By Melissa Nilsen PhD
“Difficult students” are a foundational part of the teaching experience. Almost every teacher (or every honest teacher) will tell you that each class has at least one child that proves to be especially and persistently challenging for them to teach. In my first year of teaching middle school ten years ago, that student for me was Trevor.
Trevor’s homework was rarely done. Rather than working in class he passed the day in the back of the classroom, tipping his chair back so far it defied gravity and speaking in undertones to his friends in the middle of my lessons telling them they should ignore me because my assignments were pointless. Trevor gave off the vibe of a surly ex-boyfriend determined to sabotage my every endeavor, questioning my decisions, and rolling his eyes at every idea or suggestion I put forth. Getting Trevor to participate was like dragging a ton of bricks behind me. His attitude irritated me and daily wore my patience down to a nub.
When faced with a difficult student, teachers can choose one of several paths. They can try to change the student’s irritating behavior through communication, having a heart-to-heart in hopes that the child will soften and become more eager to please, they can use disciplinary intervention like taking away recess or reporting the behavior to a parent or administrator, or they can try to discern what the behavior is communicating about the child and cultivate compassionate understanding for their experience.
Education consultant and author of compassionate parenting books such as Simplicity Parenting, The Soul of Discipline, and Emotionally Resilient Tweens and Teens, Kim John Payne, put forth the notion that children who are displaying negative behavior are not disobedient but rather disoriented and this disorientation causes children to act out sending a message to their caregivers that they need help.
However, it is one thing to recognize that a student’s negative behavior is a symptom of disorientation. It is another thing to rise above one’s own irritation and exhaustion with a difficult student to help them. Teachers hold many responsibilities and wear multiple hats as educators, caregivers, mentors, and guides. It seems unfair to ask them to also take a greater interest in difficult students, striving to see through their aggravating behavior to decode the hidden messages they are sending out.
Education researchers, Moen et al. (2019) suggested that when it comes to “problematic” students, the teacher should strive to connect even more deeply with those students. But most teachers agree this is easier said than done. Teachers are human beings who have emotional triggers of their own not to mention a finite amount of energy and bandwidth. Maybe this was why connecting more deeply with Trevor when his behavior was “problematic” was the opposite of my natural inclination. Instead, I tended to brace myself, putting up invisible barriers as I anticipated his disrespectful attitude and stubborn noncompliance.
In Waldorf education, teachers integrate contemplation into their daily routines, observing their classes with a deeper look throughout the day to decipher their students’ unspoken needs, and reflecting on their classes and the experiences of the day later in the evening to notice if new insights or realizations arise. Contemplative practices such as these can also be used to seek deeper understanding of challenging situations, and difficult student behavior. When I ran out of ideas and energy for Trevor, I turned to evening meditation. I began to imaginatively recall and reflect on Trevor’s behavior in as much detail as possible. In this reobservation, new questions about his attitude and mood started to arise. Why was he so surly? Why didn’t he want to participate with the rest of the class? Transforming my frustration into curiosity helped shift my feelings towards Trevor.
One morning I woke after having meditated on Trevor the night before and had an overwhelming tenderness in my heart for him. This feeling surprised me because I usually dreaded facing Trevor who was never absent. But that day my heart ached for him and all that he was holding back and hiding behind his tough façade. I realized that he really did not have anything against me at all, he was just afraid. He was afraid that his classmates might realize he was not as tough or as cool as he acted. He was afraid to have fun with us and look silly, and he was afraid to try, and fail. When I realized how much fear he was holding, my heart broke for him. My irritation softened as compassion began to bloom and I started to imagine what it felt like to be Trevor. I wondered how our relationship might change if he knew I had not given up on him. I wondered how he might react if I could show him that I see beyond his aloof and contemptuous surface layers to what lay beneath: a valued and important member of our class.
I went to school that day with refreshed energy for my work and optimism about facing Trevor. Trevor was still Trevor, and I still felt a pang of disappointment when I announced what we would be working on that day and Trevorscoffed and rolled his eyes, groaning, and looking at the ceiling as if he had been asked to go clean the school toilets rather than make up a skit with two of his classmates. But instead of feeling drained and angry, or getting into a power struggle with him, I kept in mind my grander mission. If Trevor did not ever enjoy or enthusiastically participate in any of my lessons, he would at least leave my class one day knowing that he mattered to me and that my care for him was unconditional and stronger than his teenage-boy-moodiness. I kept that mission first in mind as we progressed through the school year. And from this reorientation of my goals, I felt a renewed sense of hope for Trevor, for the class community, and for myself. I no longer felt so daunted by his behavior. My joy for teaching was not dependent on the moods of my students which daily swung from bubbly exuberance to sedentary disenchantment and back again, visiting every emotional stop in between.
Over time the shift in my feelings towards Trevor, caused a shift in him too. He started asking my permission for little things instead of just doing what he wanted and waiting to be told not to. He started, quietly, and without anyone else hearing, asking for clarity on assignments I had given. His angry demeanor started shifting to a quietly sullen one and he began to reveal a small amount of tenderness and vulnerability.
“Difficult students” will always be with us in the classroom. If a teacher rids themselves of one difficult student, another one will arise to take their place. Like the law of conservation of energy, difficult students can never be eliminated from the class, but they can be transformed. Focusing on the difficult student with curiosity and compassion allows the inner attitude of the teacher to shift toward empathy and understanding and away from aggravation and irritation. A teacher’s inner attitude will always have an outward impact on their students. A difficult student’s problematic behavior may be impossible to eliminate but the student’s relationship to the teacher and to the class can be transformed by compassionate teaching that honors each student as a valued member of the class community and worthy of unconditional love and care.