5 Things Principal Burnout Taught Me About Work–Life Balance

Patrice Cannon
Aug 30
3 min read

I have spent over a decade in school leadership, and all of those years have been in high-need schools. My journey has taken me into the heart of turnaround work — schools in crisis, communities with high poverty, campuses filled with students who need stability and hope. I believed in the mission with all my heart, and I poured myself into it fully.

But here’s the part that no leadership prep program really prepares you for: the toll it takes on your body, your mind, and your family.

For years, I told myself that stress and exhaustion were just part of the job. If I wanted to lead a turnaround, I had to “pay the price.” But burnout taught me lessons that leadership itself never could — lessons that reshaped the way I work, the way I lead, and the way I live.

It started at the first principals’ meeting of the school year. I had just come off a summer filled with endless hiring, analyzing data, and preparing for staff and students. I thought I was ready. But session after session unveiled new initiatives, new expectations, and new pressures.

By the time I left that meeting, I felt off. My chest was tight, my heart was racing, but I brushed it off as high blood pressure, took a pill, and kept moving. That evening, while driving home, it hit me full force — a panic attack so severe I couldn’t drive. My husband and son had to come get me from the side of the highway.

That was the last day I drove on the highway.

From that moment on, my body began to sound alarms. Migraines. Sleepless nights. A constant sense of being unwell. I ended up in the ER more times than I can count. Doctors ran every test imaginable — CAT scans, bloodwork, heart tests — all of them came back “normal.”

But I knew I wasn’t okay.

One evening, an ER doctor stopped mid-shift and asked if he could pray for me. That moment broke me wide open. Because I realized what was happening wasn’t medical. It was the stress I was carrying, the way I had ignored my limits, and the pace I had convinced myself I had to maintain in order to “prove” I was a good leader.

The most painful moment didn’t come in a hospital. It came from my son.

One day, he looked at me and said, “Mom, you’ve only made it to one of my games.”

That sentence cut deeper than anything a doctor could tell me. I had spent so much time working to give my kids a better life that I was missing the life we already had together.

It made me ask hard questions: What’s the point of giving everything to a school if my own family is only getting my leftovers? What kind of example am I setting if I can build balance for others but not for myself?

People sometimes ask me what a principal’s contract hours are. I usually laugh. Principals don’t have contract hours. We eat lunch on the go, stay until the work is finished, and answer calls long after the building is empty.

But here’s what I know now: it’s not just about what time I get to work — it’s also about what time I leave. If the culture only values early arrivals and endless availability, that’s not commitment. That’s burnout.

At my lowest point, I wasn’t even sure if I liked education anymore. I couldn’t tell if I had lost my passion or if I was simply too tired to feel it.

But when I started setting boundaries, leaving on time, and protecting my personal life, something unexpected happened: I remembered why I love this work. Balance didn’t just restore my health — it restored my joy.