy from others.
But how many headteachers actively communicate — explicitly or implicitly — that they too are human, and that it’s okay for staff to return that care?
This is not about professional boundaries disappearing, or expecting staff to take on your burdens. It’s about creating a climate where trust is mutual. Where humour, kindness and honesty are part of leadership culture.
When staff feel secure enough to say gently, “Why don’t you go home on time today?” or “You seem tired — can I help?”, that’s a powerful sign of a healthy environment.
Why heads often struggle with this idea
Let’s name it honestly: many headteachers are terrible at accepting help.
We pride ourselves on resilience. We’re used to being the one everyone else relies on. We’re trained (and perhaps even hardwired) to serve, to notice, to care.
And there’s a little voice — fed by leadership culture, performance pressure, inspection frameworks — that whispers: “You mustn’t show vulnerability. You mustn’t let them see you tired. You must be fine.”
But here’s the paradox: by insisting on this self-contained version of leadership, we sometimes undermine the very culture we want to foster.
If we want schools where staff feel able to talk about wellbeing, we must be willing to model what it looks like to accept care too.
Care as culture-building
Moments like the Hobnob incident are far from trivial.
They build and reinforce culture.
That quiet act of kindness from my deputy was not just a one-off. It was an example of a wider culture we’ve worked hard to build: a culture where we look after one another, no matter what our role or title.
In this culture:
It’s okay to say, “I’m having a hard day.”
It’s okay to laugh at yourself.
It’s okay to gently challenge a colleague who’s clearly not taking care of themselves.
And crucially, it’s okay for the headteacher to be part of this — not apart from it.
Vulnerability as strength
For many headteachers, admitting you’re tired or overwhelmed can feel like failure.
But in reality, this kind of honesty is leadership.
It says to staff: “We’re human. We care for each other. We’re in this together.”
It models something far healthier than stoic self-sufficiency — it models a community where we take responsibility for one another’s wellbeing.
So next time you feel yourself reaching for that extra Hobnob (literally or metaphorically), ask yourself:
Have I allowed my staff to look after me too?
Do they feel able to say gently, “I’m protecting you from yourself”?
Have I built a culture where that’s not just possible, but welcome?
An invitation to fellow heads
If you’re reading this and recognising that you rarely give permission for others to look after you, let me gently challenge you.
When was the last time you admitted you were tired?
When was the last time you left on time — and told your team you were doing so?
When was the last time you modelled self-care, not just for yourself but to show your staff that it’s okay?
Because your wellbeing isn’t a separate issue from school culture — it’s part of it.
The culture you build around yourself — of openness, kindness, and mutual care — directly shapes the culture of your school.
In the end, it’s not really about biscuits
That morning with the Hobnobs was just a snapshot of something deeper: a relationship of trust, care, and shared humanity.
And it’s these relationships — not policies, not plans, not performance data — that sustain us through the complexity and emotional load of school leadership.
So to my deputy that day: thank you for protecting me from myself.
And to all school leaders reading this:
Who protects you from yourself?
Do you give them permission?
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