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 By Dr. Esperanza Freitchen Webster’s Dictionary defines pivot as: to adapt or improve by adjusting or modifying something (such as a product, service, or strategy). At this stage in my mid-to-late career, after decades in higher education, nonprofits, and K–12 charter schools, I find myself reflecting deeply on that definition. My entire professional life has been rooted in expanding educational access for marginalized and underserved communities. I’ve been doing what we now call “DEI work” long before the acronym existed. Two years ago, I stepped into what felt like the pinnacle of that work — a senior leadership role at a major university in my hometown. It pulled together every thread of my experience: higher education, multicultural student affairs, diversity and inclusion, and community impact. The opportunity felt aligned with my purpose. And as a bonus, my youngest daughter attended the same university, receiving a tuition discount because I was an employee. From the outside, and honestly from the inside too, it looked like I had finally landed the job. I was back on a campus, shaping strategy, rebuilding a team, and steering initiatives that mattered deeply. It was hard at first — my team had been through significant turmoil. They were skeptical, guarded, unsure of my intentions and leadership style. But I trusted my belief in authentic leadership. I showed up every day with consistency, transparency, and empathy. Slowly, brick by brick, trust formed. By the six-month mark, we were healing, rebuilding, and imagining new possibilities. By late summer 2024, I felt confident enough to discuss my role with my supervisor. I was underpaid and carrying far more responsibility than the position reflected. She agreed we should work with HR to re-map and elevate the role. For the first time in a long time, I felt aligned, valued, and hopeful. I was thriving. Then came November. The unexpected results of the 2024 election hit like a boulder. Almost overnight, discussions about growth and promotion evaporated. Higher education nationwide was thrust into upheaval. Policies affecting minority-serving institutions, women’s research, global microcampuses, outreach services, and anything that resembled DEI were called into question or outright dismantled. When the U.S. Department of Education released its “Dear Colleague” letter that February, I felt the rumbling under my feet. Something foundational was shifting. By early spring, the environment in my division grew increasingly tense. Micromanagement escalated. Decisions were increasingly made to dilute, minimize, or erase student-centered initiatives, especially those supporting students of color, queer students, disabled students, and other marginalized identities. It felt like we were being asked to hide our work — as if equity had become a liability rather than a value. And that was the moment I realized my values were in jeopardy. So I began to explore new roles — first casually, then more urgently. Internal postings, other universities, local nonprofits, national organizations, EdTech. I wanted to stay connected to education and community, but I also needed to protect my integrity, my energy, and frankly, my sanity. May confirmed my fears. A meeting between my supervisor and the incoming provost created a tension I couldn’t ignore. Her sudden withdrawal and silence said everything she didn’t. My intuition — that familiar, uncomfortable knowing — pulsed louder and louder. On May 20, my supervisor told me verbally that she would likely not be retaining me — and that my direct reports would be laid off as well. She questioned my work, my capacity, and even my dedication. It was cruel, abrupt, and deeply personal. I tried to reason with her, but the door was closed. The next day, she confirmed it: eight positions, including mine, would collapse into two. When I asked about applying, she told me I shouldn’t bother — that even my own team would be “more competitive” than I was. In that moment, my years of work, leadership, and contributions were reduced to nothing. She offered empty reassurances — references, placement support, HR transfers — but I see now they were attempts to soften her own fear and preserve her own position. On June 2, 2025 — my birthday — I received my official layoff notice. I stayed until June 23, closing out projects and packing up my office, holding back tears I didn’t want to shed in a place I once loved. Then began the grind. I applied for over 300 jobs from February through September. I invested in career coaching, résumé rewrites, and new job boards. Out of hundreds of applications, I received nine interviews and three second rounds. One organization took me through three rounds only to tell me I was “overqualified.” I applied in every sector imaginable: healthcare, gaming, utilities, social media, education, defense, even industries I’d barely considered before. I leaned on my transferable skills like they were life rafts. Then, almost randomly, I applied to an EdTech company providing supplemental transportation for McKinney-Vento students — something that still connected to educational access. I moved through a phone screen and three interviews in less than 30 days and received an offer. The speed and efficiency shocked me. I began the role last month. The learning curve has been steep. Shifting from the public sector to the private sector has required rewiring how I think, work, and communicate. I stepped back from leadership into an individual contributor position with a level of oversight and structure that feels unfamiliar. I’ve had to learn new software at lightning speed and adjust to a new culture. But I’m also relieved. I have income again. Health insurance. Stability. The ability to contribute to my household without fear or guilt. I work remotely, which has its own advantages. And while the pay is lower than my previous role, it aligns with the market — and right now, employment itself is a blessing. And yet… I feel lost. I feel disconnected. I miss community. I miss being where the people are. I miss leading, mentoring, problem-solving, and building something greater than myself. I feel grateful, yes — but also restless, conflicted, and hungry for alignment again. This pivot has taken a toll. It has challenged my identity and my sense of purpose. It has forced me to confront uncomfortable questions about what I truly want versus what I can reasonably expect in this job market. And just when I began to wonder whether I should settle into this new reality, three different people — who don’t know each other — sent me two CEO job openings in my local community. Completely unprompted. Maybe it’s coincidence. Maybe it’s intuition. Maybe it’s a sign that the story isn’t over — that this pivot is still unfolding. Time will tell. But for now, I’m learning, adjusting, and listening closely for what comes next. Dr. Esperanza Freitchen is a native of Tucson and a lifelong Arizona resident. She has over 20 years of experience working in nonprofits and higher education organizations in a variety of capacities, including fundraising, grant writing, project management, and executive leadership. As a consultant, she focuses on leadership development and strategic planning for community-based organizations. Her work has led her to speak at statewide conferences and offer training on workplace communication, cultural competence, allyship, and intersectionality. Dr. Freitchen was a first-generation student and has dedicated her career to removing barriers to accessing postsecondary education for historically marginalized populations. She holds a BA in Spanish Literature from the University of Arizona, an MS and MBA from Western Governors University, and an Ed.D. in Leadership and Innovation from Arizona State University. She is a graduate of UC Berkeley’s Executive Leadership Academy, the Hispanic Leadership Institute, Greater Tucson Leadership’s Lead Tucson, CSU Fullerton’s LIFT program, and is a member of the Sunnyside Foundation’s Hall of Fame. She is also a proud Star Wars nerd and shameless Disney Adult. She and her family own Presidio Comics, a Tucson-based comics and collectibles retail store. Please note: We invite members of the greater Global Citizens Circle community to contribute to GCC Voices. The views and opinions expressed in each blog post are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Global Citizens Circle. Decisions were increasingly made to dilute, minimize, or erase student-centered initiatives, especially those supporting students of color, queer students, disabled students, and other marginalized identities. It felt like we were being asked to hide our work — as if equity had become a liability rather than a value." - Dr. Esperanza Freitchen
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 By Nilab Ahmadi My journey to becoming my current self began when I realized women are often viewed as inferior to men in my community. I was born in a country where fathers would be upset if they were told they would have a girl. I later learned that these beliefs and misogynistic attitudes originate from a lack of education and are deeply embedded in Afghan culture. Growing up, I committed myself to working hard to transform my community and demonstrate women's strength. Since childhood, I have been passionate about leadership, community transformation, and supporting Afghan girls. As an Afghan girl often seen as inferior to men, I have always empathized with the struggles faced by others. At the age of 14, I began working with Afghan girls, teaching them basic English in a center specifically designed for women and young girls. In Afghanistan, girls and women were often restricted from work and education and had limited learning opportunities. Following the Taliban's rise to power in August 2021, women and girls were completely erased from the community, locked in their homes.  Nilab with her GCC family The restrictions and setbacks placed on women initially discouraged me. However, I saw these challenges as an opportunity to step up and speak out. I actively supported Afghan girls through social media, writing, and volunteering. This involvement led to my participation in Global Citizens Circle (GCC) in 2023, where I was a guest speaker at a Circle event, “Youth Resilience in Times of Conflict.” I spoke about the difficulties faced by Afghan girls and the education ban following the Taliban's return, addressing hundreds of attendees from around the world. I never expected this experience to unlock many meaningful opportunities and allow me to connect with amazing people who now feel like family. Today, I see GCC as my family—a safe space for growth, love, and support. In August 2023, I left Afghanistan to attend Duke University in the U.S. and pursue my graduate degree. My life changed dramatically after arriving in the U.S. I began my Master of Public Policy program at Duke University, a dream university, in a country I had wished to study in since childhood. Reflecting on 2023, I see a girl faced with numerous obstacles and challenges yet driven by a hunger for education. My resilience and passion for learning helped me persevere and achieve my goal of attending Duke University. Duke University has offered me numerous growth opportunities and helped me increase advocacy for Afghan girls and their issues through policy initiatives. This advocacy earned me the 'Forever Duke Student Leadership Award, a prestigious honor typically awarded to graduate students in recognition of their leadership contributions to the Duke community, and beyond.  Driven by my passion and enthusiasm for advocating Afghan girls' education—especially after the Taliban's rise—I recently launched a network called Rise Up To Learn. This initiative offers online schooling using STEAM-based apps for Afghan girls who have been prevented from attending school since the Taliban's takeover. Beyond education, Rise Up To Learn also provides opportunities for these girls to earn money by working on our projects, addressing the lack of employment opportunities in their country. The platform aims to be a safe, growth-oriented space where hundreds of girls can develop both professionally and economically. My vision for Rise Up To Learn is highly ambitious. I plan to grow this network into one of the world’s largest, so that no Afghan girl fears her future. With the Taliban closing schools, we will transform every home into a classroom. Additionally, as a policy professional, I aim to develop sustainable education policies in Afghanistan, strengthen the education system, and foster economic development opportunities upon my return. I eagerly anticipate a future where women and girls worldwide are liberated from the stress resulting from the denial of education and basic human rights. Nilab Ahmadi is a passionate advocate for youth and women’s education from Afghanistan, committed to advancing educational equity for women and girls. In response to the Taliban’s ban on education, she founded Rise Up To Learn, an initiative that provides digital learning and economic opportunities for Afghan girls. Her work bridges policy and practice to empower girls, challenge systemic barriers, and foster long-term social change. Please note: We invite members of the greater Global Citizens Circle community to contribute to GCC Voices. The views and opinions expressed in each blog post are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Global Citizens Circle. Growing up, I committed myself to working hard to transform my community and demonstrate women's strength. |
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