Applause rang out in my 6th grade World Cultures classroom as 12-year-old Zoey concluded her presentation on Día de los Muertos. “To celebrate,” she said, “I made homemade sugar skulls.” I watched as she passed out beautiful hamburger-patty-sized hunks of pure sugar . . . at 9:00 a.m.
Knowing I wanted to be supportive but also head-off a crisis, I chimed in, “If you wouldn’t mind saving these for the end of the day, your teachers would be so grate—” Right as I was finishing my sentence, Derek sank his teeth into an inch of sugar, watching me as I spoke. Suddenly everyone was crunching on their skulls, white powder cascading from their mouths.
I would like to say that I stayed calm or even joined my students in their Wonka-like delight. But I didn’t. On returning down the hall from our restroom visit shortly after, my students were completely wild on their sugar high—singing, yelling, laughing. I could feel the glares of the other teachers boring through their doors. We were too loud and disruptive. So, I marched my students outside to where we wouldn’t disturb others.
“It’s not OK to disrespect other classrooms, especially when I asked you to not eat the sugar so early in the morning,” I snapped loudly. My students fell silent. They had not seen this from me before, their usually kind, warm, and funny teacher. I even felt different. My heart raced. My face was hot.
Losing my calm in that moment had a brief effect on some of my students, but a longer lasting effect on others. One student stopped talking in class and no longer smiled at me. I noticed that she avoided me in the mornings rather than coming up and chatting about what we were reading or the latest Taylor Swift release.
The impact that a teacher’s emotional dysregulation has on students is profound. My emotional reactivity—anger rooted in a need to feel heard—conveyed a message that triggered shame in some students. I had inadvertently framed them as a threat. With greater self-awareness, I could have upheld boundaries and expectations, while showing they weren’t the problem.
As a K–12 educator for over a decade, I thought I had the relationship component dialed in. I liked and respected my students, and in general, they responded in kind. But when I embarked on a career change, I realized that my efforts were falling short. Becoming a licensed clinical professional counselor opened my eyes to what I had been missing in my classroom: I was relying on my natural instincts of caring—and reactivity—rather than interacting with my students with deeper insight, knowledge, and intention. Sometimes I was spot-on and other times I missed the mark, though I didn’t always know why. I didn’t have the language or the practice to navigate the more nuanced aspects of connection.
Understanding Triggers in the Classroom
Often, what’s labeled as “problem behavior” is less about a student’s choices and more about the teacher’s own triggers. All expressive behaviors are adaptive survival strategies—an attempt to meet a need, whether effective or not. Current research in neuroscience and psychology indicates that many reactive behaviors are biological: Some teachers naturally stay calm in the face of an explosive outburst, while others may become defensive. Being criticized or lied to could be a flashpoint for one teacher but brushed off by another. Triggers look different for all of us. In my case, I lashed out after feeling ignored. It doesn’t take too much digging for me to see a direct line to my own stressful childhood experiences.
Fortunately, teachers don’t have to be held captive by their biological reactions—they can learn to recognize their body’s early warning signals.
One way to bring skillful self-awareness to your reactions is through an Internal Family Systems lens (Schwartz, 2020), an evidence-based psychotherapy approach to addressing the triggered “parts” of ourselves. The model suggests that everyone has a core self that cannot be wounded; it is calm, curious, compassionate, creative, and capable. Over time, though, some parts of our personality stop trusting the core self to handle tough situations and try to take over.
Educators might notice that a protective or self-preserving “part” is showing up for them in relation to a student or a whole class when they experience somatic (or physical) symptoms in their body. “Protectors” are trying to keep wounded parts of the personality from getting hurt again (Schwartz, 2020). Somatic cues can include feeling heat, numbness, tightness, heaviness, tiredness, heightened energy, increased heart rate, difficulty breathing, and holding one’s breath—symptoms that, over time, can contribute to chronic health issues. Teachers can also recognize that a protective part is at work when students seem surprised by an unexpected reaction. With the sugar skulls, I caught my class off guard. Their response alerted me to the fact that I was not leading from my core self.
The Ripple Effect: How Teacher Triggers Impact Students
Promoting mental health in our classrooms starts with modeling. As educators, we show students how to be grown-up humans every day—not by being perfect, but by normalizing that perfection is unattainable. When we demonstrate how we care for ourselves when strong emotions arise, we invite students to do the same. They will start noticing that they have a capable, powerful self that needs care and has agency.
This is how co-regulation works: When our nervous system signals safety, it helps our students feel safe. But when we ignore our needs, we risk becoming co-dysregulators instead.
One area in student-teacher relationships that impacts connection is whether students believe they can trust a teacher to meet their needs. Students’ needs can be subtle or loud. Students might question: Can you challenge me enough? Are you willing to be patient? Will you notice when I don’t feel good? Loss of trust can look like students pulling away, giving up, or anxiously trying to please. It can be seen in a student who shuts down when provided with critical feedback. Or in a student who checks with the teacher 10 times to make sure they did something “right.” Somewhere in the process of this relationship, they felt unheard or misunderstood and took what control they believed they had. Taking control is how they believe they will survive. It is this survival behavior that can trigger us as educators.
To repair a rupture, name what happened, take responsibility for it, and then state what you would like to do differently next time.
Strategies for Staying Regulated
Based on my experience as both a teacher and mental health therapist, I have found it helpful to incorporate an emotionally regulated mindset into all parts of my day—not just after things go wrong. Here’s what I’d recommend to get started in this practice, though I encourage educators to adapt and personalize these strategies.
Before Class
The two-minute check-in: I have learned that taking even two minutes before a therapy session to listen to what my body is telling me allows me to ground myself. This is something teachers can do while waiting by the door before students enter the classroom. I always start with my breath, slowing it down and breathing in fully to signal to my brain that I am not in danger.
I then scan my body for tension or discomfort. I ask myself: Is this familiar? New? Worrisome? Can I change anything to feel better—my posture, the lighting? If not, I at least name it: “Ah, there you are, tight back.” Noticing our discomfort is powerful in and of itself.
I also check in with any protective parts of my personality: What emotions am I carrying into work? What is my mood like today? I might notice strong control parts arising and make the conscious choice to set that emotional baggage down, knowing I can return to it at a more appropriate time.
Self-care preparation: Self-care might mean reading or writing in the morning for 10 minutes before school, jogging in place before students come in the door, listening to a favorite song on the drive to work, or closing your eyes for five minutes over your break. It is OK to allow students to see you engaged in your own self-care.
During Class
Anchoring techniques: When you do feel triggered, “anchor” your nervous system, as Deb Dana (2021) suggests, by choosing a scene or memory that is regulating. I suggest envisioning a time or place in life when you felt like your true self. I think back to camping as a kid and warming my hands in the night air over the orange sparking campfire. I might bring a mug of hot water to my office to cue memories of that experience as a child. Choose something that you can easily access in your classroom and make a habit of using it. This is a way to privately care for yourself while continuing to teach and support your students.
Pivoting lesson plans: When a client enters the room, I observe what their facial expressions, posture, energy level, and other somatic expressions are telling me. Similarly, once students enter your classroom, take a step back and notice their physical and emotional cues. Then, practice psychological flexibility—being present, adaptable, and taking value-aligned actions. For example, I may have an idea for what to work on in a session, but I pivot based on my client’s current needs. Similarly, teachers can alter lessons depending on the temperature of the room.
After triggers occur: When you become triggered, your cues of dysregulation can activate your classroom’s nervous system. If possible, communicate with your students immediately after you become triggered by saying something as simple as, “Let me rewind and try that again” or “Let’s take a break to stretch, get water, and come back again in five minutes.” Once you are regulated, consider what could allow students’ nervous systems to regulate. It might be a change of seating or guiding them through a check-in with their body. It’s best if they can choose or engage in an activity that works for them.
After Class
Repairing the rupture: If we justify our response to student behavior as I initially wanted to with my 6th graders—“I don’t put up with stuff like that” or “They needed to see me this angry”—we cannot repair the rupture we have caused. Instead, we can address the rupture and move toward repair in a way that clinical psychologist Becky Kennedy (2022) suggests: “Name what happened, take responsibility for it, and then state what you would like to do differently next time.” For example, I could have repaired with, “This morning, I felt like no one listened to me when I asked you not to eat the sugar skulls. I yelled. I’m sorry about yelling. I will work on this. Next time, I will try to take a deep breath first and express my preferences in a calmer way.”
Reflecting for growth: Having an attunement practice allows you to both anticipate and prepare for triggering experiences in the classroom. The following questions can help you identify what to be on the lookout for within yourself and your students and provide insight into realistic paths for prevention and recovery.
- How does my body react in a challenging interaction with students?
- What behaviors cause a reaction within me?
- How might these behaviors be linked to feeling danger in my past?
- What mental or physical sensations or images could help me guide my nervous system back to safety?
- What can I change about my day, my classroom, or my interactions with students that would regulate our nervous systems?
Making check-ins a daily habit, no matter how you feel, builds awareness and agency in how you connect with students and colleagues. Anticipating, preparing, noticing, and caring for your triggers puts you in control of your emotions. This vulnerable act of self-care models a path to a more authentic, satisfying, and meaningful relationship to self—and when we feel safe within ourselves, we are more willing to risk social connection with others. This is where belonging begins.
Reflect & Discuss
Think of a recent moment when you felt dysregulated in your classroom. How might you “rewind and try again” if it happened today?
What’s one self-care habit you could build into your daily routine to help stay calm and focused with students?
