I was a tomboy as a kid–
which I know is shocking to everyone in this audience–
what that meant to me was that I didn’t want to look girly.
But parts of my personality were feminine and I was OK with that.
This REALLY confused people– and it still does.
I wanted to dress like a boy and play with adventure people and trucks.
But I also wanted to talk about my feelings
and know what everyone around me was thinking and feeling, too. I still do.
I walked up the stairs of Bus #3 with giddy hope.
I was excited to meet my new kindergarten classmates,
get to know my new teacher, and learn all the stuff my older brother already knew.
But as I earnestly looked into the crowd of kids,
my eyes were not met with kindness and smiles
but with a lot of confusion and some glares.
And even though my mom tried to hide my boyishness
by attempting to make me look more feminine,
the kids somehow knew that I was “different” and that I didn’t belong.
I am not exactly sure how they knew what I had not yet fully discovered,
but kids seem to have a sixth sense about these types of things.
And I didn’t understand: I got along with all my preschool friends.
Why was this any different?
Why weren’t the other kids as excited to see me as I was to see them?
I quickly sat down by myself in the front seat.
Within seconds, a girl got up from her seat at the back of the bus
and walked past all of the rest of the kids to sit down right next to me.
Alysia was also starting kindergarten–
but she grew up in the country,
so she had automatically earned the respect of the kids.
Her choice to come to the front and sit by me
immediately shifted the entire energy of the bus.
I continued to be safe for the next 10 years whenever she was around.
But when she wasn’t, I got hit, kicked, spit on, harassed,
and called names all throughout my elementary and middle school years.
As a highly sensitive tomboy with low self-esteem, I was easy prey.
And even though I have learned
that bullies are often the ones with unresolved trauma,
it still feels awful to be treated like crap.
I learned that most people are afraid of what they don’t understand.
And that this fear is often revealed through both words and actions.
I was not allowed to be a tomboy anymore
once I entered 9th grade.
I had to wear feminine clothes and makeup; paint my nails;
have long blonde, curly hair; and not leave the house without lipstick on.
I felt like I was in feminine drag.
The positive side effect of my new look was that I didn’t get bullied anymore.
The negative side effect was that pretending to be someone I wasn’t
caused me such deep depression that I made a plan to take my own life.
Fortunately, I had some friends and supportive adults
who helped me survive.
Alysia died several years ago of cancer.
I told her the bus story a few months before she died,
but she had completely forgotten about it.
To her, it was just the right thing to do.
But to me: it was everything.
Alysia taught me the impactful difference between being an ally
and being an advocate.
I wish this type of harassment was only a thing of the past,
but I have witnessed my black, indigenous, and students of color
be seriously harmed by racism.
My LGBTQ+ students are verbally and physically assaulted.
My non-Christian students are harassed and isolated.
And my students with disabilities or mental illnesses
are often called names and are consistently underestimated.
“Ally” comes from the Latin word “to bind to.”
Allies are supportive and they are on your side.
They help you to not feel alone and they tend to be curious, open, and kind.
They make people feel seen and respected.
Allies are wonderful and we need them.
But it is not enough for educators to just be allies;
we need them to become advocates, too.
“Advocate” comes from the Latin word “add a voice.”
These are the folks who are fighting for people’s rights and taking action.
The ones who are speaking up in public spaces in support of causes and equity.
The people who are challenging xenophobia in school policies and in staff meetings.
The educators who are writing articles and emails,
creating support groups, and working alongside our unions.
Support is not enough.
We also need to be willing to leave our comfort zones
and stand up for all of the human beings who are being marginalized and oppressed.
I want to acknowledge that there might be some allies in the audience right now
who are feeling a little uncomfortable.
I see you and I honor your feelings.
I know it can be terrifying to put yourself out there
and that you probably didn’t sign up for this when you got your teaching license.
But I am asking you to do it anyway.
Minnesota’s Commissioner of Education, Mary Cathryn Ricker,
recently reminded me that we can’t expect students to conform to our comfort.
Many of our students are scared and in pain.
And since they don’t have the same fully developed brains, resources,
or support systems that we have,
then it is up to us to step into our own discomfort so that we can help them.
Most educators learn pretty quickly
that you can follow Bloom’s Taxonomy of Learning
and create all of the dynamic lessons in the world,
but they will never truly work
unless we first respect Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.
Many of us have already heard that if we don’t “Maslow before we Bloom”
and create environments where students feel safe,
then there is zero hope of guiding kids into their learning brains.
And then we are all stuck.
When I helped design and open Tokata Learning Center,
an alternative high school in Shakopee, MN, from the ground up, I quickly learned
what the students who had experienced educational and personal trauma
needed to thrive.
They desired inclusive spaces with soft lighting, seating options, snacks,
basic school supplies, and artwork that represented a variety of cultures.
They wanted to see themselves in what they were learning.
They benefited from personalized, self-paced, voice and choice curriculum.
And their engagement increased significantly
when they could select texts that piqued their interest.
All humans deserve to be called by their chosen pronouns and names.
And they should be able to use whatever bathroom makes them feel safe.
Too many of our transgender, non-binary, and gender nonconforming students
are not eating or drinking during the day,
so they don’t have to use the bathroom at school.
Not only does this cause horrible medical issues,
but it also causes emotional pain.
A 2018 national survey by the Human Rights Campaign
revealed that 73% of LGBTQ youth have experienced verbal threats
because of their actual or perceived LGBTQ identity.
It’s not enough to tell kids that, “It gets better.”
We need to show them that we are making it better now.
As educators, we MUST protect them in our classrooms and in our schools.
After I learned how to create an inclusive space,
the next step was to speak out and stand up.
I needed to learn how to challenge my own biases
and make sure that my thoughts and behaviors were in sync.
I had to increase my understanding of all the ways I showed up with privilege
and how that impacted the people around me.
I replaced my defensiveness, perspective gaps, and judgment with curiosity.
I learned how to understand the difference between intention and impact.
I let go of needing to always be the expert.
I celebrated vulnerability.
And I encouraged authenticity in myself and in those around me.
I surround myself with people
who are willing to courageously hold up a mirror for me,
so that I can more easily see my mistakes.
When the staff of Tokata Learning Center pointed out to me
that I had more intense escalations in my classroom
than anywhere else in the building,
I initially felt defensive but then I realized: they were right.
I made it my growth goal and learned how to maintain a coaching strategy
when things got chaotic instead of switching to an authoritative role
that caused students to not recognize me anymore.
We learned together how to give our lizard brains time to cool off,
so that we could have meaningful and connecting conversations.
As a result, we improved our emotional regulation and distress tolerance,
retained more dignity,
used conflict as an opportunity to get to know each other better,
and became a whole lot more productive.
My friend, Alysia, taught me how to have the courage to stand up for people
who are being mistreated.
I have leveled up since then
and learned how to immediately address language and actions
that are discriminatory toward students and educators,
how to start support groups for students, and how to advocate for equity
by publicly supporting inclusive policies and laws.
This is not easy. Believe me.
The roadblocks I have faced as an educational advocate
have been daunting and draining.
Those who benefit from systems of oppression
will try and stop you from dismantling the structures that give them power.
They are furious when we advocate for the very people
that they need to stay oppressed.
And we can become targets of that anger.
Which means there might be some times in your life
when you don’t have the emotional strength to be an advocate.
It is OK to take mental health breaks from this work.
As long as you do whatever self-care you need to do in order to come back.
Because discrimination does not appear to be stopping any time soon
and we need you.
As an advocate, you have to be prepared to make mistakes. A lot of mistakes.
I still regret all of the times I did not stand up for others
in the ways I should have.
This is why it is essential to create a safe and supportive team,
so you can check-in and be checked when you have some learning to do.
I can say with 100% certainty that the positive effects are worth it.
Our kids are watching us.
If we stand up for ourselves and for others
then we can all feel like we matter.
And I want everyone to experience that feeling.
My journey as a gender nonconforming lesbian has had some twists and turns.
I have been harmed as both a kid and as an adult.
My wife and I were spit on in a Target parking lot;
I have been assaulted by strangers, family members, and intimate partners;
and hit hard enough in the head–
by a group of students who were led by the school’s homophobic Dean–
to receive a traumatic brain injury
(which is why I am unable to memorize this talk and I have to read this script).
But my experiences have also helped me to support, understand,
and advocate for students and staff members who do not feel accepted,
valued, or seen.
I know what it feels like to have someone who is supposed to care about you
cause you harm.
Research and experience teaches us that kids who have been victims of trauma
will build resiliency ONLY when they are believed and supported by an adult.
I can tell you firsthand that trauma sensitive environments
make learning much easier for everyone.
And the ONLY way to build these environments is through active advocacy.
Every single day. And for every single heart.
I started my life as a victim, grew into an ally,
transformed into an advocate,
and am now an activist alongside the incredible staff of OutFront Minnesota.
We are one of the largest LGBTQ State Equity groups in the country.
As the Director of Educational Equity,
my program is working to decrease inequity
and increase LGBTQ+ inclusivity in classrooms, schools, districts,
and youth organizations.
We take an intersectional approach and believe that the skills you build
to employ equitable strategies will help every student thrive.
I wish I could go back and tell my five-year-old self
that she will not only learn and grow from her experiences,
but that she will also be given countless opportunities
to help other people to feel safe and seen, too.
That she will become a social worker for at-risk kids;
that she will design and open a school for students
who feel like they don’t belong in other spaces;
that she will become the first out LGBTQ Minnesota State Teacher of the Year;
that she and the 2019 Kentucky Teacher of the Year, Jessica Dueñas,
will stand up against discriminatory policies and actions
by being the first teachers to ever boycott
a visit with the President of the United States;
that she will be given the opportunity to make schools safer for every kid,
and that she will get to stand up on this very TED Talk stage in New York City
and share her story.
Oh, and that she will never have to wear dresses,
put on lipstick, or have long, blonde, curly hair ever, ever again.
Thank you.