Halftime
Thrivelihood: Leading Through the Noise and Thriving Anyway
There comes a point in leadership—and in life—where simply being who you are is no longer a choice, it’s a necessity. At this stage in my journey as a leader, and yes, at this age, I’ve stopped shrinking. I’ve stopped over-explaining. I’ve stopped asking for permission to be whole. Because here’s the truth: showing up as your full self is no longer optional—it’s imperative to your thrivelihood.
Thrivelihood
Let me pause and explain that term: thrivelihood.
It’s more than a play on words. Thrivelihood is the space where purpose, authenticity, and wellness intersect. It’s the shift from simply serving to fully thriving in your role. It’s leadership with longevity. Not just surviving the systems, but resisting them by being well. By being rooted. By being bold.
And right now, the call for this kind of leadership could not be more urgent.
As an educator, I am appalled by the systematic dismantling of public education—especially for our most vulnerable students. Black, Brown, and Indigenous students. Students with disabilities. Immigrant students. Poor students in both rural and urban communities. The very scaffolding meant to support their access to opportunity is being torn down brick by brick. The result? A widening chasm that leaves behind the many and protects the few—an elitist class of mostly white students whose families can afford to pay for a private education or navigate complex systems of privilege.
As a Black woman in this work, this isn’t just professional. It’s personal. It’s exhausting. It’s enraging. And still—this is when our leadership matters most. This is when it shines. Not in the ease, but in the heat of it. In the tension. In the hard.
Right now, schools across the country are scrambling during this summer intermission—what I call our halftime. But we, as leaders, must not scramble. We must center. We must remain calm, grounded, and focused on what we can control. That is how we win. That is how we prove them wrong.
By creating the safest, most affirming schools.
By equipping teachers not just with content, but with care.
By mobilizing our communities for strength and support.
By showing the world that when schools thrive—communities thrive.
And How Are The Children?
Because schools are not isolated buildings. They are litmus tests for the well-being of our society.
And in the words of the Maasai proverb that continues to haunt and inspire me:
“And how are the children?”
When the community can confidently respond, "the children are well," only then can we breathe a collective sigh of relief. Until then, we lead. We labor. We live in pursuit of that promise.
So What Now?
Let me be clear: I cannot even begin to imagine the weight today’s sitting principals, district superintendents, and state education chiefs are carrying. The swirl of executive orders, staff layoffs, and stalled federal funding has cast a shadow of uncertainty over every plan we’ve carefully crafted. Strategic plans. School improvement plans. Promises we made to families. Now all of it is on pause—or worse, in peril.
And yet, here we are. Pressing through the noise.
It feels like being in the arena of an opposing team, surrounded by jeers and distractions. And you—yes, you—are standing on the foul line. The game is on the line. Every eye is on you. Pressure is high. But like every great player, you know what to do.
You pause.
You breathe.
You remember everything you've been taught.
Every practice. Every hardship. Every win and every lesson.
You were built for this.
And just like that, you shoot.
That’s leadership right now.
That’s thrivelihood in action.
Not waiting for ideal conditions.
Not folding under pressure.
But standing firm in the fullness of who you are—on purpose, for purpose.
Because when the odds are against us, we don’t flinch.
We focus. We fight. We finish the play.
So, How Does This Game End?
Truth is—it doesn’t. Not yet.
For now, we keep playing.
We strategize.
We call in our key players.
We innovate.
We stay resourceful. We adjust the play when the defense changes.
And yes, sometimes we pivot mid-air.
I have faith—deep faith—because I’ve witnessed it before:
The greatest leaders rise not in times of comfort, but in the midst of crisis and uncertainty.
They don’t just lead for survival—they lead for transformation. They lead for thrivelihood.
Our Students Are Watching!
And remember this:
Our students are watching.
They are watching how we show up.
They are watching how we respond to adversity.
They are watching how we treat each other.
They are watching how we lead.
So even in the noise, the setbacks, and the strain—we lead anyway.
Not because it’s easy. But because it’s necessary.
And when the day comes—and it will—when the community can finally say,
“The children are well,” we’ll know that we’ve done more than take the shot.
We’ve changed the game.
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You knocked this one out of the park! Amazing read!