We are living in tender, tumultuous times. Each day brings fresh waves of heartbreak — wars, natural disasters, attacks on human dignity, and so much personal and collective grief. The ground beneath us feels undeniably shaky.

In moments like these, it’s natural — even necessary — to seek refuge in what feels familiar. The Comfort Zone exists for a reason. It’s where we gather strength, restore ourselves, and steady our footing.

But being human also calls us to stretch. To step toward growth and possibility, even when it feels vulnerable or uncertain. To meet heartbreak not only with sorrow, but also with fierce hope — the kind that whispers: I will keep loving. I will keep believing. I will keep stretching toward what’s possible.

I often hold close the Comfort-Stretch-Panic model, first expanded by Karl Rohnke and later by Ryan and Markova, to help make sense of these moments of invitation and risk:

Comfort Zone: Where life feels safe and predictable. Essential for rest, but limiting if we stay too long.

Stretch Zone: Where learning, growth, and resilience take root. Uncomfortable, but expansive and alive.

Panic Zone: Where overwhelm sets in, and true learning and connection shut down.

This model connects deeply to my roots as an educator. Vygotsky’s Zone of Proximal Development (ZPD) was a foundational in my teacher preparation and has stayed with me ever since. It reminds me that real learning and growth happen in that tender space where, with the right support, we are invited just beyond what we can do alone. This understanding continues to shape how I meet everything I do — from education, to leadership, to research, and now, to how I hold tenderness.

If last week taught me anything, it’s that real growth lives not in grand leaps, but in the steady practice of stretching — just enough to stay alive and engaged, without tipping into overwhelm.

In Warren, Ohio, I had the honor of keynoting the Collaborative for Academic Social and Emotional Learning (CASEL) Network Partner Gathering at Warren City Schools — located in former Congressman Tim Ryan’s district, a place that holds deep meaning for me. Over 15 years ago, Warren was where I first learned about a district embracing Mindfulness-Based SEL at scale — a vision that has stayed with me ever since. Thanks to the leadership of Linda Lantieri and Congressman Ryan, Warren became an early model of what’s possible when policy and practice align around care and connection. What’s remarkable is not only that they began this work early, but that they have sustained it. Through over 12 years of steady leadership and consistent SEL priorities, Warren has stayed the course. I’m also grateful that three Transformative Educational Leadership (TEL) Fellows have come from this district, continuing the legacy of heart-centered leadership. Stepping into this space stretched me in its own way. In front of national SEL leaders and in a district with such deep roots in this work, could I offer something fresh and meaningful? To meet that edge, I shared an interactive keynote on healing burnout — inviting reflection on how we lead, heal, and sustain ourselves in these tender and trying time.

Just hours after my keynote, I flew to Los Angeles for the Rare Beauty Mental Health Summit, hosted by Selena Gomez and the Rare Impact Fund. TEL is honored to be one of Rare’s first grantees and part of this growing movement to destigmatize mental health and center belonging, healing, and youth voice. Landing in LA stretched me in a different way. The space — filled with young people, beauty industry leaders, and influencers — was far from the circles I usually move in. Still, I trusted that the themes I carry — tenderness, belonging, healing — are universal. As I arrived, I thought back to my younger self — a brown girl growing up in the 80s and 90s, rarely seeing herself reflected in spaces like this. Spaces where, historically, belonging wasn’t guaranteed. Being there felt deeply tender and significant. As I spoke and guided a mindfulness practice, the room softened — a quiet reminder that tenderness can make space for belonging, even where it hasn’t always existed.

And stretching, I’ve come to realize, is a muscle we build. Like training for a marathon, we don’t leap from rest to 26 miles overnight. We take one step, then another — slowly expanding the edges of our Comfort Zone and building the capacity to stretch without slipping into panic.

This has been true in my research, too. Together with my research partner, we’re preparing to launch our fourth study to deepen and validate our conceptual model of tenderness. This summer, we’ll share our findings at the Mind & Life Summer Research Institute (SRI) — a full-circle return to a place that shaped my path years ago. Research stretches me in its own way — translating tenderness into a language the scientific community can hold while staying connected to its deeply human essence.

And beyond work, life is offering its own stretch. Quietly unfolding in the background are big, soul-directed transitions — tender thresholds I’ll be sharing more about in the months to come. Each invites me to trust growth, to move through uncertainty, and to stay open even when the path ahead feels tender and unknown. All of it — the gatherings, the research, and these personal crossings — are steady invitations into my Stretch Zone. I’m learning, gently and daily, to meet each one with openness. Simply staying present to the quiet unfolding of what is next.

A few gentle invitations for this season:

• Name where you are today — Comfort, Stretch, or Panic? Simply notice.
• Honor your thresholds — each of us stretches differently.
• Move at your own pace — step by step, stretch by stretch.

I’ll be walking alongside you, stretching in my own way, and sharing more soon. May we stretch — for ourselves, for each other, for this beautiful, aching world.

With tenderness and courage,

P.S. for educators: if you are open to a stretch zone experience, consider joining me in the SEL Every Day Courses.