What My Students Taught Me About Teaching

I didn’t set out to change how I taught.

At first, I thought I was doing what good instructors do—covering material, holding standards, preparing students for a demanding profession.

But over time, patterns emerged.

Some students were sharp in discussion but froze on written exams.

Others excelled in scenarios but struggled when instruction stayed abstract.

A few were quiet, meticulous, and consistently prepared—yet rarely recognized.

None of this meant they lacked ability.

It meant they processed differently.

And once I saw that, I couldn’t unsee it.

One of the first things I changed was predictability.

Not the curriculum.

Not the expectations.

But the element of surprise.

I stopped changing the class schedule at the last minute.

I stopped introducing surprise topics or unannounced tests as a “stress inoculation” tool.

Not because stress isn’t part of the job—but because unnecessary uncertainty doesn’t measure competence. It measures tolerance for chaos.

Preparation requires trust.

Learning requires psychological safety.

Structure didn’t weaken the class.

It stabilized it.

Next, I stopped teaching everything the same way.

Some concepts needed hands-on repetition.

Some needed diagrams.

Some needed to be talked through, slowly, from start to finish.

We built things.

We traced systems.

We mapped physiology and decision-making visually instead of assuming everyone could translate words into understanding at the same speed.

The standards stayed high.

The pathways widened.

And something shifted.

Students who once looked disengaged began asking better questions.

Those who struggled quietly started demonstrating depth when given the right format.

Confidence didn’t come from being pushed harder—it came from being understood.

That was the lesson.

Adaptation wasn’t accommodation.

It was responsibility.

Teaching wasn’t about forcing students into a single mold.

It was about removing unnecessary barriers so their competence could actually show up.

The profession will always be demanding.

It should be.

But confusion is not rigor.

Surprise is not mastery.

And silence is not lack of intelligence.

Once I understood how differently people process information, adaptation stopped being optional.

It became part of the work.