There is always time for what matters: equity for Black children. 
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I believe that with boundaries and hard conversations, anything is possible.
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When launching a project with school and system leaders, I always start with the vision. We suspend judgement, we suspend reality, and we dare to dream. During the Envision It phase of work, I help teams build out a vision of what it would mean to create access for Black children in their specific school system. We dig in and define what this would mean and look like for each level of the school system. And I push my clients to get as concrete as possible and go all the way in. I ask: 

"We just don't have the time to do all of this." 
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"People will never get onboard. They just don't do that." ​

We consider the pros and cons of accepting these concerns as immutable facts. We consider the cost for Black children, their teachers, and anyone supporting them, including those in the room. We consider how making decisions around these concerns as immutable facts impact the daring vision we created earlier...
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...And most people, just don't like how this feels. Cognitive dissonance ramps up and it comes time to pick their discomfort. So they do. From there, all of the 'priorities' that were consuming their time and energy become distractions. From there, the discomfort of boundaries and hard conversations pales in comparison to the discomfort of not doing everything in their locus of control to protect that vision and bring it into fruition. Especially when after the Design It phase of work, their understanding of what is in their locus of control has dramatically expanded. 
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So when school and system leaders get here, keeping up with an overwhelming amount of emails, attending meetings that could have been emails, and the busy work of constantly putting out fires, become distractions. They collectively give themselves permission to say no to things that don't lead to access for Black children. And in the Protect It phase of the work, I teach them how to remove barriers (real and imagined) that undermine our desired outcomes. And it always involves some kind boundaries and hard conversations. But with those things, anything becomes possible, especially equity for Black children. So now I turn to you.

I actually love discomfort. ​

Discomfort is so powerful. With discomfort, the unimaginable transforms into the attainable. 
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I want to be clear -- I'm not talking about the 'you're kinda creepy and I don't know how to get out of this situation' kind of unease. No to that, always. Because #boundaries #nomeansno #youdon'towepolitenesstopeoplewhoviolateyourspace
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I'm talking about the discomfort that comes up when you realize a gap between your intent and your impact. Or better yet - your identity and your impact. I love the cognitive dissonance that bubbles up in this space because it motivates people to act in ways they couldn't even previously dream of. 
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It is amazing to watch school and district leaders confront some hard data and reimagine what is possible when they analyze it under the premise that these outcomes were entirely in their locus of control. It always gets uncomfortable, seeing something you can't unsee alongside your colleagues. But that's the beauty of it, too, to have those aha! moments with all relevant decision makers in the room. That's when we can move mountains. In those moments, the impossible becomes possible and everyone is a little bit more willing to have the hard conversation, find the funds, create the time, and set boundaries. They are able to make change happen starting tomorrow morning. It's that or sit with the discomfort of knowing that 'going back to normal' means inequity for Black children. So they picked their discomfort.
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I want you to pick your discomfort, too. 
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Do you want the discomfort of changing any and everything that is not currently or immediately creating access for Black children? 
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Or do you want the discomfort of knowing that despite your best intentions, you are not disrupting the status quo? 
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You cannot unsee what you've seen. So now choose. Which discomfort will you embrace? And to what extent will this discomfort generate equitable outcomes for Black children? 
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Does the idea of this make you anxious and feel hot and cold at the same time? Or do you feel inspired and empowered to be disruptive? Talk it out with a work bae or  share your thoughts in the comments-- I would love to know!

We did it. We made it. 2020 is behind us. Sort of....
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2020 got a bad rap for being itself. But the truth is 2020 didn't create new inequities that we didn't know how to deal with. 2020 amplified the inequities we had been ignoring and misnaming, until it got up in our faces and screamed:

It's scary to think about the way last Wednesday served as a loud ass dog whistle for racism and white supremacy. Whose ears did it land on? What will it provoke? What is this teaching white people about what they are allowed to do? And what about the fact that 55% of white women voted for Trump (up from 2016!)? White women also make up almost 80% of all teachers. The overlap is serious. How many of our Black babies are being taught by people who felt seen and represented by last week's display of disrespect, violence, and terrorism? When these babies make mistakes as they learn, will their teachers see it as feedback on their teaching practices? Or are they more likely to use that data as proof that these kids 'can't handle it' and make everything easier so they can feel 'successful'? ​

Heavy questions, with heavy thoughts. Yes, it is another day as Black queer womxn in this country. And I know it's another day of heavy questions, with heavy thoughts for you, too. So please, protect your energy. ​

Protect. Your. Energy.​
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Say no to the (unpaid) emotional labor it takes to educate white people about themselves. They have google.

Black children don't need us to be burned out, tired, run down, or mentally depleted. When we get like that we leave because the rainbow was not enuf. That's not what Black children need from us. 
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Black children need people like you and people like me to be well so that we can stay to slay another day. Cause we got this. And when we own, take, and create our seat at the table things change. And the only way to stay engaged in the work of dismantling and reconstructing an education system capable of producing equitable outcomes for Black children is to....
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Protect. Your. Energy. 
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You're gonna need some boundaries.
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You might have some hard conversations. 
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"No" will have to become a complete sentence. 
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And. The world will keep spinning. Except now, you will have peace and the power to carve sanity into your life. Which is what Black children need- adults who see and believe their ordinary brilliance to who have the capacity to show up and take action that does create access for them. Because if what happened at the US Capitol made you dread zoom meetings last week so much that you wanted to hide under your covers or dream up of an illness and call out sick (I've been there, too.), I promise you, you are not in a space that allows you to thrive and create the equity dreamed of when you chose education. 
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So go ahead and do it. Protect. Your. Energy. Think of one thing you can do tomorrow morning to protect your energy. Visualize it. Say it out loud. Make it real and call a friend, text a work bae, or declare it to the world and drop a comment here. Let them know what you plan on doing so they can ask you about it at the end of the day. 
Stop carrying the weight of it all and protect your energy!