What mycelium taught me about leadership: Systems we cannot see

When we think of leadership, we often imagine forward motion - setting direction, driving change, making things happen. But what if the most powerful kind of leadership starts not with bold action, but with deep attention? What if nature already holds clues to how we might lead and live better, if only we took the time to look?

Earlier this year, a visit to Soil, an exhibition at Somerset House curated by my rather talented sister May Rosenthal and the Land Gardeners, prompted this question in me in ways I didn’t expect. At the heart of the exhibition was a video narrated by Merlin Sheldrake, whose work on fungi reveals a world we rarely notice - and yet one that sustains life all around us.

Systems we don’t see

Underneath every forest lies a vast, intricate network: the mycelium. It threads between tree roots, passing nutrients, sharing warning signals, and maintaining balance. It's often referred to as the "wood wide web" - a reminder that what’s most essential to life is often hidden from view.

We may not realise it, but human systems - organisations, schools, teams, families, organisations - are much the same. The most vital connections often go unseen. And like mycelium, they are fragile. Pull too hard at one thread, and the whole web shifts.

Living systems need living attention

In my work as a coach and former headteacher, I’ve seen how easy it is to treat organisations like machines. We focus on processes, outputs, quick fixes. But people - and the systems we form - are more like ecosystems than engines.

In one school I worked with, a single restructure removed a quiet but deeply trusted colleague. Her role hadn’t seemed essential on paper. But the emotional fallout - the loss of trust, the breakdown in communication - was disproportionate and lasting. It wasn’t her job title that mattered. It was the role she played in the human ecosystem.

When we fail to see what’s holding things together, we risk pulling up the roots that nourish the whole.

Slowing down, listening deeply

That’s not to say change is bad. Far from it. Growth, healing, and innovation are all forms of change. But they’re most effective when they arise from understanding. From listening. From observing the patterns before intervening.

As leaders and coaches, we can learn from mycologists and ecologists: to pause, to study, to be curious about what lies beneath.

• Who’s carrying invisible loads?
• Where’s the nourishment flowing - or blocked?
• What’s whispering under the surface, waiting to be heard?

Real-world consequences

When systems are changed without this understanding, the consequences can be far-reaching. Consider recent shifts in international trade policy - decisions made quickly and without full consideration of the global networks they affected. What seemed like economic strategy on paper disrupted supply chains, deepened inequality, and strained international relationships.

Whatever your political stance, these examples remind us of a simple truth: all systems are connected. And disrupting one part, without understanding the rest, carries risk.

A different kind of leadership

In my coaching practice, I support clients navigating complex systems - whether they’re leading organisations, building new teams, or simply seeking to live with more clarity and impact. Time and again, we come back to the same principles:

• lead slowly
• listen deeply
• act with care

You don’t need all the answers. But you do need to notice. You need to tend to the hidden roots.

If you’re feeling stuck, overwhelmed, or unsure where to start, consider this: what might shift if you treated the system you’re in like a living organism, not a machine?

Leadership doesn’t always look like action. Sometimes, it looks like stillness. Sometimes, like the mycelium, it begins underground.