I remember sitting in the office with my boss as I shared my decision to resign after being passed over for a position in leadership I believed I had earned. Ultimately, it was not my company to run, and I was not their choice, which left me with a decision to make, according to my values, my worth, and the professional investment I made in the seven years I contributed to the development, growth, and success of their institution. My words were, “I have to act with the courage that I would want my daughters to act with if/when they find themselves in this situation. I need to be their example of self-worth and faith.”
It wasn’t easy to walk away. There was time, relationships, and the credibility of working for an organization that had now become considered a leader of excellence in my field, and I would lose them with the choice to leave. However, I knew in my heart that I busted my ass like none other in my role. Maybe I didn’t market my success enough. Perhaps, I was too quiet about the constant hurdles I encountered and overcame. Didn’t they see the blood, sweat, and tears it required for me to compete with peers who seemed to have nearly every aspect of their operations so much easier? Founding that institution pushed and tried me to be strategic and tactical in ways I didn’t know I could, but I was foolish enough to think that my merit and my performance would be enough when it was time to be considered for “moving up”. They were not, and I was heartbroken. Still, I had no choice about choosing to be brave…once again.
…
My advancement in the field of education was born out of necessity. I was in the classroom for three years before taking steps to pursue a position in administration. I was born a leader, and I was enrolled in an excellent graduate program to support my education and advancement. That said, my pace was very much a personal and financially motivated decision. There I was newly divorced, earning a teaching salary, and depending on child support from my ex-husband. I needed that support to survive and pay our bills. It wasn’t extra, and it only took one time for me to experience the good old “the check is in the mail” (that never came), resulting in my rent check bouncing, before I realized that I needed a plan to increase my income and enable me to take care of my girls.
I wasn’t like most young professionals. I had my first child at 16, married at 19, and graduated from college with three little ducklings waddling behind me as I set out on this adventure to become “successful”. I quickly learned that I would not be able to depend on anyone but myself if we were going to make it. I needed more money and fast. The program I was in allowed us to take courses at our own pace, so I structured my schedule to knock out the classes I would need to obtain a “Type 75” or administrative license which would make me eligible for higher paying jobs. Jumping on the expressway immediately after work and making treks to Chicago for evening classes made me absent most nights as my girls were left to fend for themselves though their evening routine. I sat them down and had a mature conversation with them, “Mommy is not going to be here every day after school anymore…we are making a sacrifice over the short term for a long-term gain.”
My girls have always been my biggest cheerleaders and we worked together to communicate and ensure that their homework and chores were executed in my absence. They were responsible and supportive, and just like I had in college, I would share with them about what I was learning and my grades to set a standard for growth and excellence. After completing the courses and an administrative internship with my current principal, I was ready. I went on a string of interviews that would teach me quickly about how easy it was not to move up the ladder in administration. My first interview for an Assistant Principal job turned out to be a disaster. I mean, I didn’t think so, but I quickly learned that the Principals who were hiring were not in search of any innovative genius. “Garland!”, my mentor said as though he was dismayed and exasperated by the feedback he received from one of his colleagues I interviewed with.
He chuckled to himself as he struggled to find the right words to coach me without destroying my confidence, “I get it that you’re going to be my boss one day. They said you interviewed like it was for the superintendent position! He said you were like Oprah unchained! They just want a work horse!” I could tell he was frustrated, but he was still very supportive. I realize how fucked up that exchange was coming from a white male who was relaying feedback from another white male, but I won’t digress. I was on a mission, and I was going to achieve it. If dumbing it down was going to get me the money I needed to take care of my family, I was going to figure it out. He continued to leverage his connections to get me in the door for interviews and eventually I landed a gig as an Assistant Principal.
Now it was time to go to my girls with the news that I had gotten the job that was going to be our first step off the struggle bus. We were sitting in our kitchen and their eyes beamed with excitement for me as I shared my newfound success. The bad news was having to explain that this meant we would be moving. They would have to change schools, leave their friends, and learn a new community and routine. They were un-jolted, “Go for it, mommy!” One by one they proclaimed their unwavering support and let me know that they were down for me come what may.
That was our first, but as my success increased, there would be more tough talks and decisions to come. Administration was more demanding of my time and required me to be missing in action. We had a pact about school functions and events that I would normally be present at without question, “I won’t always be able to come to everything your school has, but I will always be there when it counts.” There have been many times in my career when I have felt pressure or guilt about being a working mom and believed I was failing to satisfy their need of my presence, but every time I approached my girls with these feelings, they pushed me. “You have to be who you were meant to be, Mom! I am proud of you and everything you do, and I brag about my mom to my friends. You show me that I can do anything I put my mind to, and I would never want you not to do something because you feel bad about us,” my oldest daughter led the pack with that mindset.
…
More than being a mother, I have learned over the years that I am their example as a (black) woman. My drive is not just an inspiration to my children but to many women I know. The leaps of faith and seemingly impossible feats I have taken on encourage other women that they too can be whatever their heart desires in their respective fields and endeavors. It has been nearly twenty years since I entered my field, and my girls are in college now. I watch them taking on life, pursuing their heart’s desires, and making things happen. Now, they make me proud and they give me more courage and reassurance that I did the right thing that day and throughout their childhood journey.
I had a responsibility to them and to myself to say, “No, thank you.” I will not stick around for a job that is willing to overlook me after I have slayed dragon after dragon in their honor. I will decide my own fate, and I believe that the ability and the talent God has given me to succeed here will work where ever I go. So…to any woman who might be stuck at an impasse, deciding whether or not to believe in herself, I give you the advice my daughters gave to me. The advice that has become my professional mantra, Go for it! Believe in yourself. Take the leap.
Keeping it real, true, and free,
Garland Darling
Photo Credit from Rita Williams-Garcia's Book "One Crazy Summer"