Journey of a Montessori Secondary Teacher

Running head: THE JOURNEY OF A MONTESSORI SECONDARY TEACHER

The Journey of a Montessori Secondary Teacher

Sarah KelleyMacon, Georgia, USA

Submitted to:

Adjunct Faculty Mentor: Julie Haagensonand

Academic Dean: Dr. Philip Snow Gang

Submitted in Partial Fulfillment for the DegreeMaster of Education

Endicott College - TIES Partnership

March, 14 2016

This document follows the APA Manual of Style

Edited by: Leah Brooks

2THE JOURNEY OF A MONTESSORI SECONDARY TEACHER

Abstract

This paper culminates a year and a half of educational work, yet, it spans over multiple years of

time. It details information learned throughout the process of Secondary Montessori training at

HMC as well as that gained from studies at TIES. It includes an in depth look at qualities that

benefit teaching, adult normalization, the use of creativity in the transformation process, as well

as how they may be utilized in other situations. The hope is that by sharing this story, it may

help others to gain greater insight into their own stories and may help others to reflect on the role

of a teacher in the classroom.

Leah Brooks, 03/10/16,

The abstract needs to be written in third person. Do you have the Perrin Guide to refer to regarding its content?


Table of Contents

Introduction………………......……………………………….…………………………

Chapter One: The Journey Begins…..…………………………………………………. -Houston Montessori Center -Student Investment -TIES

Chapter Two: Learning to Teach.…………………………………………………...….. -A Teacher’s Purpose -Becoming Authentic -A Need to Connect

Chapter Three: Fostering Connections………………………………..…………............ -A Change in Perceptions -Quality 1: Courage/Strength -Quality 2: Empathy -Quality 3: Creativity -Quality 4: The Power of Observation -Quality 5: Personal Reflection -Quality 6: Patience -Quality 7: Passion -Quality 8: Wonder -Modeling Qualities

Chapter Four: Normalization…………………………………………………………… -Normalization and the Adult -Growing up Abnormal -Mirror of Relationships -A Time to Change -Finding Value -Putting it into Practice -A New Normalization

Chapter Five: A Montessori Yogi………………………………………………….......... -Yoga for Self-Reflection -Yoga and Montessori -The Significance of Experience -Neurophenomenology -The Process -My Observation of the Students -Observation of Self -Student Comments -Reflection on Process

Chapter Six: Integrating Creativity……………………………………………...............

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-Transformative Creativity -Mind Mapping

Chapter Seven: From Out of the Chaos..………………………………………………… -Finding Freedom -Moving Forward -Conclusion

References………………………………………………………………………………..

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List of Figures

Figure 1. Duality of being 83

Figure 2. Collage activity 86

Figure 3. What TIES and integrative learning mean to me 89


The Journey of a Montessori Secondary Teacher

I encountered Montessori at a young age. From age three until I was eleven, I was a

Montessori student. I actually spent much of my time as a Montessori student at the very school

at which I now teach. When I was a child, my mother was a Montessori teacher, and now both

my sister and I work at the Montessori school that our daughters attend. Montessori, it would

seem, has become a family tradition.

Montessori was not something that I took for granted. When I had to transfer from a

Montessori school to a factory model1 school as a child, I noticed the differences right away and

wished that I could go back to my Montessori school. I hated having to sit behind a desk all day

while listening to my teacher drone on. I hated that I had no say in what work I did or how I did

it. I hated that I was often getting in trouble for my creative interpretations of the assignments. I

hated having to wear shoes inside the classroom and having to raise my hand to ask to go to the

bathroom. I felt that I did not fit into this narrow world, a feeling that persisted into my adult

years. I missed Montessori and I wanted desperately to go back.

Despite this, I had never intended on becoming a Montessori teacher. I spent most of my

school years planning on pursuing a career in theatre, not creating lesson plans or grading papers.

Theatre, like Montessori, was in my blood. My mother had been in a play and was onstage while

I was still growing in her belly, and I was deeply involved with theatre throughout elementary,

middle, and high school. Once I graduated high school, I went on to study theatre at an acting

conservatory in Los Angeles called the American Academy of Dramatic Arts (AADA).

However, life in Los Angeles as a struggling artist proved to be as hard as they say it is, in spite

1 During the Industrial Revolution, “Modern schools were consciously modeled on factories, with their priority of efficient operation” (Lillard, 2007, p. 6).

Julie Haagenson, 03/21/16,


of what my optimistic heart wanted to believe. I left Los Angeles to come back to the East Coast

and try to save up money to return again better prepared.

Once I was back in South Carolina, an opportunity arose to work as an assistant in a

primary classroom at a Montessori school, and I decided to try it out. I was in need of a job, and

I have always been good with kids, probably because I am still a big kid at heart. I decided to

give it a try. I found great pleasure in working with the students. I was put in charge of the arts

and crafts station where I was able to bring in my love for creativity. I also found ways to utilize

my theatre background through different role-play activities and sing-a-longs. Unfortunately,

right before I left Los Angeles, I endured a great emotional trauma, which impacted my ability to

continue working at the Montessori school.

I was attacked in a bar in Los Angeles only a few nights before I left. I tried not to think

about it. I wanted to bury it down deep within myself, to lock it away with a key and never think

about it again. I had many other emotional traumas buried within myself, surely I could handle

hiding away another one. At least, that was how I thought about it. Thinking about these

traumatic experiences only brought up engrained insecurities and self-hatred that I had been

carrying with me most of my life. I did not know how to handle all of these emotions at that

time, so I found ways to distract myself from them instead.

I turned to alcohol and developed an eating disorder in my attempt to find comfort during

this time. Working with the kids brought me joy, but the pain I had endured was too much, and I

would do anything that I could to numb myself from the pain. No surprisingly, this proved

detrimental to my health. I ended up in the emergency room on more than one occasion being

told that I was on the verge of heart failure due to malnourishment. One doctor told me that if I



did not enter treatment immediately, then I was going to die. I entered treatment the next day,

more out of stubbornness than a will to live.

I stayed in the treatment facility for a month, which was not nearly long enough to deal

with all of the trauma I was hiding from, but insurance would not pay for me to stay any longer.

Once I was physically stable, I was required to leave the treatment facility. My therapist there

had suggested that a change of scenery would be good for me. She thought it would be best if I

moved away from my hometown in South Carolina, which proved to be a toxic environment for

me. My father offered for me to come stay with him in Georgia until I was back up on my feet.

Once I was back in Georgia, where I had lived as a young child, I decided that I wanted

to make a change in my life. My dream had always been to be a famous actress, as is the dream

of many young theatre students; however, my priorities now had changed. After almost losing

my life, I decided that I wanted to pursue simpler things, such as a family and a secure job. That

is when I decided to go back to school and finish my bachelor’s degree in theatre.

I applied, and was accepted to, Wesleyan College. Since the majority of my credits for

theatre were already complete, I was allowed the freedom to pursue other interests. I took

multiple philosophy classes, purely out of enjoyment and curiosity. I also studied literature,

psychology, and writing courses. I felt that the love of learning that I had experienced as a

Montessori student had finally returned! When I realized that I needed to find a job while I

completed my studies, my thoughts automatically went to the Montessori school that I had

attended as a child.

Once I was hired, I started as a substitute and after-school teacher. However, I was

quickly approached by the head of school about starting a drama program. I jumped at the

chance to share my passions with the students. That began a long relationship with the school. I


have worked in various different positions within this school, and I am one of the few teachers

who has worked in every single classroom on campus at some point. My intentions had never

been to stay; however, I very quickly fell in love with teaching, particularly at the secondary

level.

I loved the depth of conversation that could be had with adolescents. I was thrilled to

watch them as they tried to form their own identities and discover their place in the world. I

thoroughly enjoyed teaching them about theatre, but I was also enchanted by the conversations

we could have about history, current events, politics, and more. It quickly became clear to me

that my home as a teacher was in an adolescent classroom. Therefore, I was ecstatic when I was

given the opportunity to become the lead teacher of the middle/high school program at

Montessori of Macon and to receive my secondary Montessori training at the Houston

Montessori Center (HMC). I knew that amazing things were waiting for me on the horizon,

although I had no idea just how wonderful, and yet difficult, these things would be.


Chapter One: The Journey Begins

Houston Montessori Center

Before starting my Montessori teacher training, I worked as an assistant in the

middle/high school classroom at Montessori of Macon. Although I was an assistant, I still taught

several history and language lessons. I loved teaching, but I felt very unsure of my abilities as a

teacher. I would stay up for hours the night before a lesson writing and rewriting what I was

going to teach because it never seemed good enough in my eyes. I was filled with anxiety over

whether or not I was capable of giving my students all of the information that they really needed

to be successful in life. I had the picture of an “ideal” Montessori teacher in my head and was

sure that I did not fit the bill. My hope, as I headed into training, was that I would be magically

transformed into the perfect Montessori teacher. It turned out that my training would open the

doors for an amazing transformation, but not exactly in the way I had imagined it.

One aspect of the training that had a major impact on me was being given the opportunity

to live the life of the adolescent student. For five weeks, we received the lessons, took the tests,

completed the work (including group work), and took home the homework that we would soon

be asking our own students to do. This technique helped me to see through the eyes of my

students for a while. I felt their anxieties over completing the work on time, their frustrations

over working with a group of their peers, and their desire to be enticed with the lessons. The

process was difficult but ultimately helped me to form a connection to my students and to think

about their perspective a little more often.

The process also helped me to form a connection with the people I was in training with.

Our teacher, Betsy Coe, put great emphasis on us being a community of learners. We quickly

discovered that we were all in this together and that by supporting and helping one another, we



could all get more out of the process. This transferred to my views of my own classroom and

students. I began to realize how we are also a community of learners, working together to

achieve similar goals. It helped me to recognize how important that community is and how I

needed to make sure to preserve it. When it was time for me to leave training and begin my

practicum year, I made forging a stronger student community my goal.

As part of my training, I completed a year-long practicum in a secondary classroom. I

completed this practicum at Montessori of Macon (MOM) with a classroom of eight middle

school students (7th & 8th grade) as well as seven high school students (9th–11th grade). The

secondary program at MOM was still relatively new; therefore, the enrollment was much smaller

than other classes on the campus.

Due to the small class size, the middle school and high school programs existed within

the same classroom, although middle school and high school students did not attend the same

lessons. My practicum year was one of transition. I was hired to replace the lead teacher who

would be leaving at the end of my practicum year. At the beginning of the practicum, I had few

responsibilities other than the classes that I taught. By the end of the school year, I had as many

responsibilities as the lead teacher.

One of the first things that I noticed after I completed my training was that many of the

principles I had learned at HMC seemed to not be reflected in my new classroom. It appeared to

lack structure, accountability, and a sense of community. Very few assignments were turned in

on time, and when they were turned in, they tended to be of a very low quality. When Coe, my

trainer and founder of the secondary training program at HMC, came for her first observation of

my practicum, she made a similar observation. One of the requirements for my training was to


complete a research project. Coe’s observations gave way to my research question: How can I

help students improve their work quality and overall investment in their education?

Student Investment

The first step I took in my attempt to answer this question was to lower the overall

amount of work that the students were asked to complete. It is often said that less is more, and I

thought I would start by testing that theory out. If I lowered the overall quantity of work, would

the quality improve? I went through their project packets (which detailed all of their

assignments, due dates, instructions, and expectations) and considered all of the work that was

assigned. I looked at what the overall goal of each piece of work was, decided how well

completing the work was likely to help students achieve that goal, and considered whether there

was other work that also could enable a student to achieve the particular goal. As part of this

process, I put the assigned work into the categories of necessary and unnecessary.

To illustrate, the high school students were being asked to write two short (one–two

page) essays a week. One of the goals of this work was to provide them with writing practice.

Another goal was for students to demonstrate that they were not only reading the assigned texts

but that they were thinking about and understanding them as well. Students also had seminar

discussions each week on the same texts they were writing about, which allowed them to

demonstrate understanding. It seemed that more than one essay a week on the same text was

redundant. Therefore, I decided that one writing assignment a week would be sufficient practice,

so I lowered the number of short essays that were required from two a week down to one a week

per subject.

I implemented other changes in the workload students were required to complete. I

lowered the number of weekly key terms that the students were required to learn from 15–20 per


course down to five per course. These key terms were words that we considered to be important

for the students to understand before they would receive a lesson on a particular topic. We

would ask the students to define them so that when they came up in a lesson, the students would

already have an understanding of the terminology being used. However, it seemed that the

number of words we were asking them to define was overwhelming. While it was easy for a

student to define and retain five words within a week, they struggled greatly to retain 15–20;

therefore, the assignment was not serving its purpose.

Another change I implemented was the amount of independent and group works that the

students were required to complete. Students went from having multiple independent and group

works each week to only one per course. Their independent works would vary in type, but often

included short writing assignments, research, and preparing lessons (or class presentations).

When a student engages in independent work, he or she explores the concepts presented in the

lesson individually. The group works were also aimed at having the students explore particular

concepts further, but they carried the added bonus of teaching the students how to work well

with others. I found that having only one large independent work and one group work per week

gave students enough time to fully explore the concepts without being overloaded with too much

information.

I also scheduled time for students to complete larger assignments without the expectation

of completing other works simultaneously. At the end of each session (or quarter of the school

year), the students would present a large “lesson” to their fellow classmates. We call them

lessons rather than merely presentations since the objective is for the students to teach this

information to their peers.


These lessons are meant to synthesize what they have been studying over the course of

the session as well as give the students an opportunity to explore a topic they are interested in a

little further. For instance, if I have a student who is very interested in clothing and fashion, then

he or she could present a “session lesson” on clothing through the ages, to accompany their

history class. These lessons were typically meant to be worked on throughout the entire session;

however, many students were not achieving this as they were already overwhelmed with work.

By scheduling an entire work week dedicated just to these lessons, I was hoping to give the

students more time to work on them and put more thought into them.

Very quickly, the effects of these changes were evident. More assignments were being

completed and turned in on time. I was sending out less and less daily missing work reports, an

accountability tool I used to communicate with the parents of my students about whether or not

work was being completed. However, the quality of the work remained fairly low. The students

did not seem invested in their work, and they were not taking the time to ensure that the quality

of their work was high. This led me to my second research question: How can I help my

students to be more invested in their work and to want their work to be of a high quality?

I chose to have the students help create rubrics detailing what exemplary work should

look like and include. The idea behind this decision was to give my students a sense of

ownership over their work. I met separately with the different classes about course specific work

and met with the whole middle/high school student body to discuss work that was common to

them all. They created very specific rubrics for all of their major and repeated work. During the

process of creating the rubrics, students were asked not only to think about what they would

enjoy working on and presenting, but also how they would like to see other groups present their

work to help optimize their own learning.


My students created rubrics for major works, such as lessons and papers, at the beginning

of each session and then re-created them again toward the end. The recreated rubrics provided

more specific expectations than the original rubrics. This showed me that my students’

understanding of the assignments and expectations of themselves, as well as their classmates,

had increased. I also had them write reflections about how they had progressed in their work,

and from reading these reflections, I learned that my students had a great sense of pride in their

work and their growth. The work that they were turning in was definitely of a higher quality,

and I could see that they were pushing themselves.

Through the process of creating the rubrics, a conversation was opened up with the

middle school students. They confessed that they rushed through a lot of their work and did not

care how it looked or how well they did because they just wanted to be finished with it. As the

conversation continued, some students revealed that they were having a very hard time

understanding and working through some of their work. They were feeling inadequate and

unsuccessful.

Throughout our dialogue, we discussed what being successful feels like, what it means to

be successful with work, why it is important to ask questions and get help, how we could

strengthen the community so students feel safer asking questions, and how all of us (I included

myself in this) feel inadequate from time to time. I allowed the students to do the majority of the

talking while I listened without passing judgment, although I would occasionally ask questions to

help guide the conversation in a productive way.

This allowed them to feel heard and created a circle of trust among all of us.

Immediately after this dialogue, I had many more students asking questions, putting greater

effort into their work, and taking great pride in their work. The openness of my students and


their willingness to overcome their obstacles inspired me to be more open and overcome my own

obstacles as well. As a result of my training, I was able to help my students move forward in

their education as well as in their lives in a positive way.

It had also been a much needed catalyst for change in my life. Watching my students as

they faced their fears helped to give me the courage and strength needed to face my own. My

life had not always been an easy one, and I was living in a dark space at that time. I felt that I

was in the midst of an identity crisis. The questions of “Who am I?” and “What is my purpose?”

rang in my head daily. I returned to my second summer of training with a determination to find

an answer to these questions. That search led me to enroll at the Institute for Educational Studies

(TIES).

TIES

I began my journey with TIES not really sure what to expect. I wondered how an online

program could possibly have close to the same impact on me as my training at the Houston

Montessori Center (HMC) did. I was shocked to discover that it would have an even greater

impact. While my training at HMC mainly focused on the Montessori philosophy and the latest

research in developmental psychology, my studies with TIES looked at several different

educational philosophies as well as theories about the world itself.

Chaos theory and the ideas behind system thinking spoke to me the most. Cosmologists

Brian Swimme and Mary Tucker (2011) stated in their book Journey of the Universe that “we are

the universe in the form of human. And every time we are drawn to look up into the night sky

and reflect on the awesome beauty of the universe, we are actually the universe reflecting on

itself” (p. 12). This line of thinking helped me to realize how everything in the universe is

connected and has its own individual purpose. As I worked through my new studies with TIES, I


also began to reflect on the past year I had spent in training. This reflection allowed me to see

the transformation that I was going through in a new light and led me to ask myself: How has

what I have learned throughout my Montessori training and work with TIES affected my role as

both a teacher and a human being?


Chapter Two: Learning to Teach

A Teacher’s Purpose

Medical doctor and educational theorist Maria Montessori (1955/2007) stated in her book

The Formation of Man that “first ‘normal functioning’ must be obtained—a ‘state of health’ and

the establishment of this is what we call ‘normalization’” (p. 34). That being said, it seemed to

me that one of the main responsibilities of Montessori teachers would be to help guide their

students to this state of normalization. But how exactly would someone go about doing this?

I reflected on my practicum year of teaching, looking at how much the students had

changed and improved over the year. The changes to the work and curriculum seemed to help

the students to move significantly towards normalization, but perhaps there was something else

at work as well. Looking back on my practicum year, I seemed to have changed as much as my

students did. Could my own personal growth have affected the students’ growth as well?

I wanted to look further into how my personal growth may have affected my students’

growth, however I felt that I needed to look beyond just my practicum year. In fact, I decided

that reflecting back far before my training even began might help paint a clearer picture of this

journey I seemed to be on. Perhaps it is because so much of what I have learned in the past has

directly influenced my current journey through TIES. I have learned that no event truly happens

in isolation. My metamorphosis was the result of many events in my life.

Becoming Authentic

As a young child, I was always told that I was very “sensitive.” Perhaps I was, but not

only in the standard meaning of the word (overly emotional). I always had a strong sense of

connection to the people, animals, and world around me, as well. My heart would ache when I

would see a wounded animal, a homeless soul, or even litter on the side of the road. I had an


instinct that every part of creation had its own distinct energy as well as its own unique purpose.

I had the feeling that part of humanity’s purpose was to help those in need, particularly those

who were struggling.

Unfortunately, I quickly discovered that this way of thinking is often in contradiction

with mainstream thought, at least in Western culture. I have been teased and called a “dreamer,”

“idealistic,” or told that I am “out of touch with reality.” The term “reality,” which people often

speak of, is described as a place of “fact.” The philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre (1981) believed

that “it was also to suppose that the observer can confront a fact face-to-face without any

theoretical interpretation interposing itself” (p. 79). He went on to assert that “this was an error,”

one often made by the philosophers of the Age of Reason (p. 79). It begs the question, what is

reason?

Chaos theorist and author John Briggs and physicist David Peat (1999) noted in their

book Seven Life Lessons of Chaos, “Now we associate rationality with science and think of

reason as the capacity to be logical, analytical, coldly objective, and detached” (p. 95). This

description brings forth pictures in my mind of tall, looming buildings, and cold concrete

sidewalks covered in litter. It also raises the question of objectivity. I have often heard people

explain that a problem must be looked at objectively, but what does it really mean to be

objective?

Physicist David Bohm (1996/2014) seemed to echo the words of MacIntyre when he

challenged his readers to see that “most of our basic assumptions come from our society,

including all our assumptions about how society works, about what sort of person we are

supposed to be, and about relationships, institutions, and so on” (p. 26). Is it possible for

anybody to look at anything objectively, without assumptions mixed in? This leads me to


question, even if an objective truth or reality does exist, would it ever be possible for humans to

perceive it objectively?

Western society appears to promote the assumption that reality exists within a

mechanistic society. MacIntyre (1981) stated that “the notion of ‘fact’ with respect to human

beings is thus transformed . . . to the mechanistic view” (p. 84). To me, it seems that this

mechanistic reality stresses that work, paying bills, and keeping your nose to the grindstone are

the fundamental “truths” of life; anything outside of the mechanistic world of “fact” and

objectivity (such as art, emotion, and beauty) are often disregarded as fantasy. The author

Charles Dickens (1854/2007) illustrated a similar view in his novel Hard Times, where children

were raised on the belief of “Facts” and punished for a belief in “Fancy.” His book opens by

stating this idea very clearly, “Now, what I want is Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but

Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life” (p. 11). Oddly, I have experienced cases of people trying

to fit these “fantastical” things into the world of objectivity. Is that not what critics are aiming to

do when they say definitively that art is either objectively good or objectively bad? Are they not

merely taking their opinion, that which they believe to be true, and putting it forth as an objective

statement?

Bohm (1996/2014) asserted that “opinions thus tend to be experienced as ‘truths,’ even

though they may only be your own assumptions and your own background” (p. 24). Bohm

appeared to be saying that what we often experience as “truth” or believe to be “true” may

simply be an opinion. It may not be objective at all. Could it, then, be that the idea of reality

itself could often be merely opinion shaded by assumption?

I know that work, paying bills, and other associated responsibilities are typically

necessary for basic survival, but they do not make me feel real. They do not make me feel alive.


The sun shining on my face, the wind as it whistles through the trees, and the warmth of the

earth- these make me feel real. Laughter, connecting to another person, and sharing a moment

with other human beings -these make me feel alive.

My sensitive tendencies and view on reality were fostered at the Montessori school I

attended as a child, as we were encouraged to look at the world through a lens of wonder and

awe. It was Montessori (1948/2007) herself, in To Educate the Human Potential, who believed

that “nature is the teacher of life” (p. 77). As a student, I was able to spend time marveling at the

beauty of a grasshopper or following a butterfly to see where it would go. I would always finish

my work for the day early, just so that I could spend the rest of the day researching animals and

nature. I had a fierce passion for learning.

As soon as I left Montessori for a traditional school, I was eager to go back to my

Montessori roots. I had fond memories of a place of growth, acceptance, and curiosity. My

traditional schooling felt stifling. I did well in my classes, but I did not feel like I experienced

any growth, and I certainly did not feel excited about learning. Finally, I had the opportunity to

return to Montessori, but this time, as a teacher.

I was surprised to find that the world of the Montessori adult was not quite the same as

what I had experienced growing up. In one classroom, where I worked as an upper elementary

assistant, I was given a rigid and specific list of tasks that I was to complete in a specific way. I

quickly found out that these tasks were not open to interpretation or improvisation. I was

scolded for being too distracting when I pointed out and observed how a spider crawled across a

window. I was encouraged to be less friendly and jovial, to give less hugs.

Eventually, I became an assistant teacher in a secondary-level classroom. As opposed to

rigid step-by-step instructions, I received very little direction at all. Freedom of choice can be


wonderful, but as developmental psychologist Angeline Lillard (2005) pointed out, “having too

many choices becomes negative and works against people’s sense of control” (p. 94). I found

that being asked to perform a task with very little instruction felt somewhat like I imagine

floating in space would feel, disorienting and anxiety inducing.

I found that my natural personality was once again being suppressed. Joking with the

students was frowned upon as being too friendly and personal. I was told I put too much stock in

my students’ emotional states. Conversation beyond the typical greetings was discouraged as,

again, it was getting too personal with the students. I was meant to be removed and detached

from my students, or so I was told.

During this period, I felt discouraged and downtrodden. I was trying tirelessly to fit into

the mold of what I was told, and assumed, that the perfect Montessori teacher was meant to be,

but it seemed that it was the exact opposite of everything that I felt I was. Briggs and Peat

(1999) stated, “In a stereotype, subtlety and individuality are lost” (p. 79). The image I had in

my mind was a stereotype, and in trying to make myself more like that image, my individuality

was lost. I was beginning to think that I truly did not fit into the world of Montessori after all.

So many questions danced through my mind: How can I possibly lead students if I do not

know where I am leading them, if I do not know where I am going? How can I teach my

students when I certainly do not have all of the answers? How can I inspire them to do their

assigned work, when I find their currently assigned work so uninspiring? How can I set up the

strong boundaries and distance that I have been told is required for my students to respect me?

These are the questions that I carried with me when I was sent to HMC for my training. I

went in expecting to be shaped into a quiet, pious, serious, reserved, and highly intelligent

teacher. I firmly believed that I would return to the classroom a new person. Briggs and Peat


(1999) expressed that “at work, people are not allowed to admit weakness, acknowledge self-

doubt, or make mistakes without paying heavily for it” (p. 63). I certainly knew I had a lot of

weaknesses and that I made a multitude of mistakes every day. I did not think that I could ever

be a good teacher until I learned to overcome all these limitations.

Bohm (1996/2014) pointed out “a common problem of introspection. You say, ‘I am

going to look at myself inwardly,’ but the assumptions are not looked at—the assumptions are

looking” (p. 79). I felt proud of my reflectiveness, for being able to notice my weaknesses and

want to work on them, but I was using an assumption as a measuring stick. The assumptions

were guiding my opinions of what my weaknesses were.

It seems that some assumptions are easily recognized; other assumptions appear to only

be recognized once an opposing view is shown. I quite often find myself reflecting on an

assumption that I am trying to avoid, only to discover another assumption at work. For instance,

when I began my training, I believed that I was avoiding the assumption that “I was not made to

be a Montessori teacher” by coming in prepared to be changed. However, through the training

process, I was able to see that I was holding onto an assumption of what a Montessori teacher

should look like. One assumption helped to shape the other. I am beginning to wonder if

assumptions work in layers. Maybe disarming one assumption can reveal others hidden beneath

it. It is possible that dissolving my assumption of what being a good Montessori teacher looked

like revealed (and subsequently dissolved) assumptions I had about teaching, the Montessori

Method, life, and even myself.

When I was roughly half-way through my training at HMC, I began to feel at war with

myself. I was torn between my sensitive, creative, and encouraging instincts and the withdrawn,

quiet, and serious teacher I was trying to become. I felt tired and worn down. The process of my


training seemed to nurture and encourage the natural instincts that I had so often been told to

suppress. This gave my instincts a stronger voice, and they began shouting to be heard.

Christopher Uhl (2003) believed that “individuals experience power from within when

they bring their outward actions into alignment with their inner convictions” (p. 376). My

actions were reflecting someone else’s convictions, not my own. It was only when I finally

stopped fighting my own convictions that I was able to gain what I had wanted all along,

connection—connection to my students, the world, and myself.

Letting go of the idea of the perfect Montessori teacher and allowing my own convictions

and intuitions to spring forth became the catalyst for my metamorphosis. This transformation

has been ongoing; I did not suddenly burst forth and immediately come to recognize what

qualities I already possessed that were useful to help aid my students. I am continuing to reflect,

re-evaluate, and learn new things. However, I will attempt to explore and share the qualities that

I have used to create these connections.

A Need to Connect

Briggs and Peat (1999) explained that “underneath our feelings of isolation and our

loneliness as separate individuals vibrates a sense of belonging and interconnection to the whole

world” (p. 128). This suggests that humans, as a species, crave connection with ourselves, one

another, and the earth. Connection is a fairly broad term, but the majority of the work that I had

been doing with my students all seemed to be working to form connections either with the

student and him or herself, the student and the teacher, the student and other students, or the

student and the world. If I was needing to connect, could my students be needing to connect as

well?


In her book From Childhood to Adolescence, Montessori (1948/2008) asserted that “here

is an essential principle of education: to teach details is to bring confusion; to establish the

relationship between things is to bring knowledge” (p. 58). It appears that even education

depends upon making connections. I always struggled as a child to memorize random facts. I

needed context, connection, to have the fact make sense before it would stick in my mind.

Educational consultants Tony Buzan and Barry Buzan (1993) explained in The Mind

Map Book the idea of “Gestalt wholeness.” They explained that “our brains tend to look for

pattern and completion” (p. 35). It seems to me that Buzan and Buzan are saying that, as

humans, our brains actually crave to see these connections in the universe. In my experience,

without connections, facts seem to be meaningless and useless. This makes me wonder about

how often things seem to be segmented and separated in Western Culture, for instance, in the

medical field. There seem to be specialists for every system, function, and body part in the

human body. However, the specialists seem to know very little about any system, function, or

body part outside of their specialty. This can make it difficult to get a correct diagnosis when a

disorder or syndrome affects multiple systems within the body. While it seems to be important

to look at each part that is affected, it could also be beneficial to see how the body is affected as a

whole.

For instance, I have recently been diagnosed with a genetic syndrome called Ehlers-

Danlos Syndrome (EDS). EDS affects my body’s ability to produce collagen, which affects

multiple systems in the body, but it especially affects my body’s connectivity tissues. I was

actually born with this, but no one ever noticed. Once I learned of my diagnosis, suddenly a

lifetime of injuries and pain made sense. I had been to multiple orthopedic doctors for knee

injuries, sprained ankles, wrist issues, etc. I have been to physical therapy multiple times for


various different injuries. I have had migraine headaches for years, chronic joint pain, chronic

rib inflammation, and a disorder of the temporomandibular joint muscle. All of these are

symptoms associated with EDS, yet no doctor ever tried to connect the dots between all of my

different issues to see that they all fit under one syndrome. I was, instead, shuffled from

specialist to specialist based on the belief that I was just extra weak and accident prone. It was

not until a doctor who understood EDS took a look at my medical history that I was finally able

to understand how this one issue affected my system as a whole.

In The Great Work, eco-theologian and cultural historian Thomas Berry (1999) asserted

that “indeed nothing in the universe could be itself apart from every other being in the universe,

nor could any moment of the universe story exist apart from all the other moments in the story”

(p. 32). Berry seems to be saying that not only do we need to look at each individual part of a

given system, we also need to look at the connections between the parts and how they make up

the whole in order to understand the system and its parts more fully. This, I believe, is what

Buzan and Buzan (1993) meant when they talked about “gestalt.” Could looking at both the

individual parts of a system and the system as a whole help bring us that sense of completion, or

gestalt, that our brains crave?

Briggs and Peat (1999) explained that “we’re all a part of the whole. Every single

element in the system influences the direction of all other things in the system” (p. 46). If

everything in the universe influences everything else, would it follow that everything is also

already connected? For instance, last year I had a student in my classroom that I was very

concerned about. She had emotional difficulties and her parents were unwilling to seek

treatment for her. Her attitude in the class influenced the attitude of all of the other students,


Spell out


whether she associated with them or not. It was a small classroom, so the impact was fairly

clear.

The fact that one student can influence another, with or without even speaking to them,

shows me that there are webs of connections at work. Imagine an actual spider web for a

moment. If you were to pluck on one of the threads, as if plucking a guitar string, you would see

the entire web vibrate to some degree. All the other parts of the web are being influenced by that

one action that occurred at that one point. This influence is able to happen only because of the

fact that the web is connected. If there was no connection, then would the influence still be

seen?

If human beings are part of this whole system that is the universe, as Briggs and Peat

(1999) asserted, then it would follow that we, as human beings, are all connected and influencing

one another. I have often heard people talk about craving a connection and wanting to connect,

but perhaps what they are really craving and wanting is to feel and recognize the connections that

already exist. Humans do not have to work to create these connections. While people will

sometimes have feelings of loneliness and isolation, is it really possibly to ever be absolutely

isolated if we are all connected in this system?

However, Western Culture seems to make it harder for these connections to be seen,

giving us the overwhelming feeling of separation. Management consultant Margaret Wheatley

(2006) seems to exert this idea of separation in her book Leadership and the New Science, saying

“we have reduced and described and separated things into cause and effect, and drawn the world

in lines and boxes” (p. 29). Western culture separates humans by race, ethnicity, religion,

culture, geography, political beliefs, etc. The list of divisions goes on and on. It seems to create

an attitude of “us” versus “them,” with the roles of “us” and “them” constantly changing. This


attitude seems inherently adversarial. Could it be pitting all of humanity against one another and

encouraging constant conflict and competition?

Once I recognized how important acknowledging these connections to all of humanity, to

the world, and to the universe itself are, I wanted to find a way to bring that knowledge into my

classroom. I particularly wanted to focus on fostering the student-to-student connections as well

as the student-to-teacher connections. I did not want the students split into cliques or feeling as

though they were having to work against their teachers. I hoped to create a safe and comfortable

environment within the classroom, making it a place where everyone felt like a part of a

community.


Chapter Three: Fostering Connections

A Change in Perception

I continued to reflect on my presence in the classroom. This included reflecting on the

qualities I possessed that seemed to help foster connections both between the students and

myself, as well as between the students and their peers. While there are many possible qualities

that could have aided in this journey to form the aforementioned connections, there are eight

main qualities that I am coming to believe are responsible for creating strong connections:

courage/strength, empathy, creativity, the power of observation, personal reflection, patience,

passion, and wonder. These are qualities that seemed to be needed to help guide the students to

normalization.

Philip Gang (2011) described eight qualities needed to foster normalization that are

aligned with the qualities I listed above. He included, “Love (empathy along with Biophilia,

Ecophilia, and Cosmophilia), Hope, Courage, Confidence, Creativity, Awe–Compassion,

Silence–Self-reflection, [and] Gratitude” (pp. 17–18). My goal is not to merely reiterate what

Gang has already said, but to take these qualities, explore them, and hopefully expand my

understanding of their value.

As Briggs and Peat (1999) exclaimed, “A sudden change of perception had reduced

complexity to simplicity” (p. 82). My shift in perception came as I stopped trying to model the

image of a perfect teacher and started modeling the qualities that I would like to see my students

learn and embody. Once I had learned of my students’ struggles, both inside and outside of the

classroom, I realized how important these qualities were to student investment. But how could I

expect my students to show these qualities if I would not? If I wanted my students to be


courageous, empathetic, creative, etc., would I not need to demonstrate these qualities as well?

Therefore, it became imperative for me to demonstrate these qualities at all times.

Quality 1: Courage/Strength

My exploration begins with courage, since it took a great deal of courage to go against

the norms that surrounded me. Gang (2011) cited Sri Chinmay when he described his

understanding of courage. Gang asserted, “Courage is the constant awareness of what we are

entering into, of what we are going to become, and of what we are going to reveal” (p. 14). I

have come to a slightly different interpretation. My experiences have shown me courage comes

when I am aware of what I am entering into but I am completely unaware and unsure of what the

outcome will be.

Swimme and Tucker (2011) offered their definition of courage as living “in the midst of

the ambiguities of this moment without drawing back into fear and a compulsion to control” (p.

83). I may have (and usually do have) a hope for what outcome I want, but the need for courage

is present in the not knowing. I have experienced this in both small acts of courage, such as

trying a new activity, and large acts of courage, such as walking away from an unhealthy

marriage, leaving behind all that I had known. I have found that trying new things and pushing

limitations are necessary parts of growth and that courage is needed to take on these tasks.

For most of my life, I let my fear of making mistakes control what I did. I would always

stay in the safety of what I knew and never pushed myself to new limits. Similarly, I found that

my students were terrified of making mistakes because they did not want to appear stupid in

front of their peers. They would prefer to not turn in their work at all than to admit that they did

not understand something or may need help. Overcoming this tendency is where strength

connects to courage.


In my experience, great courage has always required great strength. As part of my

personal metamorphosis, I ended my marriage. I was ashamed to admit to myself, and others,

that I was in an emotionally abusive relationship. I was terrified of what would happen after I

left, of how it would be received. Thanks to the great support I received from my fellow adult

learners at HMC, I finally found the courage to leave. I found the courage to face the fear of the

unknown. However, it took a great amount of inner strength to continue on my new path once I

began, and be committed to continuing no matter how rocky the path became.

To model courage and strength for my students, I began making mistakes in front of

them. This was not very difficult to do, as making mistakes seems to be a natural part of the

human condition; however, it was scary, as I was not sure how this would be received. I would

make spelling or writing mistakes, then I would model either asking for help or going back and

trying again. If things did not go as expected when I would try different activities with my class,

I would initiate a conversation to discuss what we had learned from this experience and what we

could do differently the next time.

After a few weeks, my students began asking more questions, asking for help, and trying

things that they had always been afraid to do (such as writing poetry). They also began working

harder on their assignments and not giving up on their work as quickly as I had seen them do

before. For instance, I had a student who felt she was a slow reader. It seemed to her that it took

her longer to read assignments than others. She also was struggling to comprehend what was

being said in the texts. I demonstrated to her a method of marking up the text in a way that

assists with comprehension. I warned her that this method would not speed up her reading, but it

would help her to better understand what she was reading. Despite the extra time required, she

chose to continue with the method, and was still using it almost a year later. She showed


courage by asking me for help and admitting that she was struggling, but it took strength for her

to work through the struggle and not give up on comprehension.

Through modeling this courage to take risks and make mistakes, as well as the strength to

persevere, I was able to break down some of the divide between my students and me: the divide

that communicates that I am the all-knowing teacher and they are the empty vessels. As this

divide broke down, a connection was forged between my students and me. Showing my faults

was one way that I was able to demonstrate empathy.

Quality 2: Empathy

Empathy plays an important role in the classroom. My experiences both within the

classroom, as well as in my personal life, have taught me that without empathy, without the

ability to truly understand and feel the suffering of another, there cannot be any deep connection

between individuals. As someone who has been told that I over-empathize with people, I have a

hard time understanding how empathy can elude so many people. That may not be a fair

assumption, but I have a hard time understanding how anyone with the capacity to empathize

could, for their own personal gain, allow others to suffer, such as exploiters of child labor. How

can empathy be present in promoters of utilitarianism, a mechanistic worldview, or the

objectification of human life?

Throughout my life, many of my emotional reactions have been met with assertions such

as, “You are overreacting.” It is, of course, possible that I have overreacted some of the time;

however, other times I am sure my reactions have been an appropriate response to the particular

situation. Either way, whether my reaction was valid or not, as soon as I was accused of

overreaction, a wall came up between my “accuser” and me. Not only did I not feel any better


about the problem, but I would also be filled with self-doubt and lose trust in the other person.

My connection and trust in both myself as well as the other person was significantly diminished.

Uhl (2003) stated, “When we listen with the intention of building empathy and

understanding, we also quickly build trust, and possibilities emerge” (p. 174). I reflected on my

previous conversations with my students. Had I been listening with empathy or had I been so

rushed with a flurry of expectations that I would brush off what they were trying to say to me?

In truth, often I was rushing through our conversations and making assumptions about my

students’ motives.

Once I made this realization, I stopped rushing and I began to truly listen to my students

with an open heart. I stopped asking why their work was incomplete and began asking how they

were feeling about their work. I asked what obstacles they felt were getting in the way of their

work, how they felt as they worked on their assignments, and how they felt when the

assignments were completed. I discovered that my students had been dealing with insecurities,

had trouble understanding the materials, were faced with difficulties at home, and were feeling

overwhelmed. As they revealed these struggles to me, I helped them to come up with plans to

work through these issues (when possible), or I would simply listen without judgment if that

seemed to be the best option.

If I had responded by dismissing these struggles, telling them to get over it or that they

just need some perspective, would they have been as willing to continue sharing their struggles

with me? Perhaps their trust in me would have diminished, or been lost completely, similar to

what I had experienced in my own life. Through these one-on-one sessions with my students

(which I call “advisement”), I saw students work through their insecurities and improve their

problem-solving skills. Their trust in me also seemed to increase, leading to them to become


more and more willing to talk to me when new issues would arise. Empathizing with students

also helped me to understand their actions and motives when they completed (and sometimes did

not complete) their assigned work.

One of the first things that I had been told by my lead teacher upon entering the

secondary classroom was that the students would not do their work because they supposedly did

not care enough about getting it done. This seems to be an easy way to dismiss what appears to

be lack of enthusiasm and motivation. It keeps teachers safe in their assumption that they are

doing all that they can, that it is the students who are not doing their job. However, once I

stopped assuming what my students’ motives were and started to listen and empathize with their

individual struggles, I was able to open up a meaningful and productive dialogue with them. It

also opened me up to look at my own actions as a teacher, to listen to what they were telling me

they needed.

Bohm (1996/2014) explained, “This is what I consider dialogue—for people to realize

what is on each other’s minds without coming to any conclusions or judgments” (p. 34). I have

watched as students completely shut down conversations and become defensive when they feel

that they are being accused or reprimanded. I have watched adults do the same thing. This

experience tells me that we all have a desire and need to feel heard. Could it be human nature to

desire to feel as though someone understands us? Is the feeling of being understood a necessary

component for connection to other individuals? In my attempts to create connections with my

students and help them overcome their obstacles, I had to listen with my heart, empathize, and

get creative.


Quality 3: Creativity

Briggs and Peat (1999) believed that “for the human animal, creativity is about getting

beyond what we know, getting to the ‘truth’ of things” (p. 21). I understand this to mean that

creativity allows humans to look past what can be seen on the surface to the hidden truths below

the surface. I have found that creativity also allows humans to see multiple ways to respond to

or overcome specific situations. The great acting teacher Uta Hagen (1973), in her book Respect

for Acting, stated that “the obstacle itself will strongly influence what you must do to overcome

it in the pursuit of the objective” (p. 180). Her direction was, of course, aimed at how actors

should approach a scene. All scenes contain an objective for each character as well as an

obstacle getting in the way of the character obtaining their objective. The actor then uses many

different “actions” to work to overcome these obstacles.

I mention this because I believe that theatre, as well as many other art forms, reflect life

itself. As humans, we have many objectives in life, each with its own obstacles that get in the

way of our achieving these objectives. Perhaps creativity enables humans to see to the heart or

root of the obstacle and discover appropriate ways to overcome these obstacles. It would follow

then, that as a teacher, I would need to use creativity to get to the root of not only my obstacles,

but the obstacles facing my students as well.

In the Montessori classroom, the teacher’s objective is to aid each student in reaching the

point of “normalization” (Montessori, 1955/2007). In his article, “The Four Planes of

Development,” Camillo Grazzini (2004) stated that “the process of transition from deviated to

normal development . . . Montessori calls ‘normalization’” (p. 216). While this objective applies

to all students, each student also brings his or her own unique objective and obstacles with them

into the classroom. I have found that a particular “action” may work wonderfully to facilitate


one student overcoming his or her obstacle, but may not work at all for the next student. For

instance, I had two students who were both struggling to complete their daily assignments on

time. One student explained that she had a hard time concentrating on her work when she was at

home; she felt she worked more productively at school. Her solution was to stay after school,

three days a week, to work on her assignments. This worked very well for her. The other

student also struggled to complete his work at home, as there were many distractions. He tried

staying after school to complete his work, but by the end of the day he was feeling burnt out and

struggled to concentrate. He decided that he would try waking up in the mornings before school

to do his homework while the house was quiet. This proved very effective for him, and his work

quality improved.

Briggs and Peat (1999) asserted that creativity is needed to break past the barriers of the

known to see possible solutions. Through modeling creativity when I approach obstacles myself,

I have witnessed my students becoming more creative in how they approach their own individual

obstacles. I have also watched as they try multiple approaches in search of what the best

possible solution to their obstacle may be. Careful observation is what has allowed me to notice

my students using creativity to overcome their obstacles.

Quality 4: The Power of Observation

Identifying how best to support my students, whether through advisement, direct

intervention, or indirect modeling, requires observation. It is through observation that I am able

to judge how best to respond to each unique obstacle. Observation has also proved to be

necessary for me to identify each student’s individual abilities, limits, and learning styles.

As Lillard (2005) explained:

Children of the same age can be at different levels within a topic, can have different learning styles requiring different forms of teaching, can learn at different speeds, and


can benefit tremendously from interacting with other children who are older and younger than themselves. (p. 8)

Humans do not all learn at the same rate or in the same way. I have learned that the best

way to discover how each individual student learns is by stepping back and quietly observing. I

made the assumption in my early months of teaching that if one student was capable of writing

multiple in-depth paragraphs to answer a question, then all of them should be able to do the

same. I made the mistake of judging each student’s work against the work of the other students.

I eventually discovered that in order to best aid each student in their learning, I had to learn to

step back and look at the work of each student individually and shape my expectations to that

particular student rather than to the class as a whole. Once I did this, I was able to observe and

appreciate improvement in each student’s work.

For example, I had one student whose written responses were consistently brief and

lacking in depth of thought. She and I went back and forth for a couple of weeks, with me

asking for longer, more in-depth responses and her struggling to do more than she was. When I

looked at her responses in comparison to other members of the class, they were certainly lacking.

The majority of the other students had written two full paragraphs, while she had only written

three sentences. When I heard her speak in class on whatever subject we were covering, she

would have wonderful and in-depth observations to offer. This led me to believe that she was

capable of producing a deeper response but for some reason was failing to.

My observations of her work led me to conclude that she was capable of deep reasoning

and analytical thought, however she struggled to communicate her thoughts in writing. This

observation led me to a deeper understanding of her abilities and struggles, which allowed me to

discern an appropriate focus for growth. When I stepped back and observed my students, I

discovered that progress was being made by each student in my class; however, each student’s


progress was unique to them. I found that by taking time to observe my students, as well as

using the words “observe” and “observation” as I spoke with my students, facilitated the

students’ willingness to observe their own progress without comparing it to the progress of

others.

Through this practice, the students also began to improve at observing others actions and

work without judgment. This appeared to help aid them in their own learning. Lillard (2005)

asserted, “The child has probably also observed other children carrying out the sequence of

actions, enabling him or her to learn by observation” (p. 49). Lillard believed that humans learn

through observation, we try to imitate what we see. Modeling behavior that I hope to instill in

my students is based on this same observation that Lillard made. By modeling observation to my

students, I hope to help them tap into their own powers of observation which, in turn, I hope will

facilitate improvement in their learning. I have discovered, however, that to apply what has been

observed requires a great deal of personal reflection.

Quality 5: Personal Reflection

Personal reflection appears to significantly affect how much is learned through

observation. Briggs and Peat (1999) stated, “We all know the sort of person who goes through

life repeating the same mistakes” (p. 37). It does not appear to be enough to simply observe and

acknowledge that a mistake exists or that there is a better way to accomplish a particular task.

Perhaps personal reflection is needed to get to the true heart of the mistake and understand fully

how to respond and/or change.

Often during my weekly advisement sessions with my students, they will share what they

have observed other students doing (especially if it is something against the rules), yet they often

struggle to see those same actions mirrored in their own behavior. It reminds me of my past


work in a primary classroom. One moment “Student A” would come over crying because

“Student B” took their work, and the next moment “Student C” would come to me complaining

that “Student A” has now taken his or her work. The students would often struggle to see the

relationship between what was done to them and what they turned around and did to another. It

appears that observing an action without personal reflection may provide minimal benefits.

In my secondary classroom, my students spend 30 minutes a day focusing on personal

reflection, using a personal reflection curriculum created by the Houston Montessori Center. I

prioritize this time for personal reflection myself, putting away my phone, computer, and school

work in exchange for a journal and quiet reflection. I find that this time not only enhances my

own personal wellbeing, but it also helps me to model personal reflection to my students. In the

classroom, we also practice something that we call “processing.” During processing, the

students ask and answer the following questions: what worked, what did not work, and what did

you learn? The class uses these questions to help solve problems that come up in the classroom

as well as to overcome their own struggles with their work.

Through the use of scheduled times for reflection, as well as “processing,” I have seen

each and every student’s ability to reflect on his or her work and choices improve significantly.

In the classroom, I can frequently be heard saying, “I would like you to reflect on (your choices,

or your words).” I have also come to reflect more often on my own actions and choices as a

result of deliberately choosing to model this practice for my students. This practice, as with all

of the practices I have mentioned thus far, requires a lot of patience with myself as well as my

students.


Quality 6: Patience

A pattern I have observed as I explore the qualities I want to nurture in myself and my

students is that they build upon and depend on one another. For instance, patience appears

necessary to develop any other personal characteristic—patience with oneself and patience with

others. Reflecting on the courage it can take to risk making mistakes, I realize that if I am not

patient with myself throughout the process of trial and error, I will give up quickly.

I find that I can easily get caught up in the pressure of time, thinking that I am not going

fast enough or that I will never get it right. There are days when I feel like nothing is going as

planned and that everything I try is blowing up in my face. These are the days when I am

tempted to throw in the towel and give up. However, I do not. I take a deep breath and remind

myself that it will not always be this hard and that I will eventually figure things out. This is

when I tend to need patience with myself the most.

Having patience with others tends to be easier for me, as I find it much easier to forgive

the mistakes of others than to forgive my own. This makes me consider the relationship between

patience and forgiveness. Maybe patience is the act of forgiving ourselves and/or others for not

doing an expected action at an expected time? Capra (1996) stated that in “trying to cling to our

rigid categories instead of realizing the fluidity of life, we are bound to experience frustration

after frustration” (pp. 294–295). Perhaps “expectations” are similar to the “rigid categories”

Capra referred to.

With my students, patience enables me to recognize each student’s unique pace and

abilities. Patience is also required to prevent me from growing frustrated when one student

cannot seem to follow the directions that everyone else is following or cannot seem to keep up

with his or her plans to stay on task. I have to remind myself that each student is on his or her


own journey, different from mine, and who am I to say when they should reach each destination

along the way? My experience suggests that it is usually unhelpful for me to try to push a

student to attain a level of achievement that he or she is not yet ready for. This appreciation of

my students’ unique experiences led me to explore what could excite and inspire each of my

students.

Quality 7: Passion

Montessori (1948/2007) believed that “the child should love everything that he2 learns,

for his mental and emotional growths are linked. Whatever is presented must be made beautiful

and clear, striking his imagination” (p. 17). Is it possible to instill a love for learning if the

teacher has no love, no passion for the subject that he or she is teaching? I have seen teachers

who appeared bored with the lessons that they were presenting. The lessons lacked spark,

beauty, and passion. Is it any wonder that students find these lessons boring and lack

enthusiasm? A fellow teacher once told me that he believed it was impossible to make every

lesson and assignment exciting. He asserted that some things are just boring. Maybe this is true,

maybe not. Boring is a relative term, and I am determined to find a way to infuse passion into

every lesson and subject. For instance, math is not my favorite subject, but when I incorporate

my passion for theatre with a math lesson, it comes alive in an exciting new way! For example, I

have the students memorize a song and dance that helps them to understand the different

algebraic principles. I also have the students act out algebraic equations as if working a scene.

Each student plays a character (such as a variable, a number, division, etc.), and they create a

scene that explains how each character interacts. These are two ways to infuse my own passions

into a work to make it exciting and, hopefully, more interesting to the student.

2 To avoid wordiness, I have chosen to keep the authors’ language in its original form even though it is unaccepted in academic papers today.


Montessori (1948/2007) asked, “How can we force the child to be interested when

interest can only arise from within?” (p. 6). As every child is different, I feel that there is no one

way to ignite interest. I have found that encouraging my students to find something they love in

everything they learn or to infuse their passions for other areas into the work they find less

interesting, seems to help them find interest in the work for themselves. For example, I have a

student who loves to draw and is very talented at it, so I try to encourage him to integrate his art

into all that he does. He sketches his notes and doodles storyboards for writing. In fact, he even

used his sketches to explain an answer on his latest exam. This is how one student brings his

passion for one activity into his learning in other areas.

Quality 8: Wonder

Although I recognize that each individual enjoys particular subjects and activities, and

has certain passions, I have also observed that it is possible to have a passion for learning, in

general. I think that this is reflected in the concept of “wonder.” Could wonder be defined as a

deep passion for learning and for life itself? Swimme and Tucker (2011) described wonder as

“the pathway into what it means to be human, to taste the lusciousness of sun-ripened fruit, to

endure the bleak agonies of heartbreak, to exult over the majesty of existence” (p. 80). To me,

this sounds like a passion for life in all of its forms as well as a great desire to understand and

experience all that one can of it.

This leads me to speculate, how can wonder be taught? How can great love for all that is,

was, and will be, be passed on? Perhaps actually taking the time to marvel at the beauty of

existence is a start. This marveling is woven into the curriculum I was given from the Houston

Montessori Center. One way I integrate “wonder” into my classroom is by posing questions to

my students that deal with nature, truth, perspective, and our place in the universe. I have a


reputation for being the “touchy-feely” teacher who is always amazed by everything. I do not

think that this is a bad reputation to have, and I hope that I can inspire that same sense of wonder

and amazement into my students.

Modeling Qualities

One of the most important lessons that I have learned throughout this process of

reflection that led me to the realization of these qualities is that without authenticity, the rest of

the above qualities cannot shine through. I believe that all of the qualities mentioned above are

important to aid my students in reaching normalization, but I would be remiss not to

acknowledge that just as every student is different, so is every teacher. Each of the qualities will

(and should) present themselves differently in each and every teacher. I could not effectively

teach my students while simultaneously pretending to be someone that I am not. Therefore, I

would not want anyone else stifling their own inner beauty by trying to imitate my actions.

A phrase that I like to recite to myself for motivation is, “Be the student you wish to see

in the classroom.” This phrase was inspired by the famous Dali Lama quote, “Be the change you

wish to see in the world,” and came from my wondering how I could expect my students to do

things that I could not or would not do. Many of the works that the students were originally

asked to do were things that I, myself, found redundant and dull. How could I expect the

students to think otherwise? If I was not being empathetic, or patient, or strong with the

students, how could I put that expectation on them? An important lesson that I learned

throughout this process was that one of the best ways that I can make a change in my own

classroom is by living and exemplifying the kind of student I would like to see.

This helped me to remember that I, too, am part of the process. I realized that creating a

community of learners, with me as a fellow learner, is not just for training. If I want my


classroom to be a community of learners, I need to be part of that community. I came to

understand intellectual what I already knew in my heart, that it is not helpful for me to exist on

the outside of the community because then a dichotomy of “us” and “them” emerges. I have

witnessed that kind of thinking in the classroom before, and it did not help to foster connection.

It only fostered disconnection, and without connection, I have found it difficult to lead the

students to normalization. However, if modeling is such an important part of teaching these

skills, would I need to reach normalization myself in order for my students to attain this goal?

Have I been normalized? If not, is it possible to become normalized now that I am an adult?


Chapter Four: Normalization

Normalization and the Adult

In The Formation of Man, Montessori (1955/2007) asserted, “The adult does not easily

adapt himself . . . and feels happy only when he is immersed in an environment sharing the

character-features that have been fixed in him” (p. 65). According to Montessori, it is only the

child that possesses an “unconscious mental state which is of a creative nature . . . the ‘Absorbent

Mind’” (p. 61). It appears as though Montessori is following the same line of thinking as the old

adage, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” But what of the child who was raised in an

abnormal environment? What if the environment that has been “fixed” in the child is one of fear

and abuse? Is that child destined to spend his or her days in the same environment from which

he or she came?

I did not have a typical childhood, at least not in terms of familial relationships. As I

attempted to move on into adulthood, I tried very hard not to think of my past, as I did not want

it to have any effect on who I was. I felt that the past was something I was meant to let go of and

move away from; however, after reading many of the texts through the course of my TIES

journey, which seemed to echo the same idea that Montessori promoted above, I began to

wonder if my troubled past would be something that could ever be overcome.

This concerned me on both a professional and personal level. Professionally, I wondered

how I was supposed to help guide students toward the Montessori ideal of “normalization” if I,

myself, was not normalized. I have heard many Montessori teachers explain normalization as a

state of pure concentration, as reaching “normal functioning” in terms of work and the internal

drive to learn. But what if normalization is more than that? Could it refer to an overall state of


wellbeing instead? As a child from an abnormal home, could I ever hope to experience complete

normalization?

Growing up Abnormal

I grew up in an unhealthy environment. I was the victim of emotional, verbal, and

occasionally physical abuse. My world was one of darkness and fear—a world of neglect and

abandonment. A world where I was always in the wrong and never felt good enough. This

world is very different from the world that Mario Montessori (1976), the son of Maria

Montessori, described in Education for Human Development when he stated that the adult’s

“attitude should be one of empathy, cooperation, and patience” (p. 8). He asserted that this is the

environment necessary to foster normalization, and this was quite far from the environment that I

had grown accustomed to throughout my life.

As I moved from childhood, to adolescence, to adulthood, I found myself unwittingly

repeating the patterns of life that I grew up with. I left an abusive home to find myself in

multiple abusive relationships and friendships, including my marriage. The work that I did

throughout my training under Betsy Coe at HMC not only helped me to find the strength to walk

away from my marriage, the latest in a string of emotionally and verbally abusive relationships,

but also helped me to become more aware of the negative pattern I had been falling into.

However, I was quite unaware of why the pattern continued, and most of all, I was anxious to

stop it from continuing further.

My hopes of being able to heal the wounds from my past and change my behavior for the

future were threatened by Montessori’s (1955/2007) claim that “the adult does not easily adapt

himself” (p. 65). Spiritual leader J. Krishnamurti (1953/1981) echoed a similar claim in

Education and the Significance of Life when he stated, “With increasing age, dullness of mind


and heart sets in” (p. 10). Reading after reading seemed to confirm this same idea: children are

adept at learning while adults are not. Was it even possible for me to break the patterns of my

past? And, if it was possible, where would I begin?

Unsure of how to start, I thought about how my childhood environment differed from that

of my students. Krishnamurti (1953/1981) believed that “to be without fear is the beginning of

wisdom, and only the right kind of education can bring about the freedom from fear in which

alone there is deep and creative intelligence” (p. 34). This is the kind of atmosphere that I was

trying to create for my students so that they could have the opportunity to flourish and grow.

However, this was not the kind of environment that I grew up in. This created a fear that perhaps

I could never reach the full capacity of my intelligence since most of my education was not “the

right kind of education.”

Through my work at HMC and in TIES, I felt that I had found a way to give my students

an environment that was conducive to their growth. Montessori (1955/2007) stated that “to help

life: this is the first and fundamental principle” (p. 16). This is something I understood as

helping the student in order to help life. I worked diligently to model qualities I hoped for them

to learn: patience, forgiveness, courage, empathy, etc. I fostered relationships of mutual trust

and respect. I had a goal of making the classroom a place where the students felt nurtured,

comfortable, and safe. I tried to give my students all of the support that I had longed for as a

child.

Eventually, I felt confident in my abilities as a teacher, but I was filled with sadness for

the child within me—the scared child who was never able to reach her full potential. I began to

feel that I did not truly understand myself at all. I thought that perhaps by my relationships, both


the ones that were working and the ones that were not, I could learn to understand myself a little

bit better.

Mirror of Relationships

Krishnamurti (1953/1981) wrote:

Relationship is a mirror in which the self and all its activities can be seen: and it is only when the ways of the self are understood in the reactions of relationship that there is creative release from the self. (p. 54)

During this past year of teaching, I have had many relationships that allowed me to see a hidden

truth within myself—the hidden truth of my life as a prisoner to my past.

For example, I had two co-workers in my classroom last year with whom I found it

incredibly difficult to work. Their approaches to education, the Montessori Method, and the

teacher–student relationship varied greatly from my own. It seemed to me that they based their

relationships with their students on a hierarchy. They demanded great respect but appeared to

give very little. Their relationship with the students reminded me of the relationship that

behaviorist Roger Fouts (1997) noted between the chimpanzees and Lemmon, the director of the

Institute of Primate Studies, in Next of Kin. Fouts described, “Washoe was accustomed to giving

and getting respect. If Lemmon didn’t respect her, she wasn’t about to respect him” (p. 129). I

have noticed a similar response in adolescents; if they are not treated with respect, then they will

not give respect. These two teachers demanded respect of the students while giving very little.

The teachers would constantly complain about how difficult the students were, how

awful their work was, and how lazy they were acting. When I refused to partake in their

complaints and tried to show them a different way of viewing the students, they began to resent

me and cut me out of their conversations altogether. This made it incredibly difficult to navigate


in a small classroom with only 13 students and three adults. I was meant to be the leader of these

other two teachers, but they doubted my methods and challenged my decisions.

I tried multiple ways of talking to them about the Montessori Method and my training. I

invited them to brainstorm with me when there were decisions to be made. I suggested readings

that I enjoyed, and I tried to involve them in the process of running the classroom. Yet, it

seemed that their minds were made up. In their eyes, I did not know what I was doing, and

nothing I did appeared to change that. At least, that is what they told the other teachers in the

school. Unfortunately, this was also made clear to the students. When I was not in the room, the

other teachers would change their approaches and cease using the system I laid out. They would

immediately attempt to exert their dominance over the students, demanding their obedience. I

felt at a loss.

I had a very visceral reaction to their treatment and opinion of the students. I found

myself feeling as though I needed to be the protector of my students and shield them from the

anxiety that comes with a relationship where everything you do seems to be wrong. I would

wake up in the night from dreams where I had to physically shield the students from these other

teachers as they screamed and shouted disapprovingly at them. I became terrified at the thought

of having to leave the room or miss school because I worried about what the students would be

experiencing. It felt as though their very safety and wellbeing rested in my hands.

Fouts (1997) expressed, “I believed I could do anything, therefore I was responsible for

everything” (p. 218). This feeling of responsibility to my students radiated through my being. It

followed me wherever I went. This feeling of ever-present danger weighed on me heavily both

emotionally and physically. I was exhausted, terrified, and confused. Why was I being so

greatly affected by my co-teachers? What was it about our relationship, as well as my


Spell numbers zero through ten


relationship to the students, that made me feel the need to be a protector? And, most

importantly, what did this say about who I was as a person?

Looking into the mirror that my relationship with these two teachers provided, I saw a

scared adolescent version of myself. I found a piece of myself that was so desperate for some

sort of approval that it felt as though I was engaged in a true life or death battle. These feelings,

it seemed, were remnants of growing up in an environment where my survival very much

depended on someone else’s approval. Disapproval could mean pain, hurt, or abandonment. As

a small child who is incapable of fully taking care of herself, the threat of abandonment felt very

much like the threat of death.

No matter how hard I tried, I felt unable to win the approval of my fellow teachers, which

terrified me. My life, my very existence, was under attack; at least, that is how it felt. Yet, as

difficult as it was for me to face my fears, I refused to give in to the views of these teachers. I

refused to see the students as less-than, even if doing so would bring peace among my fellow

staff members. Upon reflection, it seems that I may have seen the students as myself when I was

an adolescent, and I was attempting to retroactively save myself.

I finally came to realize that needing the approval of others in order to survive was

merely an illusion. Once this illusion began to shatter, I was left with a new truth about my past.

I had been raised to believe that my sole value as a human being depended on how others felt

about me. I had been made to believe that I had less value than other beings, my opinion

mattered less, my needs mattered less. Watching my students being treated in what I perceived

to be a similar way brought panic to the forefront. It also brought a greater awareness of how

deep my wounds from childhood truly were. I was relieved, in a way, but I also felt broken, lost,

and confused. My whole body shook with a pain that was 29 years old.


Briggs and Peat (2009) described a concept called a bifurcation point. They stated that

once this “bifurcation point (point of departure) is reached; then the system transforms itself” (p.

18). The bifurcation point appears to be the farthest point that an organism can reach before it

must change—it must transform. I felt that I could not continue to live the way I had been

living, but I was unsure of how to transform, or if I was even capable of such a transformation.

The question “How can I lead my students toward normalization if I myself have never

reached that state?” raced through my mind again. Even worse, I wondered how I could help my

students while I was feeling so broken and shattered. I entertained the idea of giving up and

giving in as I felt I truly was not good enough to serve them properly. However, in the bubble of

my classroom and my interactions with the students, I felt capable and strong. It was the outside

influences that tore at me, making me feel insufficient. Why did I feel so secure with the

students and so insecure with everyone else? Why did I feel so safe with the students and not

with anyone else? This led me to a new question: What is it about my relationship with the

students that works so well and what can I learn about myself through it?

With my students, I am very forgiving of mistakes and imperfections. I encourage them,

actually. I feel comfortable making small mistakes with them because I view it as an opportunity

to demonstrate that quality. Yet, when it came to larger mistakes or someone’s perception of my

character in general, I was much harder on myself. Fouts (1997) revelation that “it was my own

limitations I found so hard to accept” (p. 219) resonated with me. I always try to treat my

students with compassion, yet I do not treat myself the same way. I worked hard to create an

accepting community for my students where they felt safe and comfortable being themselves and

growing, yet I was not allowing myself to live within the same community or by the same

values.


Montessori (1955/2007) asserted, “If humanity must be improved, the child has to be

understood better, he must be respected and helped” (p. 78). I have always been shocked at how

difficult this concept seems to be for some to understand. I have seen many teachers throughout

my life that treat students like wild animals that must be tamed, or like aliens separate from their

own species. When reflecting on my outrage at the treatment of my students, I realized that,

while it was evident to me that children, and humanity in general, deserve to be treated with

respect, I was not treating myself the same way. I expected myself to be better than a mere

human, all the while believing that I was less than all other humans. I no longer wanted to live

that way, I wanted to reach normalization.

A Time to Change

Krishnamurti (1953/2007) believed that “to understand life is to understand ourselves” (p.

14). He continued, “It is in the understanding of ourselves that fear comes to an end” (p. 15).

Having lived in fear and suffered from anxiety my entire life, the idea of a life beyond fear

definitely appealed to me. I had already begun the process of understanding myself through my

Montessori secondary training at HMC, but I had mainly focused on accepting who I am, not

discovering the origins of my behaviors and fears. It was becoming clear to me, at this point,

that if there was any hope of stopping these negative patterns and behaviors, I would have to

discover where they began.

To look at my behaviors and fears, I had to look at my past, something I had only

previously done with a veil of doubt and repression. I tried not to feel the full extent of the pains

of my past by disconnecting myself from the experiences. It was as if they only existed in a

story I read once upon a time rather than events and moments I actually lived through.

Krishnamurti (1953/1981) asserted that “life is pain, joy, beauty, ugliness, love, and when we


understand it as a whole, at every level, that understanding creates its own technique” (p. 18). I

knew in some ways that life included all of these aspects. I even understood that I had

experienced all of these aspects, but I did not want to embrace any of them other than the beauty

and joy. The pain was too painful and the ugliness far too ugly.

It was again the words of Krishnamurti (1953/1981) that pushed me to face my past. He

said, “We should not continue to fit thoughtlessly into the pattern in which we happen to be

brought up” (p. 103). While I had succeeded in not becoming the person I feared the most while

growing up, I was still following the patterns established in my youth. Not only had I continued

to let people into my life who treated me in the way that I had grown accustomed to, I also

continued to compromise my beliefs and needs for the sake of gaining the approval of others. I

continued to live in a constant state of fear for my life, believing a potential threat may lay

behind any corner or within any mistake. I continued to live as though I was being attacked,

even though I had removed myself from my attackers. I was a prisoner without a physical

prison. My prison was my own mind.

The realization that I was safe washed over me bringing with it a wave of intense

repressed emotions. Tears poured out of me without any sign of stopping. While I had been

physically free for a while, this was the first time I felt mentally free. Perhaps it was because I

had been so reluctant to face the truth of my abuse that I never really noticed once it had stopped.

This I noticed: A change was occurring within me.

In Leadership for the New Science, Wheatley (2006) wrote, “Change is prompted only

when an organism decides that changing is the only way to maintain itself” (p. 20). It is hard for

me to pinpoint exactly when this change truly began to occur, but the realization of my freedom

finally enabled me to feel the change occurring. A process was starting within me, and I could


not continue to survive or thrive if I did not see the change through. I knew I had truly reached

my own bifurcation point. To continue on, I had to find strength within myself that I did not

know existed.

I had been told on many separate occasions that I was a strong person, a survivor. I tried

to believe it. I would chant it to myself; however, I never truly believed it. Would a strong

person walk from one abusive relationship to another? Would a strong person still carry so much

pain and shame with them? These are the doubts that would creep into my mind. I realized I

had to step back and examine what my idea of strength truly was. Through this examination, I

discovered that I was strong, and I am strong still.

I am strong because I survived and because I did what I had to do to survive. I am strong

because I found a way out. I am strong because, in spite of all the cruelty I experienced, I still

choose to treat the world with kindness and compassion. I am strong because I still believe in

the good of humanity. I am strong because I am changing.

I suddenly felt as though I was meeting myself for the first time, as though all the mirrors

I had used to define myself and my reality were shattering right in front of me. It was unsettling,

to say the least. I was plunged into a field of darkness, and yet I felt a warm glow deep down

inside myself that urged me forward. I felt that somehow I was going to be okay and that in the

end, I would be stronger than ever.

Finding Value

It was Wheatley (2006) who comforted me through this confusing time when she

asserted:

It is chaos’ great destructive energy that dissolves the past and gives us the gift of a new future. It releases us from imprisoning patterns of the past by offering us its wild ride into newness. Only chaos creates the abyss in which we can recreate ourselves. (p. 119)


I certainly felt as though I had entered into an abyss. In fact, it felt as though I was falling,

tumbling, spinning, and spiraling through it. I was uncertain of what would be left when I came

out of the abyss, out of the chaos. All I knew was that I had to keep moving forward if I wanted

to stop living the way I had been living. I had to discover my own value and decided that I was

worth the trouble of the journey.

In the film Who’s Counting? Marilyn Waring on Sex, Lies, and Global Economics,

directed by Terre Nash (1995), economist Marilyn Waring explained that “the word value is

derived from the Latin valore. It’s a beautiful word which means to be strong, or to be worthy.”

I had already discovered my strength, but I had a hard time believing that strength alone could

give me value. Who decides who has value? Do I have value regardless of how others feel

about me? These questions challenged everything I had ever been led to believe about value.

I also had a hard time seeing strength as the same as value and worthiness. Strength

seemed like something internal while worthiness seemed external. Strength could be created for

oneself, but worthiness seemed to be decided by others. Berry (1999) wrote in The Great Work,

“Everything on Earth, it seemed, got its value from its relation to the human” (p. 157). I felt that

this line of thinking extends to human beings themselves. Culture decides what is good and what

is bad, what is accepted and what is rejected. Culture assigns value to styles, events, items, and

even people. Could it be possible that value and worth are inherent in all beings?

I again looked back at conversations I had with my students. During a discussion on

bullying, we talked about human value. I asserted to them that each and every one of them had

value, whether others were capable of seeing it or not. I told them that none of them needed

permission from someone else to exist, nor did they owe anyone an apology for their existence.

Wheatley (2006) explained existence as a dance and “no participant in this dance is left


unaffected by changes that occur in another” (p. 88). This confirmed to me that every particle in

the universe, every person, is important to the overall web of existence. If each person has the

ability to affect the system as a whole, then it would seem that each person has value in that

system. It was easy for me to see this value in all other beings; however, I struggled to see it

within myself.

I spent my life believing that I required the permission of others for the right to exist. I

believed that I had to apologize to others for my existence, as it was seen as a burden. But if

value was inherent, if I had a right to exist simply because I existed, that would change

everything. Once I realized that my right to exist and my value as a being did not rely on the

opinions or permission of others, it was as if the weight of the world lifted from my shoulders.

Making mistakes and not gaining the approval of others did not seem as terrifying when my very

right to exist was no longer hanging in the balance. It is still amazing to me how the destruction

of one assumption, one belief, could change the way I viewed the whole world.

Wheatley (2006) stated, “The experience is a profound loss of meaning—nothing makes

sense in the way it did before; nothing seems to hold the same value as it once did” (p. 119). I

sat in the chaos, and it brought forth a new view of the world and, in particular, my place in it. In

short, I felt as though I finally had found a place in the world. I belonged. I no longer felt the

need to apologize for or justify who I was. I finally felt that I was allowed to be myself.

In From Childhood to Adolescence, Montessori (1948/2007) expressed that the

adolescent goes through a process of “‘valorization’ of his personality, in making him feel

himself capable of succeeding in life by his own efforts and on his own merits” (p. 64). This

description sounded similar to the feeling of independence and self-sufficiency I was feeling

when I finally had discovered my value and my place in the world. Is it possible that at 29 years


old I had finally reached this state of “valorization” that teenagers are meant to reach? Could it

be that I was finally able to pass through the adolescent stage of development years after my

adolescence has ended? Perhaps it is fanciful to align reaching valorization to retroactively

passing through a stage of development, but it certainly felt as though some momentous

transformation had occurred. That alone was something that I did not believe to be possible once

my mind was no longer in its flexible stages of development.

Krishnamurti (1953/1981) stated that “maturity is not a matter of age, it comes with

understanding” (p. 43). Could normalization work the same way? Maybe it was not too late for

me to reach a state of normalization after all. The understanding that I gained through this

transformation helped me to become a better version of myself and, therefore, a better teacher.

Putting It Into Practice

Jiddu Krishnamurti (1953/1981), when describing the qualities of an educator, asserted:

He must be constantly alert, intensely aware of his own thoughts and feelings, aware of the ways in which he is conditioned, aware of his activities and his responses; for out of this watchfulness comes intelligence, and with it a radical transformation in his relationship to people and to things. (pp. 102–103)

I now had an awareness of my conditioning, although the behaviors had not completely

disappeared. It is quite possible that they may never disappear fully, but I had this feeling that

they no longer controlled me. Their power over me had lessened. I felt a radical transformation

in my relationships as well, including my relationships with my students. I already had a

relationship with my students built upon mutual respect, but I now had a slightly different view

of my role.

I realized that it is not my job to protect them or save them from negative situations in

their lives. I had been placing an enormous psychological burden upon myself with the illusion

that I was meant to rescue them. Who am I to judge their journey? Much like Fouts (1997), who


I would include his first name here since you are starting a new section.


All words of 4 letter and more are capitalized in titles.


expressed that he “had absorbed the scientific arrogance that presumes we can control animals,

nature, and life itself” (p. 218), I had absorbed that false sense of responsibility. I could not

possibly control the circumstances in the lives of my students, nor should I. Perhaps I could,

however, help guide them on their own path of self-discovery.

Krishnamurti (1953/1981) believed that “if one loves, not the ideal, but the child; then

there is a possibility of helping him to understand himself as he is” (p. 26). Pushing an agenda or

an assumption of who they should be could not help the students to become self-aware any more

than it helped me. This begs the question, how could I guide them along the path of self-

awareness without imposing my own assumptions on them? Again, I turned to Krishnamurti

who expressed that “to help the child, one has to take the time to study and observe him, which

demands patience, love and care” (p. 26). I have found that by observing and listening to the

students, they will reveal what they want and need.

Although students may often ask for someone to solve their problems, I do not believe

that is what they need. Often I have found that just listening to my students without judgement

or direction helps to empower them to find their own solutions. I had already learned how

listening with empathy was needed to create an open and honest dialogue, but now I could see

another benefit of it as well. Listening with empathy and understanding helps me show my

students that they matter, they have value. I have now witnessed that when students discover

their own value, this helps give them the courage to face their obstacles on their own.

I will sometimes share some of my own experiences on the road of self-awareness with

my students in the hopes of helping them. I want them to feel that they are not alone on the

journey. I want to show them that the way they feel now does not have to define their journey,

and I encourage them to be open and honest with me. Krishnamurti (1953/1981) asserted that


“this honest and sincere approach will greatly encourage the students to be equally open and

direct with themselves and with the teacher” (p. 105). This honest attitude has allowed many of

my students to break out of their own destructive patterns and into a place of growth and

acceptance.

For example, when one particular student was suffering with depression and felt like she

was all alone in her struggles, I shared how I too have had feelings of intense despair. This

fostered a connection between us and seemed to make her more willing to talk to me and listen to

what I might say. I have had similar experiences with students who struggle with negative self-

talk. They all seem surprised to find out that they are not alone and that I have had these same

experiences too. When I share what strategies have worked for me, my students seem more

willing to try them, in contrast with strategies that I just pulled out of a book. Thinking about my

students and their struggles, as well as my own struggles that I had been working to overcome,

caused me to start thinking about the idea of normalization and how it presents itself in each

person.

A New Normalization

Throughout my quest for normalization, another question popped into my mind (a mind

that never seems to be short of questions): If I had not reached normalization, when I was even a

Montessori student myself, why is it that no one seemed to notice? I used to ask myself a similar

question while growing up. I always wondered how no one noticed the abuse I was receiving.

After the training at HMC and my transformation process, it seemed that if anyone should have

noticed that something was wrong, it would be a Montessori teacher—a teacher trained to search

for this “state of health” in the child.


Reflection led me to believe that perhaps it is because outwardly I appeared normalized,

assuming that normalization was defined in terms of concentration on work and inner drive to

learn. I truly enjoyed learning. I loved immersing myself in stories, history, words, and new

information. I took pride in all of the work that I did. Yet, I was at war with myself. I was

scared and unhappy. The work would offer a quiet solace and reprieve from the pains in my life.

I later discovered the importance of working through those pains rather than hiding from them,

and this has set me free.

I accept that this is my story; this was the journey that I had to navigate. I know that the

road I took is the one that brought me to where I am now, and I would not want to trade that for

the world. However, I still wonder where my life might have led had I found this self-awareness

earlier, and I am filled with a desire to pass on what I have learned, in order to hopefully help

others avoid the suffering that I had to endure.

Last year, one of my students revealed to me that she had been struggling with episodes

of great sadness and extremely negative self-talk. I shared with her some of the experiences I

commonly have with both. My hope was to help her to feel more comfortable and less alone in

her struggles. I informed her parents of these struggles, and we discussed how we could all

support her at home and in the classroom. Sometimes she would just ask to sit with me while

she was experiencing an episode so that she could just cry in a safe place. After a few minutes,

she would ask for a hug, we would do some deep breathing together, and then she would go back

to work.

This year, she comes to me regularly to tell me of her progress and milestones. She

beams as she informs me of being able to shrug off negative self-talk and how she is taking on

new challenges in her life with excitement. All it took from me was a non-judgmental ear,


empathy, and letting her know that she had value. I was amazed at how helpful merely being

present seemed to be. She did the rest of the work on her own. This was a source of pride for

her; she knew that she was responsible for her own growth.

While hers was a more extreme case, I have had many students who have gone through

similar experiences and for whom I have given my time. They, too, have been able to reach a

greater sense of security in who they are. By encouraging students to talk with one another and

share with one another during community building games and our morning meeting, they have

been able to create a secure community in which they feel safe being themselves, learning, and

growing. I am constantly amazed by the courageous strides they will take, doing things they

never thought possible before.

It seems as though a child’s psychological health and wellbeing go unobserved and

unquestioned until some sort of negative behavior calls attention to it. For instance, the

aforementioned student always produced excellent work, got along well with her peers, and was

very respectful in her interactions with teachers. It was not until she came to me that I realized

how much she had been suffering. Krishnamurti (1953/1981) advised that “if, in such a group, a

student persists in disorderliness or is unreasonably mischievous, the educator must inquire into

the cause of his misbehavior, which may be wrong diet, lack of rest, family wrangles, or some

other hidden fear” (pp. 32–33). I have seen this in the classroom myself. If a student continually

fails to complete their assignments, there has always been a deeper reason: poor organization,

family troubles, insecurity about the work, etc.

But what about the child who turns high-quality work in on time and who performs well

on each assessment? Could that student also have deep hidden insecurities that are not evident


by examining just his or her work habits? As mentioned earlier, I was such a child, and I have

had such children in my class.

It was the use of self-reflection that helped me to reach my own state of normalization, so

perhaps self-reflection could be the key to helping students overcome their own obstacles and

insecurities, regardless of academic well-being. Self-reflection is a skill that can be taught to all

students. The training and curriculum that I received from HMC had many aspects of self-

reflection built into it, but I found that without an empathetic guide helping the students to

identify their obstacles, the curriculum did not fully serve its purpose. I have experienced the

power of self-reflection; however, I needed a lot of guidance to learn how to access it. I believe

that the students are in need of this guidance as well.

Krishnamurti (1953/1981) believed that “when there is no self-knowledge, self-

expression becomes self-assertion, with all its aggressive and ambitious conflicts” (p. 15). I have

discovered that self-reflection can elicit a similar response when the person does not yet know

how to reflect or where to begin looking. I have seen students attempt to reflect and instead end

up just reasserting their original thoughts repetitively. With some guidance, they are able to

reflect in a productive way that can lead them toward self-knowledge.

I do not expect my students, or even myself for that matter, to ever reach a place of

perfect balance and stay there forever. Perfect balance would mean an end to growth. As

Wheatley (2006) pointed out “stasis, balance, equilibrium, these are temporary states. What

endures is process—dynamic, adaptive, creative” (p. 90). With the right tools, I hope that I can

learn how to get through the temporary state of turmoil in ways that are productive and helpful.

Through reflection, I believe that I can learn the process of being “dynamic, adaptive, creative”

and turn moments of darkness and chaos into opportunities for growth rather than trying to run


from them or let these moment overpower me. I also hope that I can teach my students to do the

same.

My hope for my students is that they will be able to remember the processes they have

been taught and have used to face problems while in my classroom, and use these processes to

meet any new challenges as they present themselves. I hope that I will be able to carry on using

all that I have learned through my TIES journey to enable me to continue to grow and adapt

through the challenges in my life that are yet to come. I hope my students will reach an

understanding of themselves and treat themselves with as much kindness and compassion as I

see them give one another.

I have not only reached a new awareness of myself. I have reached a new understanding

of normalization and the importance of self-knowledge. I have come to understand value and

strength in wonderful new ways. Wheatley (2006) described my feelings well when she

asserted, “Change always involves a dark night when everything falls apart. Yet if this period of

dissolution is used to create new meaning, then chaos ends and new order emerges” (p. 170).

The past two years of my life have involved a great plunge into darkness, into the chaos of the

unknown.

Throughout most of the process, I was unsure of where I was going or where I would end

up. All I knew was that I could either move forward or let things stay the same. As terrifying as

it was to move forward through the abyss, it has led me to a greater understanding of myself and

a beautiful sense of freedom that I have never felt before. It has also given me the ability to help

lead my students in their own journeys of self-discovery. Being able to give them the tools

necessary to better understand themselves and to reach a level of comfort and awareness in who


Spell out numbers zero – ten.


they are has given me a greater sense of purpose as well. It may have taken me 29 years to get

here, but I finally feel that I have reached normalization.

An important part of my journey to normalization was that of self-reflection. Practicing

yoga aided me greatly in this process of self-reflection. It also helped me to discover the strength

I needed to keep going when the journey became difficult and terrifying. I am not sure that I

would have reached normalization without the help of my yoga practice.


Chapter Five: A Montessori Yogi

Yoga for Self-Reflection

For the past two years, throughout my journey of self-discovery, yoga has been an

important practice to me. It started off as a physical form of exercise, a way to gain strength and

increase flexibility. Slowly, it became so much more than that. The more I gave in to the

practices of yoga, the more I found myself turning inward and gaining mental and emotional

strength.

In the book Yoga & Ayurveda: Self-Healing and Self-Realization, Hindu teacher and

author David Frawley (1999) described yoga as showing “us how to realize the Self” (p. 14). As

my personal knowledge of yoga expanded, I began to look beyond the physical benefits of yoga

and to embrace the meditative aspects of the practice. This led to a transformative experience.

This also led to a desire to understand more about the history and practices of yoga.

Frawley (1999) noted that the “Ayurveda possesses a long history with many layers,

much diversity and a continuous development that makes it relevant for all people and all times”

(p. 4). He goes on to explain that this historic Hindu text “covers all aspects of health and

wellbeing—physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual. It includes all methods of healing from

diet, herbs, exercise, and lifestyle regimens to yogic practices and meditation” (p. 4). In my

journey of understanding the background and historic principles of yoga, the Ayurveda seemed

like a great place to gain some insight.

Two important fundamentals to yoga are described by Frawley (1999), the asana and

pranayama. He explained, “Asana means right posture or posture in harmony with our inner

consciousness” (p. 52). Asanas are the poses performed with the body but can also refer to an

individual’s alignment with their self. Frawley also explained that “pranayama means not simply

breath control but the controlled expansion of the life-force” (p. 52). Breath can also be referred


Write out his full name here


again


to as simply “prana.” Frawley shows his readers how important breath is, not only to yoga, but

to our overall wellbeing.

In one of my acting classes at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, I learned that

breath and body posture can play a very important role in emotional responses. We had entire

classes devoted to learning how our bodies and breath respond to our emotional states. One

exercise we learned was used to try to elicit the response of sadness by merely changing our

breathing and body position. By mimicking the withdrawn body language and short rapid

breaths that usually accompany crying, I was able to go from feeling fine to feeling great

sadness. This engrained the idea within me that body posture and breathing habits can affect our

emotional states just as much as our emotional states affect our body posture and breathing.

Yoga, however, is not just about asanas and pranayama, although they are both important

aspects. In the documentary Awake: The Life of Yogananda, directed by Paola di Florio and Lisa

Leeman (2014), yogi Mas Vidal explained:

Yoga for many has become something that you do with your body. But the yogis never taught that. The way that Yogananda taught yoga was use the body, you have a body, but it’s really about the mind. Expanding your consciousness.

Yoga is able to do this not only through asanas and pranayama, but through meditation as well.

Frawley (1999) explained that “meditation involves placing the mind in a calm and

concentrated state in which our mental energies can be renewed and transformed” (pp. 286–287).

He also asserted that “meditation helps us deal with pain and should be taught to all patients

suffering from painful diseases, whether chronic or acute” (p. 288). When I went to pain

management therapy, a major component of my practice included meditation. Meditation has

also been recommended by different therapists I have seen and was a major component of the


treatment facility I had attended earlier in my life for my eating disorder. My experiences have

shown me just how important meditation can be for both a person’s physical and mental states.

The asanas themselves can be very meditative when they are performed in a certain way.

I have often thought of them as a meditation in motion. Frawley (1999) believed that “the

purpose of asana is to create a free flow of energy in order to help direct our attention within” (p.

208). The breath is an equally important component of the practice. As described by Frawley,

“moving into and adjusting an asana position while maintaining a strong focus on the breath

creates a much deeper practice than simply focusing on body technique” (p. 215). In my own

yoga practice, as I move from pose to pose, focusing mainly on my breath, I am able to feel my

mind clear and my stress melt away.

In Awake: The Life of Yogananda, Sri Swami Vishananda expressed that through the

practices of yoga and meditation “we become one with peace, we become one with joy, we

become one with love. We realize that that is our true nature” (di Paolo & Leeman, 2014). I

often hear friends and family complaining about feeling overwhelmed, frazzled, insecure, and

tired. I, too, often feel these things. Could it be that we have begun to believe that these feelings

are in our nature or, even more concerning, that these “negative” feelings are our normal state

while happiness and peace are our short reprieves? The question of “what is humans’ true

nature” is a big one, and I certainly do not have an answer to it. However, it is hard for me to

believe that our purpose or nature is one of unhappiness. Emotions in general, both those we

interpret as negative and positive, seem to be an important part of who we are, and yet, the

promises of Vishananda make me think that perhaps we are not destined to let these emotions

control us.


Yoga and meditation have played very important roles in my ongoing recovery from both

physical and mental ailments. Frawley (1999) asserted that meditation is recommended “for

treating specific diseases, particularly psychological disorders in which meditation may be the

primary therapy” (p. 287). An important focus for these meditations can be on what the

Ayurveda text calls chakras.

Frawley (1999) explained that the “chakra refers to a wheel or a moving circle of

energies” (p. 135). He continued, “The chakras direct and guide the physical body from behind

the nervous system” (p. 135). Each chakra has a specific location along the spine, starting at the

base of the spine and ending at the crown of the head, with its own specific purpose (Frawley,

1999). Frawley claimed that one aim of yoga is the “opening of the chakras” (p. 137), and that

using specific meditations and mantras (repeated phrases or sounds) can help to “open” these

chakras, bringing about inner peace and balance. I found it easy to take these principles and

bring them into my Montessori classroom, as the beliefs promoted by these yogis seemed very

similar to the philosophies of Montessori herself.

Yoga and Montessori

It is mentioned by master yoga teacher Anand Mehrotra in Awake: The Life of

Yogananda that “a true guru is there to lead you to yourself, not to himself. To what we are truly

capable of, not just the limited aspect of us” (di Paolo & Leeman, 2014). Montessori

(1955/2007) asserted similar beliefs about the teacher’s relationship to the student. In The

Formation of Man, Montessori stated that “education must begin with a view to helping the

development of the child himself and thereby serving as an increment to the potentialities of the

people” (p. 79). Both of these statements assert that it is not the job of the teacher to push


themselves and their own beliefs onto their students but, rather, to help lead the students to their

own self-discovery.

Krishnamurti (1953/1981) echoed this sentiment in Education and the Significance of

Life when he stated that “education should awaken the capacity to be self-aware and not merely

indulge in gratifying self-expression” (p. 15). If the goal of education is to lead students toward

self-realization, or self-awareness, then it seems that yoga and meditation could greatly assist

education in these endeavors. Frawley (1999) told his readers that “yoga is first and foremost a

science of self-realization” (p. 5). If yoga and meditation can help aid in self-realization, then

perhaps it could help educators as well.

This overlapping and intertwining of philosophies, plus the other great benefits already

mentioned, led to my decision to share the processes of yoga and meditation with my students.

Adolescence is notorious for being an emotionally turbulent time; therefore, learning a method to

help process and release those emotions in a healthy way could be of great benefit to teenagers. I

hoped that the processes that had proved to be so helpful and useful to me could be helpful for

my students as well. This hope is what led to the decision to use a guided yoga and meditation

lesson for my experiential research project.

The Significance of Experience

I recently had an in-depth discussion with my five high school students on the differences

between fact, bias, and opinion. At the start of this conversation, I asked the question, “What is

fact?” The general consensus amongst my students was that fact was “something that is true.”

“Ok,” I responded, “but how do you know what is true?” My students pondered this for a

while and finally decided that truth is defined as something that is observable, testable, and

verifiable. This sent us further into a sense of chaos as we discussed whether or not observations

dictate objective truth. We touched on the debate over whether or not objective truth even exists,


You may want to use a more formal term here


but my students were insightful enough to question whether or not a person could be objective

enough to recognize an objective truth. We discussed how our perceptions and assumptions can

affect our views of an event or an object, and how, as a consequence, no two people view the

same object or event in the same way.

Humberto Mariotti (2000), researcher in complexity theory and author of “Autopoiesis,

Culture, and Society” expressed that “if the reality that we perceive depends on our structure—

which is individual—, there are as many realities as perceiving people” (p. 2). He seems to be

saying that what we see and observe in the world depends on the structure of our being, therefore

we all observe the world in different ways. He went on to assert that “this explains why the so-

called purely objective knowledge is impossible: the observer is not apart from the phenomena

he or she observes” (p. 2). It seems that, in spite of the best intentions, humans can never look at

the world in a completely objective way.

This theory was difficult for my students to accept. It was difficult for me to fully digest,

as well. However, as we discussed major events in history and the different perspectives that are

taught as truths, they came to the collective decision that perhaps an objective truth does exist,

but it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to discover.

Their favorite story to discuss in regard to “truth” is about how, when they were in lower

elementary (1st–3rd grades), they learned all about the hero Christopher Columbus and of all the

wonderful things that he did. Once they entered upper elementary (4th–6th grades), they

discovered the diseases that Columbus brought to America with him and how he caused the

deaths of many indigenous people. From certain perspectives, he was a hero, yet by other

perspectives, he was a cruel murderer.


Does the text have both a dash here and a comma?


From this discussion, my students decided that the best that a person can do is to look at

all of the various perspectives and determine what can be gleaned to be fact. I was quite

impressed with the depth of their conversation and everything they were considering. It

appeared to be relatively easy for them to understand how difficult it is to see what the objective

truth is in history; however, it was much more difficult for them to see it in science.

“The very nature of science is that it is objective,” they declared. We, again, returned to

the nature of objectivity. We also discussed how several ideas have historically been presented

as fact but were later realized not to be true. They thought of Copernicus, Isaac Newton, and

Galileo, all of whom changed the way the world was being viewed. Again, they asserted that we

have to do the best we can to get as close to the truth as possible.

The scientific method appears to be a means of getting as close to the objective truth as

possible through the use of repeatable experiments and controls, and by attempting to make

things as quantifiable as possible. However, what about when science is trying to observe or

understand the human mind or consciousness? There have been advances over the years in ways

to look at the physical brain, with machines like computerized tomography (CT) scans and

magnetic resonance imaging (MRI), yet how can we look into the consciousness of another

living being? Is it possible to truly understand the experience of a person by merely looking at

quantifiable data, such as scans or imaging, without being able to actually see what the other

person is seeing?

Neurophenomenology

In the research paper “Methodological Lessons in Neurophenomenology,” researchers

Patricia Bockelman, Lauren Reinerman-Jones, and Shaun Gallagher (2013) asserted that

“neurophenomenological (NP) methods integrate objective and subjective data in ways that


Spell out these procedures followed by their abbreviations


retain the statistical power of established disciplines (like cognitive science) while embracing the

value of first-person reports of experience” (p. 1). In trying to understand the workings of the

human mind, how could the actual experience of the person participating not be important?

Perhaps due to the recent medical issues that I have encountered, I am reminded of the

process of diagnosis for different medical issues. I have gone to the doctor with complaints of

different ailments on multiple occasions (I have a poor immune system as well as being accident

prone). The doctor will run a few tests, which all come back normal, and then assert, without

looking any further, that there is nothing wrong. I will then ask and plea for him or her to help

me understand why I am feeling the way that I am; however, my experiences are often

discounted since they are not quantifiable or verifiable. They are excused as hysteric reactions or

as being all in my head.

After many visits with the same complaints, the doctors will then concede to doing other

tests and finally a diagnosis can be reached. It took six months of agonizing pain for one doctor

to finally listen to what I was experiencing. Once he did, he was able to discover that my

gallbladder was not functioning anymore. It took three months of visits to many different

doctors to finally have a doctor stop dismissing my wrist pain and to recognize that I had

cartilage damage. Most recently, I was diagnosed with an autonomic nervous system disorder

leading to circulation problems as well as heart rhythm regulation issues. This happened only

after a doctor’s visit where my symptoms were dismissed as a bug and an emergency room visit

where my symptoms were dismissed as merely anxiety. Could the medical field be improved by

convincing clinicians that trying to understand the patient’s experiences is as important as

quantifiable tests?


Spell out


Please look for all other instances of numbers zero-ten and spell them out.


In the paper “From Autopoiesis to Neurophenomenology: Francisco Varela’s Exploration

of the Biophysics of Being,” David Rudrauf, Antoine Lutz, Diego Cosmelli, Jean-Philippe

LaChaux, and Michel Le Van Quyen (2003) asserted Franciso Varela’s belief that:

If we want to understand what the mind is, it is not enough to observe the specific brain structures involved in the functioning mind. There is a gap in terms of insight when we try to make the realm of the mind fit into a brain structure or even into a brain response. (p. 10)

Rudrauf et al. also reveal Varela’s seemingly radical idea that “the mind is not in the head” (p.

10). This leads to deeper questions about human consciousness. What is the mind? What is the

self? Is it possible to answer these questions in a way that is purely quantifiable?

I tend to share Varela’s opinion that it is very limiting to only view the mind as merely a

physical structure and response. I wonder, can we truly understand any of the physical structures

and responses of the human body, in general, without understanding the experience of each

individual? Varela believed that “the whole is not the sum of its parts, it is the organizational

closure of these parts” (Rudrauf et al., 2003, p. 6). Our bodies are a part of a system, where each

part interacts with and influences every other part. Therefore, removing something as important

as experience would be removing an important part of the system, leaving only fragmented

pieces behind.

Could it then follow that every system is best viewed as a whole? This takes me back to

my classroom, and I wonder, would it not be most effective to view my classroom as a system as

well? When trying to judge the success of a certain lesson or change in the classroom, it seems

evident that the experiences of each individual student would be an important consideration. No

matter how much I may like a lesson or deem it important, if the overall student experience is

negative, then it has not achieved its goal. I try to keep this in mind with all that I do in the

classroom; however, in the reality of day-to-day tasks, it can sometimes be easy to forget to stop


Is this the beginning of a sentence? If so, capitalize.


and discover the individual experiences of the students within our classroom system. My

research project allowed me the opportunity for this exploration, as I decided to teach a lesson on

yoga and meditation to my class of middle and high school students (a total of 14) and to observe

their experiences.

The Process

Choosing when to conduct the lesson was fairly easy. Monday through Thursday my

students practice what we call personal reflection (PR). We spend 25 minutes each day in quiet

reflective time. The middle school students have a curriculum they follow, based on the

curriculum given to me during my training at Houston Montessori Center. This curriculum aims

to help guide students through the mission of forming their own identity. It is used to teach

reflection, positive coping mechanisms, positive relationship practices, and more. The high

school students’ curriculum is largely based on free choice within the restrictions of “reflective

work.” It seemed that a lesson on yoga and meditation would fit very nicely into our PR slot.

Choosing what poses, or asanas, I would teach was a little more difficult. I wanted to

keep the poses basic and simple so that the students could focus more on their breath than on

their stance. Frawley (1999) noted that “asanas done forcefully or focused on the goal rather

than on the process or journey—attempting to place the body in some ideal posture that is not

natural to it—can result in tension or injury” (p. 211). I felt it would certainly take away from

the experience if my students injured themselves. I chose a series of basic asanas often taught in

the beginning-level yoga classes. Next, I had to choose how to teach meditation.

I thought of giving each student an item to hold and focus on. I have been to yoga classes

where they use a lit candle to help their students learn to focus and meditate. Students are meant

to stare into the flame while focusing on their breath. However, I decided to guide them through


a simple chakra meditation instead, since it had proved so helpful to me. This would include a

brief explanation of what the chakras are and then a guided journey through each chakra using a

unique mantra for each of the seven chakras. They would spend a few moments on each mantra

before moving on the next one. I chose to use the mantras from my own practice, “I am safe,” “I

am creative,” “I am strong,” “I am love,” “I am expressive,” “I am connected,” and “I am

stardust.” I felt that each mantra was short enough to repeat and, yet, also described each

specific chakra and its function well.

Having decided on the poses as well as the meditation, I felt prepared to teach the lesson

to my students. I let them know about the lesson in advance so that they could dress

appropriately. My companion, Matt Tyler, came in to videotape the lesson so that I could

observe myself as well as observe the students. When I viewed the videotape for the first time, I

focused on observing my students.

My Observation of the Students

I started with the lights dimmed and low music playing in the background. We stood in a

circle as I began to give the basic instructions. The students shifted from side to side and

fidgeted with their clothes; however, they all watched me and nodded along as I gave directions,

giving the impression that they were listening to what was being said. When I mentioned the

importance of breath, a few students took deep breaths in. As I continued with the instructions,

the students began to shift their weight from one leg to the other, pull on their clothing, and twist

their bodies. However, they still remained silent, maintained eye contact with me, and nodded

along to what I said.

As we began to move into the first yoga pose, everyone had a look of serious

concentration on their faces as they followed the directions I gave. One student began to giggle,


but stopped quickly when he realized that no one was watching him. Many of the students

struggled to balance, but they followed my advice to simply stop and attempt to find their

balance again. Another student lost her balance briefly and giggled to herself before moving

back into the pose.

As students shifted from one pose to the other, they would adjust their clothing. One or

two students looked around at the others briefly, but for the most part, the students only looked at

me or down at their own form. Some would even close their eyes once they were comfortably in

the pose. This gave the impression that their attention was turned inward. The students modified

their poses to their own ability and comfort levels, and everyone attempted every pose. They

sometimes would look up at me to check and correct their form, but they all seemed to remain

focused.

The overall flexibility of the students was fairly low, therefore, in certain poses that

required more flexibility, the students appeared a little more self-conscious, looking around at

each other a little more. A couple of students began to peek at each other; however, they quickly

refocused after realizing that no one was watching them. I had given a direction for them to

pretend to exist in their own yoga bubble for this process and not to worry about what the others

were doing. They were able to follow that direction, for the most part. They were more likely to

look at the other students when we were holding poses for a longer period of time.

As we moved into the meditation, I gave the students the choice to either sit or lay down.

Most students chose to lay down in what is called the “corpse pose3.” They all closed their eyes

when asked and remained still through the majority of the meditation. They all remained silent

and engaged through the entirety of the meditation (which lasted around five minutes). Toward

3 This pose involves lying flat on your back with your arms at your side facing palms-up.


the end of the meditation, two students appeared to grow fidgety, although they were still silent

and engaged.

Once the meditation was over, the students took their time resuming a sitting position.

They remained silent, and each student sat up at his or her own pace. One student fell asleep,

although he later stated that he believed himself to have been in a deep meditative state and did

not hear the direction to rise. While I had felt that the yoga lesson went well, I was still nervous

about how well the students had received it. My nervousness was apparent to me as I watched

the video a second time, this time to observe myself.

Observation of Self

The first thing I noticed about myself was how much my hands were moving as I gave

the initial directions. They moved in a smooth and almost dance-like motion rather than rapidly;

however, they were almost constantly in motion. This might have been a distraction. I also

maintained eye contact with the students the entire time I was giving directions. I scanned the

room attempting to connect with each student for an equal amount of time. I paused often while

giving directions—this was mainly because I was trying to think of what to say next. Even

though I had prepared for the lesson, I felt very nervous as we started because I was unsure of

how the students would react to it. I felt that I was exposing a lot of myself in this lesson, which

made me feel more vulnerable as I began to teach it.

I spent the first five minutes giving instructions. It felt as though I may have over

explained some things. As we moved out of the introduction and into our first pose, I walked the

students through each step slowly and watched them as they followed the directions. I still was

not feeling very sure about myself and began to second guess the poses that I had already pre-

selected, which led to more prolonged pauses.


My voice varied, going from a louder voice during regular instruction to a quiet less

intrusive voice when walking the students through a pose. However, after performing a “sun

salutation4,” I began to feel a little more relaxed. This affected my voice, which began to grow

more fluid and confident. Once I began to feel more confident, we all seemed more engaged. It

is also possible that I was feeling more confident because everyone was more engaged. I

progressively became more and more relaxed as I focused on the poses and my own breath rather

than just on the instructions that I was giving.

As we moved into the meditation, I gave the students a choice of poses, stressing

comfort. I spoke very quietly during the meditation and shifted between closing my eyes to

experience the meditation and opening my eyes to try to gauge how my students were

responding. I grew nervous again as we began the chakra meditation. I half expected the

students to start to laugh or refuse to participate; however, when the first two went well, I began

to relax again. I was able to enjoy the process along with them. As we came out of the

meditation, I was still unsure of their reactions, but I felt comfortable.

I had been surprised by how engaged my students were in the whole activity. I believe

that the reason I was so nervous was because yoga and meditation have grown to be so important

to me. I was sharing a large piece of myself with my students, and I was scared of how it would

be received. It is very possible that this personal connection that I have to yoga affected the

overall experience for all of us. While I found observing my students very helpful, I still wanted

to know more about their personal experience with the lesson.

Student Reflections

4 A sun salutation incorporates six different poses that the yogi will transition in and out of smoothly, as if performing a dance. It is meant to engage every muscle in the body and is used to salute the sun, the giver of all life.


Reflections?


I met with each student individually and asked them to describe their experience and

what, if anything, they felt they could take away from it. I was surprised and overwhelmed by

how positive their responses were. Each student had a unique experience, which made me

assume that they were able to adapt the yoga and meditation to suit their needs, something I had

expressed was important in the beginning of the lesson. While each response was unique, the

overall consensus was that they enjoyed the lesson.

One seventh grade boy stated that the yoga session woke him up and made him feel

relaxed at the same time. One eighth grade girl said that she really enjoyed it and felt it helped

her to clear her mind. Another eighth grade girl said that she could feel all of her stress and

tightness (in her muscles) melt away. I was very surprised when one of my eighth grade students

asked if I would be willing to make the yoga sessions a weekly practice. Their deep and

insightful responses led me to do my own reflecting on the whole process.

Reflection on Process

Watching myself teach a lesson was a great opportunity for me to see myself somewhat

through my students’ eyes. I found some things that I could work on, such as pausing, over

explaining, moving my hands too much, etc., but I also learned to trust myself more. I knew

what I was doing and I was prepared, and yet, I still felt self-conscious.

In the moments when I felt more confident in myself, it was evident in my voice as well

as my gestures. When I was more confident, the students seemed to be more confident and

engaged as well. This helped to remind me how easily students can be affected by the energy of

their teachers. I have noticed this quite frequently when trying to play games with my students.

When I leave them to play on their own, they get very self-conscious around one another and

often devolve into arguing. When I jump in and play, not as an instructor but just another


participant, I bring with me uninhibited joy and excitement. I bring silliness and laughter. I am

always amazed at how quickly that can reignite the students’ excitement and energy. It seems

that a teacher’s energy can be contagious to his or her students, whether positive or negative,

which is an important thing for me to be aware of.

The lesson also reminded me of the power of yoga and meditation. When I was able to

get out of my head and give in to the process, I was able to reap the benefits of clarity and

relaxation. Many students reported feeling their stress melting away or feeling more energized

and yet relaxed at the same time. These are benefits that I get from yoga, and it excited me to

hear my students having the same reactions.

While yoga has served as an effective way for me to meditate and reflect on who I am,

my time with TIES has taught me other ways to accomplish this as well. One such way has been

through the various creativity activities that were assigned through the TIES coursework.


Chapter Six: Integrating Creativity

Transformative Creativity

In his article “Cosmos, Gaia, and Eros: Integrative Learning, Creativity, and the Primal

Paradox,” Gang stated that “transformation addresses the creative power of an educational

experience, empowering individuals and groups to find deeper meaning in their lives in order to

contribute to the greater good” (p. 13). My transformation throughout TIES seemed to tap into

unknown creative powers that I had not previously realized were there. Conversely, the creative

works we did in TIES, including the creativity seminars, aided in my transformation and

personal growth.

The first of the two creativity seminars involved using clay to create something. To

create anything, really. The idea was to let the clay speak to us, let our inner heart guide us,

rather than going in with a preconceived idea. This was hard for me because I am planner. I

tend to be a perfectionist about some things and wanted very much to ensure that I was going to

complete the assignment “correctly.” In fact, I put off completing the activity until the last

minute simply because I was afraid of failing. I realize now how silly it seems to be afraid of

failing an assignment for which there are no grades, however, the fear certainly was real.

Krishnamurti (1953/1981) wrote:

This fear of life, this fear of struggle and of new experience, kills in us the spirit of adventure; our whole upbringing and education have made us afraid to be different from our neighbour, afraid to think contrary to the established pattern of society, falsely respectful of authority and tradition. (p. 10)

This is how I spent the majority of my life. I was not afraid of struggle if it involved struggling

for the rights of someone else or protecting another being. However, I was very afraid of

struggle when it came to standing up for myself and fighting my own personal foes. I lived as an

odd contradiction, as I was afraid to be different from others and to think differently, and yet, I


could not stop myself from being different. I wanted very much to fit in with the rest of society,

but I never really felt as though I did. When I was a teenager, I remember people commending

me on my bravery for just “being myself.” I always thought it was a strange thing for them to

say because I wanted to be different, I just did not know how to be anyone but myself.

I discovered that the same mentality was necessary for me to be able to move forward

with the creativity activity. Even though I was afraid, I had to continue doing what felt right. I

tried to shut out the voices in my head, the naysayers and critics, and let my hands guide

themselves.

I started the activity by sitting at my dining room table with a clump on clay in front of

me. It rested on a simple paper plate on top of a colorful placemat. It was a rare day where I

actually had the house to myself for a few hours. This allowed for a quiet and safe space where I

could work without fear of interruption. I had enough fears that I was battling, interruption did

not need to be added to the list.

I am not sure how long I sat with the clay directly in front of me before I finally put my

hands on it. I was not watching the time. I merely sat, with my eyes closed, breathing in the

sounds and smells of the room around me. I was working to be present in the moment,

something that yoga taught me as a way of reducing anxieties. Eventually, I reached out and

took the clay in my hands. I did not yet know what I would do with the clay, but I began to

manipulate it in multiple ways to get to know it better.

I like working with clay. I took a ceramics class when I was completing my

undergraduate studies, and it quickly became a new favorite method of relaxation. It makes me

feel more connected to the Earth, more connected to the universe. The clay I was using for this


exercise was a self-drying clay and most certainly made up of mostly chemicals. However, it

still felt good in my hands.

I worked with it for quite a while. I would stretch it out, smoosh it together, roll it into a

perfect ball, and then roll it out into a long strip. I waited patiently for the clay to direct me to

where it wanted to go. Slowly, a heart shape began to form. Not a solid heart but, rather, the

outline of one.

This surprised me. It seemed so simple and cliché. At least that is what the critics in my

head shouted at me. But that is where the clay directed me, so I decided to keep working with it.

I would rub my hands along the outline, feeling the bumps and cracks smooth themselves out

under the weight of my fingertips. To my surprise, I became overwhelmed with an urge to start

pinching and distorting only one side of the heart. The other side I compulsively smoothed until

every blemish was hidden away. I continued working like that, smoothing one side while

destroying the other, until I finally felt as though it was complete.

What I finished with was the outline of a heart, one side perfectly smooth without a

single crack or bump, the other side with sharp jagged edges and uneven lines (see Figure 1). I

stared down at it, taking the work in. The name “Duality of Being” automatically came to my

mind. I felt that the heart was showing two sides of who I am. There is the “flawless” image

that I desperately try to present to the world, and then there is the real me. The real me is messy

with scars (both emotional and physical). The real me is not perfect, not even close. However,

the messy side of the heart was still beautiful. In fact, it seemed far more interesting and artistic

than the “perfect” side.


Figure 1. Duality of being.

Reflecting on the activity and what I had created helped me to see that it is not always

necessary to try to hide who I really am. I need not be ashamed of my past and the marks that it

has left on who I am. Those marks are an integral part of who I am today, so why do I try so

hard to hide them away?

I have often been upset, feeling that no one was really seeing me for me. That no one

was seeing the true me. However, this was happening because I would not allow them to see the

real me. I have always been good at showing people the side of myself that I think they will

accept, or at least judge the least. I have spent my life afraid of rejection, being judged, being

deemed unworthy of love. I have been so ashamed of who I really am and afraid of who I might

be that I tried desperately to not let anyone see all of me.

This is something that I have worked on significantly throughout my time in TIES. As I

have chronicled throughout the rest of this paper, I have taken the time to sit and reflect on who I

am, and this has led to accepting myself. This acceptance has helped me to not hide away who I


am any longer. It has helped me to feel stronger, as I am not constantly searching for the

validation of others. Sometimes I still find myself searching for validation more than I would

like to, but over the course of the past two years, I have improved considerably. The second of

the two creativity activities served as a way for me to search within and see myself a little more

clearly.

The second activity involved creating collages. We were asked to take at least two

different mediums and combine them together. This helped me to experience integration in a

hands-on and physical way. I have come to understand integrative learning as a way of

acknowledging how connected everything in the universe really is. I do not have to work to

make these connections, they already exist. Perhaps, then, my job when teaching an integrative

curriculum is just to point out and acknowledge these connections? Therefore, I felt that creating

a collage by integrating different mediums could best be done by seeing how these mediums

connect to each other.

Unsurprisingly, I again found myself putting off starting this activity out of fear of not

doing it well enough or correctly. In my head, I kept imagining beautiful and detailed collages

that I knew I would never be able to recreate. I watched the deadline creep up on me faster and

faster and felt the anxiety within me grow and grow. It was as if all of the reflecting and learning

that I had done up until this point was lost. However, once I realized that the reason I was

putting it off was due to these anxieties, I was able to work past them. I scheduled a time for me

to work on the project. I sat in my empty classroom, with the materials in front of me, and

decided that I would not leave the classroom until it was done.

The materials that I chose to use for this activity were canvas, paint, and magazine

clippings. I actually had other materials out in front of me, not wanting to limit myself, but these


were the only ones I ended up choosing. When I started, I wanted to rid my mind of

preconceived ideas, so I began by going through multiple magazines and cutting out any words

or pictures that spoke to me rather than planning out exactly which parts I might use.

When first looking at the clippings, I thought my project might end up being a

representation of nature and life. I had multiple pictures of animals, people, plants, and words. I

found stunning pictures of the universe that seemed to spark something within me. I kept

clipping until I had all of the pictures that seemed to reach out and grab me. Next, I turned to the

canvas and paint.

This part was far more nerve wracking than the magazine clippings. I stared at the

canvas for a while, afraid that I would ruin it if I did not put the right images on it. I chose many

different colored paints and squirted them onto a paper plate. I felt the different paint brushes,

attempting to find one pulsing with energy. Finally, I put a brush into the paint and allowed my

heart rather than my head to guide where the strokes went. I was surprised to see a sun starting

to form, with long twisting rays extending out.

I had not planned on painting a sun, however, the sun is an important symbol to me,

especially as of late. When I was training at HMC, many of the friends I made there described

me as being like the sun: bright and shining, bringing light to all that I touch. When I was

deciding whether or not to leave my husband, a friend of mine from HMC told me not to let

anyone steal my light. The image of the sun became symbolic to me, representing my true inner

self.

This helped guide me as I turned back to the magazine clippings. As I stared at the words

and images in front of me, a few were leaping out and catching my attention. The ones that

grabbed me were words such as “inspire,” “strength,” “wisdom,” and “happiness.” It seemed as


though I was being urged to create a collage that represented who I truly am. This seemed

appropriate since my entire journey with TIES seemed to be a dissection and observation of my

being.

Figure 2. Being stardust

As I finished, I was once again surprised by what my heart felt it needed to express. I

was shocked to see how well I could uncover exactly what needed to be uncovered without

forcing it to happen (see Figure 2). My fears, as usual, were unfounded. While I did not create a


Did you have a name for this?


great masterpiece, I did find a way to let creativity open my heart and peer into my inner self.

This was both a healing and freeing experience. Krishnamurti (1953/1981) wrote that “discovery

is the beginning of creativeness” (p. 124). For me, however, creativity seems to always lead me

to discovery. Learning how to let go of preconceived ideas and allow my thoughts to flow freely

was a great stepping stone toward effectively using mind mapping as a tool.

Mind Mapping

Buzan and Buzan (1993) expressed that “note-making means organising your own

thoughts, often in a creative, innovative way” (p. 43). This is opposed to note-taking, which

means “summarising someone else’s thoughts, as expressed in a book, article or lecture” (p. 43).

At first glance, mind mapping seemed merely to be an alternative method of recording

information. What I came to discover, at least for myself, is that mind mapping is also a way of

unlocking thoughts buried deep within my subconscious that I was not aware existed.

Mind mapping uses something that Buzan and Buzan (1993) referred to as “Radiant

Thinking (from ‘to radiate’, meaning ‘to spread or move in directions, or from a given centre’)

[which] refers to associative thought processes that proceed from or connect to a central point”

(p. 57). One of the main principles of mind mapping is that of starting from a central idea and

branching out from that idea as far as your mind may go. On each branch extending from the

central point, one word that connects to the central idea is written. Other branches can then be

created off of each new branch, each with one word that connects to the word on the new branch.

This process continues around and outward until all that a person wishes to cover on the starting

topic has been satisfactorily included.

I first learned about mind maps when I was in training at HMC. It was briefly discussed

in one of our seminars, and we were assigned to complete a mind map on a chapter we read in a


book. The process felt forced and strange. I was unsure of what I was doing, and I did not feel

like it helped me at all. When my TIES learning community was assigned to read The Mind

Map Book and to create our own mind maps, I groaned at the idea. However, once I started to

read the book, I began to understand the concept at a much deeper level.

Colorful and vivid notes were not a foreign idea to me. When I was in school, I had

struggled with learning all of the dates and facts that were asked of me. I had discovered that

color coding my notes, varying the print size, and adding images to illustrate ideas helped me to

keep the information in my head. This, in turn, helped me to become a much stronger student in

an educational system that I did not fully understand. Creating mind maps seemed like the

logical next step for my notes; as Buzan and Buzan (1993) noted, “the brain finds it easier to

accept and remember visually stimulating, multi-coloured, multi-dimensional Mind Maps, rather

than monotonous, boring linear notes” (p. 89).

It is not just the color and images that give mind maps their power, it is also the use of

associations. Lillard (2007) stated that “learning with a meaningful context can be far superior to

learning that is unconnected to its use” (p. 11). Associations create context, which makes things

easier to learn and understand. The readings on systems thinking and chaos theory had led me to

believe that everything in the universe is already connected. Mind mapping seems to help to

explore these connections as they exist in the world as well as within each person’s mind. As

part of my course requirements for TIES, I completed a mind map showing what TIES and

integrative learning meant to me (see Figure 3). This was the first of many mind maps I came to

complete as I discovered how useful they could really be.


Figure 3. What TIES and integrative learning mean to me.

All of the benefits of mind maps made sense to me within the context of learning;

however, I was surprised to see how powerful mind maps could be in other areas of life. It is

noted in Buzan and Buzan’s (1993) book that mind mapping “provides balance, allowing you to

see the ‘other side’ of any issue. It is especially helpful for problem-solving and creative

thinking because it opens your mind to all the options” (p. 113). This meant a lot to me in the

process of my transformation. Using mind maps helped me to dig deeper into my own thoughts

as well as the idea of my own identity.

During a reflection period at school, I started a mind map with “The Real Me” at its

center. From there, I made multiple associations that helped me to see myself a little clearer.


This was helpful at a time when I was feeling unsure of myself. I created another mind map with

“My Hopes/Goals” in the center when I was trying to decide where my path in life should lead. I

was surprised to discover that very few of my goals had anything to do with a career.

I was recently in a place where it seemed uncertain whether I could continue in my

chosen career, and I was feeling unsure of where I would go from here. Through mind mapping,

I was able to see that my career does not actually matter as much to me as my family, happiness,

and being able to create, write, and feel like I have a purpose. Mind mapping helped me to

clarify what truly mattered the most to me, which allowed me to let go of the pain I was feeling

from trying to live up to an ideal I could not reach.

Krishnamurti (1953/1981) exerted that “imitation of what we should be, breeds fear; and

fear kills creative thinking” (p. 57). It seems that whenever I enter a mindset of “should be,” I

become consumed in anxieties and fear. I will get wrapped up in an idea of what my life is

supposed to look like or what type of person I am supposed to be, and I never measure up. Using

mind maps to look at these assumptions of “should be-s,” allowed me to see what it was I really

wanted, without applying the pressure of what I “should” want. It seemed that by using creative

thinking, I was able to move past the fear.

Despite being hesitant to use mind maps in the beginning, I now use them whenever I

need to organize my thoughts. I not only use them in lieu of outlines for all of my papers, but

also to help me through periods of anxiety, when it feels like my mind is moving nonstop and I

cannot focus on any one thing. It helps me to look deeper into my mind, move past the noise in

my head, and see what is left—to move past the fears and assumptions and get to the heart of

what is there.


Buzan and Buzan (1993) noted that “true mental freedom is the ability to create order

from chaos” (p. 93). As mentioned previously, I certainly felt like I was living in the midst of

chaos. I was transforming as I wheeled and flipped through a chaotic spiral prompted by

reaching my own bifurcation point. The use of mind maps helped me to see the order that lay

within the chaos.


Chapter Seven: From Out of the Chaos

Finding Freedom

Looking back at where I was before this journey of self-discovery began, I find it hard to

even recognize myself. I am sure that has a lot to do with the fact that I was trying very hard to

hide my true self away. I was afraid of what would happen if I looked too closely at myself. I

was afraid of what I would see.

A fear that I had held onto since my childhood was the fear of who I really was. I was

afraid that if I looked too deeply within myself that I would discover some kind of monster.

Growing up, I was told horrible things about who I really was. Being married to someone who

was very much like my original abuser, I was told the same horrible things that I grew up

believing. I was told that I was selfish, stupid, mean, cruel, overly dramatic, self-centered, and

so on. I was afraid that if I truly looked at myself, then I would discover that they had been right

all along—that I really was an awful person.

Even when I began my HMC training and my new friends were showing me who they

saw when they looked at me, I wondered if I was just fooling them all and fooling myself. If my

own mother and husband saw me as this cruel person, surely there must be something to it. You

expect those that are the closest to you to know you the best. I seemed to be experiencing what

Wheatley (2006) described as “paradigm blindness, where people are unable to see information

that threatens and disconfirms their worldview. No matter how much data is in front of them,

their lens filters it out or distorts it to mean something else” (p. 174). In spite of the evidence I

was receiving to the contrary, I continued to believe that I was this awful person I had been told

that I was.

It was a combination of my work in TIES and working with a therapist that helped me to

see beyond the lies I had been told. It was through this work that I was able to discover for


myself who I truly am. Even though I lived through this journey myself, I still find it hard to

believe that I could learn so much and change so greatly within such a short amount of time.

It has not been an easy trek. Looking within myself and within my troubled past brought

out pain as I had never truly felt it before. As Wheatley (2006) explained, “We surface these

dark shadows not to mend them or make them disappear, but simply to acknowledge they are

part of the reality of life” (p. 133). While I always knew that my life had not been the easiest, I

had hidden away from the truth of it for a long time. Looking into my past did not erase it or

keep it from happening. It did not, in actuality, heal my past. It did, however, allow me to

finally let go of it all and free myself from the control it had had over me.

My readings on chaos theory and systems thinking helped me the most throughout this

process. Discovering the idea that every piece of the system that is the universe serves a purpose

and affects the other pieces (Briggs & Peat, 1999) assured me that I, too, had a purpose and an

effect on the world around me. This helped me to stop asking for permission from the world for

the right to exist. It helped me to stop believing that I mattered less than everyone else in the

world.

Chaos theory helped me to recognize the process that I was going through. I was able to

see transformation as a necessity of life. I could take a step back and see how the pain of my

transformation was required to enable me to move forward. This helped to give me the strength

to continue onward. While I could not be sure of what was waiting on the other side, my new

understanding of chaos assured me that “we change only if we decide that the change is

meaningful to who we are” (Wheatley, 2006, p. 148). Therefore, I felt comforted in the

knowledge that whatever change I was going through would be a purposeful one. Yet, what did

all of this have to do with my role as an educator?


Krishnamurti (1953/1981) stated that “when there is love of the child, all things are

possible” (p. 86). This certainly seems to be true in my own story, as it seems that my role as a

teacher greatly aided my transformation. It was through examining my relationships with my

students that I was able to learn more about myself. I also learned to recognize that all of the

good that I wished for them, I deserved myself.

I believe that my journey also led me to be a better educator. Krishnamurti (1953/1981)

believed that “education should awaken the capacity to be self-aware and not merely indulge in

gratifying self-expression” (p. 14). My own path toward self-awareness helped to arm me with

many different methods and systems of self-reflection. I worked to share my methods of self-

reflection with my students to help them move toward self-awareness. I learned that it is not up

to me to determine what my students’ journeys in life should look like, however I can give them

the tools to help them face the obstacles they will surely come across.

When I first started teaching, I felt as though I was personally responsible for my

students’ entire wellbeing. I felt responsible for making sure they learned exactly what they

needed to know to be successful in life as well as feeling the need to save them from their

personal worries and difficulties in life. I felt the weight of their worlds on my shoulders. My

growth helped me to understand that this was not my role as a teacher. I can give them all the

tools necessary for them to overcome any obstacle they may meet, but it is not my job to

overcome those obstacles for them. Who am to shield them from their own journey?

While I certainly hope that none of my students have to walk down a road quite as

treacherous as my own was, it is not for me to say or to interfere. While it is still difficult for me

to watch them struggle through some of their obstacles, I know that it is a necessary part of their


journey. I just hope that by arming them with tools of self-reflection, they will be able to

navigate the twists and turns of their own paths a little better.

I feel that my time with TIES has also handed me the tools to be able to navigate any

future obstacles that will inevitably arise in my own life. It is hard for me to believe that a

program for studying educational philosophies has impacted my life so profoundly. I enrolled in

TIES expecting to learn to be a better teacher, and I was instead given tools that helped me to

change my entire world. TIES gave me freedom and acceptance.

Just as I needed to be able to accept that my students have their own journey that I cannot

save them from, I needed to do the same for myself. I needed to accept my journey for

everything that it has been and everything that it will be. This continues to be difficult, as new

challenges present themselves almost daily.

Moving Forward

As I shared previously, Wheatley (2006) exerted that “stasis, balance, equilibrium, these

are temporary states. What endures is process—dynamic, adaptive, creative” (p. 90). Balance,

harmony, peace, these are things I search for and crave, yet if I was to live in that state

permanently, I would never grow. It is through the challenges of life that growth occurs.

As Wheatley affirmed “disturbances could create disequilibrium, but disequilibrium

could lead to growth” (p. 79). While the process may be uncomfortable, painful even, it is

necessary to grow as a person. This is something that I am trying to remind myself of as I face

new obstacles that are changing my world in numerous ways.

Over the course of the past year, I began to have some troubling symptoms. I was having

episodes of dizziness, daily headaches, fatigue, and all-over weakness. My health is another area

where I grew up learning to doubt myself, learning to doubt the validity of my complaints.


Having been told that I was just overly dramatic or a hypochondriac whenever I started to feel

sick, I learned to push through symptoms as long as possible. This has led to me missing signs

that my body needs me to slow down. I typically would just keep pushing myself as long as I

could until I had a break when I could try to rest and recuperate.

This time was proving to be no different, although I tried to heed the advice of Buzan and

Buzan (1993) when they stated “caring for yourself will make your self-analysis more open,

complete, profound and useful” (p. 177). I wanted to be able to care for myself, however the

idea was foreign to me. I wanted to find a way to slow down, yet as an overachiever, I had a

hard time walking away from any work that I had taken on. I wanted to complete it all, and I

wanted for it to be exemplary work.

In “Awake: the Life of Yogananda,” the yogi guru Yogananda is attributed with stating

that “if you keep running after too many hobbies, you won’t have any time left for bliss” (di

Florio & Leeman, 2014). I was running myself ragged trying to be everything to everyone.

Attempting to give 100% of myself to my students, my boss, my coworkers, my studies, my

family, etc. I tried to continue taking my time for yoga, but day by day I noticed that my need

for quiet alone time seemed to be growing.

Part of me wondered if the symptoms I was experiencing were merely a side effect of all

of the transformative work that I had been doing. Perhaps releasing all of the emotions that I had

hidden from for most of my life had tired my body out and I just needed some extra rest. I tried

sleeping my symptoms away during a school break, but they never seemed to cease. They stayed

constant until I could no longer ignore them. I tried to wait until my next school break to go to

the doctor, but my body would not let me wait that long.


One day, the day my students were going to perform in front of the whole school, I

became overwhelmed with dizziness and fatigue. Every time I stood up I felt as though I would

fall over. I could not stop my hand from shaking. Even then, even with symptoms that seemed

so severe, I questioned whether or not I should go to the doctor or just lay down and hope they

would go away. I called my boss to let her know that I would be unable to transport students that

afternoon, and she ended up convincing me that she should take me to the doctor.

I have always struggled greatly with asking others for help. Despite urging my students

to speak up more and ask for help when they needed it, I still try to take on the world all on my

own. I was raised with the idea that accepting help from others is a sign of weakness and that a

strong person can handle everything on his or her own. Montessori (1948/2008) noted that “all

living beings need something or someone to help them to live” (p. 55). Could asking for help

actually be a necessary part of the human condition?

Capra (1996) explained that “interdependence—the mutual dependence of all life

processes on one another—is the nature of all ecological relationships” (p. 298). Capra, much

like Montessori, seemed to assert that it is a natural part of life to depend on other beings, yet it

seems that many human beings are convinced that dependence on another being is a sign of

weakness. Their goal is to be completely independent, to prove to the world that they do not

have to rely on anyone for anything.

However, I have come to realize that this is a falsehood. Even if a person never relied on

another human being, he or she would still rely on other living species, whether for food, shelter,

or clothing. No one can truly be completely independent. Logically, it is easy for me to see this

and understand it. Unfortunately, it is harder for me to live in practice.


Asking for help from someone else means making yourself vulnerable, at least that is

what I have always believed. It means admitting that I depend on another human being to

survive. This is frightening because if that person goes away or stops helping me, I fear that my

survival is at stake. This is a fear that I have struggled with for a long time, however now I was

in the position where my refusal to accept help could be detrimental to my survival. Therefore,

when my boss (who is more like family than an administrator) insisted that she drive me to the

doctor, I knew that I could not refuse her help. Little did I know that all of the symptoms I had

been experiencing up until this point had reached a boiling point that would change my life

forever.

It was discovered that I have a chronic illness called postural orthostatic tachycardia

syndrome (POTS). It falls under the heading of dysautonomia, which refers to the dysfunction

of the autonomic nervous system. My body has a hard time regulating my blood circulation,

blood volume, and heart rate. This causes a wide range of symptoms including extreme fatigue,

dizziness, light headedness, fainting, muscle weakness, headaches, and many other equally

inconvenient symptoms. It also, like most chronic illnesses, has no known cure.

When I first learned about my condition, I was shocked and angry. I had a hard time

accepting that this condition would affect my life from now on—that I would spend my life

feeling this way. I struggled to accept that I would never be able to do the things I had done

before, such as taking long walks, performing in a play onstage, or dancing around a room. All

of my life I had been vibrant and full of energy, was this really the end of all of that?

I was angry that this was happening to me. Angry that my body seemed to be failing me.

I felt especially angry that I had just freed myself from the torment of my abusers and the pains

of my past only to have this happen. It felt as though I was losing everything that made me who


I am so shortly after having just discovered it all. I had just emerged from the transformative

chaos that left me feeling liberated and free only to be thrust back into it again.

This anger only increased as I tried different medications and dietary regimes to try to

limit the symptoms I experienced with only minor success. It became impossible for me to work

a full day teaching, so I had to cut back on my hours; doctor’s orders. I still struggled to

complete simple tasks such as taking a shower, standing up for 10 minutes at a time, even just

picking up my daughter. It was becoming clear to me that I may never fully return to my

previous state of normalcy. I would have to try to find a new normal.

While I was upset and angry about what was happening to me, I was grateful to now be

surrounded by people who were supportive and loving. If this had happened just a few years

before, I would have still been living with my abusive husband. I cannot possibly conceive how

I would have survived this struggle if I was still living in that household. Fortunately, my path of

self-discovery included the introduction of a very kind and loving man who has taught me what

love is truly meant to feel like. He takes care of both my daughter and me without asking for

anything in return. He does it, simply, because he loves us. I am continuously surprised by the

depth of his love and support. It is not the kind of love I grew up knowing. It is, rather, the kind

of love that I had always hoped existed. Together, Matt, my daughter, and I worked together to

try to find what our new normal would be.

It was also becoming clear that this life I had worked for would be changing dramatically.

I had been in the process of applying to doctoral programs, certain that my new path was to

become a theatre professor. Now whether I was accepted into the programs or not, I would not

be physically capable of completing one. I also could not continue on the current path of

teaching my middle and high school students, as the constant stimulation in the classroom caused


adrenaline surges that would increase my heart rate. It was feeling as though all that I had been

working for was slipping away from me.

Wheatley (2006) believed that “it is, after all, only meaning that we seek. Nothing else is

attractive; nothing else has the power to cohere an entire lifetime of activity” (p. 134). As I

began looking at new career options, all of which would have to be jobs that I could do from

home, I began asking myself if my life would still have meaning if I was not living out my

dreams. Would my life still have purpose? Would I still have an impact in the world?

I decided that what was most important to me was feeling as though I was an active

participant in my own life. I do not want to feel like I am letting my life simply pass me by. I

was faced with the decision to either invest all of my energy and efforts into keeping the job I

currently have (and feeling like a productive member of society, while not having any energy to

take care of my daughter or experience life outside of work) or stepping back from a job that I

love so that I could have the energy and strength to be a mother, a significant other, a daughter,

and just myself. This was a difficult choice to make as I felt that it was my job that gave me

purpose. On the other hand, I wanted desperately for my daughter to grow up knowing how

much I love and care for her. I was heartbroken to see how much it affected her that I could not

play with her the way I used to.

Once again, I was able to turn to and lean on all that I had learned from TIES. As

mentioned previously, at this time I created a mind map centered on “My Hopes/Goals.” The

main branches extending out read “writing,” “matter,” “family,” “passion,” “purpose,”

“happiness,” “difference,” “create,” and “active.” Not a single branch mentioned a specific

career or money. This made it clear to me that I could find a way to serve a purpose no matter

what job I was able to do.


Montessori (1948/2008) wrote that “all work is noble, the only ignoble thing is to live

without working” (p. 65). My desires included being active in my own life, writing, creating

things, and making a difference. Those are things that could be done in different ways in a

multitude of different jobs. The important thing, it seemed, was to keep working and not to let

my illness take my drive away from me. To sit back and let myself become a victim of

circumstances would be to “live without working.” I realized that as long as I am working,

whether it is for a job, a career, a hobby, or just personal growth, I will be serving a purpose.

Perhaps what I was truly needing was to stop planning and start living in each moment.

One of the main functions of yoga and meditation are to help the yogi stay in the now.

Frawley (1999) explained that “meditation involves placing the mind in a calm and concentrated

state in which our mental energies can be renewed and transformed” (pp. 286–287). The more

anxious I would grow, the more I would need yoga and meditation, yet the harder it would be for

me to push myself to do it. I felt that if I could just come up with a plan and map out my future,

I could somehow control it all.

Chaos theory teaches that life cannot be controlled, no matter how hard a person tries.

There are too many variables in life that cannot possibly be predicted. Wheatley (2006)

expressed that “the changing nature of life insists that we stop hiding behind our plans or

measures and give more attention to what is occurring right in front of us, right now” (pp. 154–

155). Could making plans be some sort of safety net? Could it be a way for me to feel in

control?

Wheatley (2006) again warned that “agility and intelligence are required to respond to the

incessant barrage of frequent, unplanned changes” (p. 38). Perhaps making plans is not an


inherently wrong act. Maybe it is just when I become too attached to the plans themselves that I

experience discomfort.

Montessori (1948/2008) believed that “adaptability—this is the most essential quality”

(p. 64). As previously explored, Montessori did not think that adults were readily adaptable.

However, my journey thus far has shown that I could, in fact, adapt and learn. Is there a way for

me to learn to stay in a more adaptable state? If I could, perhaps I would not find it so hard

whenever a change presented itself. I hope that by continuing to practice my yoga and

meditations, I will become more adaptable and be able to adjust to change more quickly.

Conclusion

When I first entered my secondary training at HMC, an old family friend told me, “It will

change your life.” I had no idea how true that statement was going to be for me. Two and a half

years ago, when I started at HMC, I was in an abusive relationship, trying desperately not to deal

with the pains and emotions from my past, working tirelessly to fit into a box of what I

considered to be perfection and ignoring my inner voice that was screaming at me constantly that

I was unhappy and needed change. Fortunately, change is exactly what I got.

I was able to stop trying to be the person that I thought everyone wanted me to be and

start being authentically me. I discovered that many qualities that I already possessed but

thought were weaknesses were, in fact, strengths that not only helped me in my job as a teacher,

but helped me work through the difficulties in my life. I hope to continue to use these qualities

to handle the obstacles that my health problems will present, and have already presented, in my

life.

I will continue to use courage and strength as I face the chaos that my new life changes

will bring. It will take great courage and strength to walk away from a job that I love, yet I know


that the trade-off will be getting more time with my family. I have already had to use courage

and strength as I test my limits, push through my symptoms when possible, ask for help when

needed, and admit to myself when I just cannot do something, no matter how badly I may want

to. I believe that I will also have to rely greatly on creativity and patience as I try to find my new

place in this world.

I hope to use creativity to help me create a new job or find a new way to make a living

and help support my family. I will rely on creativity to help me find ways to do things that I

used to be able to do in a different way that accommodates my symptoms. I will also require the

use of creativity to find a way to incorporate my passions into all that I do. Whether or not I can

find a career that utilizes my passions, I hope to find a way to always keep my passion alive and

active. All of this will require great patience with myself, as trying new things always brings

with it some amount of risk of failure. I will also need to be patient with those around me who

are supporting me, as this is a new process for them as well as it is for me. This will require

empathy.

I will have to be empathetic with my partner, Matt, and my daughter as they both work to

understand what is happening and how to deal with the changes in all of our lives. I will try to

use the quality of observation to watch Matt and my daughter to notice when they need a break

from it all, as they surely will at some point. I will also need to observe myself, my limits, and

my body, to know when I need to rest and when I can push through. I will continue to use

personal reflection to help me to see what I need.

Personal reflection has helped me to recognize that I was being abused. It helped me to

recognize and let go of the emotions I had tried to hide away from all of my life. I hope that

personal reflection with continue to allow me to recognize when emotions are rising up that need


From?


to be released. I hope that it will also allow me to reflect on my relationships, to continue to help

me learn about myself through them. I believe it is my quality of wonder that will make all of

these possible.

My ability to still look at the world with wonder, in spite of all of the ugliness that I have

seen, helps to assure me that no matter how dark the road ahead may get, I will always find the

beauty in it. That is just part of who I am. I hope to never lose my sense of wonder toward the

beauty and mysteries of the universe. I feel that this will help get me through all the difficulties

that may lie ahead. My journey to normalization helps to remind me that, even though I am an

adult, I am still capable of adapting and learning new things.

I am only 30 years old, and I know that I will meet many other obstacles in my life.

Chaos theory has shown me that turbulent times are a necessary part of life. Even now, so soon

after I have come out of one period of chaos, I seem to find myself back within the chaos again.

Life appears to work in cycles of chaos, and I have found that I can either try to hide from it, or

allow the chaos to help me grow. I hope to continue to be adaptable so that moments of chaos

will not stop me but will, rather, serve as opportunities for further growth. I will lean heavily on

the tools that I have learned through my TIES journey to help me get through the chaos of life.

I have recently found the energy to start back with my yoga practices. I have had to

adjust my practice greatly to accommodate my abilities, but it still feels good to be doing

something I love so much. It still brings me the peace and sense of inner strength that it did

before. I have also been working on using art to help me process the changes in my life and to

help me reflect on the emotions that I am feeling.

I hope to find new ways to use art and creativity as an emotional release as well as a tool

for transformation. I particularly enjoy writing, and I currently have the goal of writing about


overcoming the various struggles in my life. This helps me to view my journey in a different

way. I also hope to continue to use mind maps as a tool for self-discovery as well as for

organizing information. These have proved to be invaluable to organizing the chaos within my

head.

I hope to take all of the lessons that I have learned through TIES with me, wherever my

life may lead. I hope to never forget the impact that TIES has had on my life. While I am

grateful to be earning a Master of Education degree, I believe the biggest benefit that I have

received is a greater understanding of who I am and where I belong in the world. My life will

never again be the way it was before I entered TIES, and I am eternally grateful for that fact.


References

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Lillard, A. S. (2007). Montessori: The science behind the genius. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.


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MacIntyre, A. (2008). After virtue (3rd ed.). Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame Press.

Mariotti, H. (2000). Autopoiesis, culture, and society. Retrieved from http://www.oikos.org/mariotti.htm

Montessori, M. (2007a). From childhood to adolescence. Laren, Netherlands: Montessori-Pierson Publishing Company. (Original work published 1948)

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Rudruaf, D., Lutz, A., Cosmelli, D., LaChaux, J., & Le Van Quyen, M. (2003). From autopoiesis to neurophenomenology: Francisco Varela’s exploration of the biophysics of being. Biological Research, 36(1), 27–65. Retrieved from http://dx.doi.org/10.4067/S0716-97602003000100005

Swimme, B., & Tucker, M. (2011). Journey of the universe. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press Books.

Uhl, C. (2004). Developing ecological consciousness. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.

Wheatley, M. J. (2006). Leadership and the new science. Oakland, CA: Berrett-Koehler.


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Documents

Journey of a Montessori Secondary Teacher