Lessons from the Front of the Classroom – Finding My Voice

From as far back as I can remember, writing was my favorite part of school. I liked reading for a while, too – that is, until my first-grade teacher, Ms. C (I’ll call her that), made me stand up in front of the class every day to read out loud. I didn’t like it. My nerves were bad, and by the time I got to college, I had already blamed my fear of public speaking on her.

That lady stressed me out, but I forgave her. To be fair, I wasn’t the only one. We all had our turn standing beside her desk – the one always piled high with black and white marble notebooks. I can still picture myself in my blue plaid uniform jumper, trying not to fumble my words, hoping she wasn’t really listening. But she always was.

Even when she was grading homework with that red pen that never ran out of ink, telling the boys to stop doing whatever boys did, and watching the rest of the class over the brim of her glasses – she was listening. She never let me skip a word or mispronounce anything. I hated it. I can say that now because I’m grown, but boy, was that the longest school year ever. I was sensitive, and everything she did felt aggressive – just too much.

But I can admit that I learned the most in her class. I developed a deeper love for words then, even if I wouldn’t have said it out loud back then. It’s funny how something so uncomfortable can become something so rewarding.

Lessons in the Discomfort

Of course, this isn’t always the case, but sometimes the very things that make us uncomfortable are the ones that shape us the most. Ms. C probably taught the way she had been taught – strict, no-nonsense, with a heavy focus on precision. That was her way.

When I became a teacher, I wanted to take a different approach. I wanted to make space for anxious students, to respect different learning styles, and to create an environment where children felt safe to make mistakes. Because people – children and adults alike – tend to learn better when they feel seen, valued, and genuinely cared for.

Why I Write

I’m here now, creating a space where we can explore, reflect, and connect over shared experiences. I hope that within these posts, you find something you like, love, or can apply to your life in some way.

Reflect and Journal

• Who were some of the early teachers or mentors who shaped you?

• What did they teach you about yourself, even if the lesson was uncomfortable at the time?

• How have you chosen to show up differently for others based on those early experiences?

• How can you make space for others to learn, grow, and express themselves in your presence?

Take a deep breath. Honor the lessons, even the ones that didn’t feel gentle. They shaped you for a reason.

With love,

Anusa ✨