Connection is the Work

There are parts of educational leadership that never show up in preparation programs. No syllabus. No case study. No neat framework. They live in the quiet moments, the hallway pauses, the unscheduled crises, and the emotional weight you carry home long after the building is empty.

The last couple of weeks have been heavy. Not the “busy” heavy that we like to romanticize in leadership. The real kind. Last week we were notified that a parent in our community was shot and killed. An incident like this can shake a school community, but just a few days later we lost a student to a tragic accident. These are the moments when leadership stops being theoretical and becomes deeply human.

Supporting students and staff through tragedy while also carefully crafting communication that honors families, protects dignity, and provides clarity is a constant balancing act. It requires professionalism, empathy, compassion, flexibility, and mental health all at once, all the time. None of it clean.

As a leadership team, my TOSA and I balance each other in ways that matter most when things fall apart. My strengths live in logistics, systems, the big picture, and innovative restructuring. I write the communications. I connect with district leadership when needed. I think through process, next steps, and how to hold the building together when emotions are running high. I show up where I can and support who I can, often through structure and clarity.

One of her greatest strengths is connection. Deep, human, relational connection. She is the emotional anchor of our building. The person students and staff instinctively go to when they are hurting. She listens. She holds space (and snacks). She absorbs stories that are heavy and raw and unfinished. She carries a weight most people never see.

Knowing that makes weeks like these feel even heavier. The emotional labor she carries is immense.

And here’s the irony I didn’t expect when I became a principal. I am the one who tends to get choked up in staff meetings. I am more process-oriented than emotional coach, yet when conversations turn tender, my voice catches. My eyes well. In those moments, I rely on her to power through the hard conversations with steadiness while I pull myself back together. Leadership is humbling like that.

Yesterday brought all of this into sharp focus.

She was out for the morning. Our staff and students were still mourning from the tragedies. The normal chaos of middle school kept swirling because, of course, it does. I had just said goodbye to a visiting counselor who had been supporting a grieving teacher when an eighth grade girl rushed into the office. She walked straight past my door and down the hall toward Melissa’s office.

I followed her instinctively for two reasons. No digital pass. And to let her know that Ms. France wasn’t there.

What I saw stopped me cold.

She was standing in front of Melissa’s door, staring at the out-of-office sign. Tears streaming down her face. No words. Just standing there, hoping.

I gently told her that Ms. France was out for the morning but would be back. I asked if she wanted to sit in my office and wait. She nodded. She followed me in, chose a chair, and sat quietly, crying.

Melissa was due back in about an hour. I sent her a text letting her know who was waiting and reassured the student that I had told her she was needed today.

This is connection.

That same morning, an eighth grade boy approached me with a question that crushed me. He asked if the student who had passed away was really dead. His mom had told him the night before. I had sent out a community announcement about the loss. The morning we found out, our grade-level team had spoken with her homeroom classmates and the students we knew were closest to her. But we missed him.

He was visibly shaken. All I could think was, how did we miss him? I asked if he was okay and let him know that if he needed a break, he could come to the office. He nodded and walked down the hallway.

Later that day, he found Melissa. He shared his sadness, his confusion. Another connection. Another student who knew exactly where to go when his world tilted.

All of the support she gives to students, staff, and our community comes at a cost. It requires a constant giving of self. It is heavy work.

The role I play as principal drains me daily. The decisions. The accountability. The weight of responsibility. The constant forward motion even when your heart wants to stop. And yet, watching her carry what she carries, I can only imagine the load she bears.

This is the work that doesn’t get taught in leadership programs. The work that drains your soul and somehow, also fills it. In the middle of the grief and the exhaustion, there is clarity. Students know where they are safe. Adults know they are seen. Connection exists, even in heartbreak.

That matters more than any leadership framework ever could.