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May 2025

Head of School Message, May 2025

Thriving Together: A Year of Growing Present

I. Prologue: A Chorus in the Dark

The Head of School’s office sits just steps from the top of the auditorium. One afternoon this spring, while replying to emails, I paused—drawn by a quiet swell of voices rising up through the hallway.

“When you’re weary... feeling small...”

It was familiar—gentle at first, almost uncertain. Then more voices joined. Confident. Layered. Open.

“Like a bridge over troubled water... I will lay me down.”

By the time the chorus reached its full swell, it felt like all of Squirrel Hill was singing.

I stepped into the darkened auditorium. The scent of fresh upholstery still lingered, the walls lined with photos of past performances. Onstage stood more than 100 Upper School students—our full chorus, lit softly against a black backdrop. I remembered when this group was fewer than 20.

Some students swayed. Others stood still, eyes on the conductor. One or two cast furtive glances sideways, checking if they were singing too loudly, or not loudly enough. The kind of posture only middle schoolers can hold: half-bold, half-unsure, completely present.

But every face was visible—nothing in their hands, no glow of a screen between them.

This is what we imagined.

When we launched Thriving Together, we weren’t just limiting screens. We were creating space—for focus, for friendship, for presence. We hoped students wouldn’t just avoid something—we hoped they’d find something. This was it. This was life with our phones put away.

That same afternoon, I made my way down to Darlington Field. Our undefeated girls’ lacrosse team was taking the field—fully rostered, bursting with talent and energy. On the stone spectator wall, parents, siblings, friends, and teachers gathered, the kind of turnout that feels like home.

Every part of that day reminded me why we began this work—not with a list of restrictions, but with a vision of what it looks like when young people are free to be fully themselves. Not curated. Not distracted. Just present. Together.

And in that auditorium, as those voices lifted, I heard more than a song.

I heard joy with no filter.  I heard a childhood reclaimed.  I heard the sound of growing up—together.

II. Before the Music: Why We Launched Thriving Together

Long before the chorus filled the auditorium, we were listening to a different kind of noise.

There was the fatigue—the kind that settles in when every moment is connected, every silence filled. There was the quiet pressure of curated lives on social media, where childhood started to feel like a performance. There was a restlessness in classrooms designed for attention but stretched thin by distraction. And there was worry—not just about what students were doing online, but about what they were missing while they were there.

So we turned to the people who know our students best: their families.

More than half—54%—told us they welcomed a school-based partnership and personal guidance to navigate these growing challenges. 27% saw value in a community agreement, but preferred to set expectations at home. Another 12% hoped for a parent-led model, supported by the school.

No one asked us to stay on the sidelines.

One parent wrote:
“My child is a people pleaser who tries hard to meet others’ expectations. I worry about what that looks like on social media—the pressure to be liked, to be seen a certain way. I want her to use technology as a tool, not a mirror.”

Another shared:
“We limit screens at home. But it’s hard to hold the line when the world feels like it’s speeding up. If the school can stand beside us—not in judgment, but in support—that would be a gift.”

That word stayed with me: support.

Thriving Together wasn’t designed to impose or restrict. It was designed to accompany. To offer students and families a clear, research-informed path when the cultural messages are fractured and contradictory. To say, quietly and confidently: childhood is still worth protecting.

In a world that profits from our distraction, our calling is different. It’s to cultivate clarity. To teach presence. To create the conditions where children can grow not just connected, but rooted.

That’s where this began.

III. What We Chose Together—and What We’ve Seen Since

When we launched Thriving Together, it wasn’t a campaign against screens. It was a commitment to something more enduring: attention, presence, and the slow, essential work of growing up. In a world of constant connection, we chose to protect the kind of connection that matters most.

Together, our community made four clear commitments:
  1. No personal mobile devices during the school day.

  2. No smartphones before age 14.

  3. No social media until after graduation from SEA.

  4. A shared investment in in-person experiences, supported by common norms.

These weren’t restrictions. They were recalibrations—meant to make room for students to be fully where they are, and more deeply who they are.

For our middle school students, the shift was especially significant. Before Thriving Together, phones came out between classes. At lockers. At lunch. They filled silences, bridged awkward moments, and sometimes offered relief from the quiet anxieties of adolescence. Now, phones are collected at the start of each day. The distraction didn’t just diminish—it disappeared.

And almost immediately, something else appeared in its place.

Students began greeting one another with words instead of glances at a screen. Locker banks filled with chatter, not chimes. Lunchtimes grew louder, but in the best way—more conversation, more laughter, more invitations to join in. Transitions between classes took longer, not because of delays, but because students were lingering. They were present.

We saw it in the arts, where more than 100 Upper School students filled our spring stage—five times what we saw just a few years ago. We saw it on the lacrosse field, where a deeply committed team finished the season with only one loss. And we saw it in the quiet corners too—in clubs, in rehearsal spaces, in classrooms where students were no longer dividing their attention.

The awkward moments didn’t vanish. But they became part of the day again—something shared, something seen. And over time, students began to name the difference.

“It’s easier to talk to people when no one’s checking their phone every few seconds.” — Grade 7

“I thought I’d miss it. But it’s actually a break. One less thing to worry about.” — Grade 8

Not one formal complaint. Not one policy protest. Just students, settling into a new kind of rhythm.

And that quiet affirmation echoes far beyond our school.

According to Pew Research, 48% of teens now say social media is mostly harmful to their mental health. Only 11% say it helps. Students across the country are beginning to say out loud what they’ve felt for some time: that the promise of constant connection comes at a cost. That curation is exhausting. That what they need isn’t always more—but less. Less noise. Less pressure. Less performance.

We took the phones—not because we distrust our students, but because we believe in what’s possible when the noise fades.
We believed that with fewer distractions, they would focus more.  That with fewer filters, they would show up more authentically. That with fewer interruptions, they would start to listen—to each other, and to themselves.

And that’s exactly what we’ve seen. We asked our students to put their phones away.  What they gave us back was themselves.

IV. Where We Go From Here

Thriving Together was never just about phones. It was about priorities. And those priorities remain—now with new opportunities for growth.

As we look ahead to Year Two, our work continues, not through control, but through commitment. We’ll deepen boundaries around school devices, especially Chromebooks in Grade 5, where independence is blooming but habits are still forming. We’ll intervene early—gently, firmly—when student behavior online or off veers from our Core Values of respect, honesty, responsibility, service, understanding, and high standards.

We’ll also do more to model as adults what we ask of children. Technology will remain part of our lives. But so will the challenge of using it with intention. The question isn’t whether we’ll use our devices, but whether they’ll use us. Our students are watching—not just what we say, but how we scroll, when we pause, and whether we look up.

But perhaps the most powerful work still lives at the intersection of home and school. Our four commitments are strong, but they are not mandates. There is no contract required to join this community, no pledge to pass before enrollment is offered. These are research-informed recommendations we hope families will consider, adopt, and personalize.

We know that every home carries its own rhythms—its own seasons, needs, and realities. Some parents must be reachable across time zones. Some students rely on assistive tools. Some families are balancing older siblings, blended households, or unique routines. Thriving Together was never meant to erase those differences. It was meant to hold them—gently—within a larger commitment. Not to uniformity, but to alignment. Not to sameness, but to shared direction. A common horizon, even if we arrive by different paths.

We offer the Family Pledge not as a litmus test, but as a lantern—a way to illuminate the values we share, the hopes we hold, and the future we’re building side by side.

As new technologies emerge—none more urgent than artificial intelligence—we will bring the same spirit of care, curiosity, and discernment to our next chapter. Just as Thriving Together brought clarity to how we live with phones, our forthcoming framework for AI will guide how we engage with tools that are rapidly reshaping the world.

This framework will not be delivered from above. It will be shaped with the insight of teachers, families, trustees, and students. It will ask how we can use AI to help teachers spot learning trends and personalize feedback—without replacing the human intuition that defines great teaching. It will ask how students can explore the potential of AI while still developing the foundational thinking, writing, and problem-solving skills that anchor real learning.

Most importantly, it will be rooted in our Core Values—so that innovation never outpaces ethics, and curiosity is always paired with responsibility.

St. Edmund’s Academy does not prepare children for the world as it was. We prepare them for the world they will help shape. And we do that best when we walk forward—together, clear-eyed and open-hearted, toward what comes next.

V. The Sound of Becoming

It’s been more than a month since that moment in the auditorium, but I still hear it.
The slow swell of voices.
The blend of harmony and nerves.
The students—some swaying, some still—finding their place in the music.

There was something almost fragile about it. Something brave.

I remember standing in the back, unnoticed, and thinking how rare this kind of stillness has become—not the absence of sound, but the absence of interruption. No phones in hands. No distractions tugging at the edges. Just students, fully in it. Together.

It’s easy, at times, to forget what childhood sounds like when it isn’t competing with a screen. But there it was: a chorus, uncurated and unscripted. It didn’t go viral. It didn’t trend. But it was true.

We talk often about preparing students for the world they will inherit. And that matters. But part of our work is helping them live well in the moment they’re in. To hold their own attention. To navigate a silence without fearing it. To laugh without checking if anyone is watching. To be awkward, and earnest, and kind.

This is the quiet promise of Thriving Together: that by setting devices aside, we’re not taking something away—we’re making room. For focus. For friendship. For joy. For the small, flickering moments that shape a childhood, if we’re wise enough to let them.

And if there is one gift a school can offer its families, it’s not certainty. It’s not control. It’s not even knowledge, though we work hard to build that too.

It’s this: the space for your children to grow into themselves without performance, without pretense—lit from within, not from a screen.

That day in the auditorium, I didn’t hear a policy working. I heard a generation rising.

May your summer be full of discovery, rest, and the kinds of moments that remind us why childhood matters. We look forward to welcoming you back in August—to another year of children being known and valued for who they are, challenged to become their best by teachers who care, and lifted by the friendships that help them thrive.

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  • Photo of Chad Barnett

    Dr. Chad Barnett 

    Head of School
    (412)521-1907 x115

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St. Edmund's Academy

5705 Darlington Road   •   Pittsburgh, PA  15217
412.521.1907     •     info@stedmunds.net
Guided by our Core Values and commitment to high standards, St. Edmund’s Academy provides a diverse, inclusive, and nurturing learning community where students are known, valued, and challenged to achieve their potential.