Dear Educators,

Today, I’m speaking directly to you, not as a critic, but as someone who deeply values what you offer every day. I see the energy, passion, and care you pour into your students. I know you came into this work because you wanted to make a difference. But I also know the system you work within doesn’t always allow you to be the kind of educator you dreamed you’d be.

You’re not the villain in this story. You’re a human being, just like the families and students you serve, navigating a system filled with deeply rooted inequities. These inequities aren’t your fault. They’re the result of policies, practices, and assumptions built long before any of us were here. But recognizing that also means acknowledging this truth: the system isn’t just failing students and families. It’s failing you, too. And that’s something we can change.

A Story Too Common to Ignore

Picture this. A mother sits across from you at an IEP meeting, her shoulders tense, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her voice shakes as she tries to explain what her child needs. She’s asking for something specific, perhaps a modification or more support, but her words are careful, polite, almost hesitant. She nods when someone assures her her child is making “adequate progress,” even though she knows that’s not true.

Now imagine that same meeting with a different parent. This parent brings along an advocate, someone who confidently challenges recommendations and quotes policy in a way that makes the room sit up a little straighter. They won’t hesitate to ask you or anyone else at the table to explain or clarify every decision. You know this parent has access to resources, to knowledge, maybe even to a lawyer if they need it.

What do these two stories have in common? Both parents love their children fiercely. Both want the exact same thing: for their child to get the education and support they deserve. But their outcomes will likely be very different.

Now ask yourself this question and be honest with yourself as you reflect on it: which parent was easier for you to accommodate? Did one voice carry more weight simply because of how it was delivered? This isn’t about blame. It’s about awareness.

The Hidden Language of Advocacy

The truth is, we don’t all speak the same language when it comes to advocacy. The affluent parent knows how to ask for what their child needs because they’ve grown up understanding the unspoken rules of these kinds of systems. They know which questions to ask, how to push back, and when to bring in outside help. They may not call it privilege, but that’s what it is.

Then there’s the mother with clasped hands. Maybe she doesn’t speak the language fluently. Maybe she works two jobs and couldn’t afford to take the whole day off for this meeting. Perhaps she grew up in a community where questioning authority was seen as dangerous, and she’s terrified of hurting her relationship with you or the school. She trusts you. She wants to believe you will do what’s best for her child.

When we ask families to trust the process, do we stop to consider what it costs them to trust? They are relying on you to be their advocate in the room, to recognize when the “process” might not actually be serving their child.

It’s Not About Villains; It’s About Systems

Educators, I know so much of what you do is dictated by pressures outside your control. There are deadlines, limited resources, and policies created by people who may never have stepped foot in your classroom. But the families walking through your door don’t see the system. They see you. You are the face of the process they’ve been told to trust, even when that process seems to fail them again and again.

It’s a heavy burden to carry, I know. And maybe you feel like you’ve done everything you can. But here’s the thing: every time you meet a family, you have a choice. You can lean into the status quo and tell yourself you’re doing the best you can within a broken system. Or you can pause, reflect, and ask yourself, “What else is at play here? What biases am I bringing into this conversation, and how can I check them in a way that supports this family?”

Reflecting on Our Role

Have you stopped to ask why some parents are discouraged from bringing advocates or legal professionals into these meetings? Do you believe, deep down, that their presence undermines “collaboration”? Have you questioned whether that belief serves the child, or just makes things easier for the system?

I know you want to believe in fairness and good faith. But the truth is, the system isn’t always fair, and good faith won’t level the playing field for families who started the race at a disadvantage.

Families who face systemic barriers every day are walking into meetings with hopes as fragile as glass. They want to believe their child matters to you as much as they matter to them. But sometimes, whether we realize it or not, the weight of the system tips the balance against them. This isn’t about intent. It’s about impact.

What You Can Do

You can’t change the system alone, but you can make a difference for every family you meet. Here’s what that could look like:

1. Listen Differently
   When families express concern, listen beyond their words. What are they afraid to say? Meet them where they are, and give them the space to be heard without judgment.
2. Educate Yourself
   Take the time to understand how systemic inequities show up in your work. Who gets heard and who gets dismissed? Why? Be willing to confront your own biases.
3. Empower Families
   Share resources. Explain their rights. Encourage them to bring another voice to the table if it helps them feel more confident advocating for their child. Collaboration isn’t about silencing one side; it’s about lifting up all voices.
4. Make Equity Personal
   Ask yourself tough questions. What would you want someone to do for your own child if you were in their place? Remember, this isn’t just work. It’s life-changing.

A Plea From the Heart

Dear educators, the system wasn’t built to support all families equally. But you have the power to change what happens in your spaces, in your classrooms, and in your meetings. Small actions, like inviting a family to speak freely or making room for an advocate, can ripple outward in ways you may never fully see.

I’m not asking you to fix a system you didn’t break. I’m asking you to see the humanity in every parent and child who crosses your path, to lean into discomfort, and to remember why you chose this profession in the first place.

Because when you do, you create the kind of change the system desperately needs. And more importantly, you give hope to families who might otherwise feel the world is against them.