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In education, we often talk about transformation, how it happens, what it looks like, and who gets to experience it. Over the course of my master’s program, I found myself undergoing the very kind of change that I hope for in my students: a shift in perspective, clarity in purpose, and a deepened commitment to equity-driven leadership. This program is doing more than giving me a degree, it has given me the language, tools, and conviction to imagine a different kind of school system and to locate my work within that vision.
When I entered this program, I thought I knew what leadership looked like. I pictured authority, decision-making, and execution. What I’ve learned instead is that real leadership is rooted in listening, adaptability, and moral courage. The classes I’ve taken, the readings I’ve wrestled with, and the voices I’ve encountered, both in text and in community, have pushed me to think more deeply about how I show up as an educator, and more importantly, why.
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This program forced me to confront the hidden curriculum embedded in the texts, practices, and norms of public education. It helped me name the discomfort I’d long felt when teaching texts that center whiteness, reward silence, or mask systems of oppression. Through discussions on Freire, hooks, and Ladson-Billings, I came to understand curriculum as an ethical document, a reflection of whose stories we believe matter.
As a result, I completely reimagined how I approach curriculum in my classroom. I began centering Black joy, student agency, and counternarratives. One of my most meaningful projects emerged from this course: a critical literacy unit on representation in middle grade literature. Students didn’t just read books, they analyzed power and identity. They asked hard questions, made bold connections, and began seeing themselves as co-constructors of knowledge. This course gave me the tools to not only teach differently, but to trust that different is necessary.
Before this program, I understood educational policy as something distant, something done to teachers, not by or with them. The courses that I've taken in my Master's program turned that assumption on its head. We studied funding inequities, school discipline laws, and the ongoing assault on culturally responsive teaching. We read policy as text, and I began to understand how policy shapes pedagogy, opportunity, and even students’ sense of belonging.
I also learned how to read and write policy with purpose. It strengthened my belief that educators must have a seat at the table when decisions are made. This course gave me language and strategies to be not only a practitioner but an advocate.
Perhaps the most personally transformative idea, inquiry and reflection. It was less about content and more about capacity: the capacity to slow down, to notice, to name what matters. I explored portraiture as a research methodology and saw how storytelling can become a form of resistance, especially for Black educators and students. This course reconnected me to the why of my work.
It also helped me reframe failure. Instead of seeing struggle as something to avoid, I began viewing it as a necessary part of growth. I reflected deeply on my classroom, not with shame, but with curiosity. This course taught me that leadership doesn’t require all the answers, it requires a willingness to keep asking better questions.
Looking back, I don’t just see a list of completed courses, I see a shift in identity. I’ve moved from surviving to imagining, from reacting to listening, from isolation to connection. I’ve become more critically aware of the systems I’m a part of, and more determined to challenge them when they fail our students.
I still teach sixth grade. I still attend meetings, write emails, and grade papers. But now, I do all of that with a deeper awareness of power, purpose, and possibility. I know how to leverage policy, how to analyze curriculum, and how to lead with values. I’m no longer just trying to do things right, I’m working to do the right things.
This program hasn’t given me all the answers. What it’s given me is far more valuable: a compass. A community. A sense of clarity that wasn’t there before. It has prepared me not only to lead, but to lead differently. And that difference is everything.
Before entering this program, I thought of my responsibilities as a checklist, teach content, manage behavior, attend meetings, prepare for assessments. What I now understand is that the real work of leadership happens in the spaces between those tasks. It happens when we choose to pause and ask students how they feel, when we reflect on why a lesson didn’t land, when we push back against a policy that silences rather than supports. This program taught me that leadership is not defined by position, but by intention.
The responsibility I feel as a Black woman in education has also shifted. I used to carry that responsibility quietly, unsure of how to balance authenticity with professionalism, or advocacy with institutional expectations. The program gave me not only tools to lead, but the confidence to lead unapologetically. I now understand that my identity is not an obstacle to navigate, but a strength to lead from. This realization came slowly, but it has grounded me in my purpose. My students see themselves in me, and I take that seriously.
One of the most unexpected gifts of this program has been the community. Through group projects, discussion boards, and synchronous sessions, I encountered educators who brought a variety of experiences, disciplines, and perspectives to the table. We didn’t always agree, and that was the point. Those tensions pushed me to examine my own assumptions and learn to listen more deeply.
In the course Leadership and Equity in Diverse School Communities, we explored what it means to create inclusive spaces, not just in theory, but in policy, pedagogy, and relationships. I took those conversations back to my school, where I facilitated a mini-series with colleagues on bias in instructional practices. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. That course reminded me that equity work isn’t a statement—it’s a series of small, intentional decisions made every single day.
It also helped me let go of the idea that I have to “fix” everything alone. I began to see leadership as a collective act, something we do with others, not for them. That shift made room for more collaboration, more vulnerability, and ultimately, more sustainable change.
Throughout the program, writing became more than an academic task, it became a leadership practice. I found myself returning to writing as a way to process challenges, to revisit key learnings, and to document growth. One of my proudest moments came when I completed my paper titled “Centering Agency, Not Saviorism: Reimagining Power and Representation in Middle Grade Literature.” That paper wasn’t just a school assignment; it was a reflection of the kind of educator I want to be, one who questions, who critiques, who imagines better.
That writing, and others like it, helped me clarify my philosophy. I realized that much of what I care about in education can be traced back to power: who has it, how it's used, and how we teach students to navigate and challenge it. The act of writing helped me own that insight. It helped me take up space.
Now, I see writing as part of my leadership toolkit. Whether I’m crafting a lesson, advocating for a student, or drafting a letter to administration, I approach each text with more purpose and strategy. I want my words to reflect my values, and this program gave me the time and space to find those values clearly.
I don’t need a new job title to apply what I’ve learned. One of the most powerful insights from this program is that leadership is not bound by hierarchy. I lead every time I make a decision aligned with my values. I lead when I advocate for a student, when I question a text, when I support a colleague. The program taught me how to lead from where I am, and how to do so with clarity, courage, and care.
It also helped me sharpen my vision for the future. I know now that I want to be involved in shaping educational policy and creating equitable learning systems. I want to support other teachers as they grow into leaders, and I want to work with families and communities as co-creators of learning. This program helped me see those dreams not as distant aspirations, but as reachable steps.
If I had to summarize my experience in this program in one word, it would be commitment. Commitment to students, to equity, to reflection, and to the kind of leadership that doesn’t always get recognized but always matters. The program changed me, not by giving me all the answers, but by challenging me to keep asking better questions.
It gave me the space to grow, the theory to ground me, and the tools to move forward. More importantly, it helped me remember why I chose this work in the first place: not to manage, not to perform, but to serve. And I now feel more equipped, and more committed, than ever.