When I came to Achievement First Brooklyn High School nine years ago as the 9th grade literature teacher, it was my fifth year of teaching and my first time in a school that was unapologetically rooted in the “no excuses” model (Bristol, 2022), which centers a results-driven culture that prioritizes strict behavioral procedures and academic policies.
Merits and demerits managed our students more than authentic relationships steeped in compassion and empathy. Excellence had a certain aesthetic: black shoes, buttoned-up shirts, dark pants, and ties. As a teacher, I was held to standards that didn’t reflect my culture, experience, or personal learning style. During a classroom walkthrough, I was wearing a jean jacket over my shirt and tie and was given the feedback that my attire was “not professional” and told to take it off. No one said anything about my instruction or interactions with my kids.
At my school, our students completed tasks as told and begrudgingly complied to requests from teachers and school leaders like, “Sit up straight,” “We are silent,” and “Move with urgency.” This was ineffective. We still had behavioral challenges, which we later realized were largely due to our overreliance on classroom removals and suspensions—and our standardized test scores lagged behind peer schools in our network. Most importantly, our students were unhappy with their learning experience, and they started speaking out about it.
During the 2019–20 school year, in response to racial unrest and protests around the United States (Parker, Horowitz, & Anderson, 2020), Black students and alumni across the country shared about their negative experiences in majority-white elite institutions on “Black at” Instagram pages (Sullivan, 2020). These messages resonated with many of our students, who are predominantly Black and Latino, and they decided to participate in the movement by publishing blog posts exposing some of the harmful racist, classist, and ableist practices they experienced in our high school.
Reading their words was like applying eye drops: The initial sting was followed by an immense sense of clarity and relief. These students verbalized with so much authenticity and conviction what I was scared to say out loud. I was moved. I was also grateful that my students didn’t have these negative experiences in my literature class. I built strong relationships with students and families, managed my classes with relative ease, and really loved my content—and my students felt it.
These students verbalized with so much authenticity and conviction what I was scared to say out loud. I was moved.
What distinguished my teaching, and what led to my students’ academic success and their strong sense of belonging, was the joy that radiated from my classroom walls, even within the framework of the “no excuses” model. For example, we had a debate preparation protocol that had to be followed, where each student was required to contribute with a defensible claim and evidence. To make this activity more joyful, I handed my students dry-erase markers and told them they were free to scribble their ideas directly on their desks in any way that made sense to them: words, phrases, bullet points, pictures. Their desks were made of the same material as a whiteboard (which I discovered accidentally!), so this activity allowed them to explore ideas and express themselves authentically and organically in a way that felt freeing and fun. The students were happy to be in the room, and I was learning how to create the conditions to ensure they were happy every day.
A Chance to Lead with Joy
During the height of the pandemic and before our return to in-person instruction, an opportunity arose to apply for a school leadership position at my school, and in July 2022, I became the principal.
It was a difficult time. We were still adhering to strict COVID-19 policies and guidelines, all while staff was attempting to restore some sense of normalcy and structure for our students. It felt like I signed up to move mountains and raise valleys.
Our students struggled academically, socially, and emotionally (NCES, 2022). We saw a decrease in standardized test scores (Kingsbury, 2022) and curriculum-based reading assessment scores; an increase in negative coping behaviors; and a need for more mental health resources for our students.
It was clear we needed to make some changes.
I thought about the way I used to lead my own classroom and how students responded, and my team and I decided to intentionally center joy in our school culture. We decided to prioritize making decisions rooted in equity and culturally relevant practices. Our movement away from the “no excuses” model has since created a culture where more staff and students are happy to be in the room. But it has been a journey that has required both a personal and organizational mindset shift.
Changing the Culture
As a teacher, I was focused on accelerating student growth in the midst of societal inequity, political unrest, and restrictive educational philosophies by making my classroom a joyous place to learn. Now as a principal, I realize that my staff, just like my students, are better able to navigate challenging circumstances when the environment is a joyous place to be.
But to center joy in our school community, we had to develop a shared language to talk about joy and align our goals.
First, we did our homework. There has been plenty of research that proves workplace happiness is directly linked to worker productivity, and a growing body of research that suggests this happiness must come from one’s own sense of self-satisfaction and worthiness (Misra & Srivastava, 2022).
My leadership team and I asked ourselves what conditions needed to be set for each staff member and student to feel seen, heard, and valued within our community. We discovered that developing a joyful culture required a blend of positive mindsets, thoughtful choices, and equitable systems that created an experience that compelled staff to return and families to stay.
To center joy in our school community, we had to develop a shared language to talk about joy and align our goals.
The “no excuses” model our school once subscribed to had caused harm. Our hope was that by centering joy, we could address it and make some changes moving forward. We established a culture of reflection by creating intentional space to think more deeply about our values and purpose for educating our students, particularly our Black and Latino youth. Two key members of our team stepped up to lead us in initiating more conversations about diversity, equity, and inclusion. In turn, we were becoming more self-aware, more thoughtful about the way we perceived our community and ourselves, and more comfortable relating our life experiences to our work.
To create the conditions for joy, we had to be extremely empathetic and sensitive to the human experience—and that started with the staff. One simple way we began to infuse joy among staff was forming the Sunshine Committee, a team of staff volunteers who lead the joy-building for the adults in the school. They plan staff outings and celebrations and welcome new educators with open arms. Just as students need to feel seen, heard, and valued, so do the adults that make everything in a school happen.
When Student Joy Comes First
Over time, we used our new values and mission to craft more inclusive school policies. For example, our pre-pandemic uniform policy reinforced gender bias, providing little room for personal expression. It did not reflect the diversity nor the developmental stages of our student body and was often the root cause of negative teacher-student interactions and consequences.
Recognizing that school uniforms are a hotly debated topic, we dug into research about the benefits and drawbacks (Ansari, Shepard, & Gottfried, 2022) and ultimately decided that we needed some change. Using guidance on equitable uniform policies from schools that had gone before us (ACT Education, n.d.), we expanded our options to include gender-neutral clothing items like hoodies, joggers, polos, and pullovers and were more thoughtful about our feedback regarding length and fit. Then we revised our response to uniform infractions, working more with our families instead of issuing demerits on the spot.
These revisions decreased uniform noncompliance, reduced negative feelings about body-policing previously expressed by some students, and empowered our students with more autonomy. In classrooms, teachers were no longer required to “look out” for uniform offenders and could focus on facilitating rigorous classroom instruction and maintaining positive interactions with students.
With more students receiving feedback centered on their learning rather than their appearance, our lunch and after-school detention programs were nearly empty, and our team was able to use the time for student office hours instead.
Our school’s uniform policy is only one example of change, but it didn’t stop there. We almost entirely eliminated classroom removals and repeat suspensions. Student satisfaction ratings increased in the annual student surveys and, most critically, students and staff started bringing their whole selves to school.
For the 2024–25 school year, we instituted a “No Cell Phone” policy that requires students to use a Yondr pouch to store their cell phones during the school day. Though it may sound like a strange way to infuse joy, without access to their phones, students have greater access to each other. In the first six weeks, we noticed an uptick in student engagement and discourse, which is leading to a greater sense of belief, belonging, and joy in classrooms.
Joy as a Core Value
As a principal, I am inspired by Martin Luther King Jr.’s words, “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” When I first started at my school, the policies in place seemed determined to sap all joy out of students’ experiences. Turning that around was not easy—and the work still continues—but the results have been worth it. When we prioritize joy, make it a core value, and consistently champion the conditions needed to experience it, students and staff feel increasingly seen and valued and a stronger foundation is set for success.
Editor’s note: This article, originally titled “Joy Oozed From My Classroom When I Was a Teacher. As a Principal, I’m Carrying That With Me,” was first published by EdSurge, a nonprofit newsroom that covers education through original journalism and research.
