What Are You Actually Committed To?

Early in my teaching career, I worked with an assistant principal who became an unexpected mentor. We couldn't be more different. What started as front-office banter about how he didn't understand the plight of teachers and I didn't understand the demands of administration soon morphed into monthly dinners where we'd mix it up on everything: politics, religion, whether society was on a downward spiral or getting better, the grossness of the faculty lounge, and the day-to-day dealings at school.

Neither of us let up when we heard something we vehemently disagreed with, but neither of us relented in our care for one another in the process. What held our relationship together was our shared commitment to the dignity of young people in our school, and of one another. Somehow every topic always came back to that. And while we agreed on our shared commitment, we still vehemently disagreed on the path to ensuring it.

When Clear Commitment Meets Messy Reality

I was one of many advisors for our school's Gay-Straight Alliance, and one student shared regularly about being bullied and harassed—slurs written on their locker, physical assaults, reports that seemed to go nowhere. The student didn't want to name who was doing the harassing for fear of repercussions. When I brought this to the administration—to my friend specifically—I hit a wall, too.

“There's only so much I can do when the student won't tell me who is harassing them,” he said in response.

“Maybe they don't want retribution,” I responded. “Maybe they want the system to change so no one has to fear walking down the hall.”

That school-day stalemate became the topic of our next dinner conversation. We argued about individual accountability versus collective responsibility, about systems that enable bullying and adolescents who push boundaries. It was infuriating. I was taking it personally. He was frustrated too—overseeing 3,000 students, feeling spread impossibly thin, genuinely trying to address harm but constrained by what he saw as procedural limitations.

By the end of dinner, nothing larger was resolved. The locker would get painted over again, but without witnesses coming forward, his hands felt tied. I pushed for policy change. If this was happening to one student, it was happening to many.

I didn't let it go. Each day, I was in his office; more teachers and students also came forward. Eventually, policies were re-examined. A student was caught, but the behavior didn’t ultimately change. The process came at an exhausting cost. 

It shouldn't be so hard to fight for someone's dignity. But there we are.

This story stays with me because it reveals how we were both committed to student dignity, but our competing commitments shaped how—and whether—we acted on that shared value.

The Flimsiness of Actual Commitment

I've been thinking about this dynamic even more in recent years as I've watched commitments crumble the moment efforts to dismantle diversity, equity, and inclusion were put on the table. People who were hired for DEI positions, who made bold claims and policies in support of equity, suddenly declared that those claims had changed and policies had shifted, as DEI offices and roles were quietly repurposed.

I understand legal implications. But it also reveals something about our commitments—and what competes with them.

In Robert Kegan and Lisa Lahey's Immunity to Change model, they elaborate on the competing commitments that sabotage our stated goals. For example, we say we're committed to equity, but we're also committed to not rocking the boat, not being unpopular, not risking our positions. These competing commitments are powerful. They override our virtuous goals because they're rooted in fear—of doing the harder thing, the unpopular thing, the thornier thing.

I've seen models in my life of people whose competing commitments don't get in the way. And I've also seen people whose desire to please, to protect their positions or reputations, allow competing commitments to become excuses for abandoning their efforts. I’m not talking about those whose marginalization has an impact on their safety, but those who have the power to effect change but choose not to. Commitments without courage become hollow gestures. Systems change requires we examine not just what we're committed to, but what's competing with that commitment.

So how do we excavate what we're actually committed to—not what we say we value, but what our actions reveal?

What Are You Actually Committed To?

Here's an exercise—a mashup of Kegan and Lahey's Immunity to Change model and the Five Whys exercise I write about in The PD Book, a technique to help you understand what you're actually committed to and why. I've included examples to show how this works:

1. Name your commitment. 

What do you say you're committed to in your work?

I'm committed to dismantling tracking systems that perpetuate inequity in my school.

2. What are you doing to fulfill this commitment? 

List specific actions you take related to this commitment.

• I've researched alternatives to tracking

• I've talked with individual colleagues who share this concern

• I've shared articles in our department Slack channel

3. What are you NOT doing to fulfill this commitment? 

Be honest about the gaps between your stated commitment and your actions.

• I'm not bringing this up at department meetings

• I'm not proposing it as an agenda item for leadership

• I'm not organizing other teachers to collectively advocate for change

• I'm not pushing back when the principal defends tracking 

4. What's your COMPETING commitment? Complete this statement—“I'm also committed to NOT…”

I'm also committed to not being seen as the person who “always brings up equity” or
“makes everything difficult.”

5. Why does this competing commitment matter? Ask Why—at least three times, five if you have the stamina. Keep asking until you hit the core fear or assumption.

• Why? Because I don't want to be dismissed or marginalized in meetings.

• Why does that matter? Because if I'm seen as difficult, people will stop listening to me entirely.

• Why does that matter? Because I believe my effectiveness depends on being liked and being seen as reasonable.

• Why does that matter? Because if I lose social capital, I'll lose any ability to create change.

6. Name the big assumption that’s making your competing commitment stronger than your actual one. What belief is holding your competing commitment in place?

If I consistently advocate for systemic change, I will be labeled as a troublemaker and lose all influence, which means I'll accomplish nothing.

Often times, big feelings come up when we recognize this big assumption. Have compassion for yourself in the process.

7. Test the big assumption with a small action to counteract it. What’s one small, safe-to-try action you could take to test if this assumption is actually true?

I could propose a 30-minute discussion about tracking at our next department meeting—just to explore it, not to demand immediate change—and see what actually happens to my relationships and influence.

When it comes to those small actions, each time we test our big assumptions and discover they're not as solid as we thought, we expand what's possible. Each small action builds on the last, creating momentum toward the systemic change we say we're committed to.

The power of this exercise is its honest excavation of what's operating beneath our stated values. When we can name our competing commitments and test the assumptions that hold them in place, we create space for change and transformation—not in grand (and possibly empty) gestures, but in the steady actions that strengthen our commitment.

Imagination without Commitment is Fantasy

When I left that school, my administrator friend and I maintained our monthly dinners for years until I moved out of state. We have since fallen out of touch, but I think of him often. He helped me understand what I'm most committed to and why I do this work. Our monthly sparring matches forced me to excavate my own competing commitments and ask whether my actions matched my stated values, a practice I continue today.

Who is that person for you? What are you fiercely committed to? And how do you know?

Here's to imagining what's possible when our commitments are fierce enough to withstand the test of our competing fears.