Daily Inspiration: Meet Susan Franklin

Today we’d like to introduce you to Susan Franklin.

Hi Susan, thanks for sharing your story with us. To start, maybe you can tell our readers some of your backstory.
Becoming a teacher in the fifth decade of my life was one of the most fulfilling experiences I have ever known.

It happened during one of the most turbulent times of my life. After thirty-one years of marriage, I was going through a divorce. My father had just died. And my very first year in the classroom coincided with 9/11. By every measure, the world—both personal and collective—was breaking apart.

Yet all of that was somehow overshadowed by something profound: a lifelong dream was finally being fulfilled. I was a teacher.

I came to the classroom well prepared, though not in the traditional, linear way. I earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology, which gave me a deep understanding of human behavior, motivation, and emotional development. I later completed a master’s degree in education with an emphasis on English as a Second Language, and I continue to hold my teaching certificate. What I brought with me was both academic grounding and a deep respect for how children actually learn—through connection, safety, and trust.

Year after year, my students achieved the highest scores in the school. Many of them were Hispanic, and more English-language learners in my classroom became fluent more quickly than in any other class. Teachers who had been teaching far longer than I had were baffled. I was baffled too.

At the time, I didn’t analyze it. I simply taught.

My approach was simple. I paired an English-speaking child with a non-English-speaking child. Whatever I said, the English-speaking child repeated to their partner. That was it. No complicated system. No rigid program. And yet—it worked. Almost miraculously.

Recently, I revisited a book called Tribes. I hadn’t read it back then, yet my classroom functioned exactly as the book describes. Without realizing it, I had created a tribe.

My classroom became a family.

We helped one another succeed. Every child mattered. I was the teacher, yes—but the students were just as essential to the success of the classroom and to one another’s growth. Learning was something we did together, not something that was done to them.

And that was the secret.

It wasn’t about technique alone. It was about care. Belonging. Responsibility to one another. When children felt seen, valued, and needed—not just by me, but by each other—they rose.

Looking back now, I understand something even deeper. While “family” was not working in my own life at that time, inside that classroom I helped build the family—and the world—that I longed for. A place of mutual respect, safety, encouragement, and shared purpose.

Today, I am retired from teaching, but that work is not finished in me.

I am now in the process of creating a business that carries what I accomplished in my classroom into the wider world—helping children, parents, and teachers create the same kind of environment in their homes, schools, workplaces, and lives. A place where people succeed not because they are pushed, but because they belong. A place where caring for one another becomes the engine for growth.

What worked then still works now.

And the world needs it more than ever.

Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way. Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
It wasn’t a smooth road until I actually became a teacher.

In my twenties, when I first considered teaching, a mean-spirited professor told our class there were no jobs and that we’d be lucky if even one of us succeeded. He then humiliated another student, saying they’d never become a teacher. Though the words weren’t aimed at me, my sensitive nature absorbed them, and my desire to teach quietly disappeared.

Life took over. My husband moved from job to job, and financial security became the priority. I worked as a word processor at a law firm—it paid well but didn’t feed my soul. I loved raising my two daughters, but my deeper calling stayed on hold. Money and practicality guided my choices more than what I truly wanted.

Everything changed when my life imploded—my marriage ended, my father died, and fear loosened its grip. I finally chose myself. At first, I planned to become a therapist, but a professor told me teaching jobs were plentiful—the opposite of what I’d been told years earlier. This time, I listened.

Once I chose teaching, the road was smooth. Not easy—but aligned.

The struggle hadn’t been about becoming a teacher.

It had been about learning to trust my own voice.

Thanks – so what else should our readers know about your work and what you’re currently focused on?
One of my closest friends today is my former principal, Dr. Ana.

We bonded when she first became principal, a time that coincided with the tragic death of her son in a motorcycle accident. She stepped into a failing school while carrying deep grief and immediately began making needed changes. I admired her right away, though many teachers resisted her leadership.

Because of her loss, she occasionally forgot small logistical details, which some teachers used as justification to organize a mutiny through the union and district. I didn’t join them. I stood up for her at every level because I saw her integrity, vision, and heart. Over time, those leading the opposition left, and others found the courage to support her as well.

I wasn’t the neatest teacher, but my classroom worked. My methods were intuitive, not rigid, and she trusted me because she saw the results my students achieved. One principal who came after her once told me, “You know every one of your students backwards and forwards.”

That is what I want to share now—methods rooted in intuition, relationship, and care—because schools across our nation are struggling, and I want to help make them better.

What matters most to you?
What matters most to me is belonging with purpose.

It matters that people—especially children—feel seen, valued, and safe enough to become who they truly are. It matters that learning happens in relationship, not fear. That no child, teacher, or parent feels invisible or disposable.

What matters most is creating environments where people lift one another up, where success is shared, and where intuition, compassion, and humanity are honored alongside structure and standards.

I care deeply about restoring what is often lost—in schools, families, and systems: trust, dignity, and connection. I believe when people feel they belong, they rise naturally. I saw it happen again and again in my classroom, and I know it can happen again in the world.

At this stage of my life, what matters most is using what I learned—through struggle, teaching, leadership, and love—to help others create spaces where people thrive.

That is the work that feels true.
That is what endures.
That is what matters most.