My plan wasn’t to become a teacher. In fact, I had my heart set on being a policeman. Assuming I’d get shot as soon as I started, Mum and Dad were less than encouraging; apparently I’d done enough during my teenage years to justify their lack of faith. It became evident that the police force was not my destiny when I was politely told—as a 17-year-old applicant who didn’t have a driver’s licence, couldn’t hold a firearm without shaking, who barely passed the physical exam and whose local sergeant even discouraged him from joining—to come back in a few years. Luckily, my acceptance into a secondary teaching undergraduate degree came through at roughly the same time. With Mum and Dad packing my suitcase as a not-too-subtle hint to get my backside on the road, and with no other clear options in front of me, a teaching career it was.
After finishing my degree in 1996, I commenced my career in 1997 at Mossman State High School, a medium-sized public secondary school about an hour’s drive north of Cairns in Far North Queensland, just at the edge of the Daintree Rainforest. With its semi-rural position, small-town locality and community vibe, it had a great bunch of teachers across the career spectrum. Mossman provided me with strong role models, mentors and an excellent foundation to my career. I saw what good teaching looked like and how good teachers prepared, planned, interacted, assessed, provided feedback and generally organised themselves. Mossman also provided an environment for me to try things beyond the classroom: organising camps, writing up work programs, leading large-scale sporting carnivals, and being part of professional and community groups. I absolutely loved it.
After the crucible of my first year, I was lucky enough to be given opportunities for small leadership positions that included year-level and subject co-ordinator roles. I spent three years at Mossman before moving to Brisbane to continue my career, eventually taking on leadership roles including head of department, head of middle school, head of senior school and deputy headmaster.
Over the past 10 years I’ve been a principal across two schools. I’ve experienced highs and lows. I’ve been able to work with amazing people, open new campuses, travel the world, lead exciting initiatives and implement change with a profound impact on students and colleagues. I’ve also had personal relationship breakdowns, an addiction to alcohol and the experience of weight gain, depression, anxiety and self-doubt. These afflictions may have inevitably emerged after bubbling under the surface, but the pressure of principalship certainly enabled and accelerated the process.
I could see a cycle of negativity play out on a weekly basis, yet I was incapable of stopping it. It often started with insecurity about my ability (imposter syndrome) or negative self-talk around a difficult conversation. This fed my anxiety and depression, causing me to withdraw from my personal relationships. In turn, my withdrawal led to excessive drinking and then to more weight gain and depression.
While stuck in this negative cycle, I was trying to run a school, be a rock for other staff, raise my own family, be the smiling face at assembly and continue to study. That was how I thought I could mitigate my self-doubt and insecurity. I lost count of how many times I thought of leaving the profession, or at least taking a step away from a leadership role and going back full-time to my ‘happy place’ in the classroom.
Anyway, I stayed in the role and the profession. Maybe it was maturity, more time in the seat or my own kids growing up. Maybe it was feeling more comfortable in my own skin as I approached the big 5-0. One day I decided to not wrap myself up in my job so much, and to start prioritising my health—physical and emotional. I set myself a few goals and challenges. I decided to stop being so hard on myself. I stopped drinking. I lost weight. I made time for the gym. I started trail running. I started to pursue other hobbies like creative writing. I reconnected with old friends. I nurtured my close personal relationships. I connected with nature. I do regress at times, but I get back on track quickly. I remind myself that consistency, not perfection, is my goal.
My desire now is to help other educators become better teachers and school leaders. Modern-day schools are like organisations with hundreds if not thousands of employees, all crammed onto the same patch of soil for extended periods of time. Not all of these people are rational, mature, balanced adults: they range in age from about 5 to 65. Some—the teenagers—are in the most tumultuous times of their lives. All operate in an occasionally high-risk environment that requires them to move around throughout the day and change tasks on the hour. This organisation demands compliance from many whose reluctance to be there is revealed through indifference or outright hostility. Fundamental to its existence are staff of differing opinions and competencies, but also parents who remain largely external. All of this occurs against a backdrop of social, political and economic pressures. School leadership is awash with challenges, and those charged with bringing some order to this rabble need to make it as safe and worthwhile as possible.
Each of my many and varied leadership experiences has taught me something new. Perhaps the most challenging responsibility to date has been my current job of leading a single-campus school located in a complex multicultural context, with students drawn from over 40 cultural and ethnic backgrounds. I have also led a school with multiple campuses spread across two states. I have been a deputy headmaster at an all-boys school, a head of middle school at a large co-ed independent school, and a head of department and head of sport at an all-girls school. I have taught and held leadership roles across a diverse range of schools: public, Anglican, Presbyterian and Methodist, Uniting Church, Exclusive (Plymouth) Brethren and Islamic-inspired. My experience has well and truly run the gamut, and I have acquired some hard-earned lessons along the way. Would I do it all again? You bet. I hope, however, that it wouldn’t take me until almost 50 years of age to learn how to look after myself. It is in this spirit that I now wish to share with other school leaders—current and aspiring—some practical bits of guidance that will steer them on the path to their own success and those who they look after.