I have always been unsure of who I am as a leader, or even if I am one at all. Many of the visible and traditional attributes of leadership have often seemed alien to me. I have been called too emotional to lead by some and an invisible leader by others.
Working for many years in the field of education and inclusion in spaces that try to support young people from diverse identities navigating adversity and uncertainty I have often wondered what leadership is really supposed to look like. I am still trying to figure out what kind of leader I am and wish to be someone who can share power, someone who is unafraid to be vulnerable, and someone who is aware of their own shadows.
And while I do this self-work for myself, in this present context of the unpredictable world we live in today, I cannot help but wonder what kind of leaders does the world really need?
Do we really need leaders obsessed with the echo of their own voice, measuring power by volume and authority by interruption?
Or do we need those who know how to listen who pause long enough to hear what is spoken, and also notice what is held back, what is unsafe to say aloud?
In classrooms, staff rooms, and institutional decision-making spaces, leadership often reveals itself in exactly these moments. In whose voices are amplified. In whose questions are dismissed. In whether the quiet student at the back of the room, or the hesitant young teacher in a meeting, feels safe enough to speak.
Empathy. Compassion. Care.
These are often dismissed as the soft, fluffy stuff. But they are anything but soft. They are the core of human existence and a non-negotiable for anyone entrusted with shaping learning environments.
Every educator knows that learning does not happen in spaces of fear or humiliation. It happens where there is psychological safety, where mistakes are allowed, where curiosity is welcomed, and where people feel seen.
And yet, when it comes to leadership, these very qualities are often treated as weaknesses.
Look around. The world seems increasingly ruled by bullies and narcissists, by inflated egos masquerading as strength.
Wars are waged to prove dominance. Markets expand without conscience. The planet gasps, choked by an idea of success that knows only accumulation.
Even education systems are not immune to this logic. Rankings, performance metrics, and institutional competition increasingly define success. Data points and measurable outcomes dominate conversations.
Efficiency is celebrated. Productivity is rewarded. But rarely do we ask the deeper question — what kind of human beings are we nurturing in the process?
I wonder truly, I do what if more women were in positions of power?
Would there be fewer wars, or at least more hesitation before destruction? Would capitalism still consume endlessly, or would someone finally ask: at what cost, and to whom?
Would leadership look less like conquest and more like service?
Of course, this is not a simple equation. It is not just about gender.
Power does not automatically transform when held by women. There have been women leaders who mirror patriarchy perfectly, who operate like sharks in familiar waters, speaking the same language of dominance and competition.
And yet there is a paradox that many women encounter.
As a woman, you are expected to care. It is assumed, naturalised, taken for granted.
And yet you are told quietly, persistently that care has no place in power.
If you want a seat at the table, you must shed this tenderness.
Be louder.
Be tougher.
Be less you.
This contradiction plays out starkly in academic and professional spaces. Leadership pipelines reward certainty, speed, and competition. Funding environments and institutional hierarchies reward visibility and output.
But much of the work that sustains education remains invisible the mentoring of a struggling student, the emotional labour of supporting young people through crises, the quiet work of building trust in classrooms and communities.
Worth, we are told, is measured in money.
And so, the unpaid labour of millions of women the invisible scaffolding of the world amounts to nothing on balance sheets, even as it holds societies upright.
In education, this invisible labour is everywhere. It is in the invisible care offered by teachers, in the mentoring of students navigating adversity, in the countless acts of listening and encouragement that never appear in institutional metrics. It is only the academic result that matters.
And yet, without this work, learning itself would collapse.
I remember being a child. My father’s circle spoke of politics and finance — markets, elections, strategies.
My mother’s circle cooked and spoke of people — illness, relationships, daily survival.
One was called important. The other, mundane.
But what if the second conversation contained the very knowledge we most urgently need?
What if care, relationships, and everyday human realities were treated as central to knowledge, rather than peripheral to it?
The narrowing of women’s worlds to kitchens and households has never been a small loss. It is a loss to imagination, to policy, to knowledge systems, and to the future itself.
What if leadership looked like care — not sentimental care, but courageous care?
The kind that asks uncomfortable questions.
The kind that resists easy answers.
The kind that refuses to sacrifice lives, communities, or the planet for short-term gain.
Education, at its best, attempts exactly this: to nurture thoughtful human beings capable of empathy, responsibility, and reflection.
Perhaps leadership in education and beyond must begin from the same premise.
Empowering women, then, is not about replacing one ruler with another. It is about redefining what power itself looks like.
Power — with all its layers, intersectionalities, and nuances.
And in doing so, perhaps we do not just shape women’s futures.
Perhaps we begin to reshape the cultures of our classrooms, our institutions, and our societies.
And perhaps, finally, we learn that leadership does not always have to be the loudest voice in the room.
It is the one that listens.
About the Author
Pallavi works closely with central agencies to drive systemic shifts in education by integrating SEL and life skills education. With nearly 15 years of experience in education, inclusion, and advocacy, Pallavi has contributed to diverse initiatives aimed at empowering marginalized communities. Currently pursuing a PhD in Psychology with a focus on the deaf population in India, Pallavi brings a deep understanding of the intersection between education, mental health, and accessibility. Fluent in English, Hindi, and Indian Sign Language (ISL), Pallavi is passionate about reimagining education to ensure every young person—regardless of background—has the opportunity to thrive.