Category: School improvement

A well-chaired line management meeting is calm, structured, and quietly transformative. Done well, it doesn’t just support the work – it can shape the culture. It helps people reconnect to purpose, realign with strategy, and recommit to their own professional growth. Over time, consistently well-led meetings don’t just serve individuals – they shape the organisation itself.

But when handled poorly, line management becomes one of the most wasted opportunities in any workplace – reduced to a box-ticking exercise at best, or at worst, a slow erosion of trust, morale, and momentum.

I’ve experienced both ends of the spectrum. The time I sat across from a boss who, without looking up from his laptop, continued typing an email while I waited awkwardly for the meeting to begin. On another occasion, the tone of questioning was so unusually pointed and calculated that, at the time, it felt less like a collegial dialogue and more like an exercise in scrutiny, unsettling in its intensity.” Neither exchange left me feeling seen, supported, or motivated to do better – and both made me think hard about the kind of leader I wanted to be.

In contrast, some of the most impactful line management conversations I’ve had haven’t always been with high-performing colleagues gliding from success to success, but with those who were stuck – professionally, personally, or even within the parameters of a competency process. When done well, these meetings became moments of clarity, connection, and forward movement toward steps that suddenly felt both visible and possible. But equally, great line management recognises when someone is thriving – and enables them to fly higher. It should lift, not just steady.

If we take our cue from the best thinking in leadership, coaching, and organisational development, line management meetings shouldn’t be a performance review in disguise. They should be structured opportunities to listen, support, challenge, and build capacity – for others and for ourselves. And over time, consistent conversations like these help align the behaviour of teams with the values and direction of the whole organisation.

Here’s how.

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Few concepts in school leadership provoke as much quiet scepticism as distributed leadership. For many teachers, the idea that “everyone leads” feels less like empowerment and more like exploitation — a way for senior leaders to offload initiatives without proper recognition, reward, or respect. It is seen, often correctly, as aping corporate jargon: a glossy label for asking the most ambitious and capable staff to carry extra burdens. Such mistrust is not unfounded, and any honest discussion about leadership in schools must begin by acknowledging these concerns.

Yet beneath the poor implementations and hollow slogans, there remains a valuable idea worth rescuing: the fostering of leadership attributes among teachers. Not in the service of overloading them with others’ work, but as part of helping them grow in confidence, autonomy, and influence within the school community.

So perhaps it is not distributed leadership that deserves our attention, but rather the deeper recognition that leadership — thoughtfully nurtured — is already part of what many teachers do, and could become even stronger with support.

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Leadership, especially in schools, is rarely toxic by intent. Most of us step into roles of responsibility with a deep sense of moral purpose — to improve the lives of young people, to shape culture, to build something better. Yet in the noise and haste of modern school life, even experienced leaders can fall into patterns that, over time, corrode trust, hinder initiative, and sap morale.

This article offers not a diagnosis but a mirror. It’s grounded in the school environment — where I have spent my career — but the signs explored here are not unique to education. They are recognisable across many professional domains and can be adapted by leaders in any setting seeking to build trust and lead with clarity and intent.

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Learning is a discreet endeavour. It happens invisibly, in the privacy of students’ minds, and often with little outward sign. This is the central dilemma of teaching: we are tasked with fostering a transformation we cannot directly observe. The classroom may be busy at work, the teaching captivating, the tasks engaging—but are students actually learning?

This is why lesson planning must be about more than choreography or performance. A good lesson is not one that merely looks effective, but one that is structured to maximise the likelihood that learning takes place. As I’ve argued before, good teaching is grounded in purposeful design, deliberate practice, and cognitive realism.

So how should we plan and deliver lessons to create the conditions for learning? In the last twenty years of practice, I have settled on the following central tenets as the keystones of good learning:

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