Here's something that will keep you up at night: right now, someone in your community is shaping the narrative about your school district. Maybe a parent at soccer practice; a local Facebook group moderator; a retired teacher; your local, well-known real estate agent. Worse, maybe it's a reporter looking for a story on a slow day.
Unfortunately, and all too often … they're writing their narrative whether you participate or not.
Let's walk through a little example. Once upon a time, during a particularly difficult budget cycle, a superintendent, her business manager, and her communications professional worked really hard to carefully craft and perfect messaging surrounding the year ahead and the proposed changes. They prepared talking points, put all the information on the website, and even held some informal Q&A sessions around the community, understanding that this was a hard year and people were going to have things to say about it. Team: "We love our District" thought they had covered their bases.
Monday night rolled around, however, and Jessica P. Smith, 1234 Mulberry Lane, pops in during public participation to spend an entire three minutes sharing everything she'd "heard" about the proposed cuts.
Not one single thing she said was accurate. Seriously … not a single word. The crazy thing was, though, she wasn't lying. She had heard these things, and she genuinely believed what she was saying because it was the story that was running amuck through her circles. And who doesn't believe what they hear from their best friend?
It wasn't ill-willed. It was just … incorrect.
While Team District had released every piece of data in all of the places they thought it needed to be, they still left room out there for interpretation, and misinformation very quickly filled in the air that Team District hadn't.
When you're not quickly, strategically, and transparently telling the story of your why, most people won't wait patiently to find answers to their questions. In fact, many will fill in the blanks themselves. Often, it's not even meant to be nefarious. Sometimes, though, a pre-conceived narrative based on past experiences helps people speculate. They assume. They share what they've heard from their neighbor, who heard it from their cousin, who read something on Facebook that may or may not have even been about your district (or any district, for that matter).
Here's what happens in the absence of your voice:
Rumors become facts. Without accurate and sufficient information from you, people accept whatever explanation makes sense to them. "I heard they're cutting music because the superintendent doesn't value the arts." That becomes the story, true or not.
Your critics get the mic. The angriest voices aren't always the most informed, but they're often the loudest. If you're not part of the conversation, the conversation happens without you, and it's rarely balanced.
Context disappears. A budget number, a policy change, a staffing decision … without context, these things can be perceived very differently than situational reality. Your silence creates room for misinterpretation.
Trust erodes. When people feel like they have to piece together information from secondary sources, they might start to wonder what you're hiding … even when the reality is that you're being completely transparent.
I'm not trying to be dramatic here. I'm telling you what I've watched unfold across dozens of districts over the years - and I'm guessing you may have experienced once or twice, too.
Take a minute and think about the conversations happening in your community right now about your schools. Not the official ones. The real ones: budget cuts; state report cards; vouchers; last week's fight in the lunchroom that they didn't tell the parents about until 4:00. The SNOW DAY CANCELLATION.
What are parents saying at drop-off? What's being shared in neighborhood Facebook groups? What stories are community members telling when they're asked about your district?
If you don't know the answer to these questions, that's a problem. And if those conversations don't align with the reality of what's happening in your schools, it's on you and your team to fix it.
Your story is being told. The question is by whom?
The real estate agent: They're telling prospective homebuyers about your schools every single day. What story are they sharing? Is it accurate? Is it compelling? Or is it based on report cards and test scores and whatever they either experienced from having their student attend your school, or casually heard from other agents or buyers?
The social media sphere: Local parent groups, neighborhood pages, community forums. These spaces are full of opinions about your district. Some accurate, many not. Are you present in these conversations?
Your own staff: Teachers, administrative assistants, bus drivers, cafeteria workers, custodians … they're all ambassadors for your district, whether you've empowered them to be or not. Do they know the real story? Do they feel proud enough to tell it?
Local media: Reporters will cover your district with or without your cooperation. The question is whether they're getting information from you or piecing it together from other sources.
Former employees or families: People who have left your district are still talking about you. What they say matters, especially to families considering whether to stay or go.
I'm not suggesting you spin everything into good news or hide the hard stuff. That's not storytelling; that's propaganda, and people see right through it.
Good storytelling is honest. It's specific. It shows rather than tells. And it connects what you're doing to what your community cares about. It focuses on outcomes and connects what's going on inside your schools to everything and everyone outside.
Here's what that looks like in practice:
Instead of: "We're committed to excellence in education."
Try this: "Last year, our third-grade teachers noticed that 30% of students were struggling with reading comprehension. So they spent the summer in intensive training, redesigned their instructional approach, and this year, those same students are reading at or above grade level. That's what commitment looks like in practice."
See the difference? One is a claim. The other is a story with real people, real challenges, and real outcomes.
Instead of: "We value transparency."
Try this: "Every month, our superintendent hosts 'Coffee and Conversation' sessions where any community member can show up, ask questions, and get straight answers. We welcome you to join us. Bring your questions; our promise is that you'll leave with a real, straightforward response."
Your stories should answer the questions people are actually asking: What's happening in our schools? Why does it matter? How does it affect my kid? What are you doing about the challenges you're facing?
If you're feeling overwhelmed by this, I get it. You can't possibly communicate about everything, and you shouldn't try. But you can be strategic about it and get started moving in the right direction.
How do you define success for your students? What about for your district? This isn't just about regurgitating your mission statement or pillars of your strategic plan. Dig a little deeper for the real story. Are you in a period of growth? Transformation? Recovery? Innovation? Stability?
Come up with three to five key messages around which you create your narrative, which should be an honest representation of where you are and where you're headed.
What are three undertold stories in your district right now?
These storylines become the framework for your ongoing communications. Every newsletter, social media post, board meeting update, and community presentation should reinforce one of these threads.
Data matters, but people don't remember spreadsheets; they remember stories. Every statistic, every policy, every decision has a human impact. Find it. Share it.
Don't just say you're improving literacy rates. Introduce us to the second-grader who couldn't read in September and is now devouring chapter books.
Don't just announce a new mental health program. Tell us about the counselor who noticed a gap and fought for resources to fill it.
You can't be everywhere, but you need to be where your community is. For most districts, that's:
But here's the key: you need to be consistent. A social media account that posts twice a month isn't a communication strategy. A newsletter that only goes out when there's a crisis creates anxiety, not trust.
You're not the only person who should be telling your district's story. Your principals, teachers, support staff, board members, and families and students can all be powerful advocates. But they need to know what story you're telling and why it matters. They need talking points, not scripts. They need to feel confident that when someone asks them about your district, they can give an answer that's both honest and aligned with your key messages.
Take it from someone who learns well from years of mistakes … here are some of the biggies:
Waiting until there's a crisis to communicate. If the first time people hear from you in months is when something goes wrong, they're going to assume you've been hiding things, or worse, they're going to expect that they're only going to hear from you when things are bad. Regular communication builds trust. Crisis-only communication breaks it.
Only mentioning the good stuff. Your community has questions and concerns. If you're only sharing good news and ignoring the hard stuff, you lose credibility. Address the difficult topics head-on, even when it's uncomfortable. Be a Buffalo.
Using jargon and edu-speak. Nobody outside of education cares about the buzz words. We know that "differentiated instruction" and "data-driven decision making" are an important part of our process. But they want to know about whether their kid is learning, feels safe, and has teachers who care about them. Speak their language, not yours.
Being inconsistent. You can't communicate sporadically and expect people to stay engaged. Pick a schedule you can maintain and stick to it. Daily is better than weekly. Weekly is better than monthly. Monthly is better than "whenever we remember."
Forgetting to listen. Communication isn't a one-way street. If you're not actively listening to what your community is saying, asking, and worrying about, your storytelling will miss the mark. This one is SO important that I think I have the topic for my next blog. Listening is truly the most important part of communication. Figure out where, when, and how to listen; it'll guide how you move forward.
"This sounds great, but I don't have time for all of this."
I hear you. I know you're stretched thin. But here's what I also know: when you don't prioritize storytelling, you end up spending far more time managing misunderstandings, correcting misinformation, and rebuilding trust.
Districts that tell their stories well have:
Storytelling isn't separate from your work. It's how you build support for your work.
If you're ready to take control of your narrative, here's where to begin:
Your district's story is being told right now, in living rooms and coffee shops and parent pickup lines and Facebook groups all across your community.
The question isn't whether your story gets told. The question is whether you're going to be part of telling it.
You have a choice: you can let the narrative form organically from bits and pieces of information, rumor, and speculation, or you can actively shape it with honest, consistent, strategic communication.
I'm not suggesting you can control every conversation or ensure everyone agrees with every decision. That's not realistic … and it's actually not the goal.
But you can make sure that when people talk about your schools, they're working from accurate information. You can make sure your community understands not just what you're doing, but why. You can make sure the families you serve feel informed, valued, and included.
That's what strategic storytelling does. It doesn't manipulate. It doesn't spin. It simply ensures that the truth about your district … the real, complex, human truth … gets told.
So start telling it. Because if You're Not Telling Your Story … Someone else is.