“Trust is much like love—we know it when we see it, but we are not sure what creates it.” — T. Harvey and B. Drolet
Last weekend, I received a distress call from an assistant principal I met at a training a few years ago. She asked to remain anonymous, so let’s call her Sondry.
Sondry is a seasoned educator in her 40s living in Washington—a mother of twins and the proud owner of a Goldendoodle named Myrtle. For five years, she has served as the assistant principal at the same middle school.
On February 27, she was told she was not meeting job expectations and that her contract would not be renewed.
Sondry was stunned. Thinking back, she couldn’t recall any negative feedback from her principal, aside from a few "recommendations" in her annual evaluations—points she viewed as helpful suggestions rather than mandates.
In her district, March 1 was the legal deadline for non-renewal. They had waited as long as they possibly could’ve.
“But things are going so well,” she told her superintendent as he delivered the news.
“They’re not,” he replied flatly. “We’ve been waiting to see improvement for several years, but nothing has changed.”
Throughout the meeting, Sondry’s principal sat at the table in total silence.
The superintendent told her she could go home to consider her next steps, even offering to help her find a role elsewhere. “It was small comfort,” Sondry told me later. “But I found myself thanking him anyway. You know, like when a cop hands you a speeding ticket and tells you to have a nice day and you thank him?”
When she called me, she was still reeling, looking for some executive coaching to figure out what she had missed.
“Tell me about the feedback you’ve received,” I said.
She read through her recent evaluations and shared a few emails from her principal. One reminded Sondry’s about supervision protocols for a school dance; another was a simple request for her to cover a choir concert.
“That’s it,” Sondry said.
“That can’t be it,” I pushed, gently. “What else?”
As we talked, the picture became clearer. The relationship between Sondry and her principal wasn’t just strained; it was structurally hollow. They avoided difficult conversations at all costs. Worse, they frequently stepped over one another, upending the other person’s decisions without consultation. When those things happened, they didn’t talk about it.
“Did the two of you ever sit down to define expectations?” I asked. “Did you talk about roles, or how to stay in your respective lanes?”
“No,” Sondry admitted.
In last week’s newsletter, we explored how lost trust is often a byproduct of unmet expectations. Sondry hadn’t met her principal’s expectations, but her principal had also failed Sondry. They were operating in a vacuum.
“Never?” I asked.
“Never,” Sondry said, her voice heavy with shame and regret. “But was that my job to start? She’s the principal. Shouldn’t she have initiated it?”
“It doesn’t matter who starts it,” I told her. “It only matters that it happens.”
Trust isn’t a one-time event; it’s a slow build. It begins with the clarity of a shared map. For Sondry, the bridge is burned. She is leaving a partner she doesn't trust, and her principal is losing a teammate she didn't rely on.
The page has turned. Sondry is now applying for new administrative roles, and we’re scheduled to meet again soon. My goal is to coach her through an “Expectation Conversation" so she can start her next chapter with trust as a pillar of partnership.
If you are starting a new role—or if you feel a nagging uncertainty in your current one—I’d suggest you don’t wait for a deadline to find out where you stand. Trust starts with an honest, respectful, and perhaps uncomfortable conversation…. and it must include clear agreement on expectations.
Next week, I’ll outline some talking points you might use if you need to have a conversation about expectations and trust.
Stay tuned, and stay curious…
Jen