“My mother couldn’t afford private school—but she realized she couldn’t afford not to.”
When an alumnus shared this reflection with our head of school, it struck me that it was not boastful, but rather a quiet commentary. What mattered most in their education wasn’t exclusivity or prestige. Yes, the academics were strong. However, what left a lasting impression were the relationships between students and faculty. It was the fact that they had been truly seen—that their experience was shaped with care, intention, and connection.
That kind of value is hard to quantify but easy to feel. And it reminds us: the stakes of education aren’t just academic, they’re communal. Independent schools often highlight their autonomy, the freedom to shape curriculum, nurture culture, and lead with mission. But in today’s evolving educational landscape, that autonomy is more than a distinguishing trait. It’s a responsibility. And it may just be our most valuable asset.
At their best, schools don’t just serve students; they serve teachers, families, and communities. They’re more than academic institutions. They’re spaces where people gather, grow, belong, and matter.
Belonging is powerful, but mattering goes deeper. It’s the difference between being included and being essential. As Jennifer Wallace writes in Never Enough: When Achievement Culture Becomes Toxic and What You Can Do About It, students who thrive emotionally and academically aren’t just accepted by their communities; they know they make a difference within them. They feel valued and are invited to add value. That’s the foundation of healthy motivation, resilience, and purpose.
Independent schools are uniquely equipped to nurture this kind of culture. With strong advisory systems, close student-teacher relationships, and a commitment to reflection, they can build environments where every community member feels seen, valued, and needed.
What is Mattering?
Mattering is built through relationships, not rewards. It shows up when a teacher remembers your name and your story. You matter when you're asked to contribute, to lead, or to shape the experience for others. It’s not something students receive once; it’s something they feel regularly, in small but meaningful ways.
David Brooks, in How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen, reminds us that seeing someone deeply—making them feel truly known—is one of the most powerful acts of connection. Even a look can say, “You matter here.” The culture of mattering begins with those small, consistent signals of recognition.
But this isn’t just about students. Mattering is an ecosystem. Faculty thrive when their ideas are trusted, and their growth is supported. Families engage more deeply when they’re not just welcomed but are essential to the fabric of the school.
Mattering doesn’t diminish excellence. It strengthens it. Because people work harder, risk more, and grow faster when they know they matter.
What This Looks Like in Action
At Greens Farms Academy (GFA), mattering isn’t just a mission statement—it’s a daily practice. Our head of school makes one simple, bold promise to every parent: We will know and love your child.
You see it in the small, intentional moments:
- Morning drop-off as connection: Every day, our head of school and administrators greet students by name at the curb—sometimes with a playlist blasting from a portable speaker. What could be routine becomes ritual: a signal that each student matters the moment they arrive.
- Faculty noticing the whole child: After a tough basketball loss, one teacher made a point to pull a student aside before class. “I saw how hard you played yesterday. How are you feeling about it today?” That 20-second check-in mattered more than the day’s lesson—it said, I see you.
- Student voices at the center: Eighth graders deliver their “I believe” speeches to peers and faculty each year. They stand at the microphone and say, “This is who I am becoming.” For many, it’s the start of when they feel their voice shapes the community.
- Traditions that bridge generations: In the fall, seniors walk hand-in-hand with Kindergarten students to pick apples from the school’s apple trees. For older students, it’s a reminder that they once stood in those same little shoes; for younger ones, it’s a glimpse of where they’re headed.
These aren’t extras. They are the signals of a culture where belonging and mattering are woven into everyday life.
It’s also why we’ve chosen to be a cellphone-free campus during the academic day. Despite their usefulness, phones and smartwatches are designed to capture and fragment attention. We’ve found that removing them creates unblocked time for presence, connection, and authentic engagement. It’s not about restriction; it’s about reclaiming time with one another.
This same philosophy extends to our academic model. Phasing out Advanced Placement (AP) courses wasn’t about lowering expectations but raising the ceiling on what learning can be. While APs offered rigor, they often prioritized coverage over curiosity. So we asked: What kind of learning truly prepares students for the world ahead, and helps them understand their place in the world now?
In response, we created space for electives, interdisciplinary studies, and our Inquiry and Advanced Inquiry programs, inviting students to pursue real questions, conduct original research, and engage deeply with ideas that resonated with them.
Take Cities, for example, a course that combines urban studies, systems thinking, and design. Students explore how cities are formed, who they serve, and what they need to thrive. The course culminates in Urban Futures in Fairfield County, a public forum where students present their proposals to regional planners and civic leaders. Their ideas, from elevated parks in South Norwalk to redesigned bike lanes in Fairfield, are visionary and actionable.
These students aren’t just learning about the world. They’re shaping it.
That transformation happens when schools stop being merely academic institutions and become generative ones: communities where inquiry is empowered, connection is prioritized, and every member is seen as someone with something to offer.
The Takeaway
At the end of the Cities course, students gathered around a Lego-strewn Harkness table to present their AI-enhanced redesigns for a new fitness center, library, and dining commons. Their proposals emphasized quiet spaces, collaboration zones, and time for reflection. In many ways, their designs were more than architectural; they were cultural blueprints: small but powerful signals of the kind of school they most want to belong to: one where connection and community remain central to everything.
Independent schools that embrace this work and design for it with care can become not just relevant but indispensable. They are not just independent but also interdependent with the communities they serve.
Our students’ lives will never be one-dimensional again. Schools cannot afford to be either. The greatest gift we can give any student is not preparation for what comes next but the unshakable sense that they belong, contribute, and are deeply, undeniably known.