“Use Your Best Judgment” (and Other Ways Institutions Create Moral Injury)

Here’s how you know a policy is about to become your problem:

It’s clear in writing.

It’s flexible in conversation.

And it’s your “best judgment” when the fallout arrives.

This is not a blog about bathroom passes.

It’s a blog about administrative gray areas — and how teachers end up injured by them.

A quick vignette

A student asks to go to the restroom during class.

I follow the guidance we’ve been verbally given for years: restroom use during instruction is for emergencies.

She doesn’t like that answer.

A parent conversation follows.

So does an administrative clarification.

In writing, the directive is simple:

"If students need to go to the bathroom, let them go."

Great. Clean. Clear.

Except that’s not actually the expectation.

Because “emergency” apparently means:

• Not right now

• Ask again in five minutes

• See if they insist

• Keep them from roaming

• Use your best judgment

Those are not the same thing.

One is permission.

The other is conditional denial dressed as professionalism.

What teachers hear vs. what admin means

Let’s translate:

“Use your best judgment.”

→ You’re responsible, but unsupported if challenged.

“We’ve always done it this way.”

→ We are not revisiting this, even if it’s unclear.

“This has never been an issue.”

→ It’s only an issue now because you documented it.

“Be flexible.”

→ Until someone complains.

“Keep students in class.”

→ But don’t enforce it in a way that creates emails.

“We trust our teachers.”

→ As long as the outcome is convenient.

This is the administrative gray zone — where policies are vague enough to bend, but firm enough to blame.

And this is where moral injury lives.

Naming the moral injury

Moral injury happens when professionals are forced to act against their judgment, values, or training — or are punished for acting within them.

Teachers experience moral injury when:

• We are told to enforce expectations without backing

• Our authority is quietly undermined after the fact

• Our decisions are reframed as “poor judgment” instead of unclear policy

• We are told something has “never been an issue” when our lived experience says otherwise

This isn’t burnout.

Burnout is being tired.

This is betrayal by ambiguity.

It’s the slow erosion that comes from standing in front of students every day, expected to project certainty, while the system behind you refuses to be clear.

And let’s be honest: when administrators say “use your best judgment,” what they often mean is:

Absorb the risk so we don’t have to.

Respectfully — no.

The part we’re done pretending about

Teachers don’t need scripts.

We don’t need micromanagement.

And we definitely don’t need moving targets.

What we need is alignment.

If the goal is to limit hallway wandering, say that — clearly and consistently.

If flexibility is expected, back teachers publicly when they use it.

If guidance changes, acknowledge the change.

But stop pretending ambiguity is empowerment.

Because when policies live in the gray, teachers carry the weight — emotionally, professionally, and morally.

So yes, we will continue to use our best judgment.

We always have.

But if the system wants the benefits of professional discretion, it also needs to accept the responsibility that comes with it.

Clarity isn’t control.

It’s respect.

And if that request feels uncomfortable?

That’s probably because someone, somewhere, has been enjoying the gray a little too much.

Written with support from ChatGPT. “Monday” is a recurring writing voice/persona used throughout this blog.