Middle managers occupy one of the most challenging positions in organizational hierarchies—serving as the critical bridge between senior leadership and frontline staff while often feeling they cannot satisfy either group. Success requires embracing the role as a strategic conduit, not a people pleaser.

In academic libraries, lean staffing has long been portrayed as efficient, necessary, and even virtuous—something to endure quietly, even as we're taught to continue advocating for more support, more staffing, and more recognition. But what if this austerity model is quietly eroding the very foundation of our impact? What if the cost of lean staffing isn't just current stress—but future lost sales?

We often celebrate the idea of transformation in academic libraries—rebranding leaders as innovators, change agents, or visionaries. But not all transformation leads to healthy outcomes. What happens when a transformative leader enters an academic library, only to find that their vision doesn’t fit the institutional culture? Or worse, when transformation becomes disruption without direction?

In academic libraries, overwork is often described in terms of hours logged, tasks juggled, or meetings survived. But these symptoms distract from the deeper cause: power inequities and systemic unfairness. As Brigid Schulte argues in Overwhelmed, work stress flourishes in cultures that mistake busyness for worth and devalue care, rest, and equity.

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In Holding Change, adrienne maree brown invites us to approach transformation not as a crisis to survive, but as an opportunity to deepen our values, relationships, and capacity for collective action. This perspective is crucial in academic libraries facing sustained budget reductions. Too often, budget cuts are treated as inevitable, technocratic events. But they are also political. They reflect institutional priorities, power dynamics, and whose labor and learning are deemed valuable.

In an era of increasing consortial collaboration, strategic partnerships, and shared service models, academic libraries are leaning on each other more than ever. From resource-sharing initiatives to cooperative digital preservation, the language of partnership abounds. But behind the rhetoric lies an uncomfortable truth: many so-called “partnerships” are structurally inequitable.

In academic libraries and across higher education institutions, we often say our doors are open to feedback. But is that enough? A compelling study by James R. Detert and Ethan R. Burris, "Leadership Behavior and Employee Voice: Is the Door Really Open?" challenges us to consider whether openness is truly being practiced—or merely proclaimed.

In the workplace, communication is everything. But too often, the tone of a conversation—especially the volume of someone’s voice—is used to distract from the content of what’s being said.

In academic libraries, strong leadership is not about shielding employees from challenges or gatekeeping opportunities — it’s about equipping them to meet challenges head-on, grow, and lead in their own right. Yet too often, librarians encounter supervisory mindsets that, even with good intentions, stifle professional development instead of nurturing it.

Academic libraries are often seen as inclusive spaces—committed to access, equity, and lifelong learning. But even in mission-driven environments, bias can quietly shape hiring practices, team dynamics, and advancement opportunities. While we may not be able to change institutional culture overnight, academic librarians in leadership roles can make a powerful difference by intentionally interrupting bias in everyday decisions.

In the world of academic librarianship, visibility is often mistaken for prestige—and prestige, in turn, is confused with legitimacy. For those of us working in small colleges or under-resourced institutions, contributing to the broader professional discourse through writing, presenting, or publishing is sometimes viewed as “punching above our weight.”

Advocacy from supervisors is one of the most valuable currencies in the workplace—especially in academic libraries, where hierarchical structures, tenure processes, and institutional politics can shape the trajectory of a librarian’s career. But what happens when that support isn’t there? Whether it’s intentional or simply a symptom of competing priorities, lack of advocacy can leave you feeling stuck, unseen, and professionally vulnerable.

In every academic library, what we choose to reward—and what we choose to ignore—tells a story. Incentives are not just operational levers; they’re messages. They communicate what is truly valued, often louder than any mission statement or strategic plan. And when incentives contradict stated values, they don’t just send mixed signals—they produce noise.

When morale tanks and teams disengage, leaders often rush to fix the problem by swapping out people—quietly nudging out the “negative ones” or restructuring entire departments. But toxicity doesn’t originate with a few individuals. It spreads when the environment rewards silence, isolates feedback, ignores emotional labor, and favors productivity at any cost.

In academic libraries, we often encourage curiosity in our users—students, faculty, and researchers—but the most transformative environments are built when leaders foster curiosity in themselves and across their teams. As highlighted in the Harvard Business Review article "What Makes an Inclusive Leader?", curiosity is not a “nice-to-have”—it’s a critical capability of inclusive leadership.

You’ve been in the meetings. You’ve seen the whiteboards, the slide decks, the draft org charts. You’ve participated in committee discussions, advocated for clearer alignment, and supported the idea that structure should reflect strategy.

In academic librarianship, we talk a lot about technology, access, and outcomes—but not enough about the health of the relationships that make those things possible. When a vendor relationship begins to falter, it often doesn’t happen all at once. The silence creeps in. A response takes a little longer. Updates stop coming. Negotiations stall. Eventually, what once felt like a partnership begins to feel transactional—something to chase rather than build.