As we move deeper into another school year focused on instructional strategies, student engagement, and classroom management, I invite school leaders to consider a less likely participant in your school year prep: shame.
Shame, while rarely discussed, shapes countless decisions teachers make in classrooms every day. In my work with novice teachers, we engage deeply with theories of classroom management and how to embed best practice within their classrooms. These are not simple questions of strategy.
Beneath the surface, there is often fear: fear of losing control, fear of appearing ineffective, fear of being judged by colleagues, administrators, students, or even ourselves. When that fear goes unexamined, it often evolves into shame. If we want to improve teacher well-being and strengthen classroom practice, we must be willing to talk about both.
In this biweekly column, principals and other authorities on school leadership—including researchers, education professors, district administrators, and assistant principals—offer timely and timeless advice for their peers.
During our learning sessions, I will poll each new group with the following question: “Who here has lost their cool in the classroom?” Without fail, every hand goes up. Some answer quickly, while others hesitate, as if they are admitting something that should have been kept hidden. What appears on the surface as a classroom-management problem is rooted in emotion, specifically the silent and persistent presence of fear and shame.
Consider this question: When was a moment in your own practice where you made a mistake? How did you feel after? Did you feel angry at the student or staff member? Yourself? Where did shame come into play, and how long after have you felt shame about that moment?
As you reflect, resist the urge to feel ashamed of your shame. Instead, recognize it as a natural part of the deeply human work of teaching and evidence of how deeply you care about your practice. When we dedicate ourselves to the growth of children, moments of uncertainty, fear, and shame are inevitable companions on our journey.
Many experiences we later label as shame begin first as fear.
We may not recognize it in the moment, but many of our reactions can be traced back to an earlier moment of fear. Take, for example, some experiences I’ve heard from my teachers:
“It was the first day of school, and none of the students would get quiet. I used strategies that didn’t immediately work and I was scared they wouldn’t respect me until I put my foot down; so I yelled.”
“A student was dysregulated and refusing to participate in class activities; he would just put his head down. I feared that other students would think that I accepted ‘lazy’ behavior in my room, so I got loud, angry, and kicked him out.”
“I assigned independent reading to my students, and one student, in particular, was refusing to read. He ended up screaming, calling me names, and knocking down furniture until he left the classroom. I was so in shock and scared because I didn’t know how to handle the situation, so I spent the remainder of the day in tears. I felt ashamed to be so emotional.”
These practitioners felt immense shame about what had occurred in their classrooms and often had no clue what to do with the shame. Some took it home; others doubled down in their approach and went entire school years teaching in ways that felt inauthentic for fear of admitting a mistake. For some teachers, these unresolved experiences contributed to feelings associated with burnout and professional isolation.
These aren’t isolated experiences. A 2023 McKinsey survey of approximately 1,800 U.S. educators, school leaders, and school mental health professionals, nearly one-third had considered leaving the profession, often because they were concerned about workload, stress, and an inability to protect their well-being.
To better understand the emotional power of these moments, my cohorts and I often turn to the work of researcher Brené Brown and her ideas on how shame and fear interact in the professional world. In Strong Ground, Brown explains that when we can acknowledge our fear, we remain in control. However, when that fear is outside our conscious awareness, “fear is driving.”
Guided by this insight, we often explore ways we can improve trust between colleagues and share our own mistakes freely in search of support. Courageous vulnerability specifically from administrators can offer teachers a path forward through shameful moments.
This can be transformative for an educator struggling with fear and shame to hear. Shame and fear are natural emotions that will inevitably arise in a profession that involves being simultaneously responsive to the needs of dozens of children.
As the year begins, what space is your school creating to have these vulnerable conversations? What support systems have you created for teachers when shame emerges?
As challenges arise throughout the school year, listen, reflect, and respond with bravery when you see fear in a teacher’s eyes. It will make a difference for that teacher to hear you say, “I have been there, too.”
