Keep Showing Up
A principal's field notes on feeling unwelcome in classrooms
I sat in the classroom next to other students. While they wrote in their journals, I wrote in my notebook. I would document comments they made to me or their peers, talking aloud about their writing ideas. If it was silent, I would notice the classroom and write a rich description of the experience, such as how the desks were positioned in small groups to encourage peer interactions.
I also noticed that the teacher would subtly follow me around the classroom. I would move to another pod and chat with kids, and she would follow suit, moving to a student closer to me to conduct a writing conference. I had to move around several times over multiple classroom visits to confirm that this was a pattern and intentional.
Why was this happening? What was the teacher worried about when I interacted with the students? I always shared a copy of my notes with her and commented on what I appreciated about her instruction. Was it me? It got to a point where I could feel a pit in my stomach anytime I entered this teacher’s classroom for my next informal visit.
This is a consistent experience for leaders. Both prior to publishing my book on leading like a coach and ever since, I have talked to many school leaders about this. I get a myriad of reasons why they don’t get into classrooms on a regular basis: they don’t feel they have enough time; they have too many traditional observations to complete; they believe they don’t know enough about a grade level or subject area.
When I posed this issue to readers in 2022, one person stated their concern succinctly:
“I feel unwelcome in classrooms.”
When I read and reread this comment, a flood of emotions surfaced. First, sadness for this leader who felt their presence was having a negative influence on someone else. Second, compassion in that, just like the teacher situation I just described, I knew exactly what they were talking about. Finally, curiosity. What were the root causes of this sense of unwelcomeness that we both felt?
In my situation, I took some time to reflect on where this anxiety demonstrated by this teacher was coming from. It didn’t take me long to remember that this school I was currently leading had six principals in the previous ten years I was there. Administrators come and go. Even though my family and I had bought a house in the city and I had made a verbal commitment to being in the building long term, it apparently wasn’t enough for this teacher.
But I also realized it wasn’t about me. She was responding to what she was used to: a revolving door of leadership that only sits in classrooms when it is the teacher’s summative evaluation year. This teacher was protecting a part of her that still wasn’t sure if I was showing up regularly with the best of intentions.
Following this conclusion, I realized what I had to do: keep showing up. Continue to ensure my visits were low stakes. Always hand over my notes and make at least one positive comment before I left the classroom. I had to teach her that I was safe and there first to celebrate her strengths before offering any feedback for improvement.
Over time, the teacher stopped trailing me in the classroom. Instead of constantly casting her eyes in my direction, she would bring over small groups to her table for guided reading while I hung out with the rest of the students. It eventually felt like we were co-teachers in the classroom. For example, I sat with one student she asked me to pay attention to during writing time. “Let me know what you think. I have concerns about him.” I agreed and sat down beside him while he scribbled in his notebook. As I watched, I observed him repeatedly averting his eyes from his paper and looking around the room. Any sound – a dropped pencil, quiet chatter between classmates -would redirect his attention away from his work. When I conferred with the teacher afterward, I asked if I could offer my assessment. “Please,” she said. “I think he may have ADHD. Inattentive more than hyperactive. Of course, I am not a clinician, but he really struggled to attend to his writing.” She sighed and offered a small smile. “Thank you for sharing that. I was having the same thought, but I was not sure how to bring it up with parents if I was the only one seeing it.” We agreed to meet later and develop a game plan for communicating our assessment with the student’s family.
These positive interactions eventually opened up the opportunity for me to communicate more critical feedback. I felt I had built up enough social capital that I could be candid with her about a concern I’ve held for a while: her classroom library. It was organized and managed by the teacher. She ran a tight ship during her literacy block, and maybe too tight. Students couldn’t become fully independent as readers and writers. They were too dependent on the teacher.
I finally mustered up the courage after one of my classroom visits. “May I offer some feedback?” I asked. She paused, not sure what to say, and then nodded. “You have a structured literacy block. Students are clear on what to do during reading and writing instruction. I am also noticing that they don’t seem to be becoming self-directed readers and writers. For example, you put in a lot of work organizing the classroom library for your kids. What are your thoughts on teaching the students how to do this work?” Her lips pursed while she stared at her shelves of student titles. “I am not doing that,” she said, voice low. I paused, not sure what to say. She didn’t say anything else. Instead of sitting with this uncomfortable silence, I quietly left the classroom.
When I came back to my office, I was mentally kicking myself. ‘Why didn’t I stay with the conversation?’ I was prioritizing my own need for peace. I avoided conflict when that could have been a breakthrough moment. But I also gave myself grace. ‘Look how far I’ve come with this teacher.’ I reminded myself that change is not a linear process; we are going to take two steps back for every three forward. Without conflict, there is no growth.
There was only one response: to keep showing up. And that’s what I did.
I was rewarded for my persistence on my very next visit. Before I took my usual spot sitting with a small group of students, the teacher walked up to me. “I thought about what you shared, and I have decided that I am going to allow the students to organize and manage one shelf of the classroom library. They can select books they want from the next book order, using points from their past purchases.” Before I could commend her on this choice, she turned around and went back to her guided reading table. I mentally raised my fist in the air in celebration, an extra lift in my step as I walked around the classroom.
How comfortable are you right now in sitting with discomfort?
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