When I Realized the Buck Stops with Me
When I took on the role of summer school administrator, I had to make a decision about cell phones. A lot of schools had tried strict phone policies before, but most fizzled out because enforcement became a burden on teachers. But I believed in the rule. I believed that kids deserved a space free from distraction, a space where they could focus, connect, and be present.
So, I made it clear: Once students crossed into the building, phones were put away—no exceptions. And I enforced it myself. If I saw a phone in the hall, at lunch, or in class, I took it. I didn’t tell a teacher to do it. I didn’t wait for someone else to step in. I stepped up.
By day three, the students got it. And so did the teachers. Because I was willing to take full ownership of the rule, they followed suit. The burden didn’t fall on them—it was a shared expectation, consistently upheld. Instead of creating resentment, it built trust.
But Then Came the Bigger Test
On only the second day of summer school, I noticed something that didn’t sit right. Teachers had been told when they were hired that breakfasts and lunches were part of the job—an opportunity to connect with students, to build relationships, to create a sense of belonging. This wasn’t supposed to feel like a traditional summer school program; it was meant to be more like summer camp.
But instead of sitting with the students, the teachers formed their own little group—first standing around together in the mornings, then actually sitting apart from the kids on the stage during lunch. It wasn’t just about supervision. It was about community. And they were opting out.
Then, a counselor approached me.
“Hey,” she said, “we were just talking, and there’s no reason for all of us to be in here during lunch. We’ll take turns—two of us will stay, and the rest will go eat in the lounge.”
Oh. My. God.
I felt that imposter-syndrome panic creep in. How was I supposed to drum up the authority to tell my own peers—people I had worked with just weeks before—that no, they couldn’t do what they wanted?
I took a breath and said, “Thanks for your suggestion. I’ll think it over and let you know what I decide.”
She blinked. Surprised. She had expected me to agree. To go along with the plan.
But I wasn’t sure what to do. I spiraled all evening, wondering if I was being rigid. Was I being controlling? Micromanaging? Was I making a big deal out of nothing?
Then it hit me.
This wasn’t about power. It was about the mission.
And suddenly, the decision was easy.
Leading Means Owning the Why
The next morning, I called a quick meeting.
I told them I’d heard their request and had given it real thought—but the answer was no. This wasn’t about supervision. It was about connection. We weren’t running a summer school program. We were creating an environment where students felt seen and valued. They needed us.
So, from that moment forward, every teacher would be at the tables. Talking. Eating. Building relationships. Not just standing in the room. Not just watching. Present.
And you know what? They got it.
Did they grumble at first? Probably. But by the end of the summer, they were in it. Students felt the difference. And that’s what mattered.
Lessons in Leadership: What I Learned About Stepping Up
These moments taught me something critical about leadership:
If a rule is worth having, it’s worth enforcing. Don’t make rules you aren’t willing to uphold yourself. The moment a leader turns a blind eye, they undermine the very structure they put in place.
Leadership isn’t about control—it’s about clarity. It’s not about enforcing things just because you can. It’s about making decisions that align with a mission and communicating that why.
If you’re the leader, the buck stops with you. If the teachers didn’t uphold the phone policy, I had to. If they weren’t engaging with students at lunch, I had to address it. There was no “sending it up the chain.” I was the chain.
Hard conversations get easier when they’re about something bigger than you. The moment I realized I wasn’t enforcing rules for control, but to uphold a shared mission, I stopped feeling like an imposter. The confidence came naturally.
The Bottom Line
When leaders don’t stand by their own expectations, they lose trust. They create resentment. They push the hard work onto others instead of stepping up themselves.
Real leadership means taking ownership—not just of policies, but of the why behind them. It means stepping up when it’s uncomfortable. And it means remembering that leadership isn’t about power. It’s about purpose.
And when you lead with that? People will follow.