“It’s Called Self-Care, Not District-Care.”

The Ruckus Maker Flywheel Chapter 9

👋 Welcome to a 🔐 subscriber only edition 🔐 of Ruckus Makers — the newsletter for bold school leaders who Do School Different. Each week we drop fresh content across our signature styles:

• The Reframe → Mindset shifts in 90-seconds.

• Dot AI → Supercharged leadership prompts and custom gpts

• MEH → The Onion meets Education. What could go wrong?

• First in Line → Exclusive access to bold new content before the bookshelf

You can learn more about this premium newsletter here.

Sometimes the wake-up call doesn’t come from a crisis.

It comes from a podcast.

A quote.

A wasted night no one asked you to give away.

Jordan’s progress slips this week.

Not because she failed — but because she defaulted.

She broke her sleep boundary… and no one noticed.

Except her.

But this chapter isn’t about guilt.

It’s about ownership — and the moment she finally takes it.

📖 Never miss a chapter of Jordan’s story. You can read each chapter in the First in Line section of Ruckus Makers.

---

The Invitation

Jordan started the morning with a podcast.

Not by plan — just muscle memory. The app queued up this week’s podcast. Max’s voice filled her office again.

“Leadership without boundaries isn’t leadership. It’s burnout with a title.”

. . .

“The district doesn’t know if you slept last night. They don’t know if you’ve eaten, or moved, or checked in with your family.

You think they notice when you stay up late answering emails?

They don’t.

You think they reward it?

If you died tomorrow, they would have your replacement in your chair before you were buried in the ground …”

. . .

Jordan paused. That one hit hard.

She reached for her coffee. Let the silence fill the space.

Then Max’s voice returned, calmer now:

“You’ve heard of self-care, right?

Cool.

Just remember — it’s called self-care, not district-care.

. . .

It’s your responsibility.

. . .

No one’s going to set your boundaries for you.

That’s your job. That’s leadership.”

Jordan didn’t move for a moment.

Then she pulled out her phone. Opened Max’s contact.

Typed: Hey Max. Can we talk?

Sent.

A few minutes later, her screen lit up.

Max: “I was hoping you’d reach out. We’ve got a spot in the room if you’re ready. I’ll send next steps.”

“The room” Jordan thought. “What’s that all about?”

Max sent over the calendar invite.

She didn’t RSVP.

Not yet.

She just let it sit in her inbox — like a seed on a windowsill.

That night, she held her screen in bed.

The plan was simple: phone down by 9, lights out by 10.

But at 9:12, an email came through: