In the towering edifice of education, teachers and school leaders are often portrayed as tireless sentinels —guardians of knowledge and architects of young minds. Yet behind the chalk-streaked hands, carefully drafted lesson plans, and calm demeanours lies a truth often overlooked: educators are not superhuman.
They are ordinary individuals, subject to the same anxieties, stress, and emotional upheavals as anyone else. Parental expectations, though rooted in care, frequently slip into the realm of the unrealistic. Many parents look to schools for an all-encompassing package — academic excellence, flawless character development, and thriving co-curricular participation. Teachers are expected to be endlessly patient, perpetually creative, and infinitely available. Few pause to consider the immense burden these demands place upon those already stretched thin. A teacher is far more than a conveyor of knowledge.
They are mentors, counsellors, and sometimes even surrogate parents. Beyond the classroom, they balance lesson preparation, assessments, administrative duties, and the ever-shifting landscape of digital education. The pandemic amplified this reality. They are expected to resolve conflicts with Solomon — like wisdom, enforce discipline with delicacy, and oversee complex institutions with machine-like precision. To many, a school leader becomes less of a person and more of a system — programmed for endless productivity. Yet beneath the polished exterior lies a human being wrestling with sleepless nights, personal dilemmas, and the crushing responsibility of shaping an institution.
This tendency to view educators as functionaries reflects a troubling dehumanisation of the profession. It overlooks the daily emotional labour: the quiet encouragement offered to a timid child, the patient repetition of a concept until understanding blooms, or the discreet attention given to a struggling student’s mental health. These gestures, rooted in empathy and connection, rarely feature in report cards or school rankings, yet they define the essence of teaching. Like everyone else, teachers and school leaders require rest, validation, and compassion. A single word of appreciation from a parent, a gesture of trust, or even the acknowledgement of “you are doing enough” can rejuvenate a weary educator. It is time, therefore, to recalibrate the parent-teacher relationship from one of demand and delivery to one of partnership. The irony is striking: while schools emphasise emotional intelligence for students, society often disregards the emotional ecosystem of those who teach. Teachers may be showered with ceremonial praise, but in moments of difficulty, they are reduced to faceless professionals. What is needed is not episodic reverence but sustained recognition of their humanity.
As each school year unfolds, it is worth remembering: a teacher’s smile may conceal exhaustion, and a principal’s calm may hide turmoil. To humanise educators is not to excuse inefficiency but to affirm that they, too, deserve grace and understanding. Only when we accept that teachers are human and leaders are not machines can we nurture an education system rooted in compassion. A cared-for teacher, after all, is the surest catalyst for a cared-for generation.
The author is an educator and a counsellor
