Inside a teacher’s head: WHAT I WISH YOU KNEW
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Vital words for understanding
wrapping up – finishing or bringing something (like a lesson) to a close.
thought – a moment of quiet reflection or feeling.
gently – in a soft, kind, and careful way, without pressure.
encouraging – giving someone confidence or support to try.
just in case – as a backup or preparation for something unexpected.
expression – the look on someone’s face that shows how they feel.
the tiniest – the smallest or most subtle.
(to) be a bit off – not feeling like yourself; slightly low or out of sync.
content – the material or topics planned for a lesson.
emotional temperature – the overall emotional state or mood of a person or group.
observe – to carefully watch and pay attention without interfering.
notice – to become aware of something small but important.
admire – to truly respect or feel impressed by someone.
judge – to form a negative opinion, often unfairly.
courage – the strength to do something that feels hard or scary.
willingness – the inner readiness to try, even without being forced.
avoided – stayed away from doing something because of fear or discomfort.
confidence – belief in your own ability to do something.
mindfully – with full attention and thought; not just on autopilot.
effort – the energy and attention you give to trying something.
path – your personal journey of growth or learning.
(to) land – to succeed in having the effect you hoped for.
mess up – to make a mistake or do something wrong.
hesitate – to pause or hold back before doing something, often from fear or doubt.
What I wish you knew
Today, after wrapping up the last session and giving the last homework, I just sat there. I just sat there and thought for a bit.
You see me with a notebook and a plan. You hear my voice asking questions, correcting gently, encouraging you to try. But there are things I’ve never said — not because I didn’t want to, but because I wasn’t sure you needed to know. Until now.
There are so many things you, my clients, don’t see.
I don’t just teach English. I read the room. I read you. I adapt. I prepare three versions of the same task — just in case. I test the atmosphere the very moment you log in, watch how you say “hello,” the expression in your eyes, how quickly or slowly you respond. I try to catch the tiniest signals to understand where you are that day, so I can meet you there.
If you’re just a little bit off, I see it. And then I ask myself: how much can I push today? Pushing is part of progress — I truly believe that. But push too much, and something breaks. Push too little, and we don’t move. I walk this invisible line every day. I don’t always get it right — but I care enough to keep adjusting, lesson by lesson, person by person.
Every session is different. And I’m not just talking about content — yes, of course, each of you brings different goals and interests. But what changes most is the emotional temperature of the room. I spend a lot of energy thinking in context — what kind of questions can I ask? What’s safe, what’s too much, and what’s actually not enough for someone who needs deeper connection?
Sometimes I feel like I’m doing therapy more than teaching. And no, I’m not a therapist — but if what we do helps you open up, speak, express, reflect, then yes, it is learning. Language doesn’t live in grammar books. It lives in real talk. Real emotions. Real stories. And still, many of you are nervous. Nervous about what I think.
Let me tell you: I don’t think anything.
I listen. I observe. I notice. I admire. I do not judge.
I see your courage, not your commas. I see your willingness to show up, to try, to laugh at a joke in English — sometimes for the first time. And that makes my day. I remember when you told me you were nervous before a session. I remember when you avoided speaking in the beginning. And I notice when you suddenly start talking without stopping. I notice when a mistake doesn’t stop you anymore.
You always focus on what you can’t do.
I see what you can.
I see fluency in your growing confidence — not just in how fast you speak. I hear better, deeper questions. I hear you choosing words more mindfully. I see you noticing things you wouldn’t have a month ago. Yes, maybe you’re missing a word — but you’re using ten others without effort. That’s progress.
And while I’m noticing all of this in you, I’m learning too.
My own learning path is long. Ongoing. Probably never-ending. I learn from every lesson. From you. From myself. I read. I explore. I reflect. I make mistakes — yes, even after all these years. I rewrite lessons that didn’t land. I search for new ways to explain something I’ve explained a hundred times. I experiment. I mess up. I learn. Just like you. Because I believe that if I want you to grow, I have to grow too.
So when you hesitate next time, please know this: Your teacher isn’t waiting for perfection.
Just for you — to try, to speak, to trust the process.
I’m in your corner. Every single step of the way.