003: Preparing Ourselves First

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” -Marcel Proust

The start of this neuroeducation journey feels a bit like a bag of popcorn in the microwave. One kernel pops, then another and another. Suddenly ideas are flying faster than I can catch them. Every chapter, every podcast and every conversation seems to spark another lightbulb moment. It’s exciting but it is also reminding me to slow down, to let the learning settle before rushing to the next idea.

One of the goals of this journal is to do exactly that: pause, reflect and make sense of what I’m learning before sharing it.

Lately, I’ve been listening to the book Culturally Responsive Teaching and the Brain by Zaretta Hammond. Every chapter has challenged me in different ways while also reconnecting me with ideas I’d learned before but needed to revisit with fresh eyes. Today, I’m lingering in Chapter 4… or maybe it’s more accurate to call it a bit of a bird walk.

One quote in particular sent my mind in an unexpected direction:

"Culturally responsive teaching isn’t a set of engagement strategies you use on students. Instead, think of it as a mindset, a way of looking at the world.”

‍ ‍I expected this chapter to make me think about my students. Instead, it made me think about myself.

As teachers, it’s easy to focus on what we need to do differently for our students. We search for better strategies, lessons, new classroom management and more engaging ways to teach. What if the first work isn’t changing what we do? What if it’s paying attention to who we are while we do it?

Another line from the chapter stayed with me:

“Culturally responsive teachers know themselves well enough to anticipate situations that might trigger them.”

That sentence made me pause because, if I'm honest, I can think of days when my own nervous system walks into the classroom before I do. Days when I'm rushing, overstimulated, carrying the weight of life outside of school, or simply not showing up as the teacher I hope to be.

This afternoon became a small reminder of that. My two-year-old wouldn't settle down for his nap and we had reached that point where neither of us seemed to be helping the other regulate. Instead of continuing to push through, I strapped him to my bike and headed outside. Somewhere between the sunshine, the fresh air and the rhythm of pedaling, I could feel my own brain settle. Eventually, he settled too, falling asleep as we rode.

As I biked along the wooded trails near the school where I teach, another question surfaced. If movement, nature, and fresh air could help regulate my nervous system, what might they do for a classroom full of five-year-olds? Not as a reward or a break from learning, but as part of learning itself. Could we take monthly walks through the trails behind our school? Could we pause long enough to notice the changing seasons? Could we make space for movement, wonder and conversation… not because we need a break from learning, but because perhaps they are learning?

I don't know.

But I'm beginning to wonder if preparing a culturally responsive classroom starts long before students walk through the door. Maybe it begins with the teacher asking: How am I showing up today? What helps my own brain regulate? What assumptions am I carrying? What cultural lenses am I bringing into this room?

Hammond writes:

"Culture is like the air we breathe, permeating all we do. And the hardest culture to examine is often our own."

That feels both humbling and hopeful. Maybe this work isn't about becoming the perfect culturally responsive teacher. Maybe it's about becoming a more aware one. A teacher who recognizes that students are constantly learning from more than our lesson plans. They learn from how we respond to frustration, how we repair mistakes, how we care for ourselves and how willing we are to continue learning ourselves.

This chapter also left me thinking about the choices I make each day. Not from a place of pressure or guilt… not another list of things I should be doing, but from a place of health and curiosity. Are the habits I'm building aligned with the kind of culture I hope to create? Are my behaviors matching the environment I want to cultivate for my students?

After a difficult season marked by my sister's brain injury and the beautiful, exhausting years of raising young children, I find myself slowly returning to things that help me feel more like myself. More walks. More bike rides. More time outside. More movement. More friend time. More moments that help me slow down and notice. Those choices aren't about becoming a "better" teacher. They're about becoming a healthier, more grounded person.

I'm not entirely sure how all of this connects to teaching yet.

Maybe it doesn't.

Or maybe it does in ways I don't fully understand yet.

What I do know is that this chapter didn't leave me with a list of strategies. It left me with a handful of I wonder... questions. And as I continue this journey, I'm realizing that those questions might be just as valuable as the answers.

Perhaps the most important classroom we prepare each morning isn't just the one with tiny chairs, colorful books, and carefully planned lessons. It's the one inside ourselves.