Welcome to Sucktober

When life and leadership collide, sometimes the smallest moments remind us why we keep showing up.

Some weeks in school leadership feel like progress. Others feel like you're right back where you started. And then there are weeks when you experience both, sometimes within the same hour. Sometimes life and work collide in a way that can crush your soul. And sometimes, in the middle of that collision, something happens that reminds you of every reason you became an educator in the first place. This was one of those weeks.

Welcome to Sucktober

Apparently, October has earned quite the reputation in education. Some call it the "October Blues." Others, perhaps more accurately after a week like ours, call it "Sucktober." In a recent EdSurge article, Apfel (2026) explored the emotional slump educators experience as the excitement of a new school year gives way to exhaustion, increasing responsibilities, and the realities of classroom challenges. That description hit home. But what happens when you're not just experiencing the typical October exhaustion? What happens when you're in the middle of a school turnaround, facing a staffing shortage that won't end, watching suspensions increase, and wondering whether the progress you've fought so hard for is beginning to slip away?

What happens when life outside of school decides to pile on, too? Family members get sick. Refrigerators stop working. Cars break down. Unexpected expenses appear. The everyday realities of being human don't disappear because you happen to be responsible for leading a school. Life doesn't stop because you're a school leader, and neither do the responsibilities waiting on the other side of the school doors.

Welcome to our week. Welcome to the roller coaster of turnaround leadership. Welcome to Sucktober.

When Progress Feels Like It’s Slipping Away

Our staffing shortage continues. Despite our best efforts, we still have classrooms without consistent teachers. Students are frustrated by the instability, and some are testing boundaries in ways we haven't experienced in quite some time. We've sent letters home, held restorative circles, increased adult presence, made phone calls, met with families, and reminded students that expectations don't change based on who is standing at the front of the classroom. And yet, the behaviors continue.

Suspensions are increasing. Instructional time is being lost. Staff members are covering responsibilities that aren't theirs, and the adults who should be supporting instruction and student behavior are stretched across too many competing needs.

It feels painfully familiar. It feels like the early days of our turnaround, when we were working to establish a culture of accountability, consistency, and respect. Back to the constant behavior concerns, difficult conversations, and moments when we wondered whether anything we were doing was making a difference. Except now, we know what is possible. We've seen what happens when relationships are built, expectations become consistent, and students begin to trust the adults around them.

We've watched our school move from an F to a C. We've seen improvements in student achievement, school culture, and the way our community perceives our school. We know how hard everyone worked to get here, and that's what makes the possibility of losing ground so difficult.

Sometimes the hardest part of turnaround isn't creating change. It's trying to sustain that change when the conditions around you begin to unravel. We keep reminding ourselves that a setback doesn't erase progress. A difficult week doesn't mean a turnaround has failed. But knowing that intellectually doesn't always make it easier emotionally.

The Weight We Carry

There is a side of school leadership that rarely makes it into conference presentations, inspirational posts, or carefully constructed school improvement plans. It's the paperwork that never ends. The parent phone calls, some productive, some emotional, and some that leave you questioning whether you said the right thing. It's the meetings with families who are frustrated, worried, or exhausted themselves. It's making difficult decisions about consequences, accountability, and student safety while maintaining the dignity and respect of every student and staff member. It's the copier that runs out of paper when you're already running late. The staff member who calls out when there is nobody available to cover. The student who makes a poor choice just as you're preparing to walk into a classroom observation. It's the call for assistance on the walkie while three people are standing outside your office waiting for something only you can resolve.

Somewhere in the middle of all of that, we're supposed to be instructional leaders. We're supposed to be in classrooms, observing instruction, coaching teachers, analyzing data, celebrating growth, and supporting student achievement. We're supposed to be visible, positive, supportive, strategic, responsive, and calm. We're supposed to have a plan. But what happens when the problem isn't a lack of planning, effort, or leadership? What happens when the solution simply isn't within your control?

We talk about building relationships, creating positive cultures, supporting teachers, and removing barriers to student success. We celebrate collective efficacy, restorative practices, and the importance of leading with purpose. All of those things matter. But relationships can't fill a vacant teaching position when there are no qualified applicants. Positive culture can't replace consistent instruction when there is a rotation of adults covering a classroom. Creative scheduling can't manufacture a qualified, caring adult. Determination cannot add hours to a day that was already full before it began.

School leaders can influence a tremendous amount, but we cannot control everything. Sometimes the weight of being responsible for outcomes without having control over the conditions becomes almost unbearable.

This week, we felt all of it. Frustration. Concern. Exhaustion. Fear. Fear that our progress could unravel. Fear that our staff will burn out. Fear that our students are losing learning opportunities we cannot give back. Beyond those shared professional concerns, there were personal challenges that made an already difficult week even heavier. One of us was navigating family concerns outside of school while trying to hold together the daily demands of leading it. The other was watching that struggle unfold, wanting to provide support while also managing the weight of the same school challenges. That's another reality of leadership we don't discuss enough. Sometimes the person who spends every day trying to hold everyone else together needs someone to help hold them together, too. And sometimes the person offering that support is barely holding on themselves.

And Then Came the Joy

Just when the week felt like it couldn't possibly hold one more thing, something shifted. Not because the staffing shortage was resolved, the behavior concerns disappeared, or the personal challenges suddenly became easier. But because, in the middle of everything going wrong, people reminded us of everything that was still going right.

Our staff came together to celebrate a birthday. They brought treats, shared kind words, laughed, and took a few minutes out of an incredibly demanding week to remind their principal that she was appreciated. It wasn't about the gifts or the celebration itself. It was about watching people choose kindness when everyone had plenty of reasons to be frustrated. Staff and students also came together to create a video for a Principals Month appreciation competition. Watching people brainstorm, laugh, participate, and genuinely enjoy celebrating someone else was a reminder of the culture we've worked so hard to build.

Three years ago, we were working to rebuild trust, restore relationships, and create a school where people wanted to belong. This week, despite everything, we saw evidence of that work.

Then, there were the ordinary moments. Walking into a classroom and seeing a teacher deliver an incredible lesson. Students engaged in meaningful conversation. Hands raised. Thinking happening. Learning happening. For a few minutes, the noise in our heads got quiet. Walking down the hallway, mentally working through the next five problems, when a student stopped just to share something good: a class they loved, something they were proud of, just to say hello. They smiled, not because they needed something, but because they were happy to see us. A staff member stopping to share a small victory. A student who finally understood a concept. A colleague who stepped up without being asked. A moment that would never make it into a school improvement plan but meant everything to the people involved. And just like that, we were reminded why we do this work.

A Dance, a Few Thank-Yous, and a Reminder

We ended the school week with a dance. On the surface, it was just another middle school event. Music, laughter, students having fun, and staff supervising after an already exhausting week. But something happened at pickup that stopped us. Parents thanked us. Not just one parent. Multiple parents spontaneously expressed their appreciation as they picked up their children. For the first time in three years, we were hearing those unexpected thank-yous at the end of a school dance. It may sound small, but it wasn't. Those words represented something much bigger than a successful event. They represented trust. They represented families recognizing the work being done for their children. They represented a school community that, despite the challenges, was beginning to experience something different. Sometimes a simple "thank you" carries more weight than any data point on a spreadsheet. And sometimes, when you're questioning whether the work you're doing is making a difference, two little words are exactly what you need to hear.

Loving Our School Through Action

Then came our first Love Our Schools Day. District office staff, our School Safety Officer, school staff, and community partners showed up to help beautify and restore our campus. People rolled up their sleeves, worked together, and invested their time and energy into making our school a place our students can be proud of. There were weeds to remove, spaces to clean, and projects that needed attention. It wasn't glamorous work. It was meaningful work, because when students see adults investing in their school, they receive a powerful message: You matter. Your school matters. You deserve a place that reflects how much we believe in you.

When exhausted staff members see people from outside their building show up to help, they receive a message, too. We see you. We value what you're doing. You're not alone. For a school working through the challenges of a turnaround, that sense of community matters more than we can adequately explain. It also reminded us of something important. While there are circumstances we cannot control, there are still people willing to stand beside us as we navigate them. Sometimes support doesn't arrive as another strategy, initiative, or professional development session. Sometimes it arrives wearing work gloves.

Two Things Can Be True

We've been thinking a lot about the emotional contradictions of leadership. We can be frustrated with student behavior and still believe deeply in our students. We can be exhausted by the constant demands and still love the work. We can be concerned about rising suspensions and still believe in the restorative systems we've built. We can feel like we're moving backward and still recognize how far we've come. We can worry about our staff and still be inspired by their commitment. We can celebrate progress and still be deeply concerned about what comes next. Two things can be true at the same time.

Perhaps that's one of the most important lessons of turnaround leadership. We don't have to pretend everything is fine when it isn't. Relentless positivity isn't the same thing as resilience. Loving our schools doesn't mean we should quietly accept conditions that make doing the work unnecessarily difficult. And acknowledging what isn't working doesn't mean we've stopped believing in what is. Our systems are being tested, and our systems are worth believing in. Our staff are tired, and our staff are still showing up. Our students are struggling with expectations, and our students are still capable of meeting them. Our school has significant challenges, and our school has so much to celebrate. Those aren't contradictions. They're the realities of leadership.

Perhaps the strength of a school culture isn't measured by whether difficult days disappear. Maybe it's measured by what people choose to do when those difficult days return. This week, we saw people choose kindness, generosity, humor, compassion, and commitment. We saw staff celebrate one another, students express appreciation, families recognize our efforts, and community members invest in our school. None of those moments solved our problems, but each one reminded us that the culture we've built is still there, even when the circumstances make it difficult to see.

The Work Continues

When Monday comes, the staffing shortage will still exist. The unanswered questions will still need answers. The personal challenges won't magically disappear. The list of things needing attention will probably be longer than it was the week before. We still need consistency in our classrooms. We need to support our teachers and substitutes, hold students accountable, protect instructional time, and address behaviors that interfere with learning.

We cannot ignore rising suspensions or pretend relationships alone will solve every challenge. We need to examine what's working, acknowledge what isn't, and make adjustments without abandoning the values that brought us this far. We also need to keep advocating for the resources and conditions our students and staff deserve.

We need to recognize the victories, too. The teacher who delivered an exceptional lesson despite everything happening around her. The student who stopped to share a moment of happiness. The staff members who chose kindness and celebrated one another. The families who thanked us after a dance. The community members who spent their Saturday improving our campus. The educators who, despite their exhaustion, will walk through the doors again on Monday ready to try. These moments don't erase the challenges. They don't fix the staffing shortage, reduce the workload, or resolve the personal struggles waiting at home. But they remind us why the work matters.

Not the accountability ratings. Not the improvement plans. Not the spreadsheets, compliance reports, or endless meetings. Those things have their place. They help us measure whether we're doing right by kids. But they aren't why we became educators. We became educators because of the moments when a child realizes they can do something they thought was impossible. Because of the relationships that change the trajectory of a student's life. Because of the teachers who create something extraordinary under circumstances that are anything but ideal. Because schools, even when they're struggling, are filled with moments of hope. And sometimes those moments are enough to carry us through another day.

We don't know exactly what next week will bring. We hope for fewer disruptions, more consistency, and a little breathing room. But we know this much. Somewhere in the chaos, a teacher will reach a student. A child will experience success. Someone will offer kindness when it's needed most. And if we're paying attention, we'll see it. Not because those moments fix everything, but because they remind us that everything worth fighting for is still here.

We may be on a roller coaster right now. We're still moving. We're still learning. We're still believing. And we're still doing the work. Turnaround isn't scripted. Neither is life. Neither is the courage it takes to keep showing up.

That's Turnaround Unscripted.

Reference

Apfel. (2026, September 15). The “October blues” are coming. Here's how teachers can beat them. EdSurge. https://www.edsurge.com/news/the-october-blues-are-coming-heres-how-teachers-can-beat-them