Feel the fear

There is a particular flavour of fear that comes with networking. It is not the dramatic, cinematic kind. It is the quiet, internal whisper that says, Who do you think you are?

For teachers, especially, there is something deeply uncomfortable about stepping beyond the classroom and into the public arena. We are used to closed doors. We are used to our work living between exercise books, Teams folders and corridor conversations. Then suddenly there was Twitter, now X. LinkedIn. Substack. Blogs. Podcasts. A digital coliseum where ideas are performed in public. And the rise of the so called “educeleb” has not helped. The polished threads. The viral posts. The conference lanyards. It can all feel like a stage you were never formally invited onto.

Sharing ideas has never been easier. Which also means hiding has never been harder.

The first time I posted something substantial online, I felt exposed. Not because it was controversial, but because it was mine. My thinking. My synthesis of research. My classroom experiments. Publicly visible. Permanently archived. Available for critique.

The imposter voice had plenty to say. You are not a professor, you are not a head, you are not famous. Stay small, stay safe.

But here is the strange paradox. Every time I have felt the fear and done it anyway, something remarkable has happened.

I have met extraordinary people. Teachers, leaders, researchers, thinkers. Generous minds. Curious souls. People who care deeply about young people and about doing this job well. I have been invited to speak at conferences, written articles, signed a book contract and led training sessions. To contribute to conversations that genuinely matter. Not because I am special, but because I pressed publish.

And here is the part we do not talk about enough. Putting yourself out there is not only about supporting and inspiring others. It is profoundly developmental for you. Once your ideas are public, you cannot hide behind vagueness. You have to tighten your thinking. You have to check your sources. You have to ask, is this actually evidence informed, or just something that sounds good in a staff meeting? When you say you believe in coaching, or flourishing, or digital ecosystems, or metacognition, and hundreds of people can see it, you are quietly holding yourself to a higher standard. Exposure creates accountability.

There have absolutely been moments of imposter syndrome. Standing at the front of a room thinking, at any moment someone is going to realise I am just a classroom teacher from Somerset who reads too many papers and gets overexcited about cognitive science.

But increasingly I realise something important, that many of the people I admire most also feel it. Imposter syndrome is often just a sign that you are stretching. And stretching is the only way intellectual muscle grows. The nervous system does not love uncertainty. The prefrontal cortex prefers control. But growth lives just beyond comfort.

Putting my ideas into the world has forced me to refine them. It has sharpened my research. It has made me braver in the classroom. When you publicly advocate for student autonomy, you had better design lessons that actually cultivate it. When you write about flourishing, you have to examine whether your own department is flourishing.

There is nowhere to hide. And that is a gift.

Networking, in its healthiest form, is not self promotion. It is idea exchange. It is intellectual cross pollination. It is realising that someone in another county, or country, is wrestling with the same problem and has found a slightly different solution. The internet has made that possible at scale. That is extraordinary. So yes, feel the fear. Notice it. Name it. Then press publish anyway. Not because you want to become an educeleb. Not because you want followers. But because education improves when thoughtful practitioners share their thinking. And because the act of stepping forward changes you.

There is something deeply liberating about deciding you will no longer wait to feel “ready.” Readiness is a myth. Growth is iterative. Ideas evolve in public. Every time you contribute, you sharpen your craft. And somewhere out there, a teacher you have never met feels a little less alone because you decided not to stay small. That feels like a risk worth taking.