The Courage to Walk Together

There are people you meet in education who do not just work alongside you, they sharpen you. They challenge you. They make you look again at the choices you make with children and ask, “Why that way, and not another?” For me, Paula Thomas was one of those people.

Paula and I worked together for years, long enough to develop a rhythm that was became easy and always worthwhile. She had come through a system where teaching was expected to be quick, decisive, and deeply authoritative. The modelling she had seen, and the leaders she had worked under, had taught her that when children pushed boundaries or made poor choices, the right response was to step in firmly and immediately: “No, this is what you will do.” It was not simply her nature, it was the construct of the school environments she had been shaped by.

I carried a different belief. I saw behaviour as a doorway into understanding, and I believed that children needed agency, reflection, and time to work through their choices. That meant pausing, listening, and guiding them to think about their actions rather than simply shutting them down. It took longer, it was messier, and to Paula, at first, it looked like unnecessary delay.

“Power gets results quickly. Presence builds understanding that lasts.”

We spent hours in meetings, in car parks long after the bell, and over endless energy drinks debating this. She would ask why I did not just take control, and I would try to explain that I was not trying to win the moment, I was trying to shape the child for the long run.

In the early days, it was not an easy meeting of minds. Paula could be direct, blunt even, yet she was also deeply fair. One of the things I love about her is that she once said she was too “lazy to hold a grudge,” with a grin. Woe betide the person who drank her energy drink from the fridge after she had carried the load of teaching juniors for a whole week while the rest of us were away at camp. That happened back in 2013, and Paula has never forgotten it. Nor has she forgiven the culprit who dropped a piece of wood on her foot. The truth, of course, is that the guilty party in both cases was me. Some things, it seems, are etched into history.

“We did not always agree. We respected each other enough to keep talking.”

That respect made everything work. We disagreed often, and sometimes strongly, yet the disagreement was safe because it was grounded in trust. Over time something shifted. Paula began to see the strength in presence, the way students learned to name their feelings, understand their choices, and reset themselves. I grew sharper in my explanations because she forced me to articulate not just what I was doing, but why.

We shaped each other. She softened in some places, I learned to be clearer, more intentional, and sometimes more decisive. Together we created a balance.

One of Paula’s greatest strengths is her ability to stay the course. Once she was convinced of something, she committed to it fully. As she began to embrace elements of presence, you could see her classroom change. Students were not just complying, they were engaging. They were connecting with her in deeper ways. She found herself laughing more, noticing more, and drawing out things in her students that might otherwise have gone unspoken.

Paula’s growth did not stop there. Over time she developed into a leader not only within our school but across the wider Kāhui Ako. She was respected by colleagues in other schools who saw the same things we did: her honesty, her steadiness, and her willingness to keep showing up for people. Paula had a way of making her views known clearly while still leaving space for others, and that gave her a presence that carried weight across the community.

“The gift of walking together is that both people change, and so do the children they serve.”

Paula was also one of those rare colleagues who blurred the line between professional and personal in the best possible way. She is the sort of friend you can call at three in the morning in the middle of a motorcycle rally and know she would have a bed ready for you, no questions asked. She did not always need to catch up or talk things through, she would just be there, solid and steady, in the same way she was for children.

More than that, Paula has become my rock, my steady lighthouse. Even outside of education I can speak openly and honestly with her, gathering advice from someone I deeply trust. Last year I faced one of the most difficult days of my career, carrying a heart full of grief while needing to support others as well as teach children. Paula was there instantly. She gave me the space to speak honestly about my burden, and then she gave me the strength and courage to set it aside so my students experienced a day filled with learning and fun, unaware of the weight I was carrying. That was Te Noho Tahi in action, supporting staff so they can still show up fully for children even when life is heavy.

That reliability and that presence are what made her so formative for me.

Looking back, I realise Paula gave me two gifts. The first was resistance, the pushback that forced me to hold firm to what I believed and to be able to explain it clearly. The second was companionship, the ability to walk the same road even when we saw it differently, and to laugh about it along the way.

There is a courage in that. The courage to walk together is not about agreeing, it is about caring enough about the work and about each other to keep going side by side.

Here is the challenge I want to leave with you.

If you are a teacher, a parent, or a leader, you face the same choice Paula and I wrestled with. When a child pushes back, when a colleague frustrates you (maybe they drink your drink), when someone makes a poor choice, you can reach for power, or you can choose presence.

Power is quick, it works in the moment. Presence, though slower, builds something that endures.

“Power may win the moment. Presence changes the person.”

The courage to walk together lies in holding the tension between those two, and in daring to choose presence even when power looks easier.

It is not fast, it is not simple, yet it changes lives.