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"Education is not just about skills and knowledge, but about cultivating the genius, joy, and justice within every student." Gholdy Muhammad
I was born and raised in Carson, California, and every significant moment of my childhood unfolded there, from my first breath to the day I graduated high school. My family prided itself on being a college-going family. Both of my parents earned college degrees, though their parents had not. My father, originally from Louisiana, moved to California at 18 in pursuit of better opportunities. My mother grew up in Compton, California. While Carson often carried the stereotype of being home to “bougie” Black people, my parents were intentional in keeping me engaged in the Compton and Watts communities. From elementary through high school, my extracurricular activities, church involvement, and friendships were rooted in these communities.
I was an active member of my church in Watts, serving on the Youth Usher Board, choir, and the Young People's Division (YPD). Even my Girl Scout troop was based in Watts. Though I slept in Carson, my lived experiences were deeply intertwined with Compton and Watts.
As I reflect on my upbringing, I understand my parents’ choices more clearly. They wanted me to stay grounded, to see beyond comfort, and to recognize the realities that others faced. They ensured that I would never become disconnected from my roots. Their guidance shaped my perspective and commitment to education.
By ninth grade, I had a moment of realization: college was a choice. Until then, I had assumed it was just another step, like moving from elementary to middle school. College was ingrained in me so deeply that I never thought of an alternative. However, eighth grade was a pivotal year, one that introduced me to self-doubt.
In 8th grade I had an English teacher that was nearing retirement and found every occasion to insert her unnecessary negative comments about students whenever she had a chance. She thrived on the fact that her students “fell in line”, more than likely out of fear of being in trouble, and she hardly ever praised her students for their effort and work. I thought I had made it in the clear without experiencing her saying anything out of pocket to me, however, upon hearing my excitement about attending a prestigious high school,she responded, “Oh, you won’t make it. You aren’t smart enough, and you will fall through the cracks because you don’t speak up.” That moment was seared into my memory. One person’s careless words planted a seed of doubt that lingered, even as I excelled academically. Despite graduating in the top 10% of my class and moving on to San Diego State University, her voice echoed in my mind. This experience ignited a deeper passion in me, not just for education, but for transforming narratives. I wanted to make sure once I became an educator that not one student that passed through my door walked out feeling deflated, or as if they will “fall through the cracks” upon culmination. I have always found a way to identify students assets in my journey as an educator no matter how challenging the students were within my class. 1
At San Diego State, my initial plan was to pursue medical school. However, during my sophomore year, an internship at Hoover High School altered my trajectory. Hoover was a low-performing school with significant behavioral challenges. I worked one-on-one with students in a science classroom and quickly noticed how much they responded to me, more than to their assigned teacher. Through simple connections, I realized the profound impact of relationships in education.
That experience was transformative. I was meant to be an educator, not a doctor. I continued tutoring with a nonprofit and witnessed the same dynamic. “Education should affirm students’ identities, intellect, and the contributions they can make to the world.” , Gholdy Muhammad. My purpose became clear: I wanted to shift the educational narrative, ensuring that students, especially Black and Brown students, were seen, valued, and empowered.
Despite these affirming experiences, I encountered resistance in the academic world. During a teacher preparation course at San Diego State, we engaged in a discussion about equity and achievement gaps. A white student confidently stated, “They have low scores because they just don’t learn the way we do.” That moment shook me. The casual deficit thinking, the dismissal of systemic barriers, it was all too familiar. I didn’t have the vocabulary then to articulate why she was wrong, but I knew I had to equip myself with the knowledge to challenge such narratives. That realization propelled me toward graduate school.
I set my sights on UCLA’s Teacher Education Program (TEP). However, my McNair Scholar advisor attempted to dissuade me, saying, “Your GPA is decent, but you probably won’t get into any of those programs.” It was eighth grade all over again. But this time, I was fueled by determination. I applied to multiple programs, and to her surprise, but not mine, I was accepted into every single one. UCLA’s TEP program became my home, and it was there that I truly honed my skills as a social justice educator.
At UCLA, I was placed at Virgil Middle School, where I found validation in my calling. My principal and mentor saw my leadership potential and entrusted me with leading a school-wide anti-bullying initiative. This was at a time when anti-bullying efforts were still in their infancy. Seeing students, teachers, and the community come together to create a safer environment reaffirmed my purpose. I leveraged the relationships I had with my mentor teacher and her close associates to win over the staff and eventually get everyone on board to execute this school wide initiative. I also partnered with my fellow TEP peer Ms. Vegas and City Year to make magic happen. I realized, sometimes people just want to be asked and they will tap into their strengths to contribute to a team. It was exactly what I had needed in eighth grade, and I vowed to be the educator who saw and nurtured every student’s strengths.
After earning my credential, I joined Audubon Middle School as an eighth-grade science teacher. Over time, I expanded my role to leadership teacher and later became the Community Schools Coordinator. That role opened my eyes to the systemic challenges schools face. I saw how disconnected various departments were and how fragmented communication within the district could be. I witnessed firsthand how systemic challenges, rooted in deficit thinking, inequitable resource allocation, and inadequate teacher support, undermine student success and educator morale. Too often, policies were created through a lens of what our students “lacked” rather than what they brought to the classroom: resilience, creativity, cultural wealth, and lived experience. This deficit mindset trickled into decision-making, influencing how students were tracked, disciplined, and supported. At the same time, our school struggled to access the resources afforded to more affluent or higher-profile campuses, whether it was updated technology, instructional materials, or access to enrichment programs. Teachers were expected to serve as educators, counselors, and mediators, all while receiving minimal professional development or structural support. Without consistent investment in our growth or tools to meet students where they were, we were left trying to build bridges over systemic gaps using sheer willpower. And while we did our best every day, the system itself wasn’t designed to sustain us, or the communities we served.
Determined to make a broader impact, I took a leap—eight months pregnant with my second child—and applied for the position of District Community Schools Coordinator Coach. Today, I have the privilege of working with schools across LAUSD, ensuring that education is built on relationships, authenticity, and an asset-based approach.
I stand firm in my belief that education must empower, not diminish. "If students are disengaged, it is not because they lack interest, but because we have not given them meaningful ways to connect." Gholdy Muhammad. My journey, from that doubting eighth grader to a leader in education, has been shaped by those who saw my potential, and by those who tried to diminish it. I am here to ensure that no student ever questions their brilliance, and that the mark I leave on education is one of justice, empowerment, and unwavering belief in every child’s potential.
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