Surrounded, yet unseen
As leaders - especially in ECE, but I think in any profession - you often hear the phrase: “Leadership is a lonely place.”
I hear it often as I visit settings and leaders across the motu. It’s not something we can fix quickly. It’s not something we can dismiss and simply push through. It’s a real feeling. And while it’s not constant, there are moments where that loneliness feels huge. Other times, it doesn’t.
I remember as a teenager thinking about how you can feel more alone in a group of people than you do sitting quietly on a beach by yourself. I think many of us will understand that feeling - being surrounded, yet unseen.
And I think that’s at the heart of it.
Not simply being alone…but feeling unseen.
Over the years, one whakataukī has grounded my understanding of leadership:
Ehara taku toa i te toa takitahi, engari he toa takitini.
My strength is not that of an individual, but that of the collective.
For much of my leadership journey, I have drawn on this whakataukī as a reminder of the collective nature of leadership in early childhood education. It has shaped the way I view collaboration, relationships, and shared wisdom. It has reminded me that none of us lead alone.
But recently, I have found myself reflecting on this whakataukī in a different way.
Sometimes our favourite whakataukī become mirrors.
They keep revealing new layers depending on where we are standing in our own haerenga.
Recently, I’ve been navigating my own uncertainty - thinking about the future of Ministry funded SELO, what that means for the mahi we do through Educating Hearts and Minds, and the work we’ve been privileged to do alongside leaders and kaiako across Aotearoa.
The work with infants and toddlers kaiako in Auckland for example or the leadership journeys across the motu that we travelled with ECE leaders experienced and new. Work that we absolutely love.
And in the middle of that uncertainty, I found myself reflecting on leadership… and how even when you are co-leading, or surrounded by others, if you are holding just that little bit more, it can feel like nobody sees you.
And perhaps this is where I’ve started questioning whether loneliness is even the right word.
Because when I speak with leaders, some describe leadership as lonely, while others say it is not loneliness at all. What many describe instead is the complexity of leadership.
The constant holding of multiple moving parts all at once.
In ECE especially, leadership requires an ongoing responsiveness - to mokopuna, kaiako, whānau, regulations, staffing, health and safety, professional relationships, visiting specialists, tradespeople, Ministry expectations, ERO reviewers and the countless unexpected moments that arise within a single day.
It is the awareness that all of these things are moving simultaneously, and the responsibility of needing to know where they may land.
Often, much of that complexity sits quietly in the background, unseen by others.
Not because others do not care but because they are not holding the same layer of responsibility in that moment.
Perhaps that is what can sometimes feel lonely.
Not isolation.
Not disconnection.
But the experience of being the one carrying awareness of the wider picture.
And yet, even as I reflect on this, I keep returning to the whakataukī:
Ehara taku toa i te toa takitahi, engari he toa takitini.
Because maybe the reminder is not simply that leadership should be collective, but that complexity was never meant to be carried entirely alone.
Because we do not arrive at leadership alone.
We arrive there through the people who have walked beside us.
The mentors who challenged us.
The colleagues who carried things with us.
The whānau who grounded us.
The kaiako who trusted us.
The mokopuna who shaped us. In ECE especially, leadership is not about followers. It is about people walking alongside one another every day. And yet, even within that collectiveness, leaders can still feel unseen.
In our own lives, some of us have whānau who consistently acknowledge us - who notice, who name what they see. I know I do that with my own sons. When I see something, I say it. I name it. I acknowledge the amazing dads they have grown into, I acknowledge the decisions they make and their commitment to their tamariki.
But in leadership, I think people often do see… they just don’t always say it. And sometimes, it is that silence that contributes to the heaviness leaders feel.
So I wanted to reach out and say this:
From what I’ve experienced, from what I’ve seen, from the many conversations I’ve had - this feeling is not uncommon.
Many leaders - amazing, capable, deeply committed leaders - carry this complexity every day.
Even those with strong networks.
Even those doing incredible mahi.
And while that doesn’t make the weight any lighter, I think there is something important in how we navigate these feelings.
Brené Brown talks about true belonging not being about fitting in, but about being seen and accepted for who we truly are. I wonder if part of our wayfinding as leaders is to intentionally seek out and hold close the people and spaces where that kind of belonging exists.
The friends who give as well as receive - where energy is restored, not depleted.
The whānau who see you who acknowledge the aroha, the care, and the presence you bring to your relationships.
The people who name what they see.
Because maybe leadership will always hold moments of complexity that feel heavy.
But perhaps the whakataukī reminds us that we were never meant to carry it alone.
Part of our responsibility to ourselves is to find, nurture, and hold onto the relationships that fill our cups.
To choose connection.
To choose belonging.
And to remember:
Perhaps leadership is not truly about loneliness at all.
Perhaps it is about the complexity of holding so much, while quietly wondering if anyone else can see what you are carrying.
Because leadership itself is not lonely.
To lead is to be alongside others.
But leadership is complex and sometimes, within that complexity, we can find ourselves surrounded… yet unseen.