Leadership

More than ten years ago, whilst studying at university, I wrote my dissertation on the language of female leadership. At the time, I was fascinated by how women communicated in professional environments and how language reflected power, hierarchy, and gendered expectations. It was and still is an academic interest of mine; however, the further I explored the experiences of women in workplaces, the clearer it became that women were often operating within systems that demanded a continual negotiation of self. Women were not simply expected to complete their jobs effectively; they were expected to constantly manage how their behaviour, language, ambition and authority would be interpreted by others. I have a number of women who get in touch via X or LinkedIn seeking support or advice on their next step or navigating an issue. It was not something that I was reading as a statistic anymore, but experiences in the workplace, whether it was the gender pay gap, the motherhood penalty or promotion, it was beginning to manifest in all sorts of different ways. At university, much of this existed theoretically for me (mainly my degree focused on language and linguistics), and I explored meeting dynamics, linguistic positioning and behavioural patterns through research and analysis. I looked at how women softened statements, apologised before contributing ideas or instinctively altered their tone in professional settings. I became interested in how women often minimise certainty in their language, particularly in spaces associated with authority or leadership. At the time, I understood this intellectually. What I did not yet understand was the emotional reality of living inside those dynamics for years. More than a decade later, now working within senior leadership in education, I find myself returning repeatedly to the same questions I was asking then, except this time they are no longer purely academic. The questions were being shaped by lived experience, observation, and the quiet recognition of patterns that persist despite how much workplaces claim to have progressed.

What has become increasingly apparent to me over time is that many women enter professional spaces believing success will be determined primarily by competence, work ethic and capability. Whilst all of those things matter enormously, women (from my viewpoint and referenced below) quickly realise that there are often additional expectations attached to female professionalism that remain largely invisible and rarely spoken about openly. Women are not only evaluated on whether they can lead effectively, but also on how their leadership feels to others. Their authority is often filtered through questions of likability, emotional accessibility and social acceptability in ways that male leadership frequently is not. Women become aware, consciously or unconsciously, that the same behaviours can be interpreted very differently depending on who is displaying them. Assertiveness in men is often framed as strength or decisiveness, whilst assertiveness in women can quickly become reframed as aggression, coldness or emotional difficulty. This distinction may appear subtle from the outside, but over time it profoundly shapes women's professional experiences. I am sure that this is not a surprise to you.

Education presents a particularly interesting contradiction in this regard because schools are overwhelmingly staffed by women. Women dominate classrooms, pastoral systems and middle leadership structures, and yet the further leadership progresses towards positions of institutional power, the more visible traditional hierarchies and expectations often become. Schools frequently position themselves publicly as progressive spaces centred around care, inclusion and wellbeing, yet many of the leadership structures within education continue to reflect historical models of authority associated with masculinity. There remains an underlying expectation that leadership should appear emotionally controlled, unwaveringly confident and endlessly resilient, whilst women simultaneously remain subject to expectations of warmth, emotional labour and relational management.

This constant adjustment is one of the most psychologically exhausting aspects of female leadership, yet it is rarely acknowledged explicitly. One of the clearest things I recognised during my dissertation research was that women were often carrying out two forms of labour simultaneously. The first was the professional role itself. The second was the ongoing management of perception. Women frequently enter meetings already assessing tone, language and possible interpretation before they have even contributed to the conversation. Many instinctively soften ideas with phrases designed to reduce the risk of being perceived negatively. Others deliberately frame their expertise cautiously to avoid appearing arrogant or overly confident. Some apologise before speaking, even when no apology is necessary. Over time, these behaviours become normalised because women adapt to workplace cultures that repeatedly show them the social consequences of female authority. What interests me now is not simply the existence of these behaviours, but the long-term impact they have on women’s sense of self. When women spend years adapting themselves professionally, there is inevitably a psychological consequence. Leadership becomes less about authenticity and more about strategic self-management. Women become highly skilled at reading emotional atmospheres, anticipating reactions, and adjusting their behaviour depending on who is in the room. Many women become experts in emotional calibration because they understand that leadership for women is often not judged solely by outcomes, but by delivery, tone and the emotional comfort of those around them. This creates a level of hyper-awareness that many men are simply not socialised into carrying professionally.

What is particularly difficult about these dynamics is that women are often encouraged to interpret them as individual confidence issues rather than structural realities. Women are consistently told to “speak up,” “be more confident”, or “take up space,” as though the primary barrier to female leadership exists internally within women themselves. However, confidence cannot be separated from the environment. Women are often acutely aware of the risks associated with visibility because workplaces have repeatedly demonstrated that female authority is still received differently. Many women have experienced being interrupted in meetings, having ideas ignored until repeated by male colleagues or receiving feedback that focuses disproportionately on tone and personality rather than competence or outcomes. These experiences accumulate over time and shape professional behaviour in ways organisations rarely acknowledge honestly.

This is why I found Kat Howard’s Stop Talking About Wellbeing so important. It’s a book that I have read a number of times over the past few years. What resonates deeply within the book is the challenge it poses to superficial organisational narratives around wellbeing. Too often, institutions discuss wellbeing in ways that individualise exhaustion whilst refusing to interrogate the systems producing it. Women in leadership are frequently encouraged to become more resilient, more balanced, or more mindful, without organisations examining the invisible labour women already carry daily. In schools, particularly, women often absorb enormous amounts of emotional responsibility that remain unnamed and undervalued. Women are expected to mediate conflict, maintain relationships, support colleagues emotionally, absorb tension and preserve organisational harmony, all whilst continuing to perform professionally at a high level. Much of this labour becomes invisible precisely because it is treated as natural female behaviour rather than recognised as professional work. What makes this more complicated is that women are often criticised regardless of how they respond to these expectations. Women who perform extensive emotional labour may become emotionally depleted, overwhelmed and professionally exhausted. Yet women who establish firmer professional boundaries frequently risk being perceived as detached, cold or unapproachable. Again, women are navigating impossible contradictions where no response entirely protects them from criticism. This is one of the reasons conversations around female leadership cannot remain surface-level discussions about representation or empowerment. They must include honest discussions about the emotional and psychological costs associated with leadership structures that continue to demand contradictory forms of behaviour from women.

Motherhood introduces another significant layer to these conversations. The work surrounding “The Missing Mothers” and the MTPT Project has been incredibly important because it articulates experiences many women have carried privately for years. One of the most significant issues facing female leadership is not simply maternity leave itself, but the way motherhood fundamentally reshapes professional perception. Leadership structures often continue to operate around assumptions of uninterrupted professional availability despite the realities of caregiving, parenting and domestic labour that disproportionately continue to affect women. What concerns me deeply is how often women internalise these systemic tensions as personal failure. Women frequently feel guilty for struggling to “manage everything,” without recognising that the structures themselves were never designed equitably in the first place. Many women are trying to succeed professionally within systems built on assumptions that ignore the realities of motherhood entirely.

The longer I work within leadership, the more I recognise how much of female professionalism is shaped by adaptation. Women become highly skilled at assessing risk, reading organisational culture, and adapting accordingly. Over time, this constant adaptation can become psychologically exhausting, as women are not simply leading; they are continually negotiating how acceptable their leadership will be to others. This negotiation impacts confidence, identity and sense of self in ways that are difficult to articulate unless you have experienced it directly. For me, this conversation is not about pessimism or hopelessness. Nor is it an argument against leadership itself. I remain deeply committed to education and deeply committed to the importance of women occupying positions of influence and power. However, meaningful conversations about female leadership require honesty. They require us to move beyond performative discussions around confidence or empowerment and instead examine the structural realities shaping women’s professional experiences. They require us to acknowledge the invisible labour women carry, the behavioural expectations women navigate, and the psychological consequences of continually adapting to survive professionally.

Perhaps the most important thing we can do is make these conversations visible. I am aware of too many women continuing to experience these tensions privately, interpreting systemic problems as personal inadequacies. The reality is that many women are succeeding professionally whilst carrying enormous invisible emotional and psychological weight. Until organisations begin honestly examining the structures, assumptions, and cultural expectations shaping female leadership, women will continue to be asked to adapt to systems that were never fully designed with them in mind.

References

The Language of Female Leadership

MISSING MOTHERS | The New Britain

Leadership | Women and the Practice of Leadership – Kat Howard

Stop Talking about Wellbeing by Kat Howard

Smashing Glass Ceilings by Kate Jones