The Perfect Teachers

Educating Small Humans as a Spiritual Practice

Saturday morning, I was late for yoga. Everyone else had settled on their mats and was breathing deeply as our yoga teacher issued quiet instructions. On my way to the cubbies to stash my socks and purse, I passed a large potted plant with a metal pole bearing a flag stuck in the dirt. In my haste to cause as little disruption as possible, my shirt caught on the flagpole and the whole pot tumbled, scattering soil, water, and roots across the hardwood floor of the studio.

As I finally got to my mat and sat cross-legged, I waited for the harsh barrage of self-criticism to bombard me, as it often does. But instead, a voice in my head whispered, Isn’t it nice to be human? Humans are imperfect and make mistakes.

I was astounded. Usually, a faux pas like the plant tumble would have stayed with me for long into the class, a cruel voice inside my head yelling about making everyone angry and being an inconvenience. Why was I feeling this new wave of gentleness toward myself? I realized that the work I have been doing with my pre-kindergarten students had started paying off—for me.

When I make a mistake at school, I say, “See? Ms. Sigler made a mistake. Is it okay to make mistakes?” My four- and five-year-olds nod their little heads. I make a point to highlight my mistake and its okay-ness in order for them to soften and soothe their own self-talk and their relationship with themselves. I’ve heard my students saying it out loud about their own mistakes, so I knew it was having an impact. I had not predicted that it would have an effect on me.

But maybe I should have predicted it. I’ve been teaching for over 20 years. And while I’ve mostly taught art to older students, I know that whatever the age group, whatever the subject, when I teach, I become a learner in unexpected and life-changing ways. I grow in my ability to be in the present moment, to slow down, to experience feelings more vibrantly, and to find the Light in others.

In pre-K, we sing. We make art. We read stories. We are joyful and silly and inquisitive together. My students say things that make me laugh or see the world in a new way, like the time a four-year-old, admiring my tattoos, asked, “Do you have more at home you haven’t put on yet?” Or when a kindergartener once asked me, “Where were you before you were born?”

There are also heartbreaking moments, like when a child tells me something painful about their life, or when I have to explain to four-year-olds why we are doing a lockdown drill. Teaching encourages me to be open to wonder, joy, and pain without flinching or shrinking away from them. In this way, it guides my spirit toward being vibrantly awake, to feeling more closely the richness and textures of my life and the lives of my students.

At the core of the pre-K curriculum, we are figuring out how to be human with each other, how to grow our empathy, and how to celebrate our differences instead of pretending they don’t exist. This work mirrors my life’s work as I strive to be of service to my community and my world.

There’s a lot to handle at every moment in pre-K, and the day offers few breaks. Despite my fantastic co-teacher and the well-resourced school at which I work, teaching young humans is not an easy gig. When I get overwhelmed, I slow down my speech, my movements, and my thoughts. I speak gentle, encouraging words silently to myself. I settle into myself, remembering that God is holding me with love. In this way, I regulate my nervous system to help regulate the mini nervous systems spinning all around me. 

I also give myself over to the present moment. The fast pace of a day in pre-K does not allow for nursing resentments or ruminating on problems. Besides, children aren’t living in the past or the future; they are here now. They deserve a teacher who is here now with them. And they desperately need a teacher who is gentle with herself, or they won’t know how to be gentle with themselves.

Most importantly, I’ve learned that being an effective teacher requires finding the Light in every student. This is often easier said than done. But in my decades of teaching, it’s a trick that’s rarely failed me.

When a student is unkind to me or other students, when they show a lack of remorse about something they’ve done, or when they are chronically rude, I choose to look for something to love in them (sometimes it takes a little while). This is a strategy I developed long before I became a Quaker, although it echoes, I believe, the core of Quakerism.

I once had a middle school student who was openly hostile to me. I remember her standing in my classroom, refusing to work on her drawing, yelling at me, and finally, ripping her paper up and running out of the room. After taking steps to make sure the student was safe, I decided not to require that she return to art that day. Instead, I asked her to come to the next art class 15 minutes early.

When she entered the room the following day, I welcomed her with the offer of a cookie and a hug. Not surprisingly, she took the cookie and declined the hug. We talked about the drawing and whether she wanted to repair the one she’d started or begin a new one. We worked together to tape the original drawing back together and made plans to repair the damaged sections. That art class went much better.

In fact, the student started coming to every art class 15 minutes early, even when I didn’t have any cookies. I learned, through our conversations, that she had a wonderful, dry sense of humor; that she was incredibly smart; and, to my surprise, loved taking care of babies. I had found something to love in her. She was no longer a disruption in my class. More importantly, I had shown her that there are things to love about herself.

One of my favorite Buddhist writers, Pema Chodron, tells us, “This moment is the perfect teacher.” I interpret her words to mean that every moment, no matter how difficult, equips us with what we need to grow as spiritual humans, if we only open ourselves to it.

I am not a perfect teacher. Despite my best intentions, I am often curt, impatient, unobservant, or just out of steam. But when we give children the presence and respect they deserve, they are the perfect teachers. They are constantly and lovingly giving us opportunities to become more present, whole, compassionate people. I’m just lucky I get to stand in their Light.