The Masks We Wear

What Halloween, middle school behavior, and school turnaround have in common.

The One Night We Break All the Rules

I've always found Halloween a little strange when you really stop and think about it. For 364 days a year, we teach our children some pretty important rules. Don't take candy from strangers. Don't open the door to people you don't know. Be careful around strangers, and certainly don't trust someone just because they seem nice.

Then Halloween rolls around, and suddenly we throw all those rules out the window. We dress our children in costumes, send them into neighborhoods to knock on strangers' doors, and encourage them to collect candy from people they've never met. Candy that, according to every parental warning we've ever heard, could be poisoned or tampered with. Meanwhile, we sit in our own homes, open our doors to complete strangers wearing masks, and happily hand out treats. And somehow, on this one night, it's perfectly acceptable. We celebrate it, encourage it, and even decorate our homes to invite it.

It's funny how quickly our expectations change when we understand the context. Somewhere between the costumes, the candy, and the chaos of Halloween, I started thinking about middle school. Because if there is one thing I've learned through our school turnaround journey, it's that middle school students wear masks every single day. And sometimes, the masks they wear are a whole lot scarier than anything we see on Halloween.

The Masks That Walk Through Our Doors

Some students wear the mask of defiance, while others wear the mask of indifference. Some hide behind sarcasm, disrespect, profanity, or the need to make everyone in the classroom laugh. Others wear the mask of the tough kid who doesn't care about consequences, grades, or what any adult has to say. Then there are the students whose masks are so convincing that we begin to believe that's who they really are. The troublemaker. The disrespectful one. The kid who never listens. The student who is always in the office.

But what if those behaviors are just costumes? What if underneath the defiance is a child who feels powerless? What if underneath the disrespect is a child who has learned that pushing people away hurts less than being disappointed by them? What if the class clown is trying desperately to belong? And what if the student who insists they don't care actually cares more than anyone realizes?

I don't believe every challenging behavior has some hidden, heartbreaking explanation. Sometimes middle schoolers simply make poor choices. They test limits, follow their peers, and act before they think. That's part of growing up. But I also know that the behavior is real, the consequences are real, and the behavior is not the whole child. That's something I have to remind myself of, especially on the days when my patience is running dangerously low.

When the Masks Get Harder to See Through

This year, our turnaround journey has tested us in ways I don't think any of us anticipated. After celebrating the incredible achievement of moving our school from an F to a C in just one year, we entered this school year believing that the systems, relationships, and culture we had worked so hard to establish would continue moving us forward. And in many ways, they have. But school turnaround is not a straight line, and this fall has certainly reminded us of that.

Our seventh-grade team has experienced an almost unbelievable amount of staffing instability. Teachers have left because of illness, moves, and resignations. Replacement teachers have come and gone, and substitute teachers have rotated through classrooms where students desperately need consistency. And our middle schoolers? They've tested every boundary imaginable. We've seen increased disruptions, defiance, disrespect, and suspensions. We've made phone calls, held parent meetings, sent letters home, increased adult presence, and brought entire grade levels together for restorative conversations. We've listened to students, listened to teachers, reinforced expectations, and tried to provide as much consistency as possible in an inconsistent situation.

And some days, it still feels like we're right back where we started.

There are moments when I walk into another classroom filled with chaos, respond to another discipline referral, or sit across from another student explaining why their behavior was unacceptable, and I feel the exhaustion of it all. I know our teachers are exhausted, too. They deserve classrooms where they can teach. Our students deserve classrooms where they can learn. And our substitutes deserve to walk into an environment where expectations are respected. Yet I keep coming back to the idea that when the adults in a child's school day keep changing, sometimes the child's behavior becomes the one thing they feel they can control.

That doesn't excuse the behavior, and it certainly doesn't mean we lower expectations or ignore the impact on others. It means we have to be willing to look beneath the mask before deciding what the child needs from us. Sometimes that need is a consequence. Sometimes it's a conversation. Sometimes it's consistency, reassurance, or simply an adult who follows through on what they say. Most often, it's a combination of all those things.

We Don't Have to Accept the Behavior to Accept the Child

One of the hardest parts of being a school administrator is balancing accountability with compassion. I can understand why a student is angry and still hold them accountable for cursing at a teacher. I can recognize that a child is struggling with instability and still expect them to follow classroom procedures. I can listen to a student's frustrations while making it clear that throwing furniture, threatening others, or disrupting learning is unacceptable. And I can assign a consequence while making sure that student knows they are welcome back when it's over.

That's the part I think sometimes gets lost in conversations about school discipline. We talk about consequences as if they are the opposite of relationships, but they're not. In fact, I believe the strongest relationships are built when students know that adults care about them enough to hold the line. Students need boundaries, and teachers need to know that administrators will support them in maintaining those boundaries. Compassion without accountability doesn't prepare students for the real world, but accountability without compassion doesn't always teach them how to do better.

Our restorative circles, mediations, reentry conversations, and daily interactions aren't about letting students off the hook. They're about helping students understand the harm their behavior causes, take responsibility, repair relationships, and learn how to make a different choice. Some days those conversations lead to meaningful breakthroughs. Other days, we find ourselves having the exact same conversation with the exact same student about the exact same behavior. That's when the work gets frustrating, and that's when it's easiest to see only the mask.

But we aren't just trying to get through another school day. We're trying to help children become better people, and that takes a whole lot more than a suspension form.

Sometimes Adults Wear Masks, Too

Here's the uncomfortable part of this Halloween comparison. Our students aren't the only ones wearing masks. As educators, we wear them, too. We put on our professional smiles when we're exhausted. We say, "We've got this," when we're not entirely sure we do. We walk into classrooms with confidence even when we're worried about what the next hour will bring. We celebrate small victories while quietly carrying the weight of everything that still needs fixing.

As administrators, we sometimes wear the mask of having all the answers. I can tell you there have been days this year when I've walked into my office, looked at the growing pile of paperwork, unanswered emails, discipline reports, and parent messages, and wondered how we're going to keep all the plates spinning. Then the radio calls. Another classroom needs support. Another student needs a conversation. Another teacher needs reassurance. And the mask goes back on because the work doesn't stop when we're tired.

I think about our teachers, especially those who have continued showing up in the middle of all this instability. They are working hard to maintain expectations, build relationships, and provide meaningful instruction while navigating circumstances that are far from ideal. I wonder how many of them are wearing their own masks of frustration, exhaustion, or worry because they don't want their students to see how difficult things have become. And I wonder how often, as leaders, we remember to look beneath those masks, too.

Maybe authentic leadership isn't about pretending everything is fine. Maybe it's about acknowledging that this work is hard while refusing to stop believing it matters. It's about allowing our teachers to be frustrated without questioning their commitment, recognizing when someone needs support rather than another expectation, and remembering that the student who pushed every button we had yesterday still deserves a fresh start today.

The Unexpected Lesson of Halloween

Here's what I find most interesting about Halloween. We willingly open our doors to people whose faces we cannot see. We don't know who is underneath the costume, and we don't know their stories, but we offer them something anyway. A piece of candy, a smile, or a moment of kindness. For one night, we seem willing to look past the mask and simply recognize the person standing in front of us.

What if we approached our students with a little more of that same curiosity? Not blind trust, not an absence of boundaries, and certainly not the belief that every behavior should be tolerated. But the willingness to recognize that what we see on the outside may not tell the entire story. What if, instead of immediately asking, "What's wrong with this kid?" we asked, "What is this child trying to tell us?" What if we remembered that middle school is already a complicated, awkward, emotional time, even without the added instability of changing teachers and disrupted routines?

I think about some of the students who have spent more time in my office than either of us would like. I know their behaviors, their discipline histories, and sometimes their excuses before they even begin speaking. But I also know that many of those same students can be funny, thoughtful, helpful, and incredibly kind when given the opportunity. I've seen students who were disrespectful in one moment turn around and show genuine concern for a classmate in the next. I've seen students who insist they don't care light up when someone notices something they've done well.

Those moments remind me that the mask isn't the whole story. They don't erase the poor choices, but they remind me that the child standing in front of me is still growing, still learning, and still figuring out who they want to become.

The Work Beneath the Mask

Our turnaround story has never been about pretending everything is perfect. That's why we call this blog Turnaround Unscripted. There is no script for what happens when you lose multiple teachers in one grade level. There is no magic formula for rebuilding consistency when students have experienced months of uncertainty. And there is certainly no handbook that tells you exactly how to balance compassion, accountability, exhaustion, and hope on a Friday afternoon when the discipline referrals just keep coming.

What we do have is a commitment to our students, our teachers, and the culture we've worked so hard to rebuild. We have a commitment to maintaining expectations even when it's difficult, supporting teachers when they're overwhelmed, and helping students understand that their choices have consequences. We also have a responsibility to remember that progress doesn't disappear simply because we hit a difficult stretch.

We've already seen what happens when a school community refuses to give up on its students. We moved from an F to a C. We brought laughter back into our hallways, rebuilt trust, and changed the narrative of what was possible for our school. And while this year has challenged us in ways we didn't expect, I refuse to believe that those challenges erase the progress we've made.

The work now is to protect what we've built while being honest about what still needs attention. We need stable classrooms, supported teachers, consistent expectations, and students who understand that their choices matter. But we also need to keep looking beyond the masks because the goal of school turnaround isn't simply to change student behavior. It's to change what students believe is possible for themselves.

When the Costumes Come Off

Halloween is over. The decorations will come down, the costumes will be put away, and the candy will eventually disappear. But tomorrow, hundreds of middle school students will walk through our doors wearing masks that aren't nearly as easy to remove. Some will challenge us before the first bell. Some will test the patience of teachers who are already running on empty. Some will make choices that require difficult conversations and real consequences.

And some will surprise us.

The student who spent last week disrupting class might be the one who holds the door for someone tomorrow. The student who insisted they didn't care might finally ask for help. The child who has been pushing every adult away might begin to trust that someone is actually going to stay. Those moments may not show up on a state report card, but they matter. They're the moments that remind us why we keep showing up, even when the work feels overwhelming.

Halloween teaches us that, under the right circumstances, we're willing to open our doors to someone wearing a mask. Maybe school turnaround asks something a little harder of us. To keep opening the door to a child whose behavior has made us want to close it.

Not without expectations. Not without accountability. And certainly not at the expense of the other students and teachers who deserve a safe, productive learning environment. But with the belief that underneath the mask is someone worth reaching.

Because when the costumes come off, when the behavior settles, and when the noise finally quiets down, there's still a kid standing in front of us. A kid who is still learning, still making mistakes, and still trying to figure out who they are.

And that kid needs us to see them.

The masks may change. The challenges may continue. But our belief in kids cannot.

That's the messy, exhausting, sometimes frustrating, but always hopeful work of school turnaround.

And that's Turnaround Unscripted.