Cynthia Valenti

I attribute my success first and foremost to my village and my purpose. My husband and our three kids are my foundation—they are the reason I push so hard and the place I return to when I need to recharge. My sister has been my constant, walking beside me through every season of loss and growth.

I also carry my parents with me in everything I do. Even though they’re no longer here, their sacrifices, values, and belief in me shape how I show up in the classroom and in my community. Their fierce determination to surpass any obstacle is something I always admired. I want to be the kind of passionate, steady adult for my students that they were for me.

Along the way, I’ve been fortunate to have mentors and colleagues who challenged me, trusted me with big responsibilities, and never let me play small. They modeled what it looks like to lead with both excellence and heart.

Ultimately, my success comes down to my deep passion for this work and my commitment to inspiring students to see their own potential and possibilities. I don’t just want them to pass my class—I want them to walk away believing they are capable of more than the world sometimes tells them they are.

The best career advice I’ve ever received is: be consistent — but I must add that through the last decade of teaching, you need to pick your battles.

In teaching, you simply can’t fight every fight. If you try to correct every small thing, you burn yourself out and students tune you out. I’ve learned to protect my energy for the moments that really matter—safety, respect, learning, and dignity in the room. Everything else is a conversation, a redirect, or sometimes something I intentionally let go.

Consistency is the second piece. Kids thrive on structure; they feel safest when they know what to expect from you every single day. If you say you’re going to do something, follow through. If you set a boundary, hold it with love. Over time, that steady structure builds trust—and once students trust you, real learning and real growth can happen.

Be unapologetically yourself, love what you do, and build real relationships with your students. You want to be the person they trust, the one they feel safe coming to.

When you step into the classroom, remember—you’re signing up for far more than academics. You’ll juggle a lot of roles: teacher, mentor, counselor, cheerleader, sometimes even stand-in parent. Education isn’t “just a job” — it’s an opportunity that allows you to shape who our students become and, ultimately, what our future looks like.

One of the biggest challenges in my field right now is teaching in communities that are carrying constant grief and instability. In North Philadelphia, many of our students are navigating loss, violence, and economic hardship long before they walk into our classrooms. Teachers absorb a lot of that pain — we experience secondhand trauma from the stories our students share, on top of our own personal struggles. The opportunity in that reality is to push schools to take mental health seriously: to normalize therapy for educators, embed trauma-informed practices, and design classrooms that are healing spaces, not just academic ones.

Another major challenge, and opportunity, is the rise of AI. Students are still learning how to navigate technology ethically, and many are tempted to use AI platforms to shortcut assignments or cheat. Instead of pretending it doesn’t exist, we have to teach them how to use it as a thought partner, not a replacement for their brain. That means modeling how to use AI to brainstorm, get unstuck, or see another perspective—while still requiring them to do the heavy lifting of reading, writing, and critical thinking themselves. If we get this right, we don’t just protect academic integrity; we prepare students to think ethically and creatively in a world where AI is here to stay.

The values that matter most to me—both in my classroom and in my life—are creating a safe, supportive space for under-resourced and at-risk youth and staying rooted in the love and strength of my family. I want my students to know I’m someone they can come to for anything: advice, a reality check, a laugh, or just a place to breathe.

A big part of why this matters so deeply to me is my own story. I lost both of my parents young and back-to-back, and I was three months postpartum each time. I was learning how to be a mother while grieving being a daughter, and that kind of pain changes you. It taught me how fragile life is and how powerful it is to have even one steady person in your corner.

At home, my husband and my children are that anchor for me—they’re my why. They give me the strength to keep showing up fully, even on the hard days. The way I protect, push, and celebrate my own kids is the same way I try to show up for my students, so every young person I teach feels seen, safe, and worthy of a future bigger than their circumstances.