Roots to Peaks
A Journey of Reflection, Growth, and Empowerment for Educators
This post is inspired by the legacy of Fannie Lou Hamer, bell hooks, Octavia Butler, Ella Baker, James Baldwin, Maya Angelou — and every educator out there quietly changing the world.
“I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.”
– Fannie Lou Hamer
Teaching is more than a profession — it is a call to consciousness.
A call to act, reflect, and reimagine. It is the deeply human work of shaping what’s next, while carrying what came before. But too often, educators are expected to pour endlessly from an empty cup, to rise without being rooted, to bloom while being buried.
This post is a return to self, to purpose, and to the deep work beneath the work.
It is for the educator who stays up at night wondering if they’re doing enough.
For the one who carries invisible weight.
This is a call to root.
To reflect.
To rise.
In this post, we’re going to explore the interconnected journey of educators — how we reflect on our practices, grow in our understanding, and empower those who step into our classrooms. It’s a journey of personal discovery and professional growth, one that requires us to acknowledge the roots that anchor us, the branches that stretch us, and the peaks we have yet to climb.
Rooted in Purpose: Reconnecting to the ‘Why’
All that you touch, you change.
All that you change, changes you.
The only lasting truth is change.
God is change.”
— Octavia Butler
At the heart of every educator’s practice lies a simple, powerful question: Why do I teach?
It’s the question that grounds us when everything feels unsteady. That anchors us when the to-do list gets longer than our sense of clarity. It reminds us that we didn’t get into this work to meet metrics — we came to spark something, to hold space, to offer what we may have needed ourselves. I waited after I had completed my graduate studies to enter public education because I felt that the responsibility of an educator was so grand I was not prepared until I was older, a little wiser, and with a few more degrees to support the next generation in their learning, passion, and growth. I wanted to be the educator who could have been there for students like me when I was in the classroom learning, growing, and becoming.
Why do I teach? It’s a simple question, yet one that can have profound implications for our work. Understanding the “why” behind our teaching helps us stay grounded, especially when the daily grind gets overwhelming. It allows us to connect deeply with our students, to draw from our own experiences, and to create meaningful, lasting impacts in the lives of those we teach.
Reflecting on our purpose as an educator helps bring clarity and focus to our practice. This reflection is not just about why you became a teacher but also about how your experiences, values, and passions shape the way you show up in the classroom.
It’s important that we set aside time each week for reflection and create a space for ourselves to ask deep questions about our purpose and practice, whether it’s after school, on a lazy Sunday, or during our commutes. You might begin by journaling, creating inspirational albums (or a desktop wallpaper for your computer) that exemplify your teaching philosophy (I have an album of photos of celebratory moments with students and colleagues to remind me of why I do what I do and have pinned every kind word from a family member, student, or colleague to the top of my inbox so that I have to scroll through these messages and ground my practice in the good work from the past before getting to my first email of the day), or simply writing a letter to yourself reflecting on why you chose this path and what drives you.
Our “why” isn’t always obvious — it can shift over time, and it can be influenced by personal experiences, passions, or challenges. It is in the process of asking ourselves these questions that we grow. By taking the time to deeply reflect on the reasons we entered the profession, we can reignite our passion and stay grounded in our values, even on the hardest days.
Reflective Questions:
What is my core belief about the role of an educator in the lives of students?
How do my experiences shape how I approach teaching and learning?
What can I do today to reconnect with my “why” when the day feels overwhelming?
What brought me to this work in the first place?
What has kept me here?
What do I want my students to feel when they’re in my presence?
Remembering why we teach grounds us, helping us navigate the challenges we face while keeping our purpose in focus. By identifying and understanding the deep motivations behind our teaching, we strengthen our connection to the work, ensuring that it remains meaningful and impactful over time.
Beneath the Surface: Digging Into Our Practice
The work of education is never finished; it’s a continuous process of learning, unlearning, and relearning.”
– bell hooks
Growth doesn’t happen on the surface. It happens in the soil — messy, invisible, deep. Surface-level reflection doesn’t allow for true transformation. We may see the outward signs of success in the classroom, but unless we dig beneath the surface, we miss the true potential for growth. Teaching is an evolving practice, and deep reflection helps us see beyond the immediate results to uncover deeper insights about ourselves and our methods.
In digging deeper, we examine the methods we use, the assumptions we hold, and the biases that may shape our decisions. We ask ourselves uncomfortable questions about the effectiveness of our teaching and the ways in which we might unknowingly perpetuate inequity in education. This process is ongoing — it requires humility and a willingness to look inward, even when it is difficult.
By continually seeking to understand the complexities of our practice, we find room for growth. We might discover that certain strategies no longer serve us, that we have neglected areas of our teaching that need attention, or that new approaches are needed to better serve our students. Each layer of discovery leads to deeper insight and deeper insight leads to more informed and intentional action.
To evolve as educators, we have to be willing to sit in reflection that goes beyond the day-to-day. We need to ask the hard questions about what we uphold, who we centre, and where we still have room to grow. This is the uneasy part of transformation — the digging, the composting, the shadow work.
Reflective Questions:
What assumptions am I bringing into the classroom?
What practices do I repeat without questioning?
Who gets to feel seen, safe, and celebrated in my space — and who doesn’t?
Change starts when we are brave enough to see ourselves clearly. True growth in teaching comes from digging deeper into our practices, questioning the assumptions we carry, and being open to change and improvement. We grow alongside our students and it is the most beautiful experience of being an educator when we root ourselves in this wisdom.
Reaching for the Sun: Expanding Our Educational Horizons
Like plants reaching toward the sun, educators must constantly stretch toward new horizons — expanding our knowledge, refining our skills, and embracing new opportunities. Growth as an educator is not a one-time event; it’s a lifelong journey of pushing boundaries and exploring new possibilities in our teaching.
Expansion doesn’t always mean reinventing the wheel; it can also mean refining what we already know and finding new applications. Maybe it’s embracing a new teaching method, affirming ourselves and what we have done well, integrating technology in ways we’ve never done before, or building stronger relationships with students. Each small step toward growth is important and necessary.
But expansion can also be challenging. It takes courage to step outside of our comfort zones, to try new things that might not immediately yield success. Still, it’s through these challenges that we learn and evolve. Embracing the unknown and experimenting with new pathways ultimately leads to more innovative and engaging learning experiences for our students.
Education is an evolving landscape, and as educators, it’s important that we remain open to new possibilities. Just as a tree grows branches that stretch out into the world, our teaching practice can also expand and diversify when we explore new pathways. Branching out is about venturing into uncharted territories and rethinking traditional classroom structures.
Branching out can be intimidating. It challenges us to move beyond the comfort of what we know and take risks. But it’s also a path toward growth and discovery. Just as a gardener must try new techniques to see what works best in their soil, we too must test new ideas to see how they resonate with our students. When we approach teaching as a journey of exploration, we open ourselves up to new insights and innovative practices that can transform our classrooms.
Commit to trying one new teaching method or strategy every month. Keep track of what worked, what didn’t, and how it impacted student learning. Reflect on these experiences in journals or professional learning circles to dialogue about what led to success, where adjustments are needed as a collective, and feel supported in your conversations with one another as you venture on this journey together. One of the most impactful decisions a team of teachers I worked with made was when we collectively agreed to come together and have one morning, every couple of weeks depending on our schedules, where we would discuss the headlines and news of the day before the bell rang. We all taught Social Studies, someone would bring coffee and snacks, and we would begin our day asking about what everyone thought about the news and how we could discuss these subjects in our classes or ask for clarification if we were unfamiliar with the politics, histories, or news stories our students might want to discuss or engage with in the classroom. It was also a space where we could speak vulnerably about how the news of the day was making us feel and share the weight of responsibility of being Social Studies teachers in times such as these. We brought all of our knowledge and experience together and became stronger for it. These conversations were a highlight of our time together, never a burden, and we had wonderful dialogues to begin our days on the good foot, as James Brown would say.
Reflective Questions:
What teaching methods have I not yet explored that could enhance my students’ learning?
How do I feel about trying new methods? What fears or hesitations arise, and how can I move past them?
What is one change I could make in my teaching that would have a meaningful impact?
Branching out encourages us to take risks and embrace change, leading to new growth opportunities for ourselves and our students. Just like a plant’s growth is fueled by sunlight, our growth as educators comes from continuously seeking new sources of inspiration and learning.
The Waters We Navigate: How Our Personal History Shapes Our Teaching
Who we are shows up in how we teach.
Our histories — of harm, of healing, of hope — shape the way we build relationships and hold space. Sometimes those histories give us a deeper capacity for empathy. Sometimes they ask us to unlearn. But always, they matter.
We are shaped by the currents of our personal histories, and as educators, these experiences influence how we approach our students, our work, and the challenges we face. The waters we navigate, from our childhood to our current journey, shape the lens through which we see the world and, in turn, how we teach. Every experience — whether positive or painful — flows into our classroom, impacting how we connect with students and how we approach teaching.
For instance, if we have faced adversity in our own lives, we may have a deeper understanding of the challenges our students encounter. Our own stories of resilience can empower us to foster a learning environment that promotes perseverance and empathy. Conversely, our experiences of privilege may push us to be more conscious of equity, ensuring that all students are given the support they need to succeed.
Understanding how our personal history shapes our teaching helps us become more self-aware. It allows us to reflect on our biases, our strengths, and our areas of growth. By acknowledging the role our personal experiences play, we can create more authentic, inclusive, and empathetic classrooms that are grounded in a deeper understanding of ourselves and our students.
Spend 10-15 minutes daily journaling or discussing with a trusted colleague, accountability partner, or mentor about your interactions with students and any moments where your personal history might have influenced your approach. Reflect on how these moments can help you grow as an educator. Embracing the waters of our personal histories allows us to teach with empathy, understanding, and a commitment to inclusivity for all.
Reflective Questions:
How does my personal history influence my approach to teaching?
What aspects of my history do I bring into my classroom that might enhance my students’ learning experience?
How can I make my classroom more inclusive by recognizing my own biases and experiences?
What do I carry into my teaching from my own schooling experience?
Where do I see my past shaping my present practice — for better or for worse?
The more we understand the waters we have navigated, the more clearly we can guide others through theirs.
Each of us carries a personal history that has shaped the way we view the world — and the way we teach. Just as rivers are shaped by the terrain they flow through, our life stories inform the way we approach education. These personal histories, whether filled with triumph or struggle, add depth to our teaching and influence the connections we make with students. Reflecting on our personal histories is essential because it helps us understand how our experiences have influenced our teaching philosophy. For example, someone who grew up in an underprivileged neighborhood might have a strong commitment to equity in education. Another educator who overcame personal adversity may be particularly attuned to the emotional needs of their students. Another who has experienced systemic racism can support students in articulating, not internalizing, the gravity of oppression in a way that goes beyond resilience and into enlightenment and self-actualization.
These connections are not just intellectual — they are emotional, rooted in shared humanity. When we bring our life stories into the classroom, we create a space where empathy thrives. Our personal histories give us insight into the diverse backgrounds of our students and allow us to make more authentic, meaningful connections.
Understanding how our personal experiences shape our teaching enables us to connect more deeply with students and create a more inclusive, empathetic classroom.
Tending the Garden: Rest, Boundaries, and the People We Build With
Let’s be clear: burnout isn’t always about working too much.
Sometimes it’s about working in spaces that don’t honour the weight we carry. That extract care without reciprocity. That call it “collaboration” while watching you do it all. Rest becomes more possible when we’re not constantly recovering from harm. Boundaries are easier to hold when we are not navigating silent power plays and performative solidarity. We flourish not just when we care for ourselves — but when we are cared for, too.
I have had the unfortunate experience of being extracted and exploited not only by systems, but from people who claim to be allies or co-conspirators in the work, who come from oppressed and/or equity-deserving identities and histories, who are racialized and well-versed in the words and theory but not the integrity of the work. It can break your heart many times over, which is why it is so important to honour your spirit when the hurt and harm creep in. Rest is wonderful, but not if our selfishness in our pursuit of rest results in further extraction of others or resentment that harms the overall work. We have to be intentional even when we are not at our best, recognizing that integrity is not only found in the excitement of how we start things, but in how we end them, too. After all, the end-point (even if it is only for a short time) is what leaves the aroma lingering behind. Keep it sweet.
Reflective Questions:
Who around me restores my energy and who depletes it?
What would it look like to work in an ecosystem where care is reciprocal, not performative?
How do I currently prioritize my well-being as an educator?
What activities or practices help restore my energy and keep me grounded?
What boundaries do I need to set in order to protect my mental and physical health?
How can I prioritize my well-being in ways that feel authentic and sustainable?
What small changes can I make to my daily routine to help me feel more balanced?
How can I create a supportive community within my school that encourages self-care?
Am I not acknowledging how I am unknowingly adding more pressure or work for those around me, along with myself?
Am I acting in my integrity when I step away or is there a better way for the work to continue and for everyone to be held tenderly, at no one’s expense?
Have I thought intentionally and with integrity of how the work will be sustained while I nurture myself or in my absence?
As educators, we often give so much of ourselves to others that it’s easy to forget to nurture our own well-being. Like a garden, our capacity to grow and thrive as educators requires regular care and attention. We cannot pour from an empty watering can, and without tending to our own emotional and physical needs, our ability to show up fully for our students and our colleagues diminishes. Dedicate time to assessing your self-care routine. Consider areas where you might be neglecting your needs and set specific, actionable goals to address them (this could be through regular exercise, meditation, or scheduling time for personal hobbies). Recognize the moments when you have been there for your team and articulate when your team needs to be there for you, as my good friend reminded me this year.
Tending to our well-being isn’t just about taking breaks — it’s about creating a sustainable practice of self-care that supports us both personally and professionally, where we do not become a part of extracting others by expecting them to do the work for us, to pick up our slack, to expend their own energy as if their own lives and sufferings are not equal to our own. Tending to our own garden should not come at the expense of another’s — we have to take our time responsibly otherwise we risk harming the collective work and the people who are connected to us in the relational ecosystem of the work. I sometimes grow weary when I hear people say that it is one or the other (say “no” or “yes” and walk away without caring about what crashes down behind you) or try to imply that those who work hard are somehow at a deficit in their own self-awareness or have a misguided martyr complex.
I personally take great joy in doing the work I do, as hard as it is, because I don’t do it for the applause or self-righteous spotlight, I do it because I am (as a friend and colleague shared with me this year) an “organic intellectual” — as defined by Antonio Gramsci — who is someone who came from the working class (or an oppressed community), who is not a detached intellectual operating from “on high” (whether from the top of the skyscraper, the penthouse, the hierarchy, or the ivory tower). An organic intellectual is someone who serves the community they came from no matter where their opportunities lead them and never forgets their roots (and always makes a point of giving proper credit and citation to the grassroots thinkers, activists, writers, and leaders of the work — especially when the names of the grassroots innovators hold little weight in institutions, such as academia, it is critical to uplift their names and honour their expertise and insights from the ground and front line…I have sadly witnessed many an academic take credit for the words of a grassroots activist and co-opt intellectual property solely because they loved the idea but presumed that the activist’s name held little water in the academic pool, using their position in the ivory tower to steal the voice and shut out the individual who first spoke or actioned it into being). The times when I feel depleted or disenfranchised are not only when systems of power or oppression are extracting from me, but when the people I expected to trust in this journey alongside me treat my work ethic as a never-ending fuel tank they can siphon in order to ride on, leaving me and my so-called “beater” in the dust. A few have ridden strapped to the bottom of the ride like Robert DeNiro in Cape Fear, too (yikes!). Needless to say, these coattails are quite ragged and frayed as many have caught a lift over the decades I’ve done this work, to say the least! I wish I could say they kept the journey going full speed ahead and picked up others along the way, but many times — even with all the fuel in the world — the journey arrives at a dead end without an instruction manual or road map to guide the way — otherwise known as our ethics, values, and integrity.
I have learned the hard way that just because someone talks the talk of this work does not mean that they walk the walk. Inevitably, it is their journey and only they can answer that for themselves and to their reflection in the pond. All we can do is continue on in our integrity and never find ourselves playing both sides; otherwise, we end up playing ourselves and disrupting the relational ecosystem even further through avoidance, retaliation, or resentment that leads to no good end for any and all of us.
After all, no matter how much fuel is siphoned, no matter how many times I’ve had my thumb up waiting for some kind soul to retrieve me from the side of the highway when those passengers who told me they were “ride or die” that I began with on the journey riding so-called shotgun in my ride left me stranded on the hard shoulder, I know deep in my heart that they might have the fuel but not the mileage and I can always ride off again once I fuel back up.
This ride was made custom. And baby, it goes off-road to everywhere!
It’s the opposite of a martyr mentality — it’s an easy rider and low rider mentality, the difference between a Freedom Rider and treating someone as nothing more than a free ride. At the end of the day, my vehicle has never been a “beater” — it’s a sleeper. And if we ever find ourselves on the side of the road, hazards on under the hot sun waiting and hoping for some extra fuel, we have to learn to embody what Prince once said before we slip too far into melancholy brought on by mistreatement: “I can’t be played. A person who tries to play me, plays themselves.”
We are in this work together, it’s up to us to determine how pleasant the commute will be. Moments of self-care are where we find our fuel — even better if it isn’t fossilized! — and hit the open road again.
When we invest in our well-being, we become better equipped to care for our students. This includes setting boundaries, seeking support when needed, engaging in activities that restore our energy, and making time for the things that bring us joy and fulfillment. Just as a gardener protects their plants from pests and weather, we must protect our mental, emotional, and physical health to maintain our vitality. If we try our best to do so, our energy, focus, and enthusiasm will inevitably flourish, creating a classroom atmosphere where both students and educators thrive.
At the start or end of each day, take five minutes to check in with yourself. Ask questions like:
How am I feeling today?
Am I experiencing any stress or tension?
What can I do to relieve it?
If you’re feeling overwhelmed, identify one simple activity (a walk, breathing exercises, a quick chat with a trusted colleague whose company you enjoy) that can help restore your energy. Integrate this into your day consistently, find time to be present and feel a sense of solidarity with your heart, mind, body, spirit, and those around you.
This is your reminder: you deserve to grow in good soil. To work alongside people who give, not just take. To be seen and supported. By tending to our well-being and those we are in community with, we ensure we can show up fully for our students and create a classroom that fosters growth for everyone involved.
Reaching New Heights Together
The journey of teaching is one of continual growth, rooted in the experiences we carry with us and the transformations we make along the way. By reflecting on the foundations that ground us, branching out into new possibilities, understanding the impact of our personal histories, and nurturing our own well-being, we can cultivate a teaching practice that is dynamic, sustainable, and ultimately more fulfilling.
As we continue to evolve in our careers, it’s important to remember that growth isn’t linear — it is a process of trial and error, of moments of brilliance and moments of doubt. What matters most is our willingness to reflect, learn, and adapt along the way. When we tend to our own growth, we are better equipped to guide and inspire the next generation of learners, helping them reach their own peaks.
The work we do as educators is transformative not only for our students but for ourselves. By acknowledging our roots, embracing our potential for growth, and taking care of ourselves in the process, we can build classrooms where everyone — teachers and students alike — can flourish.
Let’s continue to reach for new heights, together, as we shape a future that’s grounded in reflection, resilience, and empowerment.
Moving Forward, Step by Step
Teaching isn’t about having all the answers; it’s about showing up each day, reflecting on our practice, and being open to the process of growth. There will be days when it feels like everything aligns, and other days when progress seems slow. The key is that we keep moving forward, one step at a time.
As we reflect, experiment with new strategies, and care for ourselves, we not only grow as educators but create a space for our students to do the same. It’s not about perfection — it is about progress, persistence, and the willingness to keep learning.
So let’s continue, quietly but steadily, in our own way and at our own pace. The journey is far from over, and each step we take adds something meaningful to the work we’re doing.
Teaching isn’t about getting it perfect. It’s about returning — again and again — to what matters.
To our students.
To our stories.
To our strength.
To the belief that change is possible — not just out there, but in here.
And so, we keep going — rooted and reaching.
You are allowed to grow.
To rest.
To rise.
The roots are deep.
The peaks are calling.
Keep going.
Rooted in purpose, rising in practice,
Ms. K
