Names have been changed to protect privacy
During my time as principal, a student named Javier experienced the unthinkable. His father, high on drugs, had been playing Russian roulette with Javier's mother when he fatally shot himself in the head. Javier was arrested that night and then released.
He came to school the next day.
Think about that for a moment: Do you believe Javier could learn anything in his English or math class that day?
Of course not. And he wasn't alone. I remember Sofia sitting on the curb outside school. When I sat next to her, she told me her dad had stabbed her mom the night before. She had nowhere else to go, so she came to school. Then there was Robert, whose father died in a head-on collision with a drunk driver. He showed up the next day, too. When I asked him why he came to school, he said, "This is where I feel safe."
What I learned working with these students was simple but powerful: If you're worried about where you're going to sleep tonight, or if you have a toothache, or if your dad just shot himself in the head, you're not solving quadratic equations. It doesn't matter what we’re teaching if the student has poverty or trauma in the way.
Remove those barriers first, then they can start to learn. This understanding informed how I ran my school, and the results spoke for themselves — we became one of the highest-performing schools in our area despite being just three blocks from the projects.
The Hierarchy of Human Needs
You're probably familiar with Maslow's hierarchy of needs — that pyramid showing how we need to take care of basics like food, safety, love, and feeling good about ourselves before we can really find our purpose and be the best version of ourselves. Maslow called that top level "self-actualization."
When I talk about this in presentations, I always ask: "How many of you have seen this pyramid before?" Every hand goes up. Then I ask: "How many of you actually use it in your schools?" Almost every hand goes down.
This is the disconnect in education. We know the theory, but we don't apply it.
Javier was at rock bottom on Maslow's pyramid that day, and he wasn't alone. Any student who hasn't had their basic needs met isn't going to self-actualize — which essentially means they're not available to learn.
Then there's Bloom's taxonomy — that other pyramid educators love, the one that ranks learning from memorization to creating new ideas. The problem is that Bloom's is rendered useless by the kind of trauma many of our students face daily. Without addressing their basic needs first, we can't expect students to engage with higher-level learning tasks.
Maslow before Bloom. Always. A student can't analyze Shakespeare if they're worried about getting beaten when they get home. They can't focus on math problems if they're hungry or sleep-deprived. They can't collaborate effectively if they feel unwelcome or unsafe in your classroom.
Meeting Them Where They're At
When I ran my school, I made a commitment that we would meet students exactly where they were on Maslow's pyramid — not where we wished they were.
If a student walked through our doors hungry, we fed them breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If they came to school scared, we created physical and emotional safety through consistent relationships and clear expectations. And if they showed up after the worst night of their lives — like Javier, Sofia, or Robert — we offered a listening ear or arms to cry in.
This wasn't some warm and fuzzy approach to education. It was practical and effective. Because here's what I know after decades in education: until we address these fundamental needs, academic content simply doesn't penetrate.
I remember when a ninth-grade student named Mario wasn't bringing his textbook to class. His teacher kept kicking him out, and Mario would mumble about how "stupid" the situation was. When I finally got him to open up, I discovered he didn't know how to work his locker combination. He'd put all his books in there on the first day with help from a mentor, and he couldn't get them back out. At his previous school, they told him, "You're not going to use your locker anyway, so why give you one?"
How many students like Mario are we failing because we don't take the time to ask what's really happening? How many times do we assume defiance when what we're actually seeing is desperation?
This isn't about lowering expectations — it's about recognizing that expectations without support are meaningless. I wanted all of my students to get to college if they chose that path. But I knew that wouldn't happen unless we first addressed their position on the hierarchy of needs.
We Will Achieve Self-Actualization
After witnessing the impact of trauma on students like Javier, Sofia, and Mario, I knew we needed a school-wide commitment to addressing the whole pyramid, not just the top. And we had to do it on a shoestring budget — at the time, California was 47th out of 50 states in per-pupil funding, despite being the fifth largest economy in the world.
What I discovered was that our approach required two fundamental shifts. The first was in perspective: our vision statement initially said "Our students will achieve self-actualization." After a year, we changed it to "We will achieve self-actualization." We realized the adults were struggling too — dealing with their own traumas, their own barriers. How could we expect our students to reach their full potential if we weren't committed to reaching ours?
The second shift was in our systems. As James Clear says in his book Atomic Habits, "You don't rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems." If we valued growth mindset but didn't allow students to resubmit work, we were hypocrites. If we claimed to value relationships but didn't create time for staff to build them, we were just spouting edu-babble.
So we reorganized everything. Instead of hiring more deans and interventionists, I used our limited funds to hire more teachers so no one had to teach a full day. English teachers had three periods of instruction and three periods for grading, calling parents, and providing individual support. Math teachers had two planning periods. This wasn't a luxury — it was a necessity if we were going to meet students where they were.
When we held professional development, I often replaced it with circle time for staff to share their struggles and triumphs. People would be crying halfway around the circle. It wasn't always neat or efficient, but it was effective. We were modeling what we expected them to do with students.
The results spoke for themselves. Despite being three blocks from the projects, we had the highest attendance rate in our local district for four years running. We also achieved graduation rates and college readiness metrics that were among the highest in the district.
Most importantly, our students reported feeling safe and proud of their school. They weren't just surviving their traumas — they were moving up the pyramid toward self-actualization.
My ACE Score of 9
I always knew I experienced trauma, but I hadn't let the extent of it really sink in. That changed when I attended a conference about Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs). The presenter had us anonymously complete the ACE questionnaire.
As the speaker went through the list of traumatic childhood experiences, I found myself mentally checking off one after another. By the end, I realized my score was 9 out of 10. I felt shame at first, looking around at the pie chart showing results from the 700 people in the room. Many had zeros. Quite a few had three or four. Only one other person scored a nine.
Then something shifted in me. I thought, "F**k that. This is who I am. This is what made me who I am to this point." I realized this was why I've always been so passionate about trauma-informed work. I understand it from the inside out.
This personal experience shapes everything I do as an educator. If I struggle some days with all the advantages I have — insurance, salary, education, stable housing — imagine being one of five kids with a single mom living in the projects. When you don't know about ACEs, all you know is you're trying to make it through today.
I know firsthand the power of a teacher who chooses to see beyond behavior to the hurt child underneath. I had a teacher who stepped between me and my bad decisions, who refused to let me off the hook when I was making terrible choices. Now I try to be that person for my students.
Finding Your Hill to Die On
As educators, we need to choose our priorities carefully. My loyalty isn't to trauma-informed practices, restorative justice, or any specific methodology. These are just tools in my toolbox. Tomorrow, if there's something more effective, I'll use it. My loyalty is to the students themselves.
I tell my staff and the principals I coach: pick the hill you're going to die on. For me, that hill has always been meeting students where they are on Maslow's hierarchy. When I became principal, I refused to compromise on certain things — ninth grade orientation, men's group, building relationships — even when district pressures mounted.
This approach changes the questions we ask. Instead of "What's wrong with you?" we ask "What happened to you?" Instead of "Why are you late?" we ask "What kept you from being on time?" These simple shifts create space for students to be honest about their struggles.
You might think this approach requires extra resources or perfect conditions. It doesn't. It requires a shift in perspective and priorities. When I see a student sitting alone on the curb outside school, I can choose to sit down next to them instead of demanding they get to class. When a student is dealing with trauma, I can create a safe space rather than pushing academic content they aren't ready to receive.
Connect before you correct. This simple principle — backed by systems that support it — can transform a school. We proved it at our school, achieving remarkable results despite limited resources and challenging circumstances.
Any educator can implement these changes in their own sphere of influence. You may not control the school budget or the district policies, but you control how you respond to the student in front of you. That's where real change begins — with one teacher, one interaction, one moment of genuine connection at a time. Action item:
Take a look at your MTSS. Are your interventions aimed at helping your students move up Maslow or Bloom’s pyramid? Are your interventions aimed at meeting your students’ needs — or solely at academic success?
Ready to Take the Next Step?
If you're ready to dive deeper into trauma-informed practices and really make a difference in your students' lives, I'd love to help. Check out my speaking topics or reach out to book a workshop for your school. Together, we can create classrooms where every student feels seen, valued, and capable of achieving their full potential.
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