I was in my 14th year of teaching the first time I was assigned a coach. I knew of this person, because she had trained teachers on an external curriculum resource our school was using, and she seemed like a lovely human being. But that was the extent of our "relationship." Having never before had a nonevaluative visitor in my classroom, I spent the first few weeks of our "coaching" politely brushing her off. It seemed as if my plans were always unexpectedly changing on the day she was scheduled to observe (or I was reacting in real time to student need, as I liked to say), and, I'm so sorry, but could we possibly reschedule? became my regular refrain. I had survived more than a decade as a middle school teacher. Why would I need help now?
Eventually, this coach did what she came to do: she observed my class anyway. I was a nervous wreck the entire time, assuming the worst. Instead, her feedback was so validating that I teared up. There were no comments like, "maybe you should …" or any jargon like "highest leverage point" for me to consider. She was simply another educator showing me that she understood who I was, what I was doing, and that those things mattered. Her words planted a tiny seed of trust that seemed to sprout overnight into a lush garden.
That was all it took—a kind, honest conversation about teaching—to form a true coaching relationship. I began to welcome her into my classroom, always looking forward to her insights and perspective. I gathered my questions and sent her drafts of documents for feedback. We dissected student work, looking for clues on how to reach every student. My entire energy shifted, which, of course, positively affected the level of work from my students, resulting in real, measurable growth. I felt incredibly supported as a teacher, which made me realize how many constructive experiences I had missed, simply because I dismissed coaching as only appropriate for newbies. I wanted all teachers to feel this support. The next year, I moved into a teacher leader role (part-time teacher/part-time coach), eventually joining my district's team of full-time instructional coaches. My life was irrevocably changed.
My experience with my first coach was part of an external, grant-funded program staffed with its own coaches, and teachers were expected to participate. When teachers have a choice, however, how does a school create a culture that encourages all adults to pursue meaningful goals? The key lies in differentiation.
Each of your colleagues may envision the coaching relationship differently, based on their previous experiences. . Some may have had limited interaction with a consultant who supported a specific initiative, and others may have had a fantastic experience with their previous coach. So, I always have my "elevator speech" ready to answer, "What do you do?"
My job is to do two things. One: I help you find and embrace moments of joy in your practice. And two: I help you remember your "why" for doing this crazy job in the first place. I do this by asking questions to help you sort out what is already in your head and arrange it so that you can see your own brilliance. What that looks like in practice can and should be different for every teacher, and I'm excited to explore the possibilities with you.
By introducing myself this way—whether it's to an entire staff or an individual—I hope that I can open the door for human-to-human connection. Teaching is the most intense work there is, and when teachers feel supported on a heart level—as I personally experienced, data dives and conversations about shifts in instructional practice to achieve student-centered goals become much more welcomed and even sought out. This is where the magic happens.
Whether you are new to coaching or coaching is new to your school, I believe you can implement a buildingwide plan to support all stakeholders in growing professionally and personally and positively affect student achievement if you communicate your belief in who they are and what they do. This is simultaneously very simple and incredibly complex, because we're dealing with emotions in what can often be volatile and unpredictable environments: schools. This is why differentiated approaches built from relational trust are the roots of any coaching initiative, no matter where the funding is coming from.
Currently, I am fortunate enough to be a part of team that embraces coaching at all levels. My caseload includes teachers brand new to the profession and those with a range of experiences who are new to our community. I support a building veteran taking on a teacher leader role, as well as members of the administration who are committed to both student achievement and personal leadership development. For teams with schedules that are difficult to coordinate, I run learning labs via video, so all members have a chance to participate. And for my own growth, I engage in meta-coaching via a virtual professional learning community for instructional coaches with participants from all over Central and South America.
Every conversation is different. Every goal is different. Every success is different. What is the same is my unwavering belief in all these individuals as educators.
There are amazing experts with books and programs and videos and blog posts and Twitter chats and all sorts of other fantastic resources to help you figure out the "what," "when," and "how" of coaching. What data to collect. When to consult. How to paraphrase. How to use video in a way that will have the greatest impact. These questions and a million more can be answered in all the literature that is out there. But I believe the skill that truly allows me to build trust and craft my differentiation is this:
I ask questions to help you sort out what is already in your head and arrange it so you can see your own brilliance.
When teachers and leaders recognize their own brilliance, they show up in different, more intentional ways. When this happens, kids win. And isn't that what matters most?
