Within the last week, I have done two things that have made me really angry with myself.
They were not times that I was "too hard on myself" or "taking myself too seriously" (though those certainly do happen from time to time). Nope. And they weren't "honest mistake" moments. I was mad. It was an "I know better; why would I do that?" kind of angry.
It did not feel good.
If I were to try to find an upside to these frustrations, it might be that both incidents were highly motivating; I wanted to remedy them as soon as possible. My emotional response launched me into action immediately, inspired by some inner need to represent what I know is my best self. I may have been cringing inwardly with embarrassment the whole time, but by golly, I took responsibility.
And here's what's interesting to me, in terms of my teaching practice: No one shamed me in the choices I made. If anything, I felt fully supported and loved as I worked through them. The desire to make things right came completely from within, from a feeling of remorse. So often, we teachers impose ourselves into the scenes unfolding from our students' choices, providing the narrative that we think is essential for learning to occur.
"It's not nice to..."
"We don't..."
"That's not a good choice."
But when we do this, I wonder if we're imposing a sense of guilt, rather than allowing the space for remorse. Guilt comes from the outside in. While it may call us to action, the action is about placating. Guilt inspires rote apologies, hollow promises, passive listening with averted eyes. Tempting as it may be to issue our own moral spin on the situation (does it feel more productive, somehow?), perhaps we can instead be a neutral source of support and see what comes up for the child.
"When you took the toy out of his hands, he cried."
"She walked away. It looks like she doesn't want to play anymore."
"His face looks angry."
Remorse - the response that springs up from within us and drives us to act - isn't fun. But there is a kind of satisfaction in knowing you are doing what you can to atone. That's where the learning happens; in feeling those feelings, in letting them inform what we do next.
Let's give that opportunity to our students. And to one another.
They were not times that I was "too hard on myself" or "taking myself too seriously" (though those certainly do happen from time to time). Nope. And they weren't "honest mistake" moments. I was mad. It was an "I know better; why would I do that?" kind of angry.
It did not feel good.
If I were to try to find an upside to these frustrations, it might be that both incidents were highly motivating; I wanted to remedy them as soon as possible. My emotional response launched me into action immediately, inspired by some inner need to represent what I know is my best self. I may have been cringing inwardly with embarrassment the whole time, but by golly, I took responsibility.
And here's what's interesting to me, in terms of my teaching practice: No one shamed me in the choices I made. If anything, I felt fully supported and loved as I worked through them. The desire to make things right came completely from within, from a feeling of remorse. So often, we teachers impose ourselves into the scenes unfolding from our students' choices, providing the narrative that we think is essential for learning to occur.
"It's not nice to..."
"We don't..."
"That's not a good choice."
But when we do this, I wonder if we're imposing a sense of guilt, rather than allowing the space for remorse. Guilt comes from the outside in. While it may call us to action, the action is about placating. Guilt inspires rote apologies, hollow promises, passive listening with averted eyes. Tempting as it may be to issue our own moral spin on the situation (does it feel more productive, somehow?), perhaps we can instead be a neutral source of support and see what comes up for the child.
"When you took the toy out of his hands, he cried."
"She walked away. It looks like she doesn't want to play anymore."
"His face looks angry."
Remorse - the response that springs up from within us and drives us to act - isn't fun. But there is a kind of satisfaction in knowing you are doing what you can to atone. That's where the learning happens; in feeling those feelings, in letting them inform what we do next.
Let's give that opportunity to our students. And to one another.
