Pivot

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.
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But for now, I’m learning, adjusting, and listening closely for what comes next.

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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.

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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