#TeacherReflection

[persimmonsrain]

Teaching = connecting

Teaching, at its core, is a deeply human endeavor. Beyond instructional strategies and curriculum outcomes, what often sustains teachers through the demands of the profession is not just the act of teaching itself but the relationships formed within it. Human connection in the classroom is not a sentimental bonus; it is a central, evidence-based contributor to both teacher effectiveness and well-being.

Educational psychology increasingly acknowledges teaching as an emotionally laborious and relational practice. As Hargreaves (1998) asserted in his seminal work, The Emotional Practice of Teaching, "Good teaching is charged with positive emotion. It is not just a matter of knowing one's subject, being efficient, having correct competencies, or learning the right techniques." Rather, good teaching “arises out of the relationships teachers build with their students.”

This idea is echoed and expanded upon by Sarah Mercer (2016), who emphasizes that language teaching in particular is inherently affective and relational. She argues that the quality of interpersonal relationships in the classroom significantly impacts both learner success and teacher well-being. Teachers who feel connected to their students are more likely to experience intrinsic motivation, job satisfaction, and resilience (Mercer, 2016; Yin et al., 2019).

From a cognitive science perspective, the social brain hypothesis suggests that our brains are evolutionarily wired for connection (Dunbar, 1998). Social interactions stimulate neural circuits related to empathy, reward, and meaning-making suggesting that the emotional bonds we form in classrooms are not only psychologically satisfying but neurologically reinforcing. This could explain why something as simple as a student’s enthusiastic participation, or an appreciative glance during a lesson, feels deeply rewarding.

Positive psychology offers further insight. Fredrickson’s Broaden-and-Build Theory of Positive Emotions (2001) posits that positive emotional exchanges such as those between teacher and student enhance our cognitive flexibility, build resilience, and create upward spirals of well-being. These brief yet powerful moments of interpersonal resonance contribute not only to teacher flourishing but to more dynamic, trusting classroom environments.

In practical terms, these human interactions can turn a routine lesson into something meaningful. A simple “thank you” after class, a student bravely asking a question, or the shy learner finally laughing out loud, these micro-moments of trust and joy are small, but they accumulate. They are often what teachers remember long after the term ends.

As a language teacher, I often receive affirmations from my students, verbal and non-verbal, that they feel safe, seen, and engaged. These connections don’t just help them learn. They help me teach.

There are days when I enter the classroom exhausted, uncertain, or quiet from life’s weight. And then, something shifts. A student greets me with a smile, another asks a follow-up question from yesterday’s lesson, and sometimes the quietest one says, “I like today’s activity.” These may seem like small things, but in the life of a teacher, they are everything. They remind me that presence matters. That being human in the classroom isn't a flaw; it's a gift.

And so, while we prepare our materials and plan our outcomes, it’s worth remembering that no learning happens in a vacuum. The relational space we co-create with our students may be the most powerful pedagogy of all.

It is in those shared silences, honest laughter, and mutual care that we not only build understanding but belonging. And in that belonging, we teach and are taught in return.

How do you nurture meaningful connections in your own learning or teaching spaces?

Selected References:

Fredrickson, B. L. (2001). The role of positive emotions in positive psychology: The broaden-and-build theory of positive emotions. American Psychologist, 56(3), 218–226.

Hargreaves, A. (1998). The emotional practice of teaching. Teaching and Teacher Education, 14(8), 835–854.

Mercer, S. (2016). Teacher well-being and the complexity of language teaching. In Gkonou, T., Tatzl, D., & Mercer, S. (Eds.), New Directions in Language Learning Psychology (pp. 103–123). Springer.

Yin, H., Huang, S., & Wang, W. (2019). Work environment characteristics and teacher well-being: The mediation of emotion regulation strategies. International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, 16(24), 4701.

Dunbar, R. I. M. (1998). The social brain hypothesis. Evolutionary Anthropology, 6(5), 178–190.

[tbluemargarita-blog]

“Do not confine your children to your own learning, for they were born in another time.”
– Chinese proverb . My reflection 01 . Every time I am with my class, I can hear myself telling them stories about how we survived college days despite the challenges. My intention is to make them realize that if I was able to do it, they can, too. I can see no problem about that. . However, there are days when I advised them to do exactly what I did before. I always forget that they are born in different time. Therefore, whatever my strategies before may not work anymore for them. . Also, I noticed that we always blame this new generation because of their behavior in utilizing technology. They seemed to be addicted. Most of them are now drowned by technological advancements. . What we forgot to realize is that this new generation are actually young people who are just victims of their time. . Their addiction is actually a TOTAL DISTRACTION that may lead to DESTRUCTION of their promised FUTURE. . Yes, they have their own time. . But, as educators, it is still our responsibility to guide them. . We should be able to adapt to their new way of learning, so we can teach them effectively. . It is still our responsibilities to shape them to become responsibe individuals. #teachingandlearning #teacherreflection #learning #educationquotes #education (at Davao del Norte State College) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bw0gAcXDTMp/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=2henbpayp62o

[introvertedonlineteacher]

Hello! Interested in online ESL teaching but nervous about whether it’s right for you? Stay tuned for tips, resources, and personal experiences about this wonderful field of work from a fellow introvert and previous B&M teacher! ⠀

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#teachonline #teachenglishonline #workfromhome #teachersofinstagram #vipkid #sidehustle #workanywhere #introvert #introvertproblems #introvertthoughts #introvertteacher #teacherselfcare #teacherreflections #canva #theintrovertedonlineteacher

[omniscribe]

Regarding Writing Feedback

My professor gives me really nice, sensitive, specific feedback on my writing.

Even so, reading any kind of critique on my work makes me self-destruct. So, I’ll never be able to be a writer of any kind. But that’s besides the point.

I need to back the hell off on my student’s writing. I used to take pride in my snarky feedback to my students. Now, I’m absolutely ashamed of myself and will never make the kinds of comments I used to. 

If his really worthy critique is making me, an accomplished, intelligent master’s student, feel worthless, how does me saying “What are you even saying here?” make an average high school student feel? Probably like shit.

Reflection over.

[colabonl2-blog]

English-Medium Instruction (EMI) Teacher Reflection

[persimmonsrain]

No shortcut to becoming

There’s an old allure to the idea of a shortcut especially when it comes to success. We are taught to aim higher, reach faster, optimize everything. And every so often, a story or a promise comes along that whispers: you don’t have to wait, you don’t have to work that hard, you can skip the queue.

In the movie Shortcut to Happiness, a struggling writer sells his soul to the devil in exchange for instant success. Fame, praise, and comfort come swiftly. But the satisfaction doesn’t. The so-called “success” leaves a hollow echo. What’s missing is the journey, the slow, often painful, but deeply shaping process of becoming.

This idea reaches beyond fiction. In real life, too, success that arrives too quickly or without effort rarely fulfills. There’s something deeply human about struggle, something essential in the discipline of failing forward.

In Islamic tradition, this is where the concept of ṣabr (patience) becomes not just a virtue, but a form of strength. It’s not about waiting quietly or passively enduring hardship. It’s about holding on when the process feels long, when progress is slow, when recognition is unseen. The Qur’an says:

"Indeed, Allah is with those who are patient." — Surah Al-Baqarah (2:153)

And isn’t that what teaching and learning demand of us?

As a teacher, I often feel the pull of the “shortcut.” Maybe a new technique will speed things up. Maybe a viral worksheet will finally fix everything. Maybe there’s a way to make fluency feel instant. But I’ve learned again and again that there’s no substitute for meaningful, mindful, earned learning.

Learning a language, especially, is a kind of becoming. A reshaping of how one sees, names, and belongs in the world. It cannot be rushed. There are no real shortcuts to knowing, to expressing, to truly understanding.

My students need time to stumble before they can stand.

They need space to speak badly before they speak well.

They need belief not just in the outcome, but in the process itself.

And I need that reminder too.

Sometimes it’s tempting to see delays—whether in flight, in life, or in the classroom—as setbacks. But I’m learning to see them as pauses with a purpose. Just like my recent travels reminded me: even in waiting, we are learning. Even in stillness, something is moving.

So no, there is no shortcut to happiness. No shortcut to success. No shortcut to becoming.

But maybe that’s the point.

Because what we build slowly, we hold deeply. And what we shape with patience, shapes us in return.

What about you? What have you learned from the journeys you couldn’t rush?

[persimmonsrain]

What more can I give?

I love my job. I love my students.

These are not just words I say at the end of a good class or a fulfilling week. They are words I carry even on days when the grammar drills fall flat, when internet glitches slow down the rhythm, or when a student’s silence speaks louder than their participation. I love them not just because of who they are, but because of who they are becoming and how they allow me to be part of that becoming.

But loving what I do does not mean I don’t question myself.

Sometimes I lie awake and wonder: What more can I give? Not in the sense of overworking or stretching myself too thin, but in the deeper sense: am I helping them see themselves as learners? As people capable of thought, of agency, of choice?

Can I do more to make my classroom a place where asking a question feels braver than getting the right answer? Can I give more of what matters, not more worksheets, but more space? More silence to think, more invitations to speak, more stories that say: You’re not alone.

My students come from different realities. Some carry burdens heavier than their schoolbags. Some are the first in their families to dream out loud. Some are still learning what it means to feel safe in a classroom. And I think: how do I reach them not just as a teacher, but as a witness?

So I ask myself again: If I already give my time, my planning, my feedback, my energy, can I also give them belief? The kind that doesn’t always need to be said but can be felt?

And how can I teach in a way that leaves my students more whole than I found them?

[colabonl2-blog]

#CoLabOnL2: Greater than 50% of the world's international students are taught in English.

Ball, P. & Lindsay, D. (2012). “Language Demands and Support for English-Medium Instruction in Tertiary Education. Learning from a Specific Context.” In A. Doiz, D. Lasagabaster, & J. M. Sierra, English-Medium Instruction at Universities: Global Challenges (44-61). Multilingual Matters.