The Promise-Keeper blog series is part of 51蹤獲's Promise in Action back-to-school campaign, celebrating 51蹤獲 members who are delivering on the commitments they make to their school communities through courageous decisions, transparent leadership, and student-centered action.
"Thinking of You" artwork created by Allentown School District student artist in residence and William Allen High School senior, Jayla Walker.
There are lessons that come from triumph, and there are lessons that come from trial. The former may earn applause. The latter forges character.
With more than 30 years of comprehensive experience in urban education, encompassing instructional and administrative roles at all levels, across traditional public and charter schools and higher education, I have come to believe that the most enduring leadership wisdom is not cultivated in moments of ease. It is tempered in the fire. That fire, though painful, is often our greatest teacher.
I have learned that the language we use shapes the culture we create.
The work of leading as a Superintendent/Chief Executive Officer, particularly in a city with complex needs and constrained resources, demands more than expertise. It requires moral clarity, political agility, emotional stamina, and emotional regulation. And above all, the humility to grow.
That word, failure, is one avoided in leadership circles. We prefer euphemisms: missteps, challenges, setbacks. But I have learned that the language we use shapes the culture we create. An educational ecosystem that cannot name failure is one that forfeits the light such failures can cast.
There was a moment in my leadership journey, one I rarely speak about publicly, when I underestimated the forces aligned against change. I believed I could move swiftly to implement a bold vision grounded in access and excellence on behalf of all students. I misread the politics of that moment and space, miscalculating the system's readiness. Moreover, I overestimated the grace that leaders, particularly leaders who look like me are granted when they challenge longstanding norms.
I found myself in a crucible. Criticized. Questioned. Misunderstood. A crucible is, by definition, a transformative experience through which an individual comes to a new or an altered state of identity. In time, I came to see my own crucible not only as a test of endurance, but as a profound teacher, one that offered enduring lessons I still carry with me.
...real leadership, the kind that sustains communities and transforms systems, is grounded in self-awareness and integrity. It is forged in the willingness to tell the truth, even about ourselves.
First, resilience is not the absence of struggle, it is the presence of meaning.
For a time, I allowed the noise to dilute my confidence and sense of purposeto dim my light.
But with distance, reflection, and support, I began to see that moment not as the end of something, but as the beginning of a deeper becoming. We persevere not because it is easy, but because we are anchored in something larger than ourselves: a calling to serve children, to uplift communities, to be stewards of public good.
Second, leadership is not a solo endeavor.
When I stumbled, it was my faith, family, sisterhood, and other sacred relationships that reminded me who I was. They saw my ember of purpose when I could not see it myself. They fanned it back into flame.
Third, reflection requires discipline.
I call it resilient transparency: the practice of naming the stumble, owning the impact, and growing from the pain. Name it. Own it. Grow from it. That triad is more than a mantra. It is a leadership framework. One I now carry with me.
Too often, we treat leadership like performance art: polished, perfected, invulnerable. But real leadership, the kind that sustains communities and transforms systems, is grounded in self-awareness and integrity. It is forged in the willingness to tell the truth, even about ourselves.
In our learning community, we are creating conditions where candor and compassion are not opposites, but partners. Where high expectations are accompanied by deep investment in peoples growth. I often say: Scar tissue is stronger than skin. It is imperative that we build organizations that honor that truth, not by glorifying struggle, but by refusing to waste its lessons.
Let us be clear-eyed about the toll. But let us also be clear-hearted about the truth: Leadership is not about being unscathed. It is about being unshaken.
Here is the paradox: the experiences that once felt like breakdowns often become breakthroughs. I now move with greater discernment. I listen more intently. I read the room more carefully. I build coalitions more strategically. I lead not just with vision, but with wisdom, earned the hard way.
To my fellow superintendents, especially those navigating the volatility of our current moment: you are not alone. You carry immense responsibility. You absorb unrelenting pressure. You steward fragile hope. And yet, you remain.
Let us be clear-eyed about the toll. But let us also be clear-hearted about the truth: Leadership is not about being unscathed. It is about being unshaken.
In the end, it is not our titles, degrees, or accolades that define us. It is how we rise, again and again, from the ashes of disappointment, determined to build something better for the students we serve. As India Arie sings in her breathtaking ballad, I Am Light, I am not the mistakes that I have made. I am light.
Sometimes, we become the light that helps others find their way through the smoke.
"Saved" artwork created by Allentown School District student artist in residence and William Allen High School senior, Jayla Walker.
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