CHAPTER 1
When We Know Better, We Do Better

I grew up in a well‐meaning very homogenous town in Washington state, where I struggled to navigate an education system that just wasn't designed for students like me: Black, low‐income, and first‐generation college‐bound. With hard work and a lot of luck, I got a bachelor's in political science, Spanish, and international studies and then a master's in education. I started teaching 5th grade in Oakland, California, working with who some would call “challenging” and “urban” students. But this was not like what you often see on TV and on social media; the students in the “tough” neighborhoods were bright, creative, and hilarious! Working in underfunded schools and with students that the education system had all but given up on catalyzed my passion for educational justice.

It was during this time that I began to cultivate and refine my skills as an educator. My vision was simple: focus on relationships, have an “asset” mindset, and always see education as liberation. Before long, opportunities to coach and support other teachers presented themselves, and I eventually became an administrator. The social justice (re)awakening of 2020 crystalized my understanding of my true calling: walking with teachers and other stakeholders through this work. In 2022, I officially became Dr. Smith and started working with even more schools and teachers across the country.

This story has a happy ending, but there were many bumps along the way. There were days, weeks, and months where I thought I just wasn't cut out for this. I made so many mistakes. Like many teachers, I started my career out confused, trying a hodgepodge of everything I had seen online and learned in my credentialing program. I spent weekends drowning in a pile of grading and lesson plans. I shed many a tear out of frustration and exhaustion as I reflected on how chaotic my classroom was. Looking back, I have so much more understanding and grace for myself. I know now it's okay to have days filled with doubt.

Slowly but surely, I built up my toolbox. Having the right tools is essential, but more than that, it's important to have the right mindset. The internal work, unpacking your own identity, mindset, and even mental health, has to be the foundation. Ultimately, it starts with you. But that doesn't mean that you're going at this alone.

Teachers can do it (but they can't do it alone).

Search through Teachers Pay Teachers, an online teacher resource hub (https://www.teacherspayteachers.com), attend a conference, or go to a PD (professional development) session and you'll find dozens of solutions for behavior management. Classroom economies, tokens, apps—you name it. So how come so many of them don't work?

At the end of the day, many of those systems could work, but they don't include the heart work and mindset shifts that teachers might need to make in order to be highly effective. And so anytime I launch a program or training I always start with the teacher. That's because any curriculum, program, or approach is only as culturally responsive, or “asset‐based,” as the teacher implementing it.

But don't fall into the dangerous pitfall of blaming teachers. Politicians, social media, and even some families are all too quick to point to teachers as the problem—instead of listening to them for the solution.

Retention and recruitment have been significant challenges in education, and it's easy to see why. Many teachers are simply underpaid and just have too much on their plate. To top it off, they're being held solely responsible for every problem in the classroom.

It's easy to get caught in a cycle of frustration. We can describe all the reasons why teachers need more support, why we need more admin to step up, what the district could do differently. We should all be advocating for those changes and continuing to highlight systemic barriers to student success.

We can't self‐care our way out of toxic systems, and we can't relationship build our way out of a toxic school culture. The most pervasive and persistent inequities in education cannot be solved within the wall of one classroom.

But for our students to thrive, we need to embrace a both/and. We need both systemic change and to shake up the way we do things in the classroom. Teachers do have agency!

If you're a teacher, start to think of the classroom as its own little ecosystem: a semi‐autonomous zone where you can reimagine what joy, accountability, and community can look like! Finding your agency and owning your power and influence in the classroom will lead to better outcomes for your students—but it will also help you reconnect to the joy of teaching.

Note: this book can't replace a supportive administrator or a well‐resourced school district, but it can help teachers who want to figure out how to build a community rooted in joy despite the barriers and challenges both teachers and students face.

A NOTE ON SHAME

Teachers are under intense and heightened scrutiny at every turn. Despite being charged with a near impossible task, respect and trust in teachers in the United States is low. Several states have laws that give parents the right to contest and oversee what goes on in the classroom. Families being involved can actually be incredibly beneficial for students, but that involvement shouldn't translate to the right to unilaterally veto lesson plans. In some states teachers are required to submit lesson plans to the district for review ahead of time to ensure that they aren't teaching “critical race theory.” Disrespect like this puts teachers and the entire profession on the defensive.

When I first started learning more about researched‐based practices and social justice in education, I felt waves of shame. Shame because in the early stages of my career I made most of the mistakes that I'll talk about in this book. I focused on punishments, perpetuated systems of harm, and didn't do what was best for my students. It was difficult to learn that maybe I wasn't as effective as I thought I was. The great Maya Angelou said, “when you know better, do better.” Once I started learning how to be a better teacher, I had to be mindful to not let my shame take over. That shame can put you back on the defensive. Though it's true that in my first years as a teacher I didn't have a prep, subs, sick days, or support, and all of these things certainly affected my ability to be the best teacher I could be, I had to be honest with myself and look inward. I had some agency over my classroom, and there were things that I could have done differently. I acknowledged those feelings of shame, but then I moved on. I focused on giving myself grace and doing better.

Talking about issues of race, equity, and social justice can also bring on feelings of shame. It's true that the legacy of racism, sexism, homophobia, and all other forms of oppression in this country is shameful. Learning about it and grappling with it can bring up many different feelings, but shame just isn't helpful.

Here's what prolific researcher and professor Brené Brown has to say about shame (in a 2012 TED talk): “If you put shame in a petri dish, it needs three ingredients to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence, and judgment. If you put the same amount of shame in the petri dish and douse it with empathy, it can't survive.”

Again, when you lean into shame, you go on the defensive, refusing to look inward. Don't rob yourself of an opportunity to learn and reflect. Notice when you are feeling defensive or ashamed. Let that feeling come without judgment of yourself. Then start to make room for grace and moving forward.

YOU SHOULD SEE COLOR

My white teachers were amazing. They were highly qualified, well‐trained, veteran teachers—some of the best. But they weren't the best teachers for me. I grew up in a world where it was cool to be color‐blind; the phase of the decade was “I don't care if you're black, white, or purple.” And I get the sentiment—my teachers believed that it shouldn't matter that I was a little Black girl in a very white school. But the thing is, it really did. It mattered that my family and I inherited a 400‐year legacy of oppression. It mattered in many ways, but here are a few.

It mattered because I grew up in a Black neighborhood where the schools were underfunded. Because of this my parents lied about our address to get my sister and me into a better school, so in essence we “stole” our public education. I don't know if I would have been able to accomplish what I have today without that school and fake address. And this story is not unusual—I've known countless other people who did the same thing. For families who are savvy and have the capacity, they get their kids into the “better” schools. But this story would have been very different if my family didn't have the resources to actually get me to school every day. Even in large districts where there are numerous “high‐performing” charter schools, or they use an “open enrollment” system where students aren't bound by the address, you still have to consider the logistics of getting your kids to and from school each day. You'll need reliable public...