The Adult Learning Experience

When I transitioned from classroom teacher to a more administrative role, I made a lot of assumptions about how to teach my peers. Obviously, after more than 10 years in the classroom, I understand classroom management, I know how to plan a lesson, and I’ve attended a workshop before. What’s more: I am an adult myself, so I am somewhat of an expert on the “adult learning experience.” Therefore, teaching adults should be a breeze.

While my experience as a classroom teacher definitely helps inform any setting in which teaching and learning take place, I can safely say that my first foray into facilitating and coaching was not the magic experience I hoped for them to be. My peers are not third-graders. It seems pretty obvious now, in retrospect. But at the time, I entered my engagements expecting the same eagerness and energy from my seasoned teachers as I did from my 7 and 8-year-olds.

Truth be told, I learned this lesson the first time I ever tried my hand at teaching. My high school ran a “Peer Educators” program that was structured as a peer-to-peer education class to teach basic drug and sexual health awareness. They asked upperclassmen to apply to the program, which ran for the year. The first semester was dedicated to the fundamentals of teaching and content review. In the second semester, these fledgling educators were assigned a class of freshmen to impart knowledge upon. The idea was to build relationships and community, in addition to providing important information on real-life situations a high school student may encounter. The entire program made a huge impact on me as a student, and clearly, it informed my future career choices. Way to go, Lick-Wilmerding.

Towards the second half of the first semester, the Peer Educators were expected to practice teaching their first class to one another. Talk about practice in vulnerability — asking seniors and juniors to publicly fail in front of one another in order to learn and grow is asking for a lot of trust. To get the sense of how big this experience was for me, this happened 15 years ago and the details are still fresh in my mind.

My partner and I were one of the first pairs to share our practice lesson. Filled with confidence about what an informative lesson should look like, we were prepared with vocabulary, outlined notes, and some sort of visual to accompany our presentation. The topic escapes me — possibly we were discussing depressants or it could have been women’s health. I recall the grueling 25 minutes that we painstakingly filled with dry facts, my anxiety and shame growing as my peers’ eyes began to glaze over. It was clear that we had learned the content, but the presentation was uninspired. It is safe to say that no one was transported by the magic of teaching my very first class.

One thing I know about myself is that I am deeply impacted by the emotions of others. For any personality, strengths, or leadership skills test I have taken, the top skill has always been empathy. If I am not careful, I take on the emotions of others, and I feel deeply. I have been told to grow a thicker skin, to not care as much, and that my feelings weren’t important. It took me a really long time to see this empathy as a strength and a gift. I have built a deep emotional intelligence around my ability to feel and my curiosity about myself and others. Furthermore, my passion for learning is rooted in my ability to feel deeply and my willingness to examine and explore the world around me.

Suffice to say, we ended that 25-minute lesson my first day, and I promptly left class and cried. I felt like an imposter. How had I even gotten into this program? Clearly, that was not good teaching. Then, I decided to learn from my mistakes.

Flash forward to my first foray into adult teaching in an administrative context. The director of curriculum and learning and I had created a meeting agenda around the design thinking process in an effort to redesign our progress reports. I figured that the process would offer opportunities for buy-in, and it would offer some opportunities for creativity.

I jumped right in and was shocked to learn that adults after a workday are decidedly less excited than children after school. I immediately picked up on the resistance to engaging in a new process, as well as a hesitancy to trust me as a facilitator. This was a new experience for me. I’d been a part of trainings and had run small group workshops with fellow teachers on different apps and integration. While not every teacher was as excited as I was about the content, there was always a level of trust and respect throughout.

I had taken those prior experiences for granted, it seemed. I’d expected the same welcome in a new community, where I had not bothered to consider the culture and values. I entered that arena filled with excitement and also misguided expectations. The feedback was immediate: I received a lot of questions about the purpose of the activity, laced with skepticism. Immediately, I sensed from the questions the classic admin vs teachers mentality. This “Us vs. Them” mentality has been a part of every single independent school I have worked at. It was not surprising to me to find it at this school. The surprise was that I was now being perceived as “Them.” Any trust or confidences I had built around the lunch table seemed to have dissolved as soon as 3:15 hit and I crossed that invisible line from plastic chairs to the front of the room.

What had happened? I firmly believe in the power of learning, and so I know that all adults want to experience that excitement and magic. So why, then, did I sense resistance to a new opportunity? I had provided a new framework for thinking about things, and instead of inspiring a group of teachers, they felt hassled at having to engage in something uncomfortable. As I had circulated among the small grade-level team groups, I noticed various levels of compliance. In one group, one teacher had halted the entire group because she did not like the word “ideate” and insisted on changing it before engaging. When I gave a substitute word, the teacher begrudgingly moved forward, but not before offering her opinion on the made-up word once more. The entirety of the middle school had assumed the appearance of compliance. From a distance, they were all engaged. I saw notes being jotted and conversations occurring. Excited, I neared and realized they were talking about something else entirely. The conversation had been hijacked by a small group of teachers who had a tangential but pressing thing to talk about. Only one small group of adults was on-task and constructive.

I was immediately transported back to the same vulnerable place I was in my senior year in high school. I felt the authority and confidence in my voice waver. I sensed myself becoming smaller to accommodate others’ feelings. I felt my heart rate rise, my chest constrict, and my hands get sweaty as shame ignited my fight or flight mode. We made it through the meeting, and we created a product that reflected the ideas of the faculty. Again, I left the room and cried.

Now, I see opportunities to grow as a coach. Then, I vowed to never get in front of that group of teachers again, just like a jilted lover promises to never love again after heartbreak. Obviously, I broke that vow, and I’m glad I did because working with teachers really is a joy. Teachers are some of the most creative, opinionated people there are. To stay a teacher requires a good sense of humor and a willingness to fail publicly and then wake up and do it again. As Elena Aguilar states, schools are learning organizations. Success rides upon adapting and learning, and successful leaders understand that learning must occur throughout the entire school system (Aguilar, 2016). This means that as a leader and administrator, I must also be prepared to learn and fail publicly in front of my peers.

Now, I see opportunities to grow as a coach. Then, I vowed to never get in front of that group of teachers again, just like a jilted lover promises to never love again after heartbreak. Obviously, I broke that vow, and I’m glad I did because working with teachers really is a joy. Teachers are some of the most creative, opinionated people there are. To stay a teacher requires a good sense of humor and a willingness to fail publicly and then wake up and do it again. As Elena Aguilar states, schools are learning organizations. Success rides upon adapting and learning, and successful leaders understand that learning must occur throughout the school system (Aguilar, 2016). This means that as a leader and administrator, I must also be prepared to learn and fail publicly in front of my peers.

With this in mind, I’ve become a lot more interested in coaching and promoting teacher education. To be clear, learning is not about compliance. Learning is about authentic engagement and growth on both a personal and professional level. I also recognize this is a complex subject, especially during a pandemic. How could administration possibly be asking their teachers to learn new things this year? Our brains have been in fight or flight mode since March 2019, and we know that learning doesn’t happen when our brains are stressed.

Still, there must be some good we can take from this year. When it’s time for us to reflect and grow, I hope I will remember to apply good principles for adult learning. Again, I’ve been immersing myself in Aguilar’s The Art of Coaching Teams, and Aguilar clearly outlines seven principles for adult learning. I don’t intend to unpack all seven here (read the book!), but I think a few are worth addressing in this context.

First and foremost, teachers will need to be in the psychological state for learning, which will look different for each person. Any workshop or training must first address the social-emotional well-being and health of the participants and strive to make the environment feel like a comfortable place to be vulnerable. This work requires coaches, trainers, and administrators to practice self-awareness and to cultivate emotional intelligence. To lead without empathy is to control. While this may seem like a given, I — an Empath — have made this mistake plenty of times before, including in one of my first attempts, as outlined above. Empathy and cultural competence are the foundations towards creating a safe learning space for adult learners without coming off as paternalistic or condescending.

Second, adult learning is not simply providing vocabulary and outlines of notes, though that may also be a part of it. Learning should feel playful, which will ignite inquisitiveness and curiosity. What’s playful for an elementary school student is not the same for a 45 year old, and adults expect to be treated a certain kind of way. Make time to explore background experiences within the learning group to address expectations, past experiences of failures or success, and develop goals for the present learning experience. A part of building the emotional intelligence of a group is naming the emotions that may come up in a learning environment. As a leader, it is important to both acknowledge prior experiences and to use those experiences towards a successful learning opportunity.

All human beings want to learn — it’s encoded into our DNA. We’ve had to learn, adapt, and evolve to the world around us forever. While teaching my veteran teachers may look different than a lesson for my 3rd graders, the joy of learning is the thread that ties schools together