You Are What You Teach
How our pedagogical environments shape how we learn and how we teach.
Deep in my mind, I recall the bright stage lights, to a dark, hot studio. The sound of music through walls. The amplified voice of a teacher yelling. I can still feel the sweat on the floor and the dirt on my shoes. The gritty beginnings of the dance profession is what makes the end product worth it. Nothing about the scenery is flashy. It’s sweaty, loud, and overwhelming. The same attributes ring true about the personnel. The teachers are strict, and each of your friends is a co-competitor. I was once a competitive dancer. Early into my life, I spent around 20 hours a week in the studio. In dance, there are multiple levels of involvement. There is recreation, competition, adult classes, and separate teams. I did dance mostly because my sisters did it, it was my modus operandi, I never thought twice about doing something other than dance, I loved going to class and I loved recitals. My childhood was spent moving across the country, and dance was the only consistent thing in my life. Our earliest learning environments shape who we are now - so what does this environment make of me?
Sometimes, consistency doesn’t mean quality. Those 20 hours a week I spent were often very difficult. Aside from the rigorous training, dance is a highly competitive and image-based sport. We spent hours looking at our body shapes and sizes in mirrors and any defect was pointed out and corrected. None of the other girls liked me. I was too short, too annoying. I was also very skinny and made fun of for my body type. Because I didn’t fit the mold of what they wanted, I was an outcast. Further, my teacher had some anger management issues and often threw shoes at us. Dance comes at a high price, financially and emotionally. While we were a high-ranking studio and performed well, it came with long hours and injuries. Both of those things were badges of honor, though. Girls would pride themselves on how many toes they broke that semester, or if they had to stay longer at the studio, each was a sign that screamed, “I’m important!”
Our teachers showed intense favoritism. If we weren’t competing against others, we would compete for our teacher’s approval. Not just to get a better spot in a dance, but to hopefully be treated better. As a young girl, this built in me a drive for success, people-pleasing, image, and favoritism. As much as I hate to admit it, I function the same way now. To this day, I still see busyness as a pipeline to importance. The idea that longer hours means that I am a better employee, or that I must gain people’s approval is the thorn in my side. I know that these are bad habits, and that my young ways of functioning in community are skewed, but those 20 hours a week marked me in more ways than I’d like to admit. Before you think that this is a long essay listing my grievances with dance, let me tell you the things I gained from my time in the studio.
Dance built in me the ability to put on a “stage face.” I have years of masking emotions for the sake of a crowd. This means that no matter how I am feeling, if I have to fulfill a task, I will do so. This is both physical and mental resilience, but it is also a high view of an audience, and deep understanding of what it looks like to perform for an audience.
Lateness was not excused. Neither was messy hair, unsuitable clothes, or the wrong equipment for class. If we showed up lacking the supplies or dress for something, we simply didn’t do it. Sometimes, we had to do pushups or laps if we didn't. Now, I pack my bags thoroughly and ensure I am ready for the days ahead. Further, I try my hardest to be punctual.
Third, I have decent memorization skills.
Fourth, I can do any kind of braid in under 40 seconds.
Lastly, and this one may not be as important as the one above, I have a deep understanding of the lasting impacts that styles of pedagogy and learning structure has on children.
This principle, as seen in the title, I called “You Are What You Teach.” This means that the patterns in our behaviors, and the patterns of how we teach, may be linked to the types of learning styles we grew up in. It is natural for humans to do the opposite of what caused them pain. We see this in teaching. Ultimately, this essay is a call to meta-analyze the way you teach, and how that links to the way you are taught. How have your previous learning environments influenced you? What do you do about both the deficits and the strengths?
Currently, I teach ballet to young girls, and dance leadership to children of many grades. In the hybrid dance class that I teach, I try to teach soft skills such as stage performance, strength in presence, self-care, body awareness, spatial awareness, timeliness, and discipline. Teaching these concepts verbally, not experientially, is difficult. I know in the back of my head that I learned these ideas the hard way, through conditioning and reprimand. I want so badly for my students to know the same punctuality and discipline that I have been able to know. But how do I accomplish transmitting that knowledge in a way that is different from how I learned it?
I know that the way I teach is not perfect, and my students will one day teach to compensate for my deficits. We are all living, breathing, walking versions of the situations we arise from. We carry the things we like, and we change the things we don’t. It seems as though the entire world is on the same page – changing their teaching style to give children what they didn’t have. In every generation of teaching, there is something that is going to be missing, and I hope that I am able to raise learners that are aware enough of those deficits. So, now I encourage you to analyze, what does your teaching style say about your past environments? What needs do your pedagogies aim to fill?
