The Beginning
Before May of 2023, I didn’t know a thing about dyslexia. But after years of wondering why my daughter (we’ll call her B) struggled to read, we finally received a diagnosis that spring—she is part of the 20% of the population with dyslexia. On a Friday afternoon in April, I faced one of the greatest challenges of my life as a parent—and, in many ways, as a leader: How do I navigate the education system with my daughter for the next 15 years? And how do I help set her up for success?
As a NXT-GEN Fellow with The HOW Institute for Society, I’ve spent years studying moral leadership, how to pause, reflect, and lead with purpose. But in that first moment, I’ll be honest: I didn’t start with a pause or with seeing the humanity in everyone. I started with tears. And fear.
As someone with a bias for action, my instinct was to dive into research, create a plan, and fix everything. But something I learned through HOW whispered otherwise: slow down to speed up. I decided my first act of leadership as a parent would be to stop and to pause before doing.
So I put a hold on most things, except for finding a tutor, for about a month. Then, with more clarity and calm, I dove in fully. Fear went away as I learned more, understanding what dyslexia actually was and surrounding myself with people and resources who could support me through the journey. Every step since has drawn on the practices I learned through the HOW Fellowship.
The Pause (Again and Again)
Over the last two and a half years, I feel like I pause mid-step every other week. Navigating elementary education can be frustrating when you don’t live and breathe it every day. And yet there’s no space for frustration in a partnership between our family and her educators. We have to be on the same team.
I’ve come to see myself as the quarterback of her education. (And since I don’t know much about sports, I’m told that means “the leader.”) That role has required me to rethink how I approach conversations and reimagine how we work together to support B’s learning.
My journals are now full of reflections on meetings, academic test results, and research notes. And while the educators I work with may not realize it, we’ve paused and reflected together, challenging assumptions, inviting new perspectives, and, in one case, bringing B’s speech therapist into the conversation. Together, we’ve created better outcomes for her and perhaps new learnings for them, too.
Seeing the Humanity in Everyone
It would be easy to frame this as “us vs. them” and to see B as the victim of circumstance and the system as the obstacle. But that’s not helpful. Educators are doing the best they can. Their classrooms are full, their days are long, and the needs are endless.
So I lead with grace. Direct, but with grace. My husband and I have had to be creative in supporting B and patient in educating others along the way. We start each meeting with curiosity and leave our assumptions at the front door of the school. The result? We’re all moving in the same direction for B.
Courage for the Path Forward
I’d love to say we’ve cracked the code, but I know better. For the next decade, we’ll continue helping B find her voice, lean into her natural curiosity, and step into her many talents. That will take courage from her and from us.
Our work is part boosting her confidence, part helping her become her own advocate, and part holding her to high expectations. I know I’ll need to keep pausing, seeing the humanity in everyone, especially in the frustrating moments, and leading with courage through difficult conversations.
Because when we do these things, when we practice moral leadership not just at work but at home, we’re not only doing our best for our daughter. We’re also leaving the education system a little better than we found it.
