The Strength of We

Angela Langlands
Nov 18
3 min read

Two years ago, I got the call every international teacher dreads.

It was time to go home.

My mom didn’t have many days left.

That Saturday morning was supposed to be simple: brunch with my aunt, who was visiting from out of town, and an easy day with my husband. We’d show her our favorite haunts around Abu Dhabi, and I’d give myself a break from school.

But when the call came, everything shifted.

Holding the Pieces Together

My husband handled my travel home. My aunt handled hers.

I called my boss—not to ask permission—but to let her know I might not be coming back.

Then I went to school and gave myself three hours.

Three hours to tidy up my anecdotal notes. To leave post-its on student writing for the conferences I wouldn’t get to have. To sketch out a skeleton plan of where each group was heading, a few notes for the substitute teacher about students I worked with in the community who needed extra eyes or extra time. I wrote an email to the team about some parent meetings that I was going to miss and a few sentences about what I would say during the meeting. To let the counselor know that there were a few students who would be really concerned about my unplanned departure.

Before leaving, I wrote a short note on the board for the morning meeting. All the students in the community already knew my mom was sick—I’d always been honest with them. “Sorry, I’m low today,” I’d told them before our word study lesson would kick-off. “My mom isn’t feeling well, and that makes me sad.” They would be sad. But they would understand.

Then I called my team lead.

Sent a quick text to the group.

And I walked away.

The Power of “We’ve Got This”

In those sleepless nights back home in California, I checked in with the team. How's the project going? Do you need me to draft something from here? I can't sleep... how can I help?

Their response was always the same: “We’ve got this. You’re needed elsewhere.”

And they meant it.

On the day my mom passed, I sat outside in the garden and sent a message to the team. I didn’t have many words left, but I had gratitude. Gratitude for how they held the community—and me—at the same time.

I knew, from that minute on, I didn't have to think about my job, the students, or our team a minute longer. Because over time, there were no “my students” and “your students.”

There was just our community.

When Collaboration Becomes Culture

When I told them I wouldn’t be returning for the last month of school, they didn’t hesitate. They didn’t scramble or panic. They simply carried on—together.

That’s when I understood, fully and deeply: when collaboration becomes the culture, not the strategy, the whole system keeps moving even when one part breaks down. We had crafted sustainable change that would survive my abrupt absence.

No checklist. No mandate. No meeting agenda could have built that kind of trust. It didn't even come from years of working together; we were, after all, a fledgling group who had only worked together since the beginning of the school year.

It came from shifted mindsets, our aligned purpose, and a belief that no child—and no colleague—should ever be invisible.

The Principles Beneath the Practice

This story lives in the heart of what I have identified as The 8 Principles of a Learning Community—the blueprint for turning strategy into culture.

Belonging & Humanity

1. No Child (or adult) Should Be Invisible

2. Students Deserve Belonging—Adults Deserve to Thrive

3. Every Moment Shapes Culture

Collaboration & Alignment

4. Teaching Shouldn’t Be a Solo Sport

5. Collaboration Multiplies Impact

6. Schools Align With Their True Purpose

Flexibility & Sustainability

7. Flexible Mindsets Over Fancy Spaces

8. Sustainable Change

What If...?

If you stepped away tomorrow, would your classroom, your students, your team still thrive? Who would know the stories? Who would have the confidence to write a student's report card?

That’s the real test of community.

When collaboration stops being something we do and starts being who we are.