One of the unique aspects of working in public education is that we experience two natural points of renewal each year. January 1 marks the beginning of the calendar year, while August or September signals the start of a new school year and the return of our students. Both offer valuable opportunities to reflect, refocus, and reset our goals and strategies.
As we prepare to launch the 2025–26 school year, it is essential that we celebrate our successes while proactively planning for the challenges ahead—particularly the wave of criticism that continues to confront public education.
Just as we carry an umbrella when rain is in the forecast, having a thoughtful plan to respond to detractors can help shield us from being overwhelmed with negativity.
In this biweekly column, principals and other authorities on school leadership—including researchers, education professors, district administrators, and assistant principals—offer timely and timeless advice for their peers.
The following is a story that I hope encourages school leaders to turn doubt into determination and find strength in every setback. When doubt surrounds us, we must rise above it.
“You can’t do it.” Those four words followed me like a shadow throughout my life. It didn’t just happen once or twice; it was a barrier I had to keep facing each time I thought of transitioning to a new role in leadership. Someone was always there to remind me of my limits.
When I applied to graduate school, a trusted person told me I wasn’t cut out for it. “There’s too much reading and writing. It’s not for you.” I remember walking away from that conversation with a mixture of doubt and determination boiling inside me. Maybe she was right. Maybe I wasn’t ready.
I’m thankful to my father who encouraged me to pursue my dreams and never be limited by criticism. I appreciate that vote of confidence, Dad!
After graduating and becoming a licensed school psychologist, I dreamt of transitioning to the classroom and becoming a special education teacher. A colleague discouraged me, stating that I wouldn’t be able to handle the demands of a classroom of students. My dad’s encouragement immediately came to mind, again. Instead of retreating, I rooted myself deeper into the work—learning and growing from colleagues already in the classroom as I was hired as a high school special education teacher.
I heard a similar song of doubt when I set my sights on becoming an assistant principal and later on leading a school of my own. The more I dreamed, the naysayers seemed to grow. I learned not to argue; instead, I just got to work.
After eight of the best years of my career as a middle school principal, and as my daughter was getting ready to graduate from high school, I realized I was ready to take a chance on myself yet again: I wanted to relocate to northern Virginia to be closer to my family.
As I prepared for this move, I was cautioned, “You’ll be a small fish in a big pond.” But by then, I had learned something powerful: The people who try to limit you are often projecting the limits they’ve placed on themselves.
So, I made the move. And just like every time before, I didn’t sink—I swam. Every “no” became a spark. Every “you can’t” became a challenge. I wasn’t trying to prove them wrong—I wanted to prove myself right. I learned to bet on myself, with courage and calculated risk. I embraced new strategies, explored new ways of connecting with students and staff, and made bold moves for the sake of equity, belonging, and academic excellence.
Along the way, I discovered the quiet power of perseverance. I wasn’t the most polished, the most connected, or the most obvious choice. But I was the one who refused to quit.
To every educator reading this—especially those leading schools across the country—I know how loud the doubt can be. I know the sting of criticism, the weight of expectations, and the ache of isolation that can come when you are trying to do something different.
Right now, there are people doubting the effectiveness of public education. Some are questioning our ability to return the academic standards that were reached prior to the pandemic. They are doubting our ability to hire and retain high-quality educators in challenging working conditions.
But I say this to my fellow school leaders: You are not powerless. You are not alone. And you are absolutely capable. The work we do matters more than ever. We are the architects of tomorrow’s leaders.
Our work is not just defined by test scores but the lifelong memories we build. If you asked a student if they had a good year last year, regardless of how they characterize it, I bet that the final verdict has little to do with test scores and more to do with the emotions they felt at school. They remember the connections they did or didn’t make and the events they did or did not attend.
That’s why our role as school leaders is more important than ever. As many of our students are fighting record-high levels of depression and anxiety, we have the privilege and opportunity to plan school calendars that will bring students to June 2026 feeling, “Wow! That was the best school year ever!” That’s my hope for my students, and it’s the hope I have for each of yours.
Doubt will surely come, and sometimes, it will surround us like a dark cloud, but we must always rise above it.
In a field that many enjoy criticizing, let’s lead with purpose and passion. Let’s silence the cynics with the buffet of student success. Let’s be bold enough to take risks, reflective enough to grow from them, and resilient enough to get back up when we fall.
Bet on yourself. Again and again. Because the students are watching. The staff are watching. And most importantly, the version of you who considered giving up—that person is watching, too.
Don’t let them down. And when someone says, “You can’t do it,” just smile, roll up your sleeves, and show them how it’s done.
Together, we will turn the tide. Together, we will lead. Together, we will overcome.
