I’ve been thinking a lot about my late grandmother-in-law. She was a master bonsai artist. Her garden was a sanctuary of delicate trees—each one shaped over years with steady hands and quiet devotion. I remember watching her prune with care: never rushing, never cutting too deep.

She once told me, “You have to understand the tree before you shape it. You don’t force it. You grow with it.”

As I stepped into a new leadership role this past August, the memory resurfaced with meaning. Because starting fresh—especially in international schools where leadership transitions are frequent—comes with unspoken tension.

People wonder: What is she going to change? Will she try to fix everything? Does she even know what we’ve built here?

And to be honest, I’ve asked myself the same questions.

The Bark Isn’t the Problem

When you’re new, it’s tempting to jump in with vision, solutions, and “improvements.” After all, new leaders are often hired for change.

But schools aren’t blank canvases—they’re living ecosystems with roots, rituals, and rhythms. Every hallway has history. Every staff room has stories.

Cut too quickly, and people bleed. That’s why one of the first things I remind myself when entering a new space is: The bark is protective. It’s not the problem. It holds culture, identity, and trust.

And trust, in schools, is earned over time—through presence, listening, and honoring what already works.

Healthy Pruning Looks Like This

So how do I lead without uprooting? I prune. Carefully. Consistently. With context.

Instead of reacting immediately, I pause and reflect. I ask: What still bears fruit? What’s grown tangled with time? What needs light, air, or room to breathe again?

I talk to people. I listen to what students whisper between classes and what staff say after meetings. I read between the lines of “this is how we’ve always done it” and look for the values underneath.

And I remind myself that not everything needs to be mine to be meaningful. Stewardship can be more powerful than reinvention.

When Leadership Feels Like a Storm

Of course, leadership isn’t always calm. Let’s be honest. Even gentle pruning can be misunderstood.

Sometimes just being new feels like disruption. In particular, when you sound, look, or lead differently from what a community is used to. Sometimes, your presence shifts old dynamics, even when you don’t intend to.

There have been moments when I’ve felt like a storm when I was trying to be the stillness. I’ve had to remind myself: Your work is not to prove. It’s to understand. It’s to serve.

So I slow down. I communicate clearly. I explain the why before the what. And I invite others to shape the how with me.

Traditions vs. Traction

Reflecting back on the year, one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned this year is this: not all traditions need to be preserved—but many deserve to be honored.

When we enter new roles, especially in international schools, we often encounter a web of legacy. There’s beauty in that.

I’ve learned to ask: What traditions carry heart? What systems bring stability? What rituals foster belonging?

And then:

What’s just noise? What’s performative? What’s been done out of habit, not impact?

Tradition shouldn’t be mistaken for traction. But neither should we dismiss what roots people in meaning.

My Tools for Thoughtful Growth

Here are a few practices I carry with me:

• Learning walks with questions, not judgments Walking the school as a learner—what’s happening here that I wouldn’t see from my office?
• One Small Shift challenges Inviting teams to choose one thing they want to try, tweak, or toss—without the pressure of perfection.
• Transparent “why” behind decisions If we shift something, the community deserves to understand the purpose behind it.
• Celebrate the good already happening Before changing anything, amplify what’s already working—even if it’s small or quiet.
• Use the school’s mission like a compass If something isn’t aligned with it, even tradition can be reconsidered. (If the mission isn’t clear – start with that!)

The Leadership I Aspire To

I don’t want to be the kind of leader who rushes in with fixes. I want to be the one who notices where clarity, purpose, and trust can shine through.

The one who sees both history and potential.

The one who understands that thoughtful change—done with care, with listening, with respect—isn’t about control. It’s about commitment.

Real growth in schools doesn’t come from force. It comes from intention, relationships, and knowing when to hold steady—and when to gently shift.

Wherever you are in your leadership journey—new to the role or years in—I hope this reminds you that your gentleness can be powerful. That honoring the past and building the future aren’t opposites. And that sometimes, the most impactful leadership starts with asking, not acting—because how we lead shapes how others live, learn, and belong.