I am relatively new to the independent school space. I spent my first 20 years after graduate school working in service of public education—large systems, complex structures, and policies that required careful coordination across districts and states. It was meaningful, mission-driven work, and I was proud to be part of it.
However, when it was time for my children to start school, I chose something different and enrolled them in a small independent school in my community. From the very first visit, St. Anne’s School of Annapolis (MD) felt familiar in the best possible way. It reminded me of the preK–8 independent school I had attended as a child—close-knit, joyful, and deeply rooted in relationships.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, I worked at the federal level as systems struggled to respond, while my children’s independent school pivoted quickly and thoughtfully. Watching that contrast made me realize I wanted to be in a place agile enough to turn ideas into action within a single school year—and ultimately led me to work at St. Anne’s. As I made the transition from public education to working for an independent school, one core belief remained constant: school is more than school. In every setting, school is not only about academics. It is about community. It is about safety and security. It is about meeting students’ needs for belonging, connection, and self-esteem.
That belief remained the lens through which I approached my first year in an independent school, where I began as a school counselor for grades five through eight. Students who had gotten into trouble often made their way to my office, frustrated and tearful. As someone who chronically thinks in systems, I began to wonder what we, as a school community, could do to reduce the number of students finding themselves in these situations.
That question brought me back to my previous work, where I had partnered with states and school districts to use office discipline referral (ODR) data to inform policy and practice. Drawing on that experience, I wondered how our school could use ODR data to identify behavioral patterns and implement targeted interventions that might reduce the frequency of this experience for both students and administrators.
ODR data is deeply rooted in public education, where it has long been required documentation. But I began to see how this “public school tool” might translate into an independent school context—one where we could act on insights immediately.
Why Discipline Data Matters More Than We Think
When I suggested using ODR data to the senior administrative team during my first year working at the school, it felt like I was going out on a limb. There was some hesitation from my colleagues. Would this feel too bureaucratic? Too formal? Too impersonal for our community? I understood the concern, knowing that what makes independent schools special is that we know our students, we know our families, and we pride ourselves on relationships.
But I also knew that relationships aren’t the opposites of measurement; in the best schools, they fuel each other. With the strong support of my head of school, I persevered. I explained to colleagues that, office discipline referrals are not merely an index of student behavior; they are an index of the discipline systems within a school. They tell us as much about adult practices and institutional structures as they do about children’s actions.
According to a 2004 Journal of Positive Behavioral Interventions study, interpretations of ODR data inherently reflect values—about which behaviors are deemed problematic and about how schools respond. Often, these values operate implicitly. By collecting and reviewing data intentionally, we make those values visible. We create an opportunity to identify our blind spots and ask better questions.
And then there is the larger context—the one that makes “better questions” not just a professional goal, but a moral responsibility. Studies, such as the one examined in The Review of Educational Research’s 2021 article, “Disproportionality Reduction in Exclusionary School Discipline: A Best-Evidence Synthesis,” consistently demonstrate that students who are African American, Latinx, or American Indian/Alaskan Native; students who are male; students diagnosed with disabilities; and students from low socioeconomic backgrounds are more likely to experience exclusionary discipline practices such as suspension and expulsion—a phenomenon known as disproportionality.
Even more concerning, a 2024 study, “The Plight of Persistently Disciplined Students: Examining Frequent Flyers and the Conversion of Office Discipline Referrals Into Suspensions,” suggests that disparities are often amplified among students who are persistently referred for disciplinary reasons. If school is about belonging, then discipline practices deserve our careful, reflective attention.
From Idea to Action: Building a Better System
Once we had named the “why,” the next question was practical: What would this look like in our own hallways, our own classrooms, our own community? Grounded in the research cited above and guided by our mission, we began collecting and reviewing office discipline referral data at St. Anne’s School.
Each time a student is sent to a program head or senior administrator for disciplinary reasons, we complete a short online form. The form includes the student’s name; the date, time, and location of the incident; a brief description of what occurred; and the level of infraction as outlined in our family handbook.
We designed the reporting system to be intentionally simple because we wanted it to be sustainable. The form takes only a few minutes to complete. Some administrators enter information in real time; others jot notes and enter data later. The system works because it is manageable—and because we use the data.
Three times a year, program heads and senior administrators gather to review trends. We examine disproportionality across race and ethnicity, gender, grade level, and intervention service recipients. We analyze severity levels. We look at patterns by time of day, location, and month.
These meetings are not about blame. They are about curiosity. They are about asking, “What story is our data telling us—and what might we do differently?”
What the Data Taught Us (and What We Did Next)
True to independent school spirit, we took a public-school practice and adapted it to fit our context, making it flexible, responsive, and mission-aligned. And we have learned an extraordinary amount through this process.
In our first year, we discovered that most disciplinary referrals were occurring in hallways and during two specific classes. That insight led directly to targeted teacher training and staffing adjustments. Later, when we implemented a cellphone-free policy, hallway referrals dropped dramatically. The change was immediate and measurable.
More recently, we examined referrals by month and noticed clear peaks in September for the most minor offenses that make their way to an administrator—when routines are still forming—and again in February, following winter break. Rather than viewing this as inevitable, we treated it as actionable information. We expanded responsive classroom training prior to the start of school, which provides educators with practical strategies to build caring classrooms through social, behavioral, and well-being competencies, and added a mid-year refresher in February. By anticipating moments of transition, we aimed to proactively strengthen community norms.
Of course, we continue to grow in certain areas. We have observed disproportionate referrals among male students and students who receive intervention services. Notably, students who receive intervention services receive more referrals for classroom disruption and perceived disrespect than their representation in the student body would predict. While these patterns mirror longstanding national trends, we are committed to responding in innovative ways within our own community.
What has shifted most, however, are the questions we now ask. Instead of focusing primarily on consequences, we are examining instructional environments. How might classroom design, pacing, active engagement, or teacher language reduce friction points? How can we equip teachers with strategies that support regulation and engagement before behavior escalates?
In the end, this is why the data matters. If school is more than school—if it is about belonging—then discipline data is not about punishment. It is about alignment. It is about ensuring that our systems reflect our values. And in an independent school setting, where flexibility is a strength, it is about having the courage to notice patterns and the agility to respond.