I Didn’t Want To Be The Principal That Day

Hi there. Thank you for sharing your confession. I think the most important thing in your confession is that you were very clear about what you did not mean.

You did not say:

“I hate my school.”

You did not say:

“I regret becoming a principal.”

You did not say:

“I am ready to resign.”

You said:

“I didn’t want to be the principal that day.”

Those are not automatically the same thing.

And I think school leaders sometimes scare themselves because they treat every negative thought about the role as if it must be a verdict on the entire career.

It is not.

You can love the work and still have days when you do not want to carry it.

You can care deeply about people and still have moments when you do not have space for another person’s need.

You can be capable, committed, experienced, and still sit in the car wishing nobody knew where you were for twenty-four hours.

That does not automatically mean anything is broken.

But I also would not brush it off.

The thought itself is probably less important than its frequency, intensity, and direction.

You said the next morning felt different.

That matters.

Sometimes one terrible day really is one terrible day.

Maybe you had been sleeping badly.

Maybe several demanding weeks finally caught up with you.

Maybe that particular day began with your capacity already low.

Maybe you needed recovery more than interpretation.

But I would still keep one question nearby:

Is this feeling visiting, or is it moving in?

Because those are very different situations.

A visiting thought might sound like:

“I cannot do this today.”

Then you rest.

The week changes.

Something good happens.

Your energy returns.

The work feels like yours again.

A thought that is moving in starts sounding different.

You notice it Sunday evening.

Then Monday morning.

Then Wednesday afternoon.

You start staying in your car longer.

You dread ordinary conversations.

You stop caring about things that used to matter to you.

You feel relief every time an event is cancelled.

You spend more time imagining escape than thinking about the work itself.

You begin saying:

“I don’t want this today.”

but underneath it, another sentence has started forming:

“I don’t know if I want this anymore.”

That deserves attention.

Not panic.

Attention.

There is also something else in your story I would look at carefully.

You said the hardest part was not necessarily the tasks.

It was being the place where everything landed.

That is an important distinction.

Maybe you were not tired of education.

Maybe you were tired of being the final point of responsibility.

Those are not the same thing either.

One person comes with a schedule issue.

Someone else brings a conflict.

A teacher brings emotion.

A parent brings concern.

The district brings urgency.

Everybody gets to hand you one piece.

You are the person standing there holding all the pieces afterward.

That can create a kind of exhaustion that does not always look like being physically busy.

It can look like sitting very still in a parked car and thinking:

I do not want anybody to ask me anything.

That is useful information.

I would also pay attention to the moment with the upset teacher.

You had a thought you did not like:

“I don’t have space for this right now.”

I do not think the goal is to shame yourself for having that thought.

Actually, the fact that you noticed it may be useful.

Capacity is real.

People sometimes talk about empathy as if it is an endless resource.

It is not.

Listening properly takes attention.

Holding someone else’s distress takes attention.

Making fair decisions takes attention.

Regulating your own frustration while someone else is upset takes attention.

There will be days when you can still do those things professionally while feeling internally depleted.

That does not make the care fake.

You stayed.

You listened.

You helped.

Your internal reaction simply told you something your outward behavior did not:

you were running low.

That is the part I would listen to.

Not because it means you need to leave.

Because perhaps you need to notice depletion before it reaches the “I don’t want to be principal today” stage.

What usually happens in the days before that feeling appears?

Are you working later?

Taking more home?

Sleeping less?

Dealing with more conflict than usual?

Have you had any time recently where you were not responsible for someone else?

Are there decisions you are holding that could be shared?

Are there things only you can do because they genuinely require the principal…

and things you are doing because everyone has simply gotten used to bringing them to you?

That last question can be uncomfortable.

Because sometimes the role becomes heavier not only because leadership is demanding, but because over time we collect responsibilities nobody formally assigned us.

We answer everything.

Fix everything.

Approve everything.

Absorb everything.

Then eventually we wonder why being the principal feels like being the end point for the entire building.

It may be worth looking at what really has to stop with you.

And what does not.

I would also be careful about judging yourself based on the thought you had in the car.

Thoughts are sometimes information.

They are not always instructions.

You thought about starting the engine.

You did not.

You went inside.

You handled the day.

You did not take your exhaustion out on the teacher who needed you.

You did not turn one terrible morning into an impulsive career decision.

That matters.

But so does the fact that you noticed the thought.

Perhaps the useful response is not:

“That was stupid. I was fine the next morning.”

Maybe it is:

“Something in me was asking for relief. What exactly needed relief?”

The people?

The responsibility?

The pace?

The uncertainty?

The emotional demands?

The feeling that everything ends with you?

The answer may tell you whether you need a weekend, a change in how you work, a serious conversation with yourself, or eventually a larger decision.

And this is one of those moments where I can genuinely say:

there is a book for that question.

Not for one difficult Monday.

Not because sitting in your car for two minutes means you should resign.

But because sometimes this particular thought begins appearing often enough that a school leader eventually has to ask:

Is this just exhaustion… or am I no longer sure I want the life that comes with this position?

Should I Still Be A Principal? was written for that exact space.

For school leaders who are not necessarily ready to leave.

Who may not even want to leave.

But who have started privately wondering whether what they are feeling is temporary exhaustion, dissatisfaction with the current situation, a change in what they value, or something deeper.

It is not a book designed to convince you to stay.

And it is not a book designed to make quitting sound brave.

It does not assume the principalship is the problem.

It simply gives you room to separate questions that can easily become tangled together:

Do I hate the job…

or do I hate this season?

Do I want to leave leadership…

or do I need to lead differently?

Do I miss my old life…

or am I just remembering the parts of it that felt easier?

Would another school feel different?

Would another role?

Would staying feel different if some things changed?

Or am I quietly beginning to want something else?

Those questions deserve more than a bad evening and an exhausted answer.

And they deserve more than:

“Everyone feels like this sometimes.”

Because yes, many leaders probably do.

But sometimes is doing a lot of work in that sentence.

If this happens once every few months after a brutal week, that tells you one thing.

If it is becoming your Monday morning routine, that tells you something else.

So Thomas, I would not turn that morning into a resignation letter.

But I would not erase it either.

Keep noticing.

Pay attention to what happens before the feeling.

Pay attention to how quickly it passes.

Pay attention to whether the good days still feel genuinely good.

And perhaps most importantly, give yourself permission to ask the bigger question before you are in crisis.

You do not have to wait until you are completely finished with the principalship before wondering whether you still want it.

Sometimes asking the question honestly is what helps you discover that you do.

Sometimes it reveals that something needs to change.

And sometimes…

yes…

the answer eventually changes too.

The book cannot decide that for you.

It should not.

But if the sentence:

“I didn’t want to be the principal today”

has quietly started turning into:

“I’m not sure I still want to be the principal,”

then Should I Still Be A Principal? may be worth opening.

Not because it has already decided the answer.

Because it is willing to sit with the question.