As another school year comes to a close, many educators are already looking ahead. We’re thinking about summer plans, professional learning opportunities such as conferences or classes, curriculum updates, staffing changes, and preparations for August. The pace may slow slightly, but our minds rarely do. Before we turn our attention completely to what comes next, I want to encourage you to intentionally pause and reflect on what just happened.

One of the biggest misconceptions about reflection is that educators don’t do enough of it. In my experience, the opposite is true. We reflect all the time. We reflect while driving to and from work. We reflect while walking the dog, mowing the lawn, exercising, cleaning our classrooms, or sitting quietly after a long day. We replay conversations, revisit decisions, analyze outcomes, and wonder what we might do differently next time.

The challenge isn’t that we fail to reflect. The challenge is that we rarely capture those reflections. It can feel time-consuming in an already packed schedule or be viewed as one more thing on an endless to-do list. As a result, much of the wisdom we gain throughout the year slowly disappears. Valuable insights fade. Hard-earned lessons become fuzzy. Small victories get forgotten. Growth becomes difficult to recognize because we never took the time to document it.

Over the weekend, I revisited several blog posts I wrote more than a decade ago. At first, it was simply a trip down memory lane. I found myself remembering former students, colleagues, challenges, and successes. But as I continued reading, something unexpected happened. I began noticing how differently I think today than I did then. Some ideas had stood the test of time. Others had evolved significantly.

More than anything, I was reminded that growth is difficult to see in the moment. It becomes visible when we have a record to look back on. Perhaps that’s why many of us began our careers keeping journals. Whether it was for a college class, a district-led mentorship program, or personal reflection, we wrote about our successes, frustrations, lessons learned, and goals for improvement. Those journals created a record of our journey and helped us see growth that would have otherwise gone unnoticed.

Today, the tools may look different, but the need remains the same. Whether you prefer a traditional journal, a notes app, voice memos, video reflections, an AI conversation, a private blog, or even a social media post, the medium matters far less than the act of capturing your thinking before it evaporates.

When we formalize our reflections, we gain something incredibly valuable: history. We create a record of where we were, what challenged us, and what helped us grow. In doing so, we gain clarity about the lessons worth carrying forward and the habits worth leaving behind. Most importantly, we create stepping stones toward better performance and outcomes in the future.

And this doesn’t need to take hours. Fifteen intentional minutes can produce insights that shape an entire school year. As you reflect on this year, I encourage you to look beyond individual events and search for patterns. Ask yourself:

What energized me this year?
What consistently drained my energy?
Which practices produced the greatest results?
What challenges kept showing up?
When did I feel most effective?
When did I feel most fulfilled?

Patterns often reveal more than isolated experiences ever could. They help us identify what to continue, what to improve, and what to let go. One practical strategy I use is creating three simple lists:

Continue– What practices, habits, relationships, or routines produced positive results and deserve to continue?
Stop– What commitments, assumptions, habits, or behaviors no longer serve you or the people you lead?
Start– What new practices, boundaries, routines, or approaches could help you become even more effective?

The real value of reflection isn’t simply understanding the past. It’s improving the future. Imagine revisiting your reflections in August before the new school year begins. I hope that you’ll discover something many educators overlook in the daily demands of the profession: You’ve grown more than you realized.

You’ll see challenges you successfully navigated. You’ll recognize accomplishments you barely stopped to celebrate. You’ll notice how your thinking has evolved and how your leadership has matured. You’ll have a clearer understanding of what deserves your energy and what doesn’t. Most importantly, you’ll begin the new year with encouragement, clarity, and momentum rather than simply starting over.

The end of the school year isn’t just a finish line; it’s a record of who you became. Before you plan next year, take time to capture the lessons before they fade. Reflection creates growth. Documented reflection reveals growth. Your future self will thank you for preserving the wisdom your present self worked so hard to earn.

Be GREAT,

Dwight

Student behavior challenges have intensified over the past few years, and we all know it. The causes are complex: mental health and wellness, isolation and loneliness, pandemic impacts, family stress, societal changes; many factors beyond our classroom walls. As educators, we can’t control all of these variables, but we can focus on what we do have influence over: the relationships we build and the consistent ways we show up for each other and our students.

We all know positive relationships are foundational to learning. That’s not news. The real challenge is maintaining consistent relationship-building behaviors when we’re stretched thin, stressed, tired, and dealing with daily crises. We start off with good intentions, but good intentions aren’t enough. We need systems that work even on our worst days.

Personality matters, but personality through routines deepens relationships. Sustainable culture is built on systems that make connections consistent, regardless of our mood, energy level, or the latest crisis demanding our attention.

Relational routines create pockets of stability in unpredictable environments. They ensure that relationship-building happens not just when we remember or when we feel like it, but as a regular part of how we operate. Small, consistent actions create meaningful influence over time.

Here are the specific practices that have helped me build stronger connections with the staff I work with:

Weekly or biweekly check-ins with the people I supervise.
Visit administrators whenever I’m in their buildings and ask about their families and personal interests.
Share what’s happening in my own life: activities and celebrations.
Ask about favorite TV shows, movies, and books.
Celebrate successes, both big and small.
Coach them up when challenges arise.
Practice empathetic listening.
Work actively to remove barriers to their success.

These aren’t revolutionary ideas, but making them routine has transformed my relationships with staff. My hope is that staff begin adopting similar approaches with their students.

The beauty of relational routines is their flexibility. You don’t need to overhaul everything you’re doing because these are additions to the good work you’re already doing. Start small:

Pick one routine: Maybe it’s greeting three students by name each morning, or ending each staff meeting with personal celebrations.
Make it systematic: Put reminders in your calendar, keep simple notes about personal details, or use transition times for quick check-ins.
Reframe the work: This isn’t “extra. It’s strategic relationship management that prevents bigger problems down the road.

Remember, you’re not starting from zero. You’re already building relationships. These routines simply make that work more intentional and sustainable.
When adults change their consistent behaviors, everything changes. The ripple effect is real. Staff who feel genuinely connected and supported are better equipped to create those same connections with students. It’s not about perfection; it’s about persistence in small, meaningful ways.

Student behavior challenges are complex, and relationships alone won’t solve everything. But in a world full of variables we can’t control, relational routines give us something powerful we can: consistent ways to show up for the people in our care.

What’s one relational routine you could start this week?

Be Great,

Dwight

Most schools can name their values. Many can identify behaviors that bring those values to life. The real challenge, and opportunity, lies in consistently addressing the behaviors that contradict them.

Clarity requires the courage to stop initiatives, confront negative behaviors, and reflect on your own behaviors. If we say we value positive relationships, then dismissive tones, eye-rolling, and public criticism cannot be brushed off as personality quirks. If we say we believe in accountability, then chronic negativity without solutions cannot be excused as “just how they are.”

But here’s an important truth: for some educators, silence hasn’t come from indifference; it has come from experience. Speaking up may have felt unsafe. Naming concerns may have carried unintended consequences. In those contexts, silence can become a form of self-protection. That reality deserves acknowledgment.

Still, silence is rarely neutral. Sometimes it reflects acceptance; other times it reflects fear or fatigue. Either way, unaddressed patterns persist. I’ve found that culture begins to heal when we move from avoidance to attention.

Avoidance sounds like:

* “That’s just her personality.”
* “He’s been here a long time.”
* “I don’t want to make it worse.”
* “It’ll blow over.”

Attention sounds like:

* “Help me understand what’s behind that comment.”
* “That tone doesn’t align with how we treat one another.”
* “Let’s bring that concern into the room, not the hallway.”
* “How does this decision serve students?”

Addressing misalignment doesn’t require volume. It requires consistency. When we consistently and calmly name misalignment, while protecting dignity, patterns shift. Not overnight. Not without resistance. But over time, the message becomes unmistakable: this is who we are, and this is who we are becoming.

One of the most dangerous elements of unhealthy culture is normalization when sarcasm becomes expected. When disengagement becomes routine. When low expectations become the path of least resistance, what we tolerate becomes what we teach, both to staff and to students.

And here’s what I’ve learned: toxic culture often reflects systemic patterns more than individual flaws. It lives in the gap between our stated values and our daily practices. That gap is influenced by workload, communication structures, leadership modeling, and decision-making processes, not just personal attitudes.

Culture shifts happen at every level, in classrooms, hallways, team meetings, and informal conversations. Every educator has influence. Leaders must examine structures. Teachers must examine interactions. Teams must examine norms. The work is shared.

So where do you start?

Start small and specific because it’s more sustainable and creates genuine momentum.

Choose one value. Define three observable behaviors that demonstrate it. Then define three behaviors that undermine it. Share them with your team. Refer to them often. Reinforce them consistently. Adjust structures that contradict them. Then ask yourself a harder question:

* Where have I been silent?
* Where have I avoided naming misalignment?
* Where have our systems rewarded convenience over clarity?
* Where have we prioritized comfort over student-centered decisions?

Fixing toxic culture isn’t about calling people out. It’s about calling people up. It’s about protecting dignity while protecting standards. It’s about aligning our behavior and systems with the environment we want to create for students. Culture improves when we move from hoping to shaping. Not through fear. Not through force. But through clarity, attention, courage, and structural alignment.

If something feels off in your building, trust that instinct. Then begin where culture always begins: within your sphere of influence, your leadership decisions, your classroom norms, your team expectations. The encouraging truth is that culture is always shifting. With intentional attention and consistent action, it can shift toward the vision we hold for our students and staff.

Start with the pattern you’re willing to interrupt today.

Be GREAT,

Dwight

How often do you think about your language; not your dialect, but the words you use to narrate your day? Language reveals more than attitude. It reveals whether we feel trapped or entrusted, entangled or empowered.

Lately, I’ve been paying closer attention to how often we say, “I have to”:
* I have to go to this meeting.
* I have to write this IEP.
* I have to review this data.
* I have to handle this situation…again.

When I hear it, I don’t hear laziness or negativity. I hear pressure, obligation, fatigue, and a quiet loss of autonomy. And when I catch myself saying it, I feel it too. When we live in “I have to” mode long enough, it drains our energy before the work even begins. That shift in energy affects how we show up and how we influence the climate of our room, office, school, and district.

One of the most powerful shifts we can make is subtle but profound: moving from “I have to” to “I get to.” This isn’t about pretending hard things aren’t hard. It’s about reclaiming choice within the reality we’re navigating.

Last week, I scheduled a necessary meeting about an ongoing issue. At first, I dreaded it because I kept telling myself I had to talk about this topic again. I also questioned if it was my lack of understanding or a unclear standard operating procedure. Either way, I was not looking forward to it. Then I caught and reminded myself that I’m not powerless. I get to choose how show up.

After a day or two, I reframed my language, and that reframing changed how I entered the meeting. My dread shifted to curiosity. The meeting became energetic, engaging, and productive because I approached it differently. I walked in thinking, I get to learn a better way with people who are just as curious, to reach our desired outcome.

In Be GREAT, I talk about the power of internal language shaping external impact. This was one of those moments. Culture doesn’t start in classrooms or conference rooms; it starts inside us. The language we use with ourselves quietly shapes the language we use with others, and that language becomes culture. When we operate from “I get to,” it shows up in how we greet students and colleagues, how we enter meetings, how we embrace new ideas, and how we respond to challenges we didn’t choose.

Energy is contagious, both positive and negative. At the same time, “I get to” is not about ignoring stress, workload, or systemic challenges. That would be naïve. It’s about choice within reality. We may not get to choose every task placed on our plate, but we do get to choose how we frame it, how we show up, and how much power it has over us.

Over the next two weeks, when you catch yourself saying “I have to,” pause. Take a breath. Move your body. Do whatever helps you reset. Then reframe it to “I get to…” and notice what shifts internally and relationally. Not every task will feel exciting, but many will feel lighter because choice changes energy.

Also, consider this: If students listened closely to how we talk about our work, what would they learn about adulthood? Would they hear resentment and obligation, or purpose and ownership? Our words are not just commentary. They are modeling. And modeling shapes culture.

Be GREAT,

Dwight

It’s been challenging to write this week.

To stay committed to my rhythm of sharing every couple of weeks when everything around us feels so chaotic, so disruptive, so divisive, and, at times, so deeply unsettling.

Between headlines of violence, community unrest, political tension, and the ongoing weight educators carry inside schools every day, I’ve felt a familiar dull ache in the pit of my stomach. Not panic. Not fear exactly. More like a quiet heaviness. A sense that things feels louder, faster, and less predictable than it did not that long ago.

Dammit. I hate feeling this way.

And I know I’m not alone.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about the two things we always control: our attitude and our actions. That reflection came from the internal reality many of us are living: fatigue, overwhelm, and the constant pressure to hold things together for others.

This time, though, my thinking feels slightly different. This time, I’ve been reflecting on what our external world is asking of us as educators and leaders.

Our students are watching the same news.
Our staff are carrying the same uncertainty.
Our communities are processing the same grief, anger, and confusion.

Whether we name it out loud or not, the emotional climate outside our schools inevitably finds its way inside them.

What I’m struggling with most is not just the chaos itself, but the growing sense that we are normalizing harm, especially toward those who have historically been denied dignity, and calling it leadership, policy, or progress.

That’s the part that feels hardest to sit with.

Not just that terrible things are happening, but that they are happening in ways that strip people of their humanity. That fear, exclusion, and dehumanization are increasingly treated as acceptable, necessary, or inevitable. That entire groups of people, often people of color and those already marginalized, continue to carry the greatest burden of decisions they did not make and systems they did not design.

And as an educator, as a leader, as a human being, I don’t know how to make sense of that without naming it for what it is: a moral failure.

Which brings me to a simple but powerful idea I’ve been sitting with:
Calm is not passive. Calm is a choice. And right now, calm is an act of moral leadership.

Choosing calm doesn’t mean ignoring what’s happening. It doesn’t mean minimizing pain, injustice, or fear. It doesn’t mean pretending everything is fine.

It means deciding, on purpose, how we will show up in the middle of it.

It means responding in ways that are aligned with our values, not just our stress.

In moments of collective anxiety, regulated adults become anchors. Not because we have all the answers. But because our presence signals safety, steadiness, and care in a world that feels increasingly unstable.

For me, choosing calm looks like a few small but intentional practices:

Taking a few slow breaths before responding to difficult news or emails.

Naming what I’m feeling instead of suppressing it.

Asking myself, “What does this moment need from me, reaction or leadership?”

But I’m realizing more and more that calm isn’t just personal. It’s relational. It’s cultural. It’s contagious.

A calm teacher creates space for students to regulate.

A calm administrator sets the tone for an entire building.

A calm leadership team models what it looks like to navigate uncertainty without spreading it.

A calm adult creates the conditions for civil discourse.

In practical terms, this might look like:

Creating space in staff meetings to acknowledge emotional load, not just operational updates.

Giving students language to name what they’re feeling and reassurance that their reactions are valid.

Slowing down decisions when emotions are running high.

Leading with curiosity before judgment.

Remembering that connection often matters more than correction.

In times like these, calm becomes more than a coping strategy. It becomes a form of ethical resistance to chaos.
Not loud resistance. Not performative resistance. But quiet, steady, human resistance.

The kind that says: We will not let fear define how we treat one another.

The kind that says: We will lead with dignity in a world that too often forgets what dignity means.

We don’t control the headlines. We don’t control the systems. We don’t control everything happening around us. But we do control how we show up inside our classrooms, our offices, and our communities.

And right now, choosing calm is not just a personal practice.

It may be one of the most meaningful moral decisions we make as leaders.

Be Great,

Dwight

There are days this year when I’ve had to remind myself that experience doesn’t make you immune to overwhelm, it simply teaches you how to respond to it.

When I describe this as a chaotic year, I’m not talking about the calendar turning. I’m talking about the lived reality many educators experience during the school year itself.
Some school years feel heavy in ways that are hard to name, and over time, that heaviness can start to feel normal. Not because we’ve lost our skill, passion, or commitment, but because the noise around education keeps getting louder while the margin to breathe gets thinner.

In Be GREAT: Five Principles to Improve School Culture From the Inside Out, I return often to a simple truth:

When the school year feels chaotic, those two anchors matter more than ever.

Before diving into what we can control, it’s important to name what we often can’t: underfunding, mid-year policy changes, staffing shortages, and systems that ask us to do more with less. These aren’t personal failings; they’re structural realities that require collective advocacy and systemic solutions.

But even within these constraints, we retain agency over how we show up each day. This isn’t about accepting broken systems; it’s about protecting our capacity to keep fighting for better ones.

Below are three realities contributing to that sense of turbulence or overwhelm, along with grounded ways to steady ourselves. This isn’t about fixing everything. It’s about choosing one small action that helps us stay aligned.

1. Competing Demands With No Clear Finish Line

Initiatives stack. Emails multiply. The work never really “ends.”

Whether you’re an administrator juggling district mandates or a teacher balancing lesson planning with data collection, when everything feels urgent, it doesn’t just create stress; it quietly trains us to feel guilty, no matter how much we give.

During winter break, I rested. But I also reflected on the year and felt an overwhelming sense of guilt that crept in anyway:

* Not supporting my team enough.
* Not creating innovative programs quickly enough for students struggling in their Career Tech pathways.
* Not accomplishing goals fast enough to positively impact staff and students.

I imagine classroom teachers feel similar guilt:

* Not reaching a struggling reader.
* Not providing meaningful feedback quickly enough.
* Not creating the engaging lessons they envisioned.

I realized my thinking had narrowed. My mind was playing tricks on me. So I intentionally interrupted the spiral and did two small things to regain control:

* Name what matters today. Not everything deserves your energy. Choose one action that aligns with your values and do it well.
* Shift from reaction to intention. Pause before responding, not to disengage, but to act with purpose instead of pressure.

Progress isn’t measured by how much you carry. It’s measured by how intentionally you carry it. A trusted friend helped me reframe my thinking and refocus on the present, where action actually lives.

2. Emotional Fatigue From Carrying Others

Educators don’t just teach content or lead teams. We absorb stress, stories, and worry often without a place to set them down. Over time, this can lead to emotional numbing, even for people who care deeply. We don’t need to solve this all at once. Two ways to regain control:

* Separate responsibility from ownership. You can care deeply without carrying everything alone.
* Practice emotional hygiene daily. Small, consistent habits protect your energy far better than occasional resets.

Your compassion is a strength, and protecting it is an act of leadership, not selfishness.

3. Disconnection From Purpose

When policies change, narratives shift, or progress feels slow, even the most committed educators can quietly wonder, “Does this still matter?”

That was me over the break. Instead of denying it, I chose to lean into the question and address it.

Left unexamined, that question can harden into cynicism, not because we don’t care, but because we care so much. And clarity doesn’t always come before action. Two ways to regain control:

* Re-anchor to your “why.” The phrase may feel overused, but it still matters. Jimmy Casas reframes this by encouraging leaders to “return to the interview chair”: to remember the beliefs, hopes, and commitments that first called us into the work. Purpose isn’t found in outcomes; it’s found in moments of impact.

* Let actions rebuild belief. Motivation often follows action, not the other way around. Progress, even small progress, increases hope and decreases anxiety.

We don’t rediscover purpose by waiting for clarity. We rediscover it by showing up aligned.

Chaotic school years don’t test how much we can endure. They reveal what we stand on. When the noise grows louder, return to what you control:

* Your attitude- How you interpret the moment
* Your actions- How you choose to respond within it

This doesn’t minimize the challenge. It reclaims your agency. As my good friend Tom Cody often says, “If you can’t get out of it, get into it.”

Getting into it means staying present, choosing intentional responses over reactive ones, and aligning daily actions with deeper purpose, even when the system around you feels chaotic.

Within the next two weeks, consider one quiet question:

“What is one attitude I can choose and one action I can take that helps me leave today aligned, not depleted?”

Sometimes, that’s more than enough.

Be Great,

Dwight

Yesterday afternoon, I facilitated a session for our lead mentor educators and their mentees about mental health awareness; however, instead of calling it that, I started with a question: “How is your emotional hygiene?” That raised some eyebrows!

We’ve all heard it before: “Educator mental health matters.” The message has been repeated so often that it’s become background noise in our profession. Yet educators continue to report higher levels of job-related stress than the general workforce, with 23% of teachers considering leaving the profession in the 2022–2023 school year, citing stress and workload as significant factors, according to RAND Research.

It’s time to reframe this conversation. Instead of talking about mental health as an abstract concept, let’s talk about emotional hygiene.

Over 100 years ago, people started practicing personal hygiene, and life expectancy rose by 50%. We brush our teeth, wash our hands, and shower daily, not because we’re in crisis, but because we understand these practices prevent problems and maintain our physical health.

What if we approached our mental health the same way? According to the World Health Organization, mental health is a state of well-being in which an individual realizes their own abilities, copes with the everyday stresses of life, works productively, and contributes to their community.

Just as we don’t wait until our teeth are rotting to start brushing, we shouldn’t wait until we’re burned out to practice emotional hygiene. To be clear: these practices are about prevention and maintenance, not treatment of severe mental health conditions that require professional support.

Yes, we need systemic changes: better pay, funding, reasonable workloads, support, equity, and access. But we can’t wait for those changes to take care of ourselves. While we continue advocating for structural improvements, we can implement strategies that help us thrive within current realities.

There are some practices we can do that are entirely within our control, and each creates measurable changes in brain chemistry and function. The science is solid, but what matters most is consistent practice. Here are practical strategies you can implement immediately, and remember to choose what works for your context. Think of these not as additions to your already full plate, but as replacements for less effective coping strategies:

1. Practice Gratitude

Research shows gratitude practices rewire our brains to notice positive experiences more readily. You can start with three specific things you’re grateful for each day, and be concrete rather than general.

2. Engage in Physical Activity

Exercise releases endorphins and reduces cortisol levels, literally changing your brain chemistry. You don’t need a gym membership: take the stairs, park farther away, or do jumping jacks or lunges during your prep period or break. Even 10-20 minutes makes a measurable difference. Yesterday, one mentor shared that she started walking right after school, while others mentioned daily walks with their dogs. Other mentions include cycling, rock climbing, yoga, and Orange Theory. The responses were as diverse as the group! The key is that each person found what works for them.

3. Journal Regularly

Writing helps process emotions and reduces rumination. Try a simple format:
*What went well today?
*What was challenging?
*What will I do differently tomorrow?
The act of putting thoughts on paper helps your brain organize and release them. I notice a difference in how I feel after I write versus typing.

4. Create Something

Creative activities activate different neural pathways and provide a sense of accomplishment outside work pressures. Whether it’s cooking, drawing, music, or crafting, creation gives your mind a restorative break from problem-solving mode. During our session, participants mentioned everything from shooting pool for 20-30 minutes a day, woodworking, pottery, and knitting, to one who recently published a book! It was exciting to hear so many creative outlets!

5. Prioritize Sleep

Sleep deprivation impairs emotional regulation and decision-making, both of which educators need most. Aim for 7-9 hours and create a consistent bedtime routine. Your students and colleagues deserve a well-rested educator, but more importantly, you deserve quality rest.

6. Do Good for Others

Acts of kindness release oxytocin and create positive social connections. It doesn’t mean taking on more work; it could be as simple as bringing a colleague coffee or sending an encouraging text to a friend.

7. Maintain Healthy Boundaries

Boundaries aren’t selfish; they’re necessary for sustainability. Practice saying, “I need to think about that” instead of saying yes right away. Protect your time as you would your resources and supplies, because both are finite.

8. Reduce Social Media Usage

Excessive social media use correlates with increased anxiety and depression. Try designated phone-free times, especially before bed and first thing in the morning. Replace scrolling time with one of the other emotional hygiene practices, and you’ll likely find you have more time than you thought. One of the mentees mentioned how she changed her phone screen to a pink scale, which reduces her desire to click on specific apps, and that she set up a “do not disturb” block during work hours.

You might be thinking, “These seem obvious.” You’re right, but common sense isn’t always common practice. The research shows that consistency matters more than complexity, and small, regular actions create lasting change.

Remember, positive relationships with students and colleagues are cited as protective factors against burnout. You don’t have to practice emotional hygiene alone. Share these strategies with your team, try them together, and support each other’s efforts. While these strategies help all educators, we also recognize that some face additional stressors that require both individual resilience and systemic support.

Start small. Pick one or two strategies that resonate with you and commit to them for two weeks. Just as you wouldn’t skip brushing your teeth because you’re busy, don’t skip your emotional hygiene because your day is packed. Our profession will always have challenges, but we can control how we care for ourselves amid them. It’s time to make emotional hygiene as routine and non-negotiable as washing our hands.

Your mental health isn’t a luxury; it’s a professional necessity. And, as with all good hygiene practices, consistency matters more than perfection. If you’d like a copy of the slide deck, email me, and I’ll send it within 24 hours!

Be GREAT,

Dwight