I just returned from maternity leave this week. After a few months of being away from work and social media, I’m slowly getting back into the swing of things. I’m truly grateful for the time I had to be fully present with my newest baby, and for my amazing EdTrust colleagues who stepped up in big and small ways during my absence.

But I’d be lying if I said the time was only joyful. These past few months — what should have been a sacred window of bonding and healing — were also laced with grief, anger, and worry.

My daughter was born right after the November 2024 election. I feared what would happen but couldn’t have imagined how bad things would get so quickly. And while I was navigating postpartum life and caring for my third child, I was also watching the world she was born into shift beneath us.

As someone who’s spent my career in public education and civil rights advocacy, I’ve never expected this work to be easy — but the recent escalation of attacks on public education, DEI, and civil rights protections feels especially heavy. Political leaders are actively working to dismantle institutions that were meant to uphold equity and opportunity. What were once dangerous ideas have become real, dangerous policies at the federal level and in state legislatures across the country.

And through these last few months, I’ve been holding this tiny, wide-eyed person wondering: What kind of future will our children have?

• Will our littlest ones have access to strong and equitable public schools?
• Will they grow up in a place where history is taught honestly, where diversity is embraced, and where civil rights aren’t up for debate every election cycle?
• Will they grow up believing in the power of their voice? Or will they learn to fear the consequences of speaking up?

It’s a strange, gut-wrenching thing to hold new life in one arm and a crumbling social contract in the other.

Even though I’ve done this before — welcomed babies into the world and returned to work (once during COVID!) — this time feels different. Maybe it’s the stakes of this moment. Maybe it’s what I’ve learned from raising three children during a time of profound national division. There’s a certain kind of clarity that comes with parenthood — a shift in perspective that’s both grounding and expansive. The things that used to feel urgent suddenly don’t. And the things you may have spent years fighting against — like the slow erosion of our public institutions — suddenly feel more urgent than ever.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the world we’re leaving to our children. About what it means to raise them with hope and honesty. About how to protect what matters without hardening against what hurts. And about the kind of work that will matter most in the years ahead.

This moment demands courage — from advocates, educators, policymakers, and parents alike.

It demands that we continue to fight for inclusive, well-resourced public schools, even when it feels like we’re swimming upstream.

That we speak truth, even when — or especially when — it’s unpopular.

And that we do all of this not just because it’s the right thing to do — but because it’s the only way we build a future where all children can thrive.

Coming back to work after maternity leave means catching up on emails, yes — but it also means coming back with renewed urgency.

I come back more committed than ever to this work at EdTrust — not in spite of the current political climate, but because of it.

I come back with the conviction that the fight for equity in education is a fight for the soul of our democracy.

And I come back with a deep belief in the power of people — especially those who are traditionally marginalized — to lead the march toward positive change.

So, to anyone else who’s feeling the weight of this moment — especially if you’re also balancing caregiving with advocacy, parenting with policy change, or protests with playdates — I just want to say: you’re not alone.

We can hold fear and joy. Grief and gratitude. Heartbreak and hope.

And we can keep going — together.