Becoming Disabled: Part 2
You can read part 1 here: Becoming Disabled: Part 1
Many things shape my teaching approach. My homeschooling education, thinking in three languages, and my own experience of being on the receiving end of good and bad pedagogy, to name just a few. But in the past couple of years, as I was coming into my own as a newly self-identified disabled person, I started looking at my teaching through that lens. That lens has many colours; here are a few:
Be vulnerable
At first, I was worried that disclosing my disability would be unprofessional. After all, a good educator doesn't make it about themselves; they focus on the students and their experience. But this is precisely why being vulnerable in class is so important. When I look back on my formal and informal education, my best memories and the turning points in my intellectual life happened when I saw my teachers as complete human beings. By disclosing, I wasn't making it about me: I was showing my humanity. It also preempts questions about my behaviour. A couple of matter-of-fact sentences about why I might sit occasionally to manage my pain or how I might search for my words because of my brain fog can help. First, it gets me out of the habit of apologising for the state of my bodymind that day. Second, if the handful of students who have come forward to express their access needs or to admit when they are struggling are any indication, I dare say it improves the student experience.
2. Set boundaries
On the flip side of disclosure is boundary-setting. This includes setting expectations for contact hours and email response time, but this is not exactly what I mean. As a new educator, I'm finding myself wanting to find my style, one that breaks away from a traditional top-down hierarchical model. However, I am also aware that lack of structure can be very stressful for some learners. It is also stressful for me, as a disabled person, to not know when enough is enough or when I can 'allow' myself to stop pushing harder. So, while I'm not hung up on trying to live up to a standard of professional appearance and comportment that does not reflect my reality, I am also not interested in being a friend to my students. That is not my role in their lives. I am there to help nurture them in a particular space, in a particular capacity. That's why, when I promise my students to try and make my classroom a safe and inclusive environment, I also make it clear that I am there to challenge their opinions, to play devil's advocate, and to ask difficult questions. I believe it is important to claim a recognisable role, even if I queer it in so many ways. Teaching, after all, is about balancing the familiar with the unknown.
3. Experiment
In my daily life, I have a playful routine. Because of the reality of my disability, it is unhelpful and sometimes very harmful to try and stick to a rigid schedule. Because of this, I have learned to adapt and be creative, but, most importantly, I have honed my skill of prioritisation, something I try to apply to my teaching. As the term goes on and everyone gets exhausted and overwhelmed, it is so important to change the format and realign our objectives. When I was an undergraduate student, I knew exactly who my favourite professors were: they were the ones that never taught the same class twice. I don't mean that they changed the content drastically every year (although sometimes they did), but they tweaked it, flipped it, revised it according to world events, their students, and their own evolving research interests. Furthermore, sometimes the best-laid plans fall flat! That perfectly crafted exercise is received with crickets or the demonstration you worked so hard on seems to confuse everyone; not everything works. Which is why experimentation is the way to go.
Teaching brings me great joy. It is also incredibly hard on my bodymind and requires a lot of energy. If this is all I can project to my students, it will have been worth it.
Next time, I will discuss how becoming disabled shapes my philosophical research.