Heart-Centered Classroom

In my teacher education program at University of California, Irvine, I remember Joan Bissel teaching me about educational philosophies and the teacher's role in nurturing the growth of children. I remember Karen Nakai teaching me about unconditional positive regard for every student who would enter my classroom. I remember Carol Tipper teaching me the idea of "new day," giving students a chance for forgiveness and redemption, a fresh start each day. I remember Lois Hoshijo teaching me how to manage her middle school classroom in every detail from planning lessons to hanging student work on classroom walls. 

I remember my first interview at Hill Middle School in Novato, CA with Louise Koenig where I explained the importance of teaching to a whole child. I remember struggling as a first-year teacher choking back tears as Trudie Scott moved the desks of my first classroom from small groups to rows because my management ability didn't match my desire to teach using student-centered methods. 

I remember waking in the dark, almost every week, overcome with stress and anxiety that made my body empty completely, from both ends. I was sure that I was dying of an unknown plague, and when I went to see my doctor, she suggested that my condition was psychosomatic. The next time I woke up sweaty and panicking, I focused on my breath and calmed myself down. 

The core problem was that I didn't trust myself.

It took me a long time, many years, to realize that heart is what drew me to education in the first place. By heart, I mean the loving kindness that I felt from many of my teachers when I was a child, the care for individual worth that I read between the lines of the women who guided my teacher education experiences, the compassion I felt from the teachers who mentored me at the start of my career.

Here, in the present moment, twenty years into my career, I see how heart has shaped me as a teacher. I see how heart shapes my work and relationships with students. And I wish that twenty years ago someone had explicitly taught me about the power and importance of creating a heart-centered classroom. It took me twenty years to build a heart-centered practice, and I am just awakening to its importance for me and my students.

In the wake of several racial problems at my school that made national news, my principal organized a series of Study Circles in an attempt to create an action plan that would help us grow from courageous conversations about race. Facilitators led us through carefully designed explorations of identity and created a safe space to share our thoughts, fears, hopes, prejudices, and judgments. I shared my own story and listened to the personal stories of students, teachers, parents and administrators. The work was powerful and exhausting and transforming.

In one of the last sessions, we were charged to create action items to break down racial barriers to learning at our school. In my small group, we weren't making very much progress identifying barriers, so I turned the question around and asked students to talk about what teachers do to help them perform at a higher level in the classroom. 

One student, who had been openly sharing earlier, now sat quiet and pensive. I asked again, even pressed him a bit to speak out, and he looked me directly in the eyes and said, "I do my best work for my English teacher because I know she loves me." It was not lost on me that this beautiful, Black boy had just professed his need to be loved to an old white dude who just came out to the group in an earlier session.

This is the first time I have ever heard anyone, let alone a high school student,  articulate the need to feel love from his teachers as a foundation for learning. In practice we address many of Maslow's hierarchy of needs: physiological and safety needs, esteem, self-actualization; we rarely mention belonging as a need in substantive ways, and we never talk about love.

We are at a point in the evolution of our education system that we must begin to address love and belonging as needs. It's not that provisioning, instructional design, clarity moves, and student-centered instruction are no longer important. We teachers need to create heart-centered classrooms with an expanded awareness and energy that contains our students, our methods, our content. Most importantly, we need to skillfully and purposefully care for ourselves in the mindful field of compassion.

When I returned to my classes after two days at the Study Circle, students wanted to know what happened. I had been planning to talk to them after I had caught up with the my instruction calendar, but decided to make time and share what I had learned. I shared that the goal of the Study Circle was to improve our school by finding ways to break down barriers to instruction for all students, but for students of color in particular. I told them what changed me the most was the conversation about love. And then, I told each class, from the heart and through misty eyes, "I love each of you, and I hope that if I haven't told you already, that you know I love you from my actions in the classroom." Mine weren't the only moist eyes, and students were rapt, drinking in the love with abandon.

In one class a senior boy told me, "Mr. Southworth, back in the second week of school, when I was just getting to know you, I knew you loved me by the way you handed me a sheet of graph paper." This was another moment when I realized that my desire to create a classroom culture of kindness, compassion, and care had evolved to an unconscious competence. I am grateful for the grace that inhabits my actions an instills in students a feeling of love and belonging.

At the same time, I am looking for something that is a conscious competence by mindfully considering the needs of myself and my students in each moment. The idea of a heart-centered classroom is a reaction to teacher- and student-centered ideas of instruction and management that drain our energy reserves in an effort to control the necessary, natural chaos that characterizes authentic classroom experiences. The goal is to recognize and redirect the flow of energy that we teachers are already expressing in ways that nurture ourselves and sustain our teaching practice. My hope is that by reflecting on stories of heart that arise from my experiences in the classroom, I can deepen my practice and uncover a path.

Seeds of a Heart-Centered Classroom

“Though I do not believe that a plant will spring up where no seed has been, I have great faith in a seed. Convince me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders.” Thoreau, Faith in a Seed 

For most of my adult life I have kept a copy of Thoreau’s Walden near my bedside. I appreciate Thoreau for the stillness he captures in the mundane treasures of each moment. A younger self often skimmed to the pithy sections but, in the process of securing access to the popular quotes, I was confronted by the lists and details and reveries of daily life in the wood. For much of my life I lived for the perfect moments with a hope to transcend the daily grind, and it is only recently that I’ve become accustomed to the transcendence of the grind.

A few summers ago, traveling with my family through New England, we happened on Walden Pond State Reservation in Massachusetts while we were looking for the Concord Battlefield. We stopped at the park and visited Thoreau’s cabin. To my great surprise, Walden Pond was much larger than I had imagined. In California we would be much more likely to call it a lake. Walden Pond came complete with its own beach, changing rooms, and lifeguards. I put my suit on and swam the length of the pond and back to the beach. It was one of those experiences that you don’t even know is on your bucket list. I swam with kayakers and other swimmers making the trek across the lake, all unfazed by the rain. The other swimmers were much older than I, probably locals who swam the pond regularly. For me, this was likely to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

As I sit in my backyard this morning, I’m distracted by the sounds of cicadas in the trees and when I look up, I notice a swallowtail butterfly on the pink hibiscus flower. The lemon verbena and bee balm, who hosted bumblebees and butterflies last week, have bloomed and gone to seed. Yesterday morning my husband called me to the window to watch a pair of Goldfinches weighing down stalks as they ate the seeds. And Thoreau’s seed quote awakens a story from my classroom last semester.

When I was in my teacher education program, I became aware of the importance of giving every child the same opportunities to learn. I was terrified of the study that showed that teachers lingered over students who were dressed better than their classmates because I saw that unintended biases can contribute to differential disadvantages to some groups of students. When I began my teaching practice, it became clear that students who lacked impulse control often demanded and received most of my attention. I quickly realized that I would need to consciously and proactively invite participation from my more reserved students.

One of my girls came to me at lunch to arrange for an excused absence to go to the Bouldering Youth National Championships. Usually, I just sign the form and mention my trust that the student will make up work or assessments on their return, but my curiosity was piqued at the reason for the absence involving “bouldering” and “nationals.” So, I probed, “What is bouldering?” My student gave a very brief answer that made me think she’d be scrabbling over river rocks on a cross-country race. Then, I made a statement that was more of a question, “You must be pretty good if you are going to nationals.” She immediately looked down. I asked again, “If you’re going to nationals, you must be pretty good, right?” Again, my student looked away and refused to answer. It got uncomfortable. I don’t like to press my students, but I trusted my instinct that this was important, that this student needed to know that I thought of her as important.

I determined to press a bit more even though I’ve been taught to respect other cultures, and yes, having lived in Japan, I know that some girls have been raised with an intense expectation of invisibility, silence, and not bringing any attention to themselves. I asked again, and when my student realized that I wasn’t giving up, she looked me in the eyes and admitted the most that she could allow, “I guess you could say that.”

Before she could exit my classroom, I was googling her name with ”Bouldering National Championships.” Her deep display of humility convinced me that she was not just good, but also that she was amazing. Google did not disappoint. She had placed 8th in her age group last year, and 5th place this year at the national competition. Further, when I viewed video of the competition, I discovered that bouldering is what I’d call extreme rock climbing. The courses were not particularly high, but climbers navigated difficult obstacles, including large overhangs, without a safety rope, only a big pad to soften landings when climbers fall.

It’s not surprising that my nationally ranked, student athlete, returned to class without fanfare or report. In fact, her facial expression showed displeasure that I had discovered her secret. I’d like to say that her reaction was more complex, that I could tell underneath it all that it had pleased her that someone had cared enough to pry and ask and see her truly, but I can only hope that I planted a seed: that my student knows I care about her, and it’s okay to share her successes.

I worked with another student last semester who was painfully shy to the extent that I believed she may be selectively mute. When she entered my room for the first time, she averted her eyes when I greeted her, and chose a seat at the back. Every aspect of her body language indicated that she wanted to be invisible. She didn’t realize that in my classroom, that put a huge target on her back.

Progress with this student was very slow, and I gave her time to get to know me and understand that I represented a safe space for her and all her classmates. I waited, commented on her work privately, and acknowledged her every day in small ways. In the first days as I approached her desk she froze, like a deer in the woods, at complete attention and waiting for me to move on. I never left without finding a specific and genuine way to complement her work. I made the extra effort to ask if she had a question when no questions were forthcoming. After several weeks, she stopped freezing when I approached and would nod her head, pigtails bobbing, at the complement. She never asked a question. The seed was planted, being nourished, and growing.

At the same time, I was making sure to greet her every time we passed each other in the hallway. To be honest, I try to greet every student I know in the hallway, so this wasn’t special treatment, but because of her closed body language, getting her to acknowledge my greeting took a bit more emphasis. Her response was like a flower opening to sunlight. She began to look for me in the hallway and give me a smile or a nod before I greeted her. She introduced me to her friend, a girl who wore a neck-to-ankles, black, down coat every day, no matter the weather. Her friend began to greet me with a big smile, too. I often saw the girls in the distance down a corridor waving and smiling.

It was time to take my shy student to the next level. I called on her in a whole-class discussion. By her response, I guessed this didn’t happen often, if ever. She looked up. I knew she had the answer. She very quietly spoke the answer, which delighted me, and I asked her to repeat a little louder. She did. Full bloom.

During the last week of school, I announced that I needed student helpers to get my classroom ready for summer school. In my high school, students can earn service-learning hours by volunteering to help teachers. My faded bulletin boards needed an update, and I was hoping to get some help. Nobody volunteered until the last day of school. Standing in the lobby with her friend, my student beckoned me over to her and told me that the two of them wanted to help me with my classroom. Inside, my own garden was blooming like crazy. I never expected that my student would be able to come out of her silence in this way. Gratefully, I told her that I’d love to have their help. Would next Wednesday morning work?

We teachers rarely get to see the full bloom of the seeds we plant, but many of us have followed a call to plant gardens in our classrooms, to nurture our students with the hope that we are giving them more than standards-based instruction. Jack Kornfield (Podcast, The Garden of the Heart) admonishes us to direct our lives to noble endeavors that are “moving to our own hearts and beautiful.” I spent many years following the call even though I held a contradictory belief that I was deeply flawed and didn’t have anything meaningful or valuable to gift to the world. Kornfield goes on to tell us that we all “have good seeds to plant. That is born in you. You have, in you, the seeds of great compassion. You have in you the seeds of wisdom, the seeds of kinship with life, of care for others.”

Looking back on my career, with honesty, I see that I have had seeds of goodness to plant, and I see that I have been planting them. Sometimes students share their perspective on the ways we plant seeds in our classrooms. This is the content of a letter written by one of my graduating seniors:

“As the quiet kid who sat alone in the corner and always had his head down, I never thought that I’d ever actually get to know you. I always imagined that I would just kind of sleep through the year and get my grades without having to talk to anybody. I guess I got the sleeping part right, but not the talking part right since you always checked with me just to make sure that I was understanding the material. I didn’t understand exactly why you even bothered to talk to me since I was basically absent from the class, but as I spent more time in the class, I grew to appreciate your fatherly attitude that you always displayed. As much as I hate to say it, your class was the first time that I felt like my presences somewhat mattered. Considering that I’m the type of person that would rather be ignored in class, I’m deeply grateful that you decided to reach out to me. Now that graduation is so close, I’m beginning to feel a bit sad because I know that I’ll be leaving you behind at Churchill. I’m going to miss your scruffy beard, your kind heart, and your bubbly personality while I’m at [college]. I’ll also miss your first year of teaching MV [Multivariable Calculus] when you had to learn the math alongside us, and your support when you came out to watch my tennis match. I’ll be sure to stay in touch and visit and I hope you make sure to accept my Facebook friend request! No matter where I go, you’ll always hold a special place in my heart as the giant softie that you are (and if you’re not crying at this point, there’s a problem). Good luck with Churchill and Umttr. I hope that we can meet again soon.”

As I work mindfully to create a heart-centered classroom, my students teach me that it isn’t the grand gestures that they expect or appreciate. The little things we do to authentically see our students are what matter most.

A Centering Practice

"To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts."

Thoreau, Walden

Your classroom is, and always has been, a heart-centered classroom. The trick, if you want to call it that, is to see the truth of your own precious self and value your own self-care in the same ways you plan for the care of your students. 

Imagine yourself seated comfortably in a chair at the front of your classroom. Feel the chair supporting your back, the seat supporting your sitting bones and thighs, the floor pressing firmly under your feet. Allow your arms to rest comfortably in your lap. Take a deep, cleansing breath and relax into the chair for a moment. If you are comfortable, close your eyes and focus your attention on your breathing. Thoughts will occur naturally. Watch them pass through your mind like clouds without judgment. Reconnect to your breath and give yourself time to feel fully present in your body.

Slowly, when you are ready, remember that you are seated in the teaching fulcrum of your classroom. At your own pace direct your mind’s eye to roam clockwise about the walls of the room without judgment. Observe the door, the clock, the boards, the ledge of the boards that hold markers or chalk and other tools. Linger over your favorite bulletin board displaying student work and continue to slowly circle the room drinking up every physical detail. Find a motivational poster, the flag, the windows, the HVAC unit. See your desk, storage cabinets and shelves filled with books and instructional materials, filing cabinet, computer workstation, smart board. Allow yourself time to feel fully present in your classroom.

Now allow your gaze to make a serpentine path among the empty desks. Notice the condition of the desks and tables without judgment, their organization in rows or groups. Take time to feel the energy of the students who have passed through your classroom over the years. Keep this sensation general and avoid imagining specific students. Bring your focus back to your own breath, your own body centered in the space of your classroom.

When you are comfortable, allow your consciousness to expand, contain, and fill every molecule of your teaching space. Feel your own energy, your compassionate presence, filling your entire classroom. Your loving kindness emanates from the center of your body, contains you and fills every crevice of the classroom. Yours is the fuel that feeds this energy field. You are the source of kindness, compassion and love that pours into the room and coats the surface of the doors, walls, desks, boards, floor, and bookshelves. Take time to recognize how much care you have poured into this space. Now, perhaps for the first time, relax and take time to see yourself as the lantern of your classroom. Truly stop.

Now you are ready to slowly bring students into the space that you have dedicated for learning and teaching. Imagine last year’s favorite class or a group of your most beloved filing slowly, silently, in through the door to take their seats. The students are quiet as they sit, hands folded, focused on themselves, connected and sensitive to your gaze. Close your eyes and let go of all desires and expectations. Take time to feel the profound connections without judgment or sentimentalism. Notice your own significant, quiet presence among the students. Notice your incredible capacity to contain every student in your heart.

Breathe.Take time here to feel gratitude for your incredible capacity to love and care for every child who enters your classroom. This is your true nature. This is who you truly are. You are the gentle, loving presence who opens your door to welcome, nurture, heal, value, teach, and learn with each child who life sends into your space. Take as much time as you like to replenish, recover, heal yourself in your own expansive, benevolent presence.

Heart-Centered Motivations

Winston Churchill High School arranges a banquet to acknowledge the achievements of the top 5% of our graduating class each year. Students, recognized for their exceptionally high GPAs, select a teacher to honor for making a lasting impact on their high school experience. During the banquet, teachers and students share a meal followed by stories of praise, academic successes and gratitude. At last year’s banquet, three students honored me, and I will share each story in separate posts.

While the banquet was lovely, the event that changed me happened the next morning in my school parking lot. On the way into the building I joined Jeff Savett, an English teacher who had attended the 5% dinner with me the previous night. We briefly reflected on our amazing students and how fortunate we were to attend the dinner. Then Jeff turned to me and said something like, “Curt, you are doing soul work.” Up to that moment, I knew I was deeply committed to care for both academic and emotional needs of my students, but it took the observation of a colleague, friend, and poet to help me realize that my teaching practice had become something new, something that I had been striving to achieve, but could not see or acknowledge in myself.

The second experience happened a few days later at graduation when the senior class president, Hana Mangat, addressed her classmates and told them to “go out and be Southworth.” Hana was my student for Honors Pre-calculus in her sophomore year, and I attended an event that she sponsored, U-Nite, in response to two tragic suicides that rocked our school that year. 

With Hana’s call-out, I crumbled in my seat and wept in shock and awe and, to be honest, no small amount of embarrassment. How does one comprehend the depth of such a complement? On reflection, it turned out to be another call to action. I am no longer able to minimize the impact of my relationships with students who deserve more than mastery objectives and clear instruction. They need my care, kindness, respect, compassion, and even my love.

The third experience happened a few weeks ago during the intermission of our high school production of She Kills Monsters. Aman Shergill, the parent of one of my current students, had joined Sikh Kid 2 Kid to train staff on cultural misconceptions related to our Sikh students. Aman thanked me for providing a safe space to students and for giving her son much more than solid instruction in math. She encouraged me to reflect on what I was doing in the classroom so that I could train other teachers to do the same.

To be honest, I’m reluctant to write these stories because I’m just human and can’t pretend for a second that I handle every situation in my classroom in an ideal way. My colleagues in the math hallway know me much too well, and I acknowledge that I make mistakes every day. I realize that what works for me and my students may not work for others. That’s fine. I don’t expect everyone to find value in what I plan to share.

At the same time, it has taken me 22 years to overcome a lot of fear and give myself permission to interact with students in an authentic way. I surprise myself with the ability to navigate courageous conversations, take risks, and trust that students know I'm coming from a place of respect. 

Most of the training that we teachers receive is focused on planning instruction and assessment, relationship-building, equity, cultural proficiency, differentiated instruction, etc. I wish someone had given me a vision of a heart-centered classroom a long time ago. I’m willing to reflect on my experiences now and deepen my practice of loving-kindness to all living things.

To the teachers who saved me from myself and showed me a different way to be.

Carol Mell, West Anchorage High School, Analysis and Trig, AP AB Calculus

Roberta Hamilton McCutcheon, West Anchorage High School, History of the Middle East

Cam McCarrey Bowman, West Anchorage High School, Concert Choir

James McDonald, Brigham Young University, Econometrics and Math Econ

Susan Easton Black, Brigham Young University, Book of Mormon 
Joan Bissell, UC Irvine, Educational Psychology
Karen Nakai, UC Irvine, Teacher Education Program Director
Carol Tipper, UC Irvine, Math Methods
Lois Hoshijo, Spring View Middle School, Cooperating Teacher
Trudie Scott, Hill Middle School, Mentor Teacher

Barbara Tjernell, Loma Verde Elementary School, Teaching Partner

Lois Cohen, Winston Churchill High School, Teaching Partner