Ditching Compliance, Claiming Leadership: I Graduated!

I knew this program would change me. I always go into transformative experiences expecting to be reshaped in ways I can’t predict — but even then, I couldn’t have guessed how this one would go. I didn’t just grow. I crawled, unraveled, rebuilt, and clawed my way to the other side with a sharper vision of who I am — and who I refuse to become.

You expect a principal licensure program to give you frameworks, protocols, and a zoomed-out perspective of the bigger picture. I got that. I welcomed the complexity of multiple stakeholder lenses. I came in with a strong teacher identity, and I was ready to challenge it — to realize that not every decision is black and white, and that sometimes, leadership requires sitting in the gray.

What I didn’t expect was to emerge from battle.

Interns are supposed to be protected. We’re told we’re learning. But only part of my experience followed that script. In one setting, I was nurtured. My summer school mentor set me up for success and then let me succeed. He believed in my leadership. Because of him, I know I can do this.

But then came the second act — a "mentor" who saw me not as a leader in development, but as a threat. What followed wasn’t leadership support. It was sabotage. It was erasure. It was a textbook case in unethical conduct, and it taught me more than any textbook ever could.

I now know exactly what kind of leader I do not want to be.

So I graduate not as someone polished and palatable, but as someone sharpened. I am not trying to fit in. I’m not vanilla. I’m not here to contort myself to whatever box someone wants to put me in. I’m here to lead with integrity, to build trust-centered systems, and to speak up even when it’s uncomfortable.

The funny part? I thought I’d ace this. I was prepared to - committed to. That I’d hit every deadline. Excel in every way. And in the beginning I did. But this year gutted me. Between toxic leadership, emotional whiplash, and fighting to preserve both my professional standing and my inner peace, I crawled to that finish line.

And still, I made it.

Here’s what I shared with my family at dinner that night:

“I’ve always tried to be the best. Achievement mattered a lot to me — maybe too much. I thought my worth came from being exceptional, from being recognized. But this time, I didn’t cross the finish line with fireworks. I dragged myself there. And you know what happened? Nothing. The sky didn’t fall.

So yes — do your best. Strive. Hustle. Care deeply.

But also… if all you can do is make it through, that’s enough. You’re still worthy. Still loved. Still exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

That’s the leadership I’m claiming now. Not the kind that rewards performance. The kind that makes room for people to be whole.

I graduate not just with a license. I graduate with a compass.

And I’m not ditching rigor. I’m ditching compliance. For courage. For clarity. For something real.