Reclaiming My Voice, My Purpose, and My Authority

There’s a point in every educator’s journey when you realize you can’t keep whispering what you know to be true. At some point, you have to say it out loud, not because you want attention, but because the work deserves clarity. Because teachers deserve clarity. Because kids deserve clarity.

This week, I’m stepping back into mine.

This is not a manifesto. It’s simply a restating of what I now know for sure after years of trying, failing, trying again, and choosing, sometimes reluctantly, to trust what experience has taught me.

I'm pulling out my inner Simon Sinek, and sharing with you what has been deep inside for so long... I'm starting with why.

The truth I finally learned to say out loud

I know, with absolute clarity, that the learning community model revived my love of teaching. Stepping out of a single-silo classroom didn’t dilute my purpose… it expanded it. It gave me new eyes for students, new energy for collaboration, and a new understanding of what “knowing kids” actually looks like.

It also made me grieve a bit. Because I often wonder where my path might have taken me if I had grown up learning in this model… if adults had seen me the way learning communities allow us to see children now.

The learning communities model isn't just a professional preference. It’s a conviction.

Learning communities will save teachers from leaving the profession. 

They will save students from disappearing in plain sight.

They will save the future of education.

And I say that without flinching anymore.

Why I chose to step outside the classroom to do this work

If I strip away all titles and expectations, my core reason for stepping out of the classroom is simple: I wanted to inspire more people.

When I started teaching, impacting 25 students at a time felt like the most meaningful thing I could ever do. But once I stepped into a learning community and watched those same joys, breakthroughs, and connections multiply across 100+ students — something clicked.

This is what teaching could be. This is what learning could be. This is what school could be.

But as I moved from school to school, hired for my willingness to help set up these ecosystems, I realized something quietly devastating:

It would take me multiple lifetimes to transform schools one at a time.

The only way to create the magnitude of change I knew was possible was to step out of the system… so I could help transform it from the outside.

Where my authority actually comes from

My authority isn’t theoretical. It’s lived.

It comes from seeing students evolve in ways no one ever imagined they could (because it wouldn't have happened if I'd been doing it alone!).

It comes from being told I was wrong.

It comes from hearing “this isn’t doable” more times than I can count.

It comes from tears, exhaustion, and from colleagues who still joke about the “fights we fought” over too many glasses of wine.

It comes from the moments our team nearly broke… and from the moments we kept going anyway.

It comes from opening classroom doors and saying, “Come see for yourself.”

And from the data that proved what we felt in our bones.And from the blue-sky dreaming that always followed the hardest days.

My authority comes from experience — and I have the battle scars to prove it.

What I see that others often miss

If I had to name my unique lens, it’s this:

I see autonomy where others see risk.

I see possibilities where others see things that could go wrong.

For 15 years, my motto has been (pardon the crassness): “We’re not gonna fuck up the kids.”

And what I mean is this: If we’re grounded in educational training, love for our craft and the students, plus a willingness to try — truly try — then kids will be okay. More than okay.

They. Will. Thrive.

Every meaningful shift in my career has come from giving something a try.

That’s how the learning community model began for me. Saying yes. Experimenting. Trusting the process. Letting evidence guide the next step.

But the truth is, in my experience, many teachers are scared (or tired, or worried, or fill-in-the-blank).

Many schools are scared.

And we’re clinging to systems invented in the 1600s as though they’re sacred.

To that, I say: it's time to try something else. With intention, with care, and with collaboration.

But try.

The future I want this work to create

When I imagine leading this work with full ownership of my voice, I see a few things clearly:

• I see every student walking into a space where they can get what they need — not what a single teacher is able to give alone.

• I see kids choosing spaces and teachers that align with their energy, their readiness, or their mood on that particular day.

• I see report cards shaped by the perspectives of many adults, not one. A tapestry of observations that show who a child really is as a learner and human being.

• I see parents confident that their child is supported by a whole team, each with a unique strength, together creating a symphony of excellence.

• I see teachers taking a sick day without guilt — knowing students are held by a community, not left to sink or swim with a stranger.

• And I see a system that moves away from silos and toward the kind of collaboration we want kids to carry into the world.

Because the soft skills we practice in school shape the societies we build.

This is the work I choose.

This is the work I lead.

And this is the voice I’m stepping into — fully, unapologetically, and with deep conviction.