Overview:
The multifaceted, emotionally charged role of school counselors, highlighting their essential work supporting students and educators while advocating for inclusion in school decision-making.
The first time I sat across from a student whose eyes held more storm than sky, I knew this work would demand every piece of me. As a school counselor, I entered this profession with a fire in my chest—a fierce desire to cradle the hearts of students and lift the spirits of educators. I wanted to be a bridge, connecting young minds to hope and teachers to resilience. But as the school years unfold, I’ve learned that this calling is a tapestry woven with threads of joy, exhaustion, and a quiet, persistent frustration. I am part therapist, part leader, part teacher, part mentor—and sometimes, it feels like I’m stitching together a quilt with no pattern, in a room where my voice is only half-heard.
It starts with the students. They come to my office, some with defiance masking fear, others with silence that screams louder than words. There’s Mia, who cries on my couch due to her exhaustion from countless sleepless nights of caring for her younger siblings. There’s Jayden, whose fists clench when he talks about home, his anger a shield against a world that’s let him down; a deceased father and incarcerated mother with aging grandparents that don’t understand his sorrow. I listen, I nod, I offer tools—breathing exercises, journal prompts, a stress ball to squeeze when the world feels too heavy. I’m their therapist in those moments, holding space for their pain. But I’m also their mentor, nudging them toward goals they can’t yet see, and their teacher, slipping in lessons on self-regulation or conflict resolution. I’m their leader, too, advocating for them in meetings where their stories are reduced to test scores or behavior logs.
And then there are the educators. I see them in the staff lounge, their coffee cups clutched like lifelines, their laughter tinged with weariness. Ms. Carter, who stays late to grade papers, her own children waiting at home. Mr. Lopez, who pours his soul into lessons, only to face a room of disengaged faces. I want to support them by offering strategies for managing classroom stress and building connections with students. I provide professional development sessions and weekly emails, sharing trauma-informed practices and mindfulness techniques, with the hope of sparking a light in their tired eyes. But I’m also their therapist, listening as they unload their fears of burnout, and their mentor, gently guiding them toward self-care practices they’re too overwhelmed to prioritize.
This juggling act—being a therapist, leader, teacher, and mentor—is both my passion and my burden. I love the moments when a student’s shoulders soften after a conversation, or when a teacher emails me to say a strategy worked. But the frustration creeps in when I realize I’m stretched thin, my roles bleeding into one another with no clear boundaries. I’m expected to counsel a student through a panic attack in one breath, then pivot to leading a crisis response team in the next. I’m asked to lead a small group on social-emotional learning, only to rush to a parent meeting where I’m advocating for a student’s IEP. The weight of these hats is heavy, and there’s no handbook for balancing them.
What stings most is the sense of being on the sidelines when decisions are made. School counselors are often left out of the rooms where the future of our students is shaped. I’ve sat in meetings where administrators and teachers debate curriculum changes, discipline policies, or mental health initiatives, only to realize my input wasn’t sought. Yet, I’m the one who sees the fallout—the students who crumble under rigid policies, the teachers who burn out from unsupported classrooms. I know Mia needs a flexible attendance plan because her mom works nights. I know Jayden’s suspensions only deepen his distrust. I know Ms. Carter needs a wellness program, not another mandate. My role gives me a front-row seat to the needs of students and educators, but too often, I’m not invited to the table where solutions are crafted.
This exclusion isn’t personal—it’s systemic. School counselors are often viewed as support staff, rather than stakeholders, despite our expertise in mental health, behavior, and school climate. We’re trained to bridge the gap between academics and well-being, to advocate for equity, to foster resilience. Yet, when budgets are cut, we’re the first to lose resources. When policies are drafted, we are often an afterthought. This sidelining fuels my frustration, because I know our inclusion could transform schools.
Imagine a discipline policy co-created with counselors, prioritizing restoration over punishment. Picture a curriculum infused with social-emotional learning, shaped by those who see students’ emotional needs daily. Envision a wellness plan for teachers, designed with input from the counselors who hear their struggles, where it is more than a room with couches and massage chairs but a program that encourages engagement and rewards personal time away. These aren’t simply dreams—they’re real possibilities, if only we’re given a seat.
The necessity for counselors to be included in decision-making isn’t just about fairness—it’s about effectiveness. Students don’t learn when they’re dysregulated. Teachers can’t teach when they’re depleted. Schools can’t thrive when the people who understand these dynamics are left out. Families can’t participate fully when they aren’t included in the partnership between the caregiver and the school community. I’ve seen the power of collaboration when it happens—when a principal loops me into a behavior plan, and we reduce suspensions.
When a teacher and I co-plan a classroom strategy, engagement soars. When I sit with parents and discuss their students strengths and strategies to help the family thrive. These moments remind me why I stay, despite the frustration and occasional tears. They show me what’s possible when my voice, and the voices of counselors everywhere, are heard.
Still, the daily grind tests my resolve. I leave work with stories I can’t unhear, with worries I can’t unload. I dream of students I couldn’t reach, of teachers I couldn’t support enough. I question if I’m enough—enough therapist to heal, enough leader to inspire, enough teacher to educate, enough mentor to guide. But then I think of Mia, who smiled when I allowed her to nap during her lunchtime. Of Jayden, who thanked me for believing he could change. Of Ms. Carter, who said my availability to provide a listening ear helped her get through her day with joy. These slivers of light keep me going. They remind me that even in a system that stretches me thin and sidelines my role, I’m making a difference.
As I sit in my office, a calm corner with every fidget toy imaginable, a small trampoline on which everyone loves to use, soul-soothing music to calm anxious minds, and a water fountain for my pleasure, I hold onto my why: to support students and educators in a world that asks too much of them. I dream of a school where counselors are partners, not peripherals—where we shape policies, share strategies, and stand shoulder to shoulder with stakeholders. Until then, I’ll keep wearing my many hats, stitching my quilt with care and frustration alike. I’ll keep showing up, because every student deserves a safe harbor, every teacher deserves a lifeline, and every school deserves a counselor’s voice at the table.
So, as I enter into another year of school counseling, I wonder if this time my experience will be different. Will I be remembered on the email thread regarding a student who chooses my space as their safe harbor? Will the suggestions I mentioned last year be implemented this year? Will I be enough to meet all the needs that come through my door? I honestly don’t know the answers to those questions. And in reality, the answers don’t matter. What matters most is my ability to show up authentically, to share my thoughts openly, and to offer outrageous possibilities for change.
Kristina Renn is a School Counselor in Northern California. She is passionate about supporting her 700 students and the educators who show up every day for them. You will find her serving other educators through her Connection Collective and working on her doctorate in behavioral health. As a mom of four adult children and Gigi to her beautiful one-year-old granddaughter, Kristina loves spending time with family and playing golf with her husband.
