I recently had the good fortune of being at one of Jonny Walker's 'Remaining Human as an Educator' workshops. Jonny Walker is a specialist educator, teaching children about mythology, nature, writing and poetry, who works across the UK and internationally. As his website attests, Jonny is a ‘humorous public speaker' who 'enjoys sharing stories about learning, life and the transformative power of children’s chat'.
Coffee in hand, seat found, I was excited to hear about ‘Remaining Human as an Educator’. I anticipated that Jonny would provoke thought, maybe (hopefully) challenge some conventions, and open up a space to think about things that really matter. I was not let down; Jonny has the knack for calling into question things that seem harmless, but can at times be dangerous. Things like: being responsible for children's learning and development without questioning your motivations for doing this work, not paying attention to the contexts that offer insight into a child (or adult's) inner life and the perils of not listening fully.
Jonny has an aptitude for putting words to aspects of experience that are hard to put your finger on. He shared his philosophy of ‘chat’ as a 'pedagogy' and why 'chat' is not a useless frivolity, but something essential, urgent and important. Jonny urged us to acknowledge the big within the tiny, the seriousness contained in whimsy, the world within the teardrop. In this workshop, he referred to his beautiful concept of finding 'diamonds in chat' (did you guess that Jonny writes poetry, you can see his books on his website).
Jonny led me, along with everyone else in the room, on a two hour excursion into some big themes relating to how educators tap— or maybe sometimes don't tap— into themselves as humans: humans with life stories, inner lives, needs, flaws and motivations for why they have chosen to be, and remain, educators. ‘Remaining Human as an Educator’ didn’t suggest this workshop was a complete journey in and of itself, but seemed, to me, to say: this is just the beginning, now go and explore what all this might mean for you and your practice as an educator. Maybe it's because I tend to read waaay too much into most things (special thank you to me English Literature degree), but the way I read it was that Jonny was asking us to do this as a human. As he stated: ‘how you teach is an expression of who you are’.
I see Jonny's statement as a liberating affirmation to bring your whole life and your whole self to your teaching.* And to own that. Unapologetically. In a recent post energised, in part, by a conversation I had with Jonny some weeks ago, I wrote about the threads which run through my life. I realised over the summer that it's vital for me to follow these threads. In 'Remaining Human', Jonny asked: 'what is your individual purpose as an educator?' Thank you asking, Jonny. For me, I think this question is very closely, maybe almost completely, related to: 'what is my purpose?'.
I know people with BPD are often coded as social chameleons with inconsistent identities, but my identity seems fairly consistent across all areas of my life: from family to friends, how I am as a teacher work, even the writer I am on this blog and in my books (as I've explained in my books and in numerous posts, it's how I feel about myself that fluctuates intensely). I've always felt more comfortable describing myself in my own head (!) as a person who teaches children, rather than 'a teacher'. I've often wondered if this is imposter syndrome, a desire to distance myself from negative associations with the concept of a teacher or because it took me a while to find my feet in this profession (as I wrote a few months ago in the post 'Being a Teacher with BPD: How and Why it Works for Me').
Maybe it's none of these things and more because because I just want to be a person—myself!— in the classroom. It can't be a coincidence though that the happiest I've ever been at work is in a role focussed on the needs of neurodivergent children and in which I embrace a wider definition of learning (play, communication, eating, going to the toilet, sleeping, moving around). I also derive intense satisfaction from putting thought into thought into questions like: how can this child feel good about themselves? how can this child learn to like themselves when they are given negative messages about themselves? how can this child feel a sense of belonging? how can this child understand themselves better?
In 'Being a Teacher with BPD: How and Why it Works for Me', I wrote that I am often a person that families speak to about things they have never spoken about before. In these vulnerable moments, I'm being trusted. I must hold that trust very gently and remain aware of the power I hold in these interactions. I'm not saying I'm a perfect listener (I'm definitely not), but I can't help but draw on my own moments of trying to break my own silences; I spent years with words stuck in mouth.
For this reason, Jonny's examination of active listening was important for me and I'm keen to read more (it reminded me of my ChildLine volunteering days). Jonny shared a model of active listening by Carol Wilson and explained that active listening requires careful attention and suspension of judgment, both of which demand presence and intentionality, I feel. And although Jonny doesn’t (I don’t think) use the words mental health in his work, it feels resonant (Dr Marsha Linehan's concept of the 'invalidating environment' comes to mind).
There’s no way I’m going to be able to capture all the thoughts I’ve had about Jonny’s 'Remaining Human as an Educator'; I couldn’t even sleep properly that night because my thoughts were buzzing, seeking to make connections with different ideas flitting around my mind (and I didn’t take time to wind down before I went to sleep, oops).
However, I feel many points of connection with what I write and speak about with Talking About BPD and with Jonny's work, namely: who speaks and when; who listens and when; who stays silent and why; why do they speak when they do; how can people connect better; and how does power change these things?
When a child (or an adult) speaks with us, how we listen and respond works towards opening up, or closing down, possibilities of future conversations. And who knows what these conversations might need to be and how much might be at stake? As a person with a stigmatised mental health condition, I'm hyper-alert to my social environment for signs about whether I'm safe to speak the truth about my identity and my life. I ask myself questions like: How does this person talk about things they don't understand? How does this person relate to people who are different from them? The children in our classrooms are doing the same with the adults. Am I safe to share this part of my life? Or will I open myself up to shame? **
As I finish this post and go to wake up my little girl from her nap, I ask myself why the people whose job it was to listen to me failed to listen me. I ask myself why healthcare professionals don't always create emotional safety for their patients. I ask myself why people with experience of being what I refer to as 'at the margins' listen more attentively. Maybe because listening (like poetry) is about the things we don't (or cannot yet) say, as well as what we do give voice to.
I want to urge anyone interested to check out Jonny's website and social media. I also want to say a big thank you to Jonny. 'Remaining Human as an Educator' is personal, but, to my mind, it has wide-reaching resonances and its impact. I see it as radical work that can change lives. I hope Jonny keeps doing this important work for as long as it makes him happy.
-Rosie x
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*This is one of the reasons why I am passionate about schools becoming safer spaces for staff who may be stigmatised or discriminated against for certain aspects of their identities, such as disability and/or mental health problems, gender, sexuality and so on. I’ve written reams on this blog and in my books about how it complicated and painful it has been (and sometimes still is) for me to go about my life, including my work in a people-centred profession like teaching, with one of the most stigmatised mental health diagnoses. I recently wrote a post on why I sometimes mask my mental health problems, for example.
**I wrote about this a few days ago in a post called "I don't know why it's so hard to just…say it." Depictions of Mental Health Problems In Heartstopper Season 2.
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