Your Facebook post caught me just after a difficult day at school. I followed the link to the website and started reading.
I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear another principal admit they didn’t have everything settled in their own head.
I’d like to share something too, if that’s okay.
Call me Janet. It isn’t my real name. I’ve been in the service for more than 2 decades and in leadership for almost 8 years.
Recently, I sat in a room and defended a decision so confidently that I think everyone believed I was completely sure.
Then I went home and questioned almost everything I’d said.
I had to make a decision involving staff and scheduling. I looked at the information, considered the options, and made the call.
Then I explained it in a meeting.
I sounded certain.
Very certain.
I answered questions. I gave reasons. I held my ground when someone disagreed.
If you had been sitting in that room, you probably would have thought:
She knows exactly what she is doing.
Then I went home.
And within an hour, I was asking myself whether I had made the wrong decision.
That is the part I have not really talked about.
Not because I think leaders should be indecisive.
But because I wonder how many of us sound absolutely sure in public and then quietly examine everything again once no one is watching.
That is where this confession starts.
I sounded very sure in the meeting.
That’s the part that bothers me.
I explained the decision. I gave the reasons. I answered the questions. I repeated myself twice because one person clearly didn’t agree.
I even said:
“I understand the concern, but this is the decision we’re moving forward with.”
Very principal.
Very firm.
Very clear.
And then I went home and thought…
what if I got it wrong?
That sentence didn’t show up until I was alone.
Of course.
Not in the meeting.
Not while everyone was looking at me.
Not while I was explaining why the decision made sense.
It waited until I got home, changed clothes, sat down, and finally had no one asking me to justify anything.
Then it started.
Maybe I should’ve waited.
Maybe I should’ve asked one more person.
Maybe I gave too much weight to the wrong information.
Maybe I was trying too hard to be decisive.
Maybe I was tired of the issue and just wanted it finished.
That last one bothered me.
Because I know I had reasons.
Real ones.
The decision wasn’t random.
But if I’m being honest, part of me was also tired of talking about it.
And sometimes wanting an issue to be over can start sounding a lot like certainty if you’re not careful.
That’s uncomfortable to admit.
I kept replaying the meeting.
The questions.
My answers.
The exact moment someone pushed back.
The way I responded.
I remember thinking during the meeting:
I need to hold the line here.
Then at home I thought:
Why was I so determined to hold it?
Was I protecting the decision?
Or protecting myself from looking unsure?
I hated that question.
Still do.
Because leaders are supposed to think things through, right?
Gather information.
Make the call.
Stand by it.
And I did all of that.
But nobody really talks about the part after.
The part where everybody else leaves the meeting and you’re still carrying all the possible versions of what could happen next.
If this goes badly, was it because of me?
If someone gets upset, was that avoidable?
If I reverse the decision now, do I look weak?
If I don’t reverse it and I’m wrong, then what?
Very peaceful thoughts for 10:30 at night.
I opened my phone twice to check if anyone had messaged about it.
Nothing.
Which should’ve been good.
Instead I started wondering if people were talking somewhere else.
Again.
My brain is very helpful.
The next morning, I still felt unsure.
But I walked into school and acted like the decision was settled.
Because technically it was.
People had already started adjusting around it.
The schedule had changed.
Instructions had been given.
People were moving.
That’s another thing.
Sometimes a decision becomes real so quickly that by the time you start doubting it, everybody else is already living inside it.
That scared me a little.
One teacher stopped me in the hallway and said:
“Ma’am, I think this will work.”
I said:
“I hope so.”
She laughed.
I didn’t.
Because that was the most honest thing I had said about it.
I hope so.
Not:
“I know.”
Not:
“I’m sure.”
I hope so.
Later that day, someone else told me they still disagreed.
Fair enough.
I listened.
Didn’t defend myself this time.
Just listened.
And for a second I wondered if I should change the decision.
Then I wondered if that was me genuinely reconsidering or just reacting to discomfort.
That is the part that gets messy.
When you are responsible for the decision, every reaction starts feeling like evidence.
Someone likes it.
Maybe I was right.
Someone hates it.
Maybe I was wrong.
Someone stays quiet.
What does that mean?
Nothing, probably.
But try telling your brain that.
I kept the decision.
In the end, it worked out.
Mostly.
Not perfectly.
Some people adjusted.
One person still didn’t like it.
Nobody died.
The school moved on.
You would think that would make me stop questioning it.
Not completely.
Because now the question changed.
Instead of:
“Was the decision right?”
It became:
“Did I make it for the right reasons?”
That’s harder.
You can check outcomes.
You can’t always check motive that cleanly.
Was I really being decisive?
Was I impatient?
Was I trying to avoid looking uncertain?
Was I thinking about what was best, or was I tired of the conversation?
Maybe all of those were true at the same time.
That’s probably the part I’m still sitting with.
I don’t regret the decision exactly.
I regret how certain I sounded when I wasn’t.
Maybe that’s normal.
Maybe leaders are expected to sound clear even while they’re still carrying doubt.
But sometimes I wish there were more room to say:
“This is the best decision I can make with what I know right now.”
Not:
“This is definitely right.”
Those are different.
I think I knew that already.
I just forgot it in the meeting.
And once the room was empty, the certainty left too.
I think that is what I am really asking about.
How certain are leaders actually supposed to sound?
Because there are decisions where I genuinely know what needs to happen.
And then there are decisions where I have enough information to choose…
but not enough information to know with absolute certainty how it will turn out.
Is it okay to let people see that?
Can a principal say:
“This is the decision, but I’m still watching how it works”?
Or does that sound like you do not believe in your own judgment?
I do not want to lead from hesitation.
But I also do not want confidence to become a performance I have to maintain even when new information should make me think again.
I’d really like to know what The Good Principal thinks.
And I’d like to hear from other school leaders too.
Have you ever sounded completely certain in a meeting…
then gone home and questioned the decision once nobody was asking you to defend it anymore?
Thank you for giving us somewhere to admit the doubt that comes after the confident sentence.
— Janet
FROM THE GOOD PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE
Janet, I think there is a very important difference between:
being decisive
and
pretending certainty.
School leaders often feel pressure to collapse those two things into one.
A decision has been made.
People are looking at you.
They want direction.
So you speak clearly.
That part is necessary.
But clarity does not require pretending that every decision comes with absolute certainty.
Sometimes the most honest leadership position is:
“Based on what we know right now, this is the direction we are taking.”
That is still a decision.
It is not weakness.
It simply acknowledges reality.
Because many school decisions are made with incomplete information.
You weigh what you know.
You consider the likely consequences.
You choose.
Then reality begins giving you new information.
That is normal.
The danger is not doubt.
The danger is when doubt becomes impossible to admit because you have tied leadership credibility to never appearing unsure.
Then you can get trapped defending a decision long after the facts have changed.
That is not strength.
That is pride wearing the clothes of consistency.
Your question:
“Was I protecting the decision, or protecting myself from looking unsure?”
is uncomfortable for a reason.
It gets very close to the real issue.
Sometimes we keep defending something because it remains the best option.
Sometimes we keep defending it because changing course feels embarrassing.
Those motives can feel identical from inside the room.
So one useful question after a difficult decision might be:
If nobody knew this was originally my decision, would I still defend it this strongly?
That can strip away some ego.
Another useful question:
What new information would genuinely make me reconsider?
That matters because without some standard, every reaction can start feeling like evidence.
One person likes the decision.
Maybe you were right.
Someone else complains.
Maybe you were wrong.
Someone is quiet.
Maybe they are upset.
Someone smiles.
Maybe they are being polite.
That is exhausting.
Feedback matters.
But not every reaction should have equal weight.
You need to know what kind of evidence actually belongs in the decision.
Did the change create the result you intended?
Did it produce an unintended problem?
Did you learn something you did not know before?
Did circumstances change?
Those are stronger reasons to reconsider than:
someone did not like it.
Disagreement is information.
It is not automatically proof.
There is also something healthy in the sentence you wished you had used:
“This is the best decision I can make with what I know right now.”
I think there is room for more of that in leadership.
It does not mean saying:
“I have no idea if this is right.”
It means refusing to pretend foresight you do not actually possess.
You can say:
“We considered the available information. This is the direction we are taking. We’ll monitor how it works and adjust if something important changes.”
That is firm.
It is also intellectually honest.
The decision stands.
The door to learning stays open.
Those two things can coexist.
There is another part of your confession worth keeping:
you eventually stopped asking only whether the outcome was right and started asking about your motive.
That is deeper reflection.
Was I tired of the issue?
Was I impatient?
Did I want to look decisive?
Those questions matter because leaders can make a technically defensible decision for mixed reasons.
Human beings are rarely operating from one perfectly pure motive.
Maybe you believed the decision was best.
And you were tired.
Maybe you wanted clarity.
And you were also uncomfortable looking uncertain.
Maybe you genuinely wanted what was best for the school.
And part of you desperately wanted the conversation to end.
All of those can be true.
The goal is not discovering some perfectly pure motive.
It is becoming honest enough to notice when the less useful motives are beginning to dominate.
That kind of reflection is hard to do in public.
The meeting is usually not the right place to say:
“Part of me thinks I’m defending this because I’m embarrassed to change my mind.”
But that thought still needs somewhere to go.
Otherwise it just keeps circling privately.
And this is one of those moments where I can genuinely say:
there is something built for that.
The Principal’s Private Pages gives school leaders somewhere to write the version of the decision that never made it into the meeting.
The reasons you gave everyone.
And the reasons you are still questioning privately.
The confidence.
The doubt.
The part you are proud of.
The part you are not sure about.
The question:
“Did I make the best decision?”
and sometimes the harder one:
“Why did I need everyone to think I was completely sure?”
The journal is not there to make you second-guess every decision.
That would be miserable.
It is there to help you separate useful doubt from endless mental circling.
You might write:
What information did I actually use?
What did I ignore?
What was I afraid would happen if I changed course?
Was I defending the school’s needs or my own image?
What would make me reconsider honestly?
What am I still trying to prove?
Sometimes putting those questions on paper makes them easier to look at because nobody is waiting for your answer.
You do not have to sound decisive.
You do not have to persuade anyone.
You do not have to defend the decision.
You can simply examine it.
That is what The Principal’s Private Pages is for.
Not to tell you whether you were right.
Just to give the uncertainty somewhere honest to sit before it turns into either stubbornness or self-doubt.
And perhaps that is the balance here.
You do not need to walk into every meeting saying:
“I’m unsure.”
People do need direction.
But you also do not need to pretend every judgment is permanent.
Sometimes mature leadership sounds like:
“This is the decision.”
And also:
“If the evidence changes, I’m willing to look again.”
Those statements do not weaken each other.
They may actually strengthen trust.
Because confidence does not have to mean:
I cannot be wrong.
Sometimes confidence means:
I can make a decision without pretending I know everything, and I can revisit it without treating reconsideration as failure.
That is a much more durable kind of leadership.
So Janet, perhaps what bothered you was not that you had doubt.
Maybe it was the difference between the private truth and the public performance.
You sounded like:
I know.
What you actually meant was:
This is the best judgment I can make right now.
Next time, maybe those two versions do not have to be so far apart.
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