Teach Like Finland: 33 Simple Strategies for Joyful Classrooms pdfdrive com

Have a thicker skin
During my two years of teaching in Helsinki, I was grateful to have a terrific
mentor teacher, who always seemed willing to meet with me—even when it was
unexpected. Once, we had a parent–teacher night early in the fall, and I was
swarmed by parents in the hallway. My mentor teacher stood by, watching
silently until the last parent waved goodbye. Then she opened her mouth, and
her words caught me by surprise: she wondered, aloud, if I was too
accommodating with parents.
Initially I was a little defensive. I had always prided myself on
communicating well with parents, and I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong
that evening. I can’t recall exactly what I had said in those hallway
conversations, but my mentor suggested that I seemed too eager to please. My
Finnish colleague explained that, in some conversations with parents, she would
communicate the following message: you’re the expert at home, and I’m the
expert at school. My colleague told me that since I was a professional, I should
start seeing myself that way. I should have a thicker skin, she suggested. Like
Kevlar.
My mentor’s boldness surprised me. Before this interaction, I had talked
with many teachers about the occasional challenges of working with parents, but
I’d never seen such mental toughness on display. In my previous conversations
with American teachers, I sensed that the “difficult” parents intimidated them.
(Historically, I’ve felt this way, too.) Two of the most popular methods for
pacifying these parents seemed to be either flat-out accommodation or running
and hiding.
That evening I began to grasp the importance of having a tough skin.
Sometimes interactions with parents, students, and colleagues can be

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Sometimes interactions with parents, students, and colleagues can be
challenging, and it can be tempting to get discouraged, but that place of
discouragement is where our happiness can quickly disappear. As teachers, we
need to develop resilience to keep our classrooms joyful.
To be clear, having a tough skin is different from being obstinate. My mentor
wasn’t suggesting that I ignore the feedback of others but, instead, that I be
confident in my expertise as a teacher. I was a professional, and I should carry
myself in that way.
Much has been written about the importance to raising resilient (or “gritty”)
students, but I haven’t seen too much literature on the importance of developing
resilient teachers. Some of the most joyful teachers I know are some of the
toughest—their confidence seems rooted in something beyond their
performance. When these educators make mistakes, they bounce back quickly.
In Finland, many of my colleagues impressed me with how they’d deal with
conflicts—with parents, fellow teachers, and even students. As teachers, it’s not
a matter of if we’ll face issues in the workplace; it’s a matter of when. Having a
tough skin is something that helps protect the joy of teaching.
The Finnish word sisu might be celebrated more than any other word in this
tiny Nordic country. It’s a human attribute—usually attached to the people of
Finland—that can be translated as “guts” or “bravery in the face of adversity.”
It’s that same attitude of sisu I saw reflected in my mentor’s words: you’re a
professional!
In Helsinki, I found myself developing more sisu. Being the new guy at a
new school in a foreign land didn’t exactly make me immune to sharp feedback
—I received my fair share. Often that feedback, though, prompted me to make
useful changes to my work. But there were other instances in which I heard
tough feedback, disagreed with it, and didn’t make accommodations. That surely
upset some people, but in the end I felt like I could handle the pushback. I was a
professional, and I was seeking to do my best as a teacher. Having that thick skin
helped me to keep my classroom joyful.
Specifically, having a tough skin means taking a deep breath when you
receive a long, barbed e-mail from an upset parent and leaving it alone until you
feel ready to address it. It means, too, not getting crushed when your principal
publicly praises one of your colleagues but then doesn’t recognize your similarly
solid work. Also, it means not taking it personally when one of your students
curses you to your face.
One of the practices I’ve adopted as a teacher, when I’m feeling especially
overwhelmed by professional challenges, is setting aside time before I crawl into
bed to journal about that day’s concerns. Generally speaking, I don’t sleep very
well until I’ve identified these underlying issues and put them into perspective.
I’ve noticed that often the words I’ve heard during that school day—from

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I’ve noticed that often the words I’ve heard during that school day—from
parents, colleagues, and students—can be the things that seem to gnaw at me the
most. I’m not a regular journal keeper, but I’ve found that the simple act of
sitting down to name those sources of anxiety can alleviate much of my stress.
I’ll sleep so much better, too.
Typically, I set up my journal in a very simple way by drawing a line down
the middle of the page to create two columns. On one side I write “anxieties”
and on the other side I write “realities.” Then I’ll spend the next few minutes
recalling and jotting down as many things that bothered me about that school
day under the anxieties column. Once I’m finished, I’ll move onto the realities
column, writing down a sentence or so to correspond with each anxiety.
This second column helps me to not blow that day’s frustrations out of
proportion. The idea is that I can see those anxieties for what they are, as
objectively as possible. When I write a sentence of reality, I try to think
positively about the frustration in the first column. I might even suggest an
action I can take the next day at school. Here’s an example: