My twenty-year-old’s voice was quivering. “Mom, my stomach really hurts. I think I need to go to the hospital.”

I took a breath, preparing to jump into action, but then came the second part.

“But it’s going to be expensive. It’s so expensive.”

My husband and I were three hours away, settling into a week in the mountains. I had packed a dress for dinner at the Mount Washington Hotel. I had hikes mapped out. I had plans—none of which mattered anymore.

“Don’t worry about the money. We have insurance. We have a flex spending account. Whatever it costs, we’ll figure it out. Just go.”

The hours crawled.

My husband and I packed up, grabbed a quick bite, and headed home. It was a chaotic Monday afternoon at the hospital. Only patients who needed continuous vital monitoring were getting rooms. My son waited in the triage holding pattern. His white blood cells were elevated. A CT scan was ordered.

By 11:00 PM, we had our answer. He needed an appendectomy.

In the grand scheme of emergency medicine, it’s routine. But he had been sitting in the bright, cold, uncomfortable hallway of a packed ER for seven hours. I arrived around 9:00 PM so he wouldn’t be alone. No one should have to sit alone in an ER, even if they’re twenty and rarely feel compelled to call their mom just to chat.

It was almost midnight before they wheeled him to a room. I helped answer the battery of medical history questions. He was exhausted. So overwhelmed. So hungry. He could have answered them himself, but I could see the relief in his eyes when he didn’t have to.

Surgery was set for first thing in the morning, but I warned him that hospital math is squishy and time works differently behind these doors. An urgent trauma could bump a routine laparoscopic procedure at any second. He was actually lucky his appendix wasn’t bursting right then. He rolled his eyes at me. What do I know, anyway?

Before I left for the night, I reminded him, “The nurses are going to wake you up constantly. It’s their job. Be nice. Never be rude to the people caring for you.”

He finally got a room on the surgical floor around 5:00 AM. My husband and I waited until visiting hours opened at 10:00.

Sure enough, his surgery was bumped for a higher-priority emergency.

I sat in the quiet and sent up a silent wish that whoever was on that operating table was going to be okay, deeply thankful that my child wasn’t the one in critical danger.

This is fine, I told myself. This is just routine.

Twenty years ago, my son was born in this very building. As a toddler, he was admitted here with RSV, sleeping under a clear plastic oxygen tent. At three, he was here for a broken leg; at nine, a fractured shoulder. Two decades of his life, anchored to this structure. The hospital has changed ownership a few times. Changed names on the sign out front. But in my mind, I still call it by the name it had the day I was lucky enough to become his mother.

While we waited for the OR team, he drifted off to sleep. My husband and I sat quietly, scrolling aimlessly on our phones.

The room’s armchair was old, its corners worn down by countless visitors. Sitting there, I couldn’t help but imagine all the people who had occupied that seat.

Praying. Crying. Waiting. Hoping.

The chair wasn’t just old; it had been worn down by all the people who had sat there carrying something. The chair squeaked whenever I shifted—a small, mechanical salutation. Just an old piece of hospital furniture, but one that had held so much weight over the years.

Today, ours was light. We were nervous. He was sore. We were tired. But everything was going to be fine. We were the lucky ones.

The surgery went smoothly late that morning, completely without fanfare, and we were back home by 6:00 PM. He was thrilled to drink water, thrilled to eat, thrilled to be in his own space.

Our living room recliner held him comfortably for the next two days while he recovered.

Yesterday, the initial hospital bill arrived in my inbox.

I haven’t opened it yet. I’m sure it will make me wince, especially at the start of a new fiscal year, but we’ll handle it. We’re lucky. So much luckier than most.

We packed our son up and brought him back to college a few days ago. My husband and I did all the lifting and sorting. It was hard for him not to help, but I know he appreciated it.

He’s twenty. He’s living away from home most of the year. He’s an RA. He has responsibilities and friends and a life that increasingly has very little to do with me.

Last night, my phone rang. It was him, calling just to check in.

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and I connected right here on Substack. She immediately stood out to me because she was the first person outside my circle of friends and family to truly connect with my writing.

If you’ve ever felt isolated in this profession and then suddenly found a colleague who just gets it, you know how powerful that is. Any newer writer also understands the impact of that kind of genuine interest. The fact that she connected with my work fueled months of writing. As a teacher, I don’t need much positive reinforcement to keep going!

We began chatting back and forth and quickly realized how closely our compasses align. We both want one simple, colossal thing: we want teachers to develop a better relationship with their careers. We want less burnout, more sustainability, and more joy.

In June of 2026, we surveyed teachers, and the response was crystal clear: teachers are burned out. But what surprised us was how many educators specifically wanted to know more about how to create a brain-friendly classroom.

That’s neuroplasticity, baby!

Over the course of the summer, our joint project evolved from simple handouts into an entire 37-page e-book. It balances foundational brain theory with highly tangible, micro-interventions that span every grade band—from K–2 through High School.

Our goal is simple: we want you to understand your students’ behavior, make sense of your own brain and sensory needs, and eliminate the silent energy leaks that leave you exhausted by 3:00 PM.

We can’t wait to share Brain-Friendly Classrooms with you!

A Candid Note on my Paid Tier

Before you access the guide below, I want to speak directly to the financial side of education.

I fully understand the reluctance to pay for a subscription. Teacher income is paltry at best, and every single dollar in an educator’s budget counts. Because of that, I want to reassure you that my free content is not going anywhere. Throughout this coming school year, I will continue to write and share plenty of free articles, insights, and ideas right here.

However, to make creating deeply researched, practical field guides like this one sustainable, resources like Brain-Friendly Classrooms will be exclusive to paid subscribers.

Throughout the year, paid subscribers ($5/month or $50/year) will gain access to tangible, high-yield resources focused on:

• Teacher Well-Being & Systems: Somatic and professional tools to protect your nervous system and prevent burnout.

• Multilingual Learner (MLL) Instruction: High-leverage, rigorous instructional scaffolds and frameworks for diverse learners.

• The Science of Reading for Older Readers: Specialized literacy strategies built for upper-elementary and secondary students.

I am committed to keeping this subscription as feasible and affordable as possible, but your willingness to support my writing and resource creation truly means the world to me. Thank you for being here and doing this work alongside us.

Paid Subscriber Access: Download Your E-Book Below

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For many years, those were my favorite non-coping strategies.

I learned early on that my value was to be found in my productivity and by placating the adults around me. Unfortunately for me, I am terrible at staying calm and quiet. I excel at staying busy. This coupling—my constant engine mixed with a knack for advocacy—has often been a source of more strife than solutions. So I became very good at staying busy. What I never learned was how to sit with difficult emotions long enough to move through them.

Over the past month, we’ve been building a small toolkit together. We’ve practiced slowing down, noticing what is happening in our minds and bodies, and creating just a little more space between the stress we experience and the way we respond to it. None of these practices are about becoming perfectly calm. They’re about reminding ourselves that we have choices, even when life feels overwhelming.

This week’s practice adds one more tool to that toolkit: tapping.

The moments when I reach for it aren’t usually life’s big crises. They’re the ordinary moments that somehow feel enormous:

• Before walking into a difficult meeting.

• After reading an email that makes my stomach drop.

• When I’m replaying a conversation on a loop in my head.

• When my logical brain knows I’m safe, but my nervous system is ringing every alarm it has.

If you’ve ever experienced that disconnect, you know how frustrating it can be. Your thinking brain says, You’re okay. Your body says, Run. Fight. Hide.

For me, tapping isn’t about pretending everything is fine. It’s about co-regulating with myself. Instead of ignoring my fear, distracting myself, or pushing it down, I acknowledge that it’s there.

Sometimes I use a full tapping sequence at home after a heavy day. But more often, it’s invisible. It’s tapping my thumbnail beneath the conference table during a tense conversation. It’s quietly tapping my chest in the staff bathroom before walking back into my classroom. No one else knows I’m doing it. But I do. And little by little, my body remembers that I’m not actually in danger.

There are several approaches to Emotional Freedom Technique (EFT), commonly called tapping. Some people follow a specific sequence of tapping points while repeating phrases that acknowledge what they’re feeling. Others, like me, use a simplified version in moments of acute stress. The goal isn’t perfection. It’s creating enough safety for your nervous system that your thinking brain can come back online.

Teachers spend their days helping everyone else regulate. We de-escalate conflict, absorb frustration, and offer calm even when we don’t feel it ourselves. By the time the dismissal bell rings, many of us have spent every ounce of emotional energy taking care of someone else’s nervous system.

This week’s meditation is an invitation to spend five minutes caring for your own. Not by pretending you’re fine. Not by pushing through. Not by stuffing the feelings down until the weekend, or the next school break.

Let’s build a habit of acknowledging what’s here with kindness, offering your nervous system a little reassurance, and remembering that you deserve the same compassion you so freely give your students.

Ready to try it? If that sounds like something you need today, I’d love for you to press play on this week’s guided tapping meditation and tap along with me.

[ ▷ Press Play: 5-Minute Guided Tapping Meditation ]

Let’s chat in the comments

• Was this your first experience with tapping?

• Did anything surprise you about how your body responded?

• Is this a practice you think you’ll keep in your teacher toolbox?

Your story might be exactly what another overwhelmed educator needs to read today.

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But if someone stopped you and asked, “What do you need today?”...would you know the answer?

There is an exercise I come back to often, you’ve probably done it yourself. The facilitator prompts you to make a list of all the people you love. Most people start with their children, a partner, parents, siblings, or friends. Then comes the question that stops us in our tracks:

Where are you on your own list?

It’s such a simple question, but it reveals something important. So many of us have become experts at noticing everyone else’s needs while slowly losing touch with our own.

This reality has become the cornerstone of my work here on Substack because I don’t think enough teachers, caregivers, and helpers truly believe it:

You are the most important person in your life.

Not because you’re more valuable than anyone else, but because you’re the one person you’ll spend every moment of your life with. The relationship you have with yourself shapes every other relationship you build.

For a long time, I confused self-love with enjoyment. I thought it meant planning adventures, making memories, laughing with friends, or treating myself to something fun. Those things absolutely bring joy, and they’re still part of a full life.

But I’ve learned that self-love runs much deeper. It feels like awareness. It sounds quiet. It lives in knowing.

• Knowing when you’re exhausted before you burn out.

• Knowing when you’re carrying emotions that aren’t yours to hold.

• Knowing what you need instead of pushing through one more day on autopilot.

That kind of knowing doesn’t usually arrive while we’re rushing from one responsibility to the next. It grows when we practice slowing down—even for just a few minutes. That’s why I’m sharing this week’s meditation.

It’s a guided RAIN meditation, a practice I first learned from Tara Brach and one that has become an anchor in my own life. If you’re unfamiliar with RAIN, it stands for:

These four simple steps invite us to meet ourselves with curiosity instead of judgment.

Practices like this have taught me more about myself than I learned in the first forty years of my life. They’ve helped me recognize what I need in a given moment, rather than automatically responding to everyone else’s needs first.

If your first thought is, “I don’t have five minutes,” this meditation is for you.

You don’t need an hour for self-care. Sometimes five intentional minutes are enough to interrupt the rush, quiet the noise, and remember that you belong on your own list.

I hope you’ll press play below and give yourself those five minutes today.

Click here for the RAIN guided meditation.

And when you’re finished, I’d love to hear from you in the comments. What did you notice?

Tell them that when the expansive ocean throws waves to play tag with the shore, the sound of the cobble rolling back and forth is surprisingly irritating. It just goes on and on, as if the ocean has nowhere else to be.

And the driving? You’ll spend hours winding along roads bordered by angry cliffs and hopeful trees—a view that just keeps going and going and going. Boring.. The scenery never changes. It’s just beautiful after beautiful after beautiful. Honestly, it’s exhausting.

If you aren’t careful, you’ll run into a park ranger who insists on telling you about glaciers, peregrine falcons, tidal ecosystems, or a community science project that actually lets you contribute to protecting the park. It’s July, for goodness’ sake. The last thing anyone wants is to accidentally learn something during summer vacation.

I’ve been here for a week now, and every day I discover another reason to warn people away.

The infrastructure is equally problematic. Roadside ice cream stands appear with alarming frequency, forcing impossible decisions between wild blueberry, black raspberry, and salted caramel. Restaurants seem incapable of serving anything besides freshly caught seafood, homemade pie, and lobster rolls. I don’t even think I’ve seen a McDonald’s since arriving.

Even the mornings and evenings are inconvenient. The sun insists on rising over the ocean in spectacular fashion, then slowly slips behind the mountains, teasing you with the prospect of a second show. It’s all theatrics really, just to make sure you don’t get anything done. And the stars?! The light from millions of miles away demands an audience as they take stage each night. It’s actually a little cringy.

And don’t get me started on the quiet. Eventually, you stop reaching for your phone. It doesn’t work in most places anyways. You start noticing the smells after the rain, the constant drum of the waves, the calls of gulls overhead and the boats out in the harbor, and stars you forgot were still up there.

It’s really quite terrible.

So do yourself a favor.

Go somewhere with more traffic, more concrete, stronger cell service, and absolutely no park rangers trying to enrich your understanding of the world.

Leave the angry cliffs, the endless forests, the rocky coastline, and all this inconvenient beauty to the few unfortunate souls willing to put up with it.

Maine sucks.

Tell your friends.

(I’ll be here if you need me.)

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This is the second post in a July series exploring the benefits of mindfulness, featuring brief reflections and guided meditations created specifically for educators. I invite you to explore each offering and see what resonates.

What if the primary purpose of this life is to know yourself? It sounds simple, but my own journey suggests otherwise. Through studying neuroplasticity and navigating my own late-in-life ADHD diagnosis, I’ve realized that much of who I thought I was was actually a cocktail of habit energy, reflexive stress patterns, long established neural pathways, and unmet sensory needs. Somewhere underneath that noise is the real me. But I haven’t always created the quiet necessary to find her.

A few years ago, I reached a breaking point. I had built a life where almost all my energy and patience went to everyone else’s children, leaving me exhausted, numb, and irritable at home. My family got the worst of me. It took reaching my absolute limit as a school leader during the chaos of COVID to force a change. Since stepping back, I have spent the last few years intentionally rebuilding a life where my own joy and peace are cornerstones.

I’ve learned that I am my best self when I physically move tension out of my body. My evenings are more peaceful if at some point during the day I cycle, walk, or use a vibration plate. Research on burnout—most notably by Dr. Emily Nagoski—reminds us that dealing with a stressor (like a difficult school day) isn’t the same as processing the physiological stress itself. To avoid chronic inflammation and exhaustion, we have to physically signal to our nervous systems that we are safe. We have to close the stress cycle.

When I don’t, the worry and frustration cling to me. My shoulders lock up, my arthritis flares, and I become snappy and resentful. I don’t do every practice every day, but I know now that my body demands physical release.

This week’s meditation is a progressive body scan where you systematically squeeze, hold, and release tension. I am not a naturally self-conscious person, but the first time I tried it, I felt ridiculous. Then I remembered I was alone in my living room at 5:30 AM—no one was witnessing the awkwardness. What people would witness later was the softness and presence created by that systematic release.

I encourage you to try it. See what the real, tired, hidden you needs after a loud day. My hope is that it brings you a fraction of the comfort it has brought me—but it’s okay if it doesn’t. Enjoy the journey, and keep looking for your own truth.

I also encourage you to check out Elisabeth Neeley’s most recent post over at . Her article, Playing to Heal Burnout, will further support your own exploration into joy. Play is known to be a necessity in childhood, but it turns out that it’s a requirement throughout life. Burnout necessitates a reinvigoration of your life and play can help you do that. Let her help you find your spark again.

Practical Neuroplasticity

Playing to Heal Burnout

Adulting Can Be Boring…

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2 months ago · 1 like · Elisabeth Neely

You can find the guided body scan here.

This summer is all about reclamation and self-awareness. If this spoke to you, make sure you are subscribed to The Language Lab so the remaining July meditations land right in your inbox. Let’s finish out the summer lighter than we started it.

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I began meditating because I was completely overwhelmed and ill-prepared to compartmentalize the stress of school leadership. In a lot of ways, it felt like someone trying to teach me to swim when I was already drowning. But those early days of sitting in silence were key. Not because it made administration more palatable (I ultimately chose to leave that role after ten years), but because it started my journey into unlearning.

Let’s be clear: I am not here to join the chorus of well-intentioned folks who espouse the notion that teachers simply need more “self-care” to handle the stressors of public education. That argument does two harmful things: it blames educators for being ill-equipped to handle a broken system, and it ignores the systemic flaws we are all suffering from.

I am not in that camp.

I am, however, of the firm belief that you deserve more peace and ease in your days. I believe that mindfulness can be deeply empowering. We don’t meditate to forget the flaws of our system; we meditate to steady our minds and bodies so we can navigate it without losing ourselves.

Recently, Elisabeth Neely and I collaborated on a survey to better understand what educators are facing right now. We shared it with our communities, and the data we received back was crystal clear: educators are tired. Across the board, teachers are experiencing crisis levels of classroom challenges, societal pressure, and moral injury. “Burnout” isn’t even the right word anymore.

The most common thread in the data? Significant sensory overload.

Reading that was a moment of profound validation for me, because it is my daily experience, too. Teaching is an incredibly noisy career. The children, the decisions, the deadlines, the paperwork, the shifting expectations... we are constantly doing, thinking, moving, listening, and answering. The verbs are never-ending. If you are anything like me, you probably drive home in complete silence, desperate for a few minutes of sensory deprivation.

When your internal volume is turned all the way up, you don’t need a lecture. You need a pressure valve.

Over the next four weeks, I am sharing a “buffet” of four short, 6-minute guided meditations designed specifically for overstimulated educators. Because different days require different tools, these are yours to mix, match, and return to whenever you need to hold your dysregulation.

Here is a look at what is on the menu over the next month:

• Week 1 (Today): Mapping the Storm – An exercise in somatic tracking, curiosity, and bravery. Learning how to locate the physical discomfort of overwhelm without letting it consume you.

• Week 2: The Release Valve – A progressive muscle relaxation script. Perfect for high-energy days when you feel tight, rigid, or too buzzed to sit still.

• Week 3: The Soft Grounding (RAIN) – A deep dive into self-compassion and emotional processing for the days when the moral injury and exhaustion feel heavy.

• Week 4: The Pressure Valve (EFT Tapping) – A hands-on, somatic tapping session to physically signal your nervous system that the school day is over and it is safe to land. (I’ll be sharing a video guide for this one so we can tap together!)

This entire four-part audio series will be completely free for all subscribers, because tools for survival shouldn’t carry a premium. If you find value in these resources and want to support the deep-dive curriculum and organizational tools we build behind the scenes, you can always check out our paid tier—but for now, just find a quiet place to sit, press play, and take a breath. You’ve earned it.

Link for Mapping the Storm Meditation

How did this practice feel for you today? Did you find your anchor? If you feel comfortable sharing, drop a comment below—let’s remind each other that we aren’t carrying this weight alone. I also invite you to share this blog and mediation with other teachers you know that need more peace and ease in their day. Whatever you do, make sure you keep taking care of yourself. You are the most important person in your life.

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But while I loved the pretend of school, the actual institution was a poor fit for my neurological and behavioral profile. I grew up in the 80s with undiagnosed ADHD, minimal adult supervision, and a heavy dose of childhood trauma. I was angry, dysregulated, and uncomfortable in my own skin—which made me pretty unpleasant to be around. Teachers didn’t like me, and frankly, I didn’t like myself either.

Those early years forged my professional mission. I became an educator precisely because I never felt safe or accepted in school. Today, I’m driven by the challenge of ensuring every child has at least one adult willing to look past their survival behaviors to understand what they actually need.

Now, as I button up my 23rd year in education, I look back on a journey shaped by my own workaholic tendencies and hard-learned lessons. A ten-year detour into school leadership left me deeply burned out and carrying layers of moral injury—a reality that nearly drove me out of the profession entirely. When I chose to return to the classroom, my ego screamed that it was a step backward, a public admission that I couldn’t handle leadership.

I’m so grateful I didn’t listen.

Returning to the classroom didn’t just reconnect me with my purpose; it gave me a rare, panoramic view of the entire school ecosystem. It is a grueling landscape right now, but my commitment to teacher and student well-being is what keeps me grounded.

I began meditating shortly after becoming a school leader, mostly because it was glaringly obvious I lacked the skills to survive the daily stress. Still undiagnosed with ADHD, I was trying to manage an entire building while simultaneously wrestling with my own big moods, chronic forgetfulness, and a brutal splash of perfectionism. I excelled at hurting my own feelings by obsessing over what people thought of me. Unlearning a lifetime of those survival behaviors has been anything but linear.

But through meditation, I finally discovered where my power actually lives.

It isn’t in perfection. It isn’t in the opinions of others, and it certainly isn’t at the bottom of a completed to-do list. My power is in the pause. It’s that quiet micro-moment where I choose a breath over a reaction, allowing myself to decide if my response is a reflection of my conscious self or just a well-worn habit.

True empowerment isn’t about controlling the chaos of a school building or a classroom; it’s about mastering our internal response to it. Ultimately, high-functioning schools are built by adults who are safe, regulated, and empowered from within.

I have been able to create more peace for myself simply because I chose to understand the function of my own behavior. Looking in the mirror isn’t easy, but neither is living with survival patterns that no longer serve you.

Years ago, I heard an NPR story about parking that stuck with me. As humans, we tend to do whatever is easiest in the immediate moment. People who back into parking spaces do it because it makes their eventual departure effortless; they tolerate a minor inconvenience now for a seamless exit later. Most of us, however, choose to make this exact moment easy. But building a life solely on temporary comfort rarely sets us up for long-term success.

Choosing to pull forward, to pause, and to examine why we react the way we do is uncomfortable work. But my writing, my resources, and my message are all built on a single hope: to encourage a journey that might be challenging in the short term, but ultimately leads to a more resilient, rested, and joyful you.

I need to tell you something else. I have a complicated relationship with the concepts of “growth” and “acceptance.” We live in a society that is constantly trying to sell us something under the guise of making us healthier, calmer, happier, or just better distracted. I have worked incredibly hard on my meditation pillow, with my therapist, and with my doctors to strip away that noise and find my actual baseline.

But the goal cannot be a “new” Jess.

I am always going to be a workaholic by nature. I am a high-energy extrovert who thrives on data, loves laughing with kids, and is obsessed with working for my community. Truly knowing myself means showing up as all of those things without apology—while fiercely maintaining my own boundaries. My physical and psychological health have to be the non-negotiables. Perfection is a marketing campaign that I refuse to endorse.

It takes a lot of practice to back into the parking space—to choose the uncomfortable pause over the easy reaction.

Whether you are wrestling with a career transition, staring down burnout, or just trying to find your own “pause” in a chaotic school day—I’d love to hear from you. Leave a comment below and let’s talk about what it looks like to fiercely maintain our boundaries without apology.

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Introduction

Do you feel pressured to continue as a Type-A caregiver, even past the point of comfort? We live and work in a system that succeeds primarily because it is composed of overworked educators who put their needs last. Part of the reason this happens is that school culture equates overextending yourself with caring, loyalty, or dedication. Healthy systems do not ask employees to neglect themselves or donate their time just to keep the system functioning.

The wisdom of the commercial airlines stands: secure your own oxygen mask before assisting others. If you pass out from oxygen deprivation, you can’t help anyone else. Similarly, if you’re too tired to think, you can’t give your students what they need. We both had to learn this the hard way. Here is how we got here:

Our Journey

Both of us grew up in school systems that didn’t understand us and didn’t meet our needs. Jess had undiagnosed ADHD, minimal adult supervision, and a heavy dose of childhood trauma. Elisabeth had an undiagnosed neurological visual impairment, which felt something like sensory processing disorder on steroids. Each of us came into teaching determined to give our students the understanding and quality of education that we wished we’d had.

But along the way, we put our own needs on the back burner. Jess has workaholic tendencies and took a ten-year detour into school leadership, which left her deeply burned out and nearly drove her out of the profession entirely. Elisabeth put up with school environments that were the exact opposite of what her brain needed: quiet, visual simplicity, and the ability to take breaks. This left her burned out and exhausted, necessitating a change in career.

How did we recover from pushing ourselves to the breaking point? Meditation helped Jess see that her power lies in how she responds to life, helping her become less reactive and better able to create a more balanced life. Elisabeth learned about neuroplasticity, sensory systems, and how to use this information to create an environment that actually meets her needs.

Why We Are Combining Forces

As educators, we are constantly told to “do more,” “push through,” and “practice self-care” by a system that drains our batteries. But true professional sustainability isn’t about doing more—it’s about identifying where your energy is leaking.

We are combining our expertise in special education, neuroplasticity, school leadership, and mindfulness to build unexpected, practical solutions to the invisible drains of the school day. We don’t want to guess what you need; we want to build the exact tools that will make your life easier.

Please give us your unvarnished, radically honest truth in this quick, 7-question pulse check.

Click Here to Take the 7-Question Pulse Check

Your Reward:

As a thank-you for completing the survey, you’ll receive a complimentary copy of our Guide to Navigating Your Comfort-to-Meltdown Spectrum. This resource is designed to help you recognize your personal baseline, spot early signs of stress, and identify immediate strategies to protect your well-being. It also includes a practical checklist to help you move away from burnout and toward greater balance.

Our collective experience tells us that the current structures within the American educational system are no longer tenable. It is time to change our relationship with our careers and reclaim our well-being.

Help us spread the word by sharing this post with your team, and join the conversation in the comments below.

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But our students shouldn’t have to carry that stress. They don’t need to know the labels, the data points, or how far behind a line they might sit.

Our job is to carry the urgency behind the scenes so they can experience the joy of the breakthrough.

The Tension Between Fidelity and Responsiveness

Many teachers feel trapped between fidelity and responsiveness. We worry that if we deviate from the curriculum, we’re somehow doing it wrong. In an era where conversations about evidence-based instruction are front and center, it can feel risky to supplement lessons with our own materials, games, or scaffolds.

But when data reveals a need, thoughtful supplementation isn’t a rejection of evidence-based practice. It’s often the most evidence-based thing we can do.

The Science of Reading provides an invaluable foundation, but no curriculum can anticipate the exact strengths and needs of every group of students sitting in front of us. Professional judgment still matters. Observation still matters. Diagnostic data still matters.

The goal isn’t to abandon the curriculum. The goal is to build a bridge between where students are and where they need to go.

Building the Bridge

Right now, my diverse group of third graders—including genuine newcomers and students with reading disabilities—are tackling our Reach Higher Nature in Balance unit. The data told me they had rock-solid CVC foundations but continued to stumble over complex vowel digraphs and silent-e patterns.

Instead of panic-printing remedial worksheets that highlighted what they couldn’t do, I built support directly into our grade-level learning.

The scaffold was simple: a vibrant, color-coded vowel anchor chart, with each vowel assigned a color. Target digraphs and silent-e patterns from our unit vocabulary were written on flashcards that matched the chart exactly, giving students an immediate and dignified visual support when they needed it.

Then came opportunities for independence. Through roll-and-read activities, the color scaffolding gradually disappeared, allowing students to apply what they were learning without relying on the visual cues.

And because learning should still be joyful, we closed most lessons with a high-energy round of Musical Words—passing cards around a circle, laughing with classmates, and reading aloud when the music stopped.

They think they’re playing games and exploring nature.

In reality, they’re strengthening decoding skills, building fluency, and developing the reading stamina they’ll need for the road ahead.

The anchor chart gets used. The vocabulary is sticking. Students are decoding words they would have avoided just a few months ago. Their reading is improving.

And my classroom remains one of their favorite places to be—or so they tell me.

Diagnosing the gap is our work. Protecting their peace while they bridge it is our privilege.

Let data dictate the priorities, but let joy dictate the practice.

None of us are figuring this out alone. Every classroom is its own version of this same question: how do we respond to data without losing joy in the process?

If you’ve found ways to bridge that gap—or if you’re still searching—I’d love to learn from you.

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What school leadership teams actually need are educators who care deeply about children, remain open and coachable, and bring a grounded energy into the building. A school leader can always teach a new hire our specific curriculum or train them on a digital tracking tool. But they can’t teach patience, humility, or a genuine belief in students.

Furthermore, let’s look at the practical reality: districts value newer teachers. Your fresh perspective, your openness to authentic collaboration, and your lack of entrenched pedagogical (and possibly bad) habits make you an incredibly appealing candidate.

Interviews aren’t a test of perfection; they are a window into who you are in the classroom. For MLL and ESL positions specifically, hiring teams are looking past standard qualifications to find clarity, flexibility, and a student-centered mindset.

When questions feel unpredictable, remember this secret: Most interview questions are designed to reveal specific operational traits. When you know what the interviewer is actually listening for, you can respond with real intention.

I love interviewing candidates, it’s one of the things I miss most about leadership. Not only because I am deeply outgoing and enjoy talking about how we can make schools better, but because a new hire is a gift to the school as much as the career prospect is a gift to the applicant. The reciprocal nature of the exchange is both exciting and fulfilling. I hope these tips fill you with some of that beautiful anticipation if you are looking for a new school this hiring season.

The Questions, The Intent, & The Answers

1. “Tell me about yourself.”

• What They’re Really Asking: Can you synthesize your professional story? Are you grounded in why you want this specific job?

• The Strategy: Use this to highlight your core “why”—what drives you to teach MLLs, how your background shapes your equity lens, and what you’re most excited to contribute to the school culture.

2. “How did you prepare for this interview?”

• What They’re Really Asking: Did you do your homework? Are you proactive, intentional, and genuinely curious about our community?

• Sample Answer:

“I started by reading through your school’s mission and checking the district’s MLL demographic trends. I noticed your multilingual population has grown by 20% over the last five years and that you prioritize co-teaching models. That stood out to me because I believe strongly in collaborative planning. I want to be in a building that actively honors students’ home languages and cultures while maintaining high cognitive expectations.”

3. “How do you support multilingual learners in a mixed classroom?”

• What They’re Really Asking: Do you know how to scaffold content dynamically, or do you just lower the bar?

• The Strategy: Reject the “fluent = fast” fallacy. Make it clear that language acquisition requires time, not reduced rigor. Focus your answer on explicit linguistic “on-ramps.”

• Sample Answer:

“I plan every lesson with multiple entry points. I don’t lower the cognitive load; instead, I provide heavy language scaffolding—such as interactive graphic organizers, targeted sentence stems, and frontloaded vocabulary. I also look for opportunities to leverage students’ home languages as a strategic asset for learning.”

4. “How do you measure student success?”

• What They’re Really Asking: Are you data-aware? Do you value holistic growth, or just standardized metrics?

• Sample Answer:

“Standardized tests are only a single snapshot. I rely heavily on frequent, classroom-based formative data cycles to make student growth visible. Using simple, efficient tracking tools like targeted Google Forms, exit tickets, and observational notes helps me adjust my instruction in real time. True success is when students can reflect on their own growth and articulate what they need next.”

5. “What is your classroom management style?”

• What They’re Really Asking: Can you create a calm, predictable space where learning and psychological safety coexist without resorting to punitive compliance?

• The Strategy: Avoid generic phrases like “I’m firm but fair.” Instead, talk about proactive structures, predictable routines, and how a well-scaffolded lesson naturally reduces behavioral anxiety for multilingual learners.

• Sample Answer:

  “My management style is rooted in predictable routines, clear physical and visual boundaries, and proactive relationship-building. For multilingual learners, behavioral friction often comes from frustration or not knowing what to do next. Because of that, I rely heavily on visual schedules, clear language modeling for behavior expectations, and consistent transitions. I don’t aim for quiet compliance; I aim for a structured, low-affective-filter environment where students feel safe enough to take linguistic risks and know exactly what is expected of them.”

6. “How would you collaborate with a content teacher who seems reluctant to work with you?”

• What They’re Really Asking: Are you emotionally intelligent, collaborative, and professional when navigating interpersonal friction?

• Sample Answer:

“I recognize that true collaboration requires trust, and many teachers are already stretched thin. If a colleague seems hesitant, I bypass the ‘culture of nice’ and focus on direct, supportive partnership. I start small—offering a highly practical, ready-to-use resource or asking how I can lighten their load for an upcoming unit. I make it clear that I’m there to support our shared students, not to add tasks to their plate.”

7. “What are your areas of growth?”

• What They’re Really Asking: Are you self-aware and coachable, or are you defensive?

• The Strategy: Name a genuine area of development, but frame it as an active path of learning.

• Sample Answer:

“I am actively working on refining how I co-plan across diverse content areas like middle school science. I’m focusing on balancing language functions with complex academic standards, and I’m eager to learn from the veteran specialists on your team.”

8. “Do you have any questions for us?”

• What They’re Really Asking: Are you prepared and thoughtful? Are you evaluating us as much as we are evaluating you?

• The Strategy: Always ask at least one question to show you value your own career sustainability and workplace culture.

Great Questions to Ask:

• What does success look like for a first-year teacher here?

• How do you support authentic collaboration between ESL specialists and content teachers?

• My Favorite Question to Ask: “What keeps you here?” (Tip: This flips the dynamic beautifully. It bypasses rehearsed HR talking points and asks the panel to speak from the heart about the actual health, joy, and retention of the school community.)

The Ultimate Interview Filter

When you are sitting in the hot seat, strip away the anxiety and remember that nearly every question a committee asks can be filtered down to three core queries:

1. Will you be good for kids?

2. Will you be sustainable and collaborative to work with?

3. Will you keep growing?

Bring your authentic self into the room. Remember that while you want to give your absolute best to your future students, you are also the most important person in your own life—setting clean, clear boundaries around your expertise and your workload starts on day one of the interview.

The Mechanics of the Room: Practical Tips for Game Day

Once you walk through the door or log into the Zoom room, the interview isn’t just an oral exam—it’s a live human dynamic. Use these structural strategies to stay grounded:

• Capture the Names Immediately: When you sit down, write down the names of the interviewers on your notepad. If you miss a name during the rapid-fire introductions, don’t be afraid to ask! Saying, “I want to make sure I have everyone’s name correct, could you repeat that for me?” shows confidence and attention to detail. Plus, you’ll need these exact names for your follow-up notes.

• Master the “Panel Pivot” Eye Contact: In a committee interview, the team has likely divvied up tasks—rotating who asks the questions, who takes notes, and who tracks the time. When an individual asks a question, give your primary eye contact to them as you begin your response, but naturally scan the rest of the room as you expand your answer.

• Embrace the Power of the Pause: There is an absolute fallacy in education that “fluent equals fast.” There is no prize for answering quickly. When a question is leveled at you, it is perfectly okay to pause, take a breath, or write down a key phrase on your pad before you speak. Taking five seconds to gather your thoughts doesn’t make you look blank; it makes you look thoughtful, measured, and secure. This is your time. Use it well.

• The Strategic Thank-You Note: Send a personalized thank-you email or physical note within 24 hours. Don’t just make it a generic template. Mention a specific detail you appreciated about the team or a program they highlighted, explicitly invite them to reach out with further questions, and list your references right at the bottom for their easy, immediate access.

Two More Former-Principal Tips to Add:

• Bring a Single “Artifact of Growth”: Don’t overwhelm a panel with a massive 30-page portfolio binder—no one has time to read it during a 45-minute window. Instead, bring one high-impact visual artifact. For an MLL role, a simple before-and-after student writing sample showing the direct impact of your scaffolding tools is incredibly powerful. Slide it across the table when you answer the student success question.

• Keep Your Notepad Strategic: Your notepad isn’t just for taking notes; it’s a security blanket. Write down 3 or 4 core data points or specific strategies (like SIOP, sentence frames, data cycles) at the top of your page before you walk in. If your mind goes totally blank from nerves, a quick glance down at your pad will instantly anchor you back to your core message.

Share the Support & Unlock the Tool

Share these tips with members of your community who are knee-deep in their job search. If you know a new educator, an MLL specialist, or a colleague looking for a fresh start this season, pass this along to help them navigate the hiring desk with confidence.

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Being nervous for an interview is natural—but you don’t have to go it alone. Let me help you show up prepared, grounded, and confident in the value you bring to the table.

By upgrading to a Paid Subscription, you will instantly unlock the exclusive, high-resolution printable download below:

The “What They’re Asking” One-Pager

This printable tool synthesizes the most common questions asked at a teacher interview and translates them into what the panel is actually looking for, giving you an instant cheat sheet for your interview prep binder.

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As a teacher, I have a choice. I can continue to drill these skills in isolation and risk running out of time before students ever access more advanced academic work. Or, I can understand my students’ structural needs and build scaffolds into grade-level tasks. I will always choose the latter because to keep students stagnated is to rob them of the opportunity to grow intellectually.

I rebuke the insidiousness of low expectations, but I also refuse to let overwhelm or underdeveloped skills pull my students into failure. Multilingual learners deserve access to rigorous thinking, meaningful content, and authentic academic tasks. Scaffolds are not shortcuts. They are bridges.

This spring, my students began one of the most ambitious writing projects we’ve done all year: a five-paragraph compare-and-contrast essay about life on Earth versus life on the International Space Station.

And yes, some of them initially hated the idea.

I have one student who tells me almost every day that he hates writing. That he hates this project specifically. At the beginning of class, I flash him the “cero miedo” hand sign because he loves the wrestler Penta and proudly talks about their shared Mexican heritage. He grumbles a little, smiles despite himself, and eventually tucks in to work. Underneath the resistance is something important: He wants to feel successful.

And honestly? They all do. We all do.

Project Snapshot

• Grade: 4

• Student Population: Multilingual learners

• Final Product: Five-paragraph compare-and-contrast essay

• Topic: Life on Earth vs. life on the ISS

• Length: Approximately 4–5 weeks

Major Skills

• Compare-and-contrast language

• Note-taking & text evidence

• TWR-aligned thesis statements & topic sentences

• Point-by-point paragraph organization

• Academic vocabulary

• Independent reading stamina

Building Background Knowledge

This project actually began more than a month before students started drafting their essays.

In my pull-out groups, we use the Reach Higher curriculum, and we launched the space unit just before April vacation. While the curriculum provided a strong foundation, I knew students would need additional support and content knowledge in order to successfully write an extended essay. To supplement the unit, I printed two additional books from Reading A-Z that focused on life in space and the International Space Station.

The goal was never just “doing research.” I wanted students to slowly build confidence interacting with informational text independently.

For several weeks, class began with ten quiet minutes of reading and note-taking. Even though the books were printed in black and white, students treated them like real research materials because they were. Building stamina matters. Many students are accustomed to quickly abandoning difficult text, especially informational text. I wanted them to experience what it feels like to sustain attention, gather information, and become experts on a topic over time.

Teaching Students to Read Like Writers

Before students could write effectively, they needed to learn how to collect information intentionally. Students received the essay prompt and a student-facing rubric early in the process so they understood the final goal from the beginning.

Because I knew compare-and-contrast language would be essential, we spent significant time discussing how writers communicate similarities and differences clearly. I also created a structured note-catcher to support students while reading.

The note-catcher leaned heavily into the RACES writing framework and guided students to identify key vocabulary, collect important details, and organize evidence. If we want students to answer essay questions well, they first need to understand how to read with purpose.

Some students filled pages with notes immediately. Others needed substantial modeling and prompting. Both were okay. The point was not perfection; it was building habits of thinking.

Moving From Research to Writing

Once students finished reading the books, we expanded our learning through videos about life on the ISS. The videos helped solidify vocabulary and gave students visual context for concepts that were difficult to fully understand through text alone, like sleeping in zero gravity or exercising in space.

At this point, students had enough background knowledge to begin transitioning into writing. I introduced our space essay packet and reviewed the rubric with them.

Then, students explored the packet with partners. What did they notice? What looked manageable? What looked challenging? That conversation was important. I wanted students to see that strong writing is not magic. It is a process that can be broken into smaller, manageable parts.

Supporting Strong Introductions

One area I knew would be particularly difficult was writing introduction hooks. Many of my students still struggle to generate strong opening sentences independently, so I wanted to provide support without removing the cognitive work entirely.

I created a matching activity using ten sample hooks. Students worked with partners to match sentence halves together before discussing which hooks were most effective.

Afterwards, students selected their favorite examples and used them as inspiration for writing their own introductions. Some students wrote surprisingly strong hooks; others still needed heavy support. But every student was participating in the work of real writers.

A Deliberate Pivot: From Notes to Paragraph Outlines

Nearly three weeks into the project, students finally began drafting. Initially, I had planned to use a generic paragraph organizer I had on hand from a past project. But as I sat down to prep, I looked at it through the lens of my current professional practice goals around The Writing Revolution (TWR).

I realized a generic template wouldn’t cut it. For Multilingual Learners, organizing a compare-and-contrast essay by separating locations (all Earth in paragraph one, all ISS in paragraph two) often leads to disconnected, low-level lists. To push them into higher-level analytical thinking, they needed a point-by-point topic structure.

So, I re-engineered the resource into a TWR-aligned Multiple-Paragraph Outline (MPO) built specifically for this space prompt. On Page 1, I built a visual flow map to anchor their spatial understanding of the essay.

For the body paragraphs (covering student-chosen topics like eating, sleeping, or hygiene), the new layout guides them to state a Topic Sentence using complex sentence stems, contrast the environments directly within the same paragraph, and construct a meaningful Concluding Sentence showing how gravity impacts that specific human function.

Here is a look at the exact target exemplar I designed to anchor our body paragraphs, showing how a subordinating conjunction (”Although”) automatically builds academic syntax:

Although daily life on Earth and the International Space Station seems exactly the same, astronauts must adapt to living with zero gravity. On Earth, gravity keeps everything on the floor, so humans eat from regular plates and sleep comfortably in horizontal beds. However, on the ISS, objects constantly float away if they are not strapped down. Because of this zero-gravity environment, astronauts must eat meals out of sealed plastic bags and Velcro their sleeping bags directly to the walls. Living in space requires special routines that are completely different from life on the ground.

The final step of this live project will be typing their essays independently. And no, they will not be perfect. Some students will still miss punctuation; some will write awkward sentences. But they are doing intellectually demanding work anyway. That matters.

Practical Equity: What About Pre-Literate Learners?

I have three students in this group who are arguably still pre-literate due to significant learning differences. They are currently performing at a WIDA Level 2 (Emerging) oral profile.

True equity is not giving these students a completely different, lower-level coloring worksheet while the rest of the class writes essays. They belong to our writing community. To honor their dignity and intellectual capacity, I brought this exact same point-by-point writing matrix to life for them using a large sheet of cardstock.

They aren’t expected to independently write a five-paragraph essay, but they are executing the exact same cognitive work as their peers. They trace and anchor their topic sentence (“Eating in space is different than on Earth”), and then draw detailed illustrations across rows to contrast the environments.

As they draw, I use a dedicated oral language progress matrix to capture their spoken text-bound ideas, using targeted sentence frames to coach their raw speech into compound academic structures (e.g., coaching “On Earth food stay. In space it float” into “On Earth we use plates, but on the ISS food floats away”). Rigor looks different across learners, but student dignity remains completely intact.

Reflection

This project is still ongoing in my classroom right now, but I already know it has been worth the time.

Students who normally shut down during writing are sustaining attention for longer periods of time. Students who struggle to organize their thinking are using our new point-by-point structures more independently than they were earlier this year. Perhaps most importantly, students are beginning to see themselves as capable of producing “real” academic writing.

Not because the task was made easier. But because the path toward success was made clearer.

Resources for Paid Subscribers

To replicate this exact process in your own classroom without spending twenty hours designing the components from scratch, you can access my complete, freshly updated “Cero Miedo” MLL Writing Toolkit below.

What’s inside the printable PDF bundle:

• The Space Graphic Organizer & Visual Map: The 8-page TWR-aligned template engineered for point-by-point topic paragraphs (Eating, Sleeping, Hygiene) and objective, gravity-focused conclusions.

• The Hook Matching Activity: The 10 sample sentence halves engineered specifically to model complex syntax patterns for 3rd and 4th graders.

• The WIDA Level 2 Oral Progress Matrix: My exact tracking sheet with target linguistic look-fors, raw dictation columns, and coaching frames.

• The Pre-Literate Cardstock Blueprint: Row prompts I used to adapt this exact unit visually for macro-media drawing.

Transparency matters to me: moving to a paid model wasn't a choice I took lightly. This space is built on real, usable tools, and I’m so glad you’re part of it. If these resources are actively serving you and your classroom community, I hope you'll consider upgrading your subscription to help keep this project sustainable.

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This is the part of the conversation that matters most to me because understanding students is important, but students also need tools. Compassion without structure does not help struggling learners succeed. Scaffolding is how we hold the line. True empathy means keeping the academic bar high, but building a massive, sturdy ramp to help them reach it.

One of the biggest barriers I see is that students often do not know what success looks like. We hand them an assignment and assume they understand the expectations, the academic language, the organization, and the thinking process required to complete it. Many do not.

Clear Criteria Lowers Cognitive Load

This is one of the reasons I believe so strongly in student-facing rubrics and clear success criteria.

If we want students to produce quality work, we need to explicitly show them what quality work looks like. A strong rubric reduces uncertainty and lowers cognitive load. It gives students a roadmap instead of asking them to navigate blindly.

Research on motivation consistently shows that students are more likely to engage when tasks feel achievable. Clarity increases confidence. Confidence increases persistence.

I use standards-based, WIDA-aligned rubrics regularly with my students because multilingual learners especially benefit from explicit language around expectations and skill development.

A strong, student-facing rubric lowers cognitive load by giving students a clear roadmap for success instead of forcing them to navigate blindly.

Leveraging Tech for Sustainability

Writing effective rubrics can be difficult and time-consuming, and to protect my own professional boundaries and energy, I look to digital tools for help. AI tools have been incredibly useful for me in this process. I have used both Gemini and ChatGPT to help generate initial rubric drafts and organize ideas before refining them to fit my students’ unique needs.

Another major barrier is language itself. Sometimes students are not refusing to complete a task because they do not understand the content. They are refusing because they do not yet have the academic language necessary to express their thinking.

This is why I believe so strongly in sentence frames, explicit modeling, and opportunities for structured discussion. These supports are often associated with multilingual learners, but the reality is that many students benefit from explicit support with academic vocabulary, sentence structure, and formal writing conventions.

These supports are not “cheating.” They are scaffolds. A sentence frame does not remove thinking from a task; it removes unnecessary linguistic barriers so students can focus their cognitive energy on the skill we are actually trying to teach.

Building Academic Endurance

The same is true for modeling. Many students need to see the process before they can attempt it independently. We sometimes forget that confidence is built through successful experiences, not repeated frustration.

Image Generated by Gemini AI

When we introduce these tools, we completely disarm the classroom power struggle. When a student defaults to task refusal and says, “I’m not doing this,” and we respond by breaking down the barrier—handing them a tailored sentence frame or showing them the exact model—the conflict begins to lose steam. We aren’t fighting their will; we are supporting their skill.

We also need to think about stamina the same way we think about physical endurance. Students often need gradual practice sustaining focus and productive struggle. That means chunking tasks into manageable pieces. Instead of handing a struggling reader a multi-page text and expecting an immediate summary, we might start by asking them to read three specific sentences and highlight a single key piece of evidence. We build reading endurance slowly, creating opportunities for students to experience success before increasing complexity.

Most importantly, I think students need adults who believe they are capable.

Part of my job as a teacher is helping students see themselves as successful learners, especially when they have already decided they are not. I want my students to know that struggle does not mean inability. I want them to understand that academic skills can be developed and strengthened over time.

High expectations and empathy are not opposites. In fact, I would argue that the most effective classrooms are built on both. Students deserve accountability, but they also deserve support, clarity, and instruction that recognizes the very real barriers many of them are carrying into school each day.

When we stop viewing disengagement as a character flaw and start viewing it as information, we become much more effective at helping students move forward.

What’s your go-to? We know there are no quick fixes, but building a sturdy ramp for our students matters. Which of these structures—rubrics, explicit modeling, or chunking—makes the biggest difference in your classroom?

Next Week on the Blog: I’m taking this out of the realm of theory. I’m going to open up my plan book and show you exactly how I used these scaffolds in a recent essay project with my kids. All readers will get the full planning process and strategic breakdown. For my paid subscribers, I will also be sharing the download link for the exact student-facing rubrics, graphic organizers, and materials I gave to my students so you can drop them straight into your own classroom.

Join the Lab: The Language Lab is shifting to a subscriber-supported model so I can keep pouring time into creating deep, actionable resources. If this work helps you protect your energy and support your students, consider upgrading to a paid subscription this week to unlock next week’s resource vault. Either way, I am so incredibly grateful you are here on the trail with me.

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A teacher left this comment on a recent post I made about a summer reading initiative. And honestly, I understood the frustration behind it immediately.

Teachers across grade levels are exhausted by what feels like increasing student apathy. We see unfinished assignments, immediate task refusal, students giving up before they even begin, and behaviors that look like avoidance or indifference. Some students appear emotionally detached from school altogether.

Sometimes it becomes easier to let a student opt out than to enter another power struggle.

These situations are real, and they are difficult. Teaching students who seem disengaged day after day can be incredibly discouraging, especially when you care deeply about their success. This is not a moral failing on your part as an educator, nor does it mean your lessons aren’t “engaging” enough.

But educational research — along with frameworks like Collaborative Problem Solving (CPS) — suggests that what we often call “apathy” is frequently something else entirely.

Ross Greene’s CPS philosophy is centered around the idea that “kids do well if they can.” In other words, when students consistently struggle to engage, persist, regulate themselves, or complete work, the issue is often not unwillingness. It is lagging skills, unmet needs, or barriers to access.

That does not mean removing expectations. It means responding accurately instead of reactively.

When we view disengagement as information, the work shifts from managing a behavior to solving a problem together.

Research on motivation and executive functioning increasingly shows that many behaviors associated with “laziness” are actually connected to undeveloped or overwhelmed skills. Students may struggle with task initiation, sustained attention, emotional regulation, organization, frustration tolerance, or academic confidence. A student who says, “I’m not doing this,” may not be communicating defiance nearly as often as they are communicating overwhelm.

Students also disengage when they believe failure is inevitable. Research on learned helplessness shows that when students repeatedly experience difficulty without meaningful success, they often stop trying altogether. Avoidance becomes protective. It is emotionally safer to act like you do not care than to risk trying and failing publicly.

This is especially important to consider for multilingual learners, students with interrupted education, struggling readers, and students dealing with chronic stress or instability. Sometimes what appears to be apathy is actually cognitive overload. Sometimes it is embarrassment. Sometimes it is exhaustion.

And yes, technology likely plays a role as well. Students are growing up in environments where stimulation changes constantly. Sustained attention is harder than it used to be. Reading for an extended period of time can feel genuinely difficult for students accustomed to rapid shifts in input and entertainment. That does not mean students are incapable of deep thinking or learning, but it does mean many of them need support rebuilding stamina for tasks that require persistence.

Image Generated by Gemini AI

None of this means students should be allowed to disengage completely. I still believe strongly in maintaining high expectations. I refuse to allow students to opt out of their own growth and success. But there is an important difference between holding students accountable and assuming they are simply unwilling to learn.

If we believe students do well when they can, then disengagement becomes information. The question shifts from:

“Why won’t this student work?”

to:

“What is making this work inaccessible right now?”

That shift matters because it changes how we respond. Punishment cannot build skills. Shame does not increase confidence. Repeated failure rarely creates motivation.

But support, clarity, structure, and achievable success often do.

In Part 2, I want to talk about what this actually looks like in practice — how scaffolds, rubrics, language supports, and explicit modeling can help students re-engage without lowering expectations.

Join the Conversation: Think about that one student who is currently pushing your buttons with task refusal. If you look at their behavior as information rather than apathy, what skill or barrier do you think they are trying to communicate? Let’s talk about it in the comments.

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Let’s fix that.

Below are ten ways to translate “formative data” into “parent permission.” Please don’t throw all of these at a parent at once! Tuck them into your professional rolodex for your next newsletter or conference. We can’t reduce the stressors our families experience, but we can provide the language they deserve.

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1. The Permission to Pivot: If your child is frustrated or upset, it’s okay to close the book.

   • The Why: High emotion triggers a “shutdown” in the brain. Forcing it creates a negative association with books.

2. The “Passive” Engagement: Try swapping 10 minutes of high-stimulation tablet time for 10 minutes of just looking at a book together.

   • The Why: It helps reset the child’s attention span away from “controlled stimulation” without the pressure of performance.

3. The Heritage Advantage: Reading, singing, and storytelling in your strongest language is a superpower. If your families are lucky enough to speak a language other than English, let them know how important L1s are for our students.

   • The Why: Literacy skills transfer. A child who understands story structure in Spanish or Portuguese is a better reader in English.

4. The Processing Pause: Give your child a full three seconds to figure out a word before you jump in.

   • The Why: It builds self-correction and confidence.

5. Model the “Music”: Try “Echo Reading”—you read a line, and they repeat it back.

   • The Why: It allows them to hear the rhythm and flow of language without the exhaustion of decoding every word.

6. Celebrate Effort: Focus your praise on how hard your child is trying, not just on whether or not they’re successful.

   • The Why: Reading is a high-stamina activity. When we praise the “try,” we build a growth mindset. If we only praise the “result,” the child may stop trying the moment the text gets difficult to avoid “failing.”

7. Bypass the Anomalies: If a word is irregular or confusing (like through or laugh), just tell them what it is.

   • The Why: Not every word is worth a ten-minute struggle, especially when the spelling doesn’t follow the “rules.”

8. The Low-Stakes Shared Read: Take turns. You read a page, they read a page.

   • The Why: It lowers the “cognitive load,” allowing the child to actually enjoy the plot.

9. The Visual Conversation: “Read” the pictures together—even if you never read the text.

   • The Why: This builds the oral language and inferencing skills that are the bedrock of comprehension.

10. The “Connection” Night: On the hardest days, just tell a story about your childhood or talk about the day.

    • The Why: Connection is the foundation of literacy. A child who feels safe with words will eventually seek them out.

The Takeaway:

We have to stop asking families to be teachers and start helping them be partners. The impact of a home that values stories is immeasurable—literally. It cannot be captured in a reading log.

If we want to move the needle for our young readers, we have to start by moving the needle on how we support their families.

How has your school reimagined family engagement to meet parents where they actually are?

Writing takes time, and your engagement makes it worthwhile. If this piece resonates with you, you can support my work by liking, sharing, or leaving a comment. You’re also welcome to drop a small tip in my Tip Jar — every bit helps me keep creating thoughtful content.

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I grew up in a food-insecure home with a single mom working double shifts in healthcare. Bedtime stories weren’t a routine—they were a rare exception. But my home wasn’t broken; it was busy.

That is the bias we don’t talk about enough in education. We treat structured routines and quiet nightly reading as if they are universal constants. They aren’t. They are a form of stability that many families simply cannot access—not for lack of love, but because they are managing the reality of survival: time, multiple jobs, and chronic stress.

When we assume these routines should exist, we quietly label families who can’t maintain them as less invested. That bias shows up in our expectations, our language, and the “homework” we send home.

The Reality Check:

It is the school’s responsibility to teach a child to read—the mechanics, the decoding, the structures. It is the family’s role to build comfort and connection. If we want better outcomes, we have to give families tools that are realistic, flexible, and grounded in their real lives.

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The Missed Step:

We often fall back on the “Read for 20 minutes” mantra because we haven’t been trained to offer anything else. But as spring events like literacy nights and conferences approach, we have an opportunity to shift the narrative.

If we’re serious about partnership, we have to replace “just read more” with something more human and more honest. On Thursday, I’ll share ten simple ways to provide that language. For now, I challenge you to look at your school’s default messages. Do they reflect real life, or just an idealized version of it? I’d love to hear how you talk with families about reading—and how you help them build joy around it in ways that feel real for their lives.

Writing takes time, and your engagement makes it worthwhile. If this piece resonates with you, you can support my work by liking, sharing, or leaving a comment. You’re also welcome to drop a small tip in my Tip Jar — every bit helps me keep creating thoughtful content.

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Most of us are great at the collection part. We have the piles to prove it. The breakdown happens in the “what next?” phase. We move on because we’re busy, because the next lesson is already planned, and because it’s April and there’s no “extra” time.

But data only matters when it changes your next move.

Earlier this week, I noticed a pattern with a small group of fourth graders. They could identify key details in a text (Comprehension), but when asked to explain their thinking in writing, their responses were incomplete (Writing).

Instead of moving on, I made one small shift:

I pulled that group and focused exclusively on turning verbal ideas into clear sentences. I told them exactly what I noticed—our students deserve the vocabulary to understand their own learning gaps. We used sentence frames and word banks. It wasn’t a curriculum overhaul; it was a targeted ten-minute adjustment.

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This is why organization matters:

• For the Student: They get the exact support they need, right now.

• For the Teacher: You walk into your post-observation conference with a clear narrative: “The data showed a gap in writing, so I adjusted by implementing these specific frames.”

That is the definition of “highly effective” instruction.

In April, you don’t need to do everything. Just let your data guide one next step. One group. One skill. One adjustment. That’s how we finish the year strong.

Try this tomorrow: Pick one student, look at one piece of data, and make one 5-minute adjustment.

If you want the full system I use to stay intentional without the burnout, check out the MLL Data Tracker on TPT. It’s designed by an educator for educators who value their time as much as their impact.

If you found this helpful, please share it with a colleague who is feeling the April slump!

Writing takes time, and your engagement makes it worthwhile. If this piece resonates with you, you can support my work by liking, sharing, or leaving a comment. You’re also welcome to drop a small tip in my Tip Jar — every bit helps me keep creating thoughtful content.

State testing is in full swing. Teacher evaluations are around the corner. Spring break is pulling all of our attention. And somewhere in the back of your mind is that quiet, nagging question: Do I actually have enough data?

Image Created by Gemini AI. Let’s try to reduce those piles of paper in April!

Here’s the truth: you probably do. The problem isn’t a lack of information; it’s that your data is scattered across exit tickets, sticky notes, and half-remembered observations. When it lives in ten different places, it’s impossible to use when you actually need it for an evaluation or a placement meeting.

Try this: Organize what you have into three clear buckets.

For my MLLs, I keep it simple:

1. Comprehension: Can they understand the content?

2. Writing: Can they express their thinking clearly?

3. Language Use: How are they using English to communicate?

That’s it. Once I started doing this, the “swirl” of April slowed down. I wasn’t flipping through papers trying to “remember” how a student was doing. I could see patterns instantly.

The Shortcut:

To keep this manageable, I use a comprehensive MLL Data Tracker during small groups. I’m a fan of systems that do the heavy lifting for me—I’d rather be hiking or clearing my head than color-coding a spreadsheet. I designed these Google Forms for my own classroom because the automatic, colorful charts give me the “defensible” data I need for end-of-year reflections without the extra hours of prep.

Don’t try to back-fill the whole year. Just start fresh today. Your future self—the one sitting in a placement meeting three weeks from now—will thank you for the clarity.

What’s your biggest “data headache” right now? Drop a comment and let me know—I’m tailoring this month’s posts to what you need most.

Writing takes time, and your engagement makes it worthwhile. If this piece resonates with you, you can support my work by liking, sharing, or leaving a comment. You’re also welcome to drop a small tip in my Tip Jar — every bit helps me keep creating thoughtful content.

Image Create by Gemini AI, inspired by my actual weekend

If we want balance and calm, we often have to make edits to our schedule.

This weekend, I am prioritizing what must be done: launching a new unit for my students and resting after a particularly busy week. When I work myself into an arthritis flare, I know it’s time to slow down.

One of the best things about leaving my principal position is that much of my “busy” is self-created. As such, I can opt out.

So, here’s to giving yourself permission to rest. To say no. To sip tea. To rewatch a favorite show. I’ll be back to my blog next week, but today I have the luxury of choosing what stays and what goes.

Be well,

Jess

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We’ve all heard the preposterous concerns—from high school students allegedly identifying as “furries” demanding litter boxes to high-level declarations that we are conspiring to secretly alter children’s identities. As anyone actually in the classroom knows, most days we are just struggling to get students to charge their Chromebooks or stay off their phones. The gap between the “social media version” of school and the “real-life version” has never been wider.

Image Created by Gemini AI

Why We Can’t Ignore the “Dirty Energy”

I usually prefer to avoid engaging with online absurdities. However, as the “teacher slander” worsens, silence can start to look like complicity. I’m not interested in matching “dirty energy,” but there is immense value in having calm, neutral responses ready. We cannot let public education crumble under the pressure of false claims and propaganda.

To work effectively with a skeptical public, we have to move the conversation from ideology to pedagogy. Here is how we can reframe the most common “loud” concerns into professional talking points.

Not Every Post Deserves You

Before engaging, it’s worth asking a simple question: Is this even worth my time? Not every comment is made in good faith. Not every post is looking for understanding. Before responding, consider:

• Is this a real question or obvious bait?

• Will my response add clarity—or just add noise?

• Am I responding thoughtfully, or reacting emotionally?

Sometimes, the most professional move is to keep scrolling.

The Talking Point Toolkit

When you do choose to respond, clarity matters. In online spaces, you’re not just responding to one person—you’re speaking to everyone watching.

Here are ways to reframe the most common claims using grounded, professional language:

“Teachers are indoctrinating students on race and DEI.”

Our curriculum is based on state-approved history and ELA standards. We aim to provide a full, honest picture of history so students can develop the analytical skills to understand the world they live in today. It isn’t about shame; it’s about accuracy.

“Schools are overstepping on LGBTQAI+ issues.”

Every student deserves a safe, focused environment where they can learn. Acknowledging the diversity of our families and students is about fostering a culture of mutual respect—a “soft skill” that is essential for success in any modern workplace.

“There are ‘inappropriate’ books in school libraries.”

Libraries provide “windows and mirrors”—books where students see themselves and books where they learn about others. We use professional, transparent processes for selection and respect parental review.

“Kids can’t read; the system is failing them.”

While national reading scores are a concern, modern educators use “Science of Reading” frameworks. We are working harder than ever to bridge gaps created by the pandemic and digital distractions.

“Teachers only work half the year.”

Teaching is a front-loaded profession. The “breaks” are often used for unpaid professional development, curriculum mapping, and recovery from 50+ hour work weeks during the term.

Instead of engaging in a political debate, we can frame our responses around the educational necessity of these topics: The “Neutral Ground” Strategy. When a community member approaches you with these concerns, try using these three anchors to keep the conversation productive:

1. Focus on the “Why”: “We include diverse perspectives because our students will eventually work in a global economy. Being able to collaborate with people from all walks of life is a competitive advantage.”

2. Invite Partnership: “If there is a specific text or assignment you’re concerned about, I’m happy to show you how it aligns with our state standards for critical thinking and evidence-based analysis.”

3. Privacy and Boundaries: “As educators, our primary job is to facilitate learning. We don’t ‘indoctrinate’; we provide the tools for students to form their own informed opinions based on facts and primary sources.”

The “Bloated Salary” Myth: Let’s Do the Math

One of the most persistent claims is that teachers are overpaid for “working half the year.” Let’s look at the reality of a veteran educator in 2026.

In Massachusetts, the average hourly rate for a professional with just one Master’s degree and 8+ years of experience is approximately $64–$75 per hour. I have been in this profession for 23 years and hold two Master’s degrees, yet my pay breaks down to roughly $45 per hour. In any other senior-level role—consulting, management, or tech—two decades of expertise and dual advanced degrees would command a rate nearly double that.

Where the “extra” time goes:

• The 250-Day Comparison: A standard full-time employee works approximately 250 days per year, totaling around 2,000 hours. A teacher’s contract is roughly 185 days—about 37 weeks—but those days are significantly more intensive.

• The 53-Hour Week: According to a 2024 Pew Research study, the average teacher works 53 hours per week. Across a 37-week school year, that’s about 1,960+ hours. In other words, teachers work roughly the same number of hours as a typical full-time professional—but in a much shorter time frame.

• The Recovery Gap: We aren’t on a three-month vacation; we are in a state of essential recovery from a workload that most industries would consider a constant “crunch time.”

The Hidden Tax & The Staffing Crisis:

Beyond the hourly rate, the majority of educators spend between $500–$1,000 annually of their own money on supplies to keep their classrooms running. This is a “profession tax” that few other fields require. It is no wonder that 86% of public schools reported challenges in hiring enough teachers this cycle. We are in a staffing crisis, and the constant scrutiny only makes the “exit” door look more inviting to the highly-qualified experts we desperately need to keep.

Image Created by Gemini AI

A Gentle Reminder: The Social Media Pull

There is a specific irony in our profession: we teach students about digital citizenship while sometimes forgetting it ourselves. The “Teacher-Tok” trend of venting about students or parents might feel cathartic in the moment, but it provides easy ammunition for those looking to discredit public education.

Before posting, consider:

1. The Audience: Is this for a peer who understands the nuance, or a stranger looking for a reason to distrust schools?

2. The Impact: Does this humanize the struggle, or does it simply broadcast frustration?

3. The Control: Once you hit “post,” you lose the ability to add context. If a clip can be stripped of its meaning and used to hurt the profession, it’s probably better left in the group chat.

As we advocate for our profession, we must also be mindful of the “ammunition” we provide. Once we post something online, we lose control of it.

In my own consumption of TikTok and IG, I see an overwhelming amount of content created by teachers venting about their jobs. While the frustration is real and valid, we must remember that people who are eager to twist our words are watching. If a video can be stripped of its context to “prove” that teachers are miserable or incompetent, it shouldn’t be posted.

This doesn’t mean teachers can’t be honest. But it does mean we have to be intentional because, whether we like it or not, we are part of the public narrative.

Consistency Is Collective Power

This is where collaboration matters most—and it’s often overlooked. One teacher responding alone is easy to dismiss, but a profession speaking with clarity and consistency is much harder to ignore.

When educators:

• Use shared, accurate language

• Ground responses in practice and standards

• Avoid reactive or emotionally charged exchanges

…we start to shift the narrative. And it’s really not about having a script, it’s simply a matter of shining a light on the pedagogy and standards we’re beholden to. We need to balance the narrative with truth.

Moving Forward (Together)

We are not losing trust because of what’s happening in classrooms. We are losing trust because of what’s being said about classrooms—and how often it goes unchallenged. For our own well being, we don’t need to respond to everything. But we do need to be intentional about how we show up when we choose to engage.

The next time you see misinformation online:
Pause.
Choose clarity over sarcasm.
Precision over volume.

And remember—you’re not just speaking for yourself. You’re contributing to the collective voice of the profession. Let’s make it one worth listening to.

Writing takes time, and your engagement makes it worthwhile. If this piece resonated with you, you can support my work by liking, sharing, or leaving a comment. You’re also welcome to drop a small tip in my Tip Jar — every bit helps me keep creating thoughtful content.

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