Daring Greatly to Learn from Struggle: A New Assistant Professor Reflects
on Teaching and Teacher Education During the Covid-19 Pandemic

Michael G. Ryan

Your first year in any new position is always challenging; this is certainly true when you are in your first year as an assistant professor of education. It is a time of significant vulnerability.  Although I had a well-established career in public education, moving to the role of teacher-educator and researcher was challenging. However, I had survived my first semester, learned many lessons from my mistakes, and was feeling pretty good about my work during the second semester as I headed into our spring break on March 5, 2020. However, on March 10, 2020, everything changed. We received an email from our University President stating that we would be moving to "alternate modes of instruction for the remainder of the semester" due to the Covid-19 pandemic. This horrific pandemic was wreaking havoc on the health and lives of so many now reached my classroom, changing how I experienced, processed, and performed my role as a teacher-educator.

This pandemic forced seismic and immediate changes. This was indeed a time that we needed to be “all in" fully engaged and dare greatly while trying to meet the moment (Brown, 2015a, 2015b).  For my teaching, it was clear; the University moved to all remote learning. For student teachers, this was murky. Could they continue? How would this work? To compound things, the University was shuttering housing, causing students to panic. A dark curtain had covered us, and I had no idea what would be coming next. Oh, and just to make this more fun, I, like many parents, worked from home while managing online school for my 14-year-old son. Change is hard. Immediate forced change is gut-wrenching. In this narrative, I explore how I learned about my work while teaching and learning amid a pandemic-induced disruption. I use Brenë Brown’s work as a lens to review and make meaning of my experiences, pulling from a personal journal and other artifacts to share how I processed struggles, learned about myself, and ultimately found opportunities in the chaos.

Surviving

Early on, I was trying to figure out what I was supposed to do and how I should move forward. I was split between planning for teaching, caring for my students, and caring for my family. Immediately, I was trying to manage others' fears. In a text exchange with a colleague from March 11, 2020, I note, "I have student teachers freaking out about observations and finding a place to live." Then on March 16, 2020, texted about a conversation with my son, "Well, he's freaked … He asked last night who would take care of him if we got sick." Everything was churning. These exchanges foreshadowed a constant tension I would experience throughout the semester: being stunned while processing everything coming at me, trying to take a deep breath and finding the path to survival that would help students (and my family) see that things would be okay.

Communication was vital in this process.  I was getting texts and emails from students with all sorts of questions and concerns. On March 12, 2020, I sent all student teachers a message, saying, "I know that there are a number of things that are all changing at once. It is a challenging time, and I am proud of the way that you are all juggling the many responsibilities you have." The message ends with, "We will make everything work." One day later, our governor closed all schools in the state. That day I wrote to student teachers, "While this may not be the student teaching experience you dreamed of, you will certainly remember it and will learn a great deal as part of this experience." It was essential to acknowledge the reality, but I felt that looking at this through an opportunity lens might help us survive.  I was now asking them to show up and dare greatly, too.

The weeks between March 16 and March 30, 2020, were the calm before the storm. While student teachers were communicating their angst, I heard little from students in my classroom management course. I used the time to review the course syllabus, adjusted dates, and modify some assignments. I felt a palpable loss as I worked to consolidate plans for online learning. Yet, I did have some fun writing new plans and exploring different technology applications. Since I allowed myself to have fun with the planning, I thought everything was going to be great! Brown (2015a) might see this as my way of trying to go it alone and take care of everything.

Letting Go

I was building the airplane while flying, just like my students, and millions of other students and educators.  As the semester restarted, I wrote, "It will be interesting to see what happens when classes actually begin. Right now, I am wondering…" I was acknowledging that I had no control over what was happening.  This entry represents what Brown (2015b) might call my “day two," not truly seeing what this would all look like in the end.

On March 31, 2020, I held my first Classroom Management class since March 5, 2020. We started on Zoom, sharing thoughts and feelings about what had happened during a virtual "class meeting." Students then shared their reflections on the assigned readings using Padlet, using it as a substitute for a turn and talk.  Students were to work collaboratively to create a graphic that represented different instructional approaches during the final live segment, something I lifted right from my plans for face-to-face instruction. I put students into breakout rooms to do this work, figuring I could "drop-in" and support them, just like in the classroom. I soon learned that jumping into a breakout room is different from students working collaboratively in school. You lack immediate access to students and them to you. I reflected, "When I 'jumped' into the zoom some interesting comments I heard included, 'I'm pulling this out of my ass...' and 'I just don't want to do this right now.'" It may be true that students feel this way during face-to-face instruction, but things are different in the classroom.  Brown (2015a) might have told me to "mind the gap", recognizing that there was a disconnect between where I would be as a teacher in a face to face setting and where I wanted to be in a remote learning space. 

After the live segment, students had to complete an additional "on your own" portion of the session. As I reflect on this, I feel sort of ridiculous.  What was I thinking?  I probably gave them three hours of work for a class that lasts one hour and fifteen minutes. This is what Brown (2015a) might call my “reality check” moment.  In my journal, I blamed "confusion over the directions and the students' ability to process and make sense," but I had to accept my role in this. I assigned too much and threw it all at my students on day one. For some students, this was their first time to reconnect. Balancing "academics" and "social needs" became a constant struggle for the remainder of the semester. I had to acknowledge, process, and address this gap. Doing this required me to let go of some of my “plans” to meet my students' needs.

Teaching remotely challenged me to think differently about creating learning experiences that provide students with meaningful and authentic connections to teaching practice. My goal has always been to create learning experiences that link content and theory to classroom applications. Now I was creating these opportunities online, as I was learning the medium. However, technology can be glitchy.  This is especially difficult with asynchronous assignments. What is your Plan B? In the classroom, you can respond immediately to ensure goals are met and that learning is not disrupted. How do you plan when you are not sure what will happen when your students click on that link?  I developed two understandings of what worked: things that worked with students to get them engaged, and things that just worked without significant tech support.  Brown (2016) asserts that failure promotes learning, and I learned a lot!

As we moved to remote learning, I noted three distinct groups of students, those who continued with the class no matter what, those with complaints about or challenges with the work, and those who seemingly went into hiding. One could argue that the first two groups exist in any class, but the third group was something new, students, who mostly went off the grid. It was my job to create a safe and purposeful learning space for all students.  I would send emails to disconnected students, but often these emails would go unanswered. This was challenging because as I was putting myself out there and trying to connect. Brown (2015b, 2016) might say that such emails required students to be vulnerable and willing to keep going.  I did get in touch with student services about some students, but I had no idea what was happening with some students. I was leaning into my emotions, allowing my genuine concern for students to push away thoughts that they just should be more responsible. 

There were some moments of connection. On April 10, 2020, I reflected, "I keep reaching out and offering help and support — only a few write back. One thanked me for my flexibility …  Another wrote … thanking me for checking in with her and shared a heartbreaking story of living alone and that the isolation was getting to her. That made me so sad." I felt the situation required that I empathize and understand, given the extenuating circumstances presented by the pandemic.  We all needed to continue courageously as we accepted our current reality and worked together to create a path forward.

My working plan for student teachers was to hold individual “lesson conversations” where students could share and explore their teaching. I found these to be powerful opportunities to share stories, successes, and challenges.  On April 14, 2020, I reflected, "I feel like they are demonstrating some creativity and real willingness to try and think outside of the box given the circumstances."  It was an exciting way to explore teaching practices with the students. However, not all conversations were “happy.” I journaled, "She said, 'I feel like I'm not teaching them. I could be doing so much more.  I should be doing so much more.' She was so upset, sad." At first, I wanted to fix this, but of course, I could not.  When I stopped and thought about it, I was feeling like this, too. Here is where I stopped viewing things through just an academic lens.  I began to understand that things were not only changing; we were all experiencing loss, the loss of an expected experience, a semester, an idea, graduation, and our typical way of being. We were in the arena trying and simultaneously learning from this uncontrollable situation (Brown, 2015a, 2016).

Finding Learning Opportunities

On April 2, 2020, I noted, "I keep asking my students, 'What can we learn from this?'" While I still today agree with this sentiment, it was naïve of me to just say this to students, without really taking stock of the whole picture.  When my student shared how sad and upset she was, I am ashamed to admit that it was the first time that it occurred to me that I needed to provide students, and myself, an opportunity to mourn this loss caused by this pandemic. I was writing my “shitty first draft” of the situation and not trying to “get curious about” what was happening, how that was making us feel, and how it impacted our work (Brown, 2016, p.6).  I journaled, "…we spent … time talking about … how can we acknowledge the loss, honor our feelings about it, and try to refocus with a different vision." I wondered if I was the best person to deliver this message since I had not allowed myself to mourn and rethink. I simply plodded on with my plan. By trying to manage the situation, I was desperately trying not to acknowledge the emotional toll this was taking (Brown, 2015a).

Acknowledging this was immense. I feel it was the missing link to my teaching during this time. While I did believe we could learn from this experience, I first had to admit how I was feeling. All of my planning was for naught.  Interactive learning "seemed" non-existent in an online setting, and the amount of time it took to rework everything was daunting. Where was I giving myself the space to reflect, learn, and grow? Things were challenging emotionally for all of us. I realized that I needed to give students a space to talk about their thoughts and feelings, ultimately helping them to identify a path that we could use to continue to grow, given all of the constraints we all faced. Pulling from the work of Brené Brown and other research on social and emotional learning, I designed a session for all of my classes to honor the feelings of loss we all were experiencing, framing the meeting in two parts: "loss and change, and opportunity and growth." Brown (2016) suggests we try looking at change by using “a brand-new lens.”  This is what I was hoping to accomplish with my students.

Providing the space to talk and reflect was critical, but it was not perfect.  I wish I could share that it was an incredible "ah-ha" moment for all, but it was not. After one session, I reflected, "I wonder if most of my students just thought I was crazy. But I did feel good about giving them space and the opportunity to process this together." And that seemed to be the key here, opportunity. First, I gave myself the chance to admit that I could not move along the orderly path I had planned. Then I needed to be more vulnerable, reflective, responsive, and attuned to my work's emotional context. This whole experience allowed me to walk into and own the story of my teaching (Brown, 2015b).  I realized that, throughout my first year, I kept students and the emotional context of education at arm's length. Ultimately, by struggling with these concepts, I did learn about my practice and ways I could enhance my work regardless of the setting. Participating in the work honestly with my students allowed me to authentically ask them to do the same.

As the semester came to a close, I had learned a lot about myself, my students, and my teaching. I ended my Classroom Management course how I probably should have started the sessions after we switched to remote learning. I reflected, "We held our last class meeting by sharing something fun from our homes. I began in my garage, showing the students my 67 VW Beetle and, more importantly, introduced my special guest, my son Noah. He was really excited when I asked if he would join us to say hello … What followed was all of the students sharing dogs, cats, pictures, a younger sister, and one plant. Each was telling … stories about their lives.  This was a high moment!" Brown (2015b) might see this as a way I found a new ending to the story, and ultimately, this was not a terrible way to end your first year as an assistant professor.

Works Cited

Brown, B. (2015a). Daring greatly: How the courage to be vulnerable transforms the way we live, love, parent, and lead. Penguin.

Brown, B. (2015b). Rising strong: How the ability to reset transforms the way we live, love, parent, and lead. Random House.

Brown, B. (2016). Brené Brown encourages educators to normalize the discomfort of learning and reframe failure as learning. About Campus, 20(6), 3-7.