The Good Teacher

For much of my career, I considered myself a good teacher. This was not always the case. I remember walking into my first kindergarten classroom. The lights were dim, and the students lay face down on the floor, the current teacher daring them to move. This “new” class had been formed only because of rising enrollment and the teachers were allowed to pull three or four children from each of their rosters to form this new classroom —of course, they sent the ones with the most challenging behavior and the lowest academic performance. It was not the position I had dreamed of, but it was my foot in the door of public school teaching.

That year was far from easy or enjoyable. I endured spit, curses, and open defiance. Some evenings I went home in tears, overwhelmed and doubting my calling. When my principals came to observe, they didn’t care that I had started in late September and held me to the same standards the teachers had started with their students in August—there was no empathy for the roster that had been handed to me. One night, while reflecting over yet another crazy day, I listed every student’s name in my classroom on a sheet of paper, expecting a long list of troublemakers. Instead, I discovered that only a handful were truly disruptive; most of my quiet students had been ignored while all my energy went to trying to correct the behavior I didn’t want to see. I realized I had inadvertently rewarded misbehavior with my attention.

The next morning, I introduced a Star Student Board. I outlined clear expectations and promised a weekly celebration—pizza parties, extra story time, silly dances—for those who met them. Suddenly, the dynamic shifted. The handful of “good” students I’d overlooked came alive with pride, and even the most challenging children began testing kindness and structure. I learned then what it means to be a good teacher: to see yourself as a learner, to adjust your focus, and to let your practice be guided by lessons you discover in real time.

From that point on, I made it my mission to know each child’s story—where they lived, who they lived with, what excited or worried them. I watched some grasp letters and numbers instantly, while others needed time, patience, and a fresh approach. Every lesson I planned was fun and engaging, but always with room to shift course in a moment’s notice. I celebrated every “Oh, I get it!” as proof that connection and adaptability unlock learning.

Now, in this era of sweeping changes in education—budget cuts threatening larger class sizes, shrinking resources, dwindling interest in the profession—teachers everywhere face new pressures and fears. How do we respond when our world seems determined to make our jobs harder? How do we move past our anxieties, as I eventually did in that first kindergarten room, and choose instead to see opportunity?

Here’s the twist: good teachers don’t only live in classrooms. They show up in our homes, our churches, our communities—and in the greatest classroom of all, Life itself. In 2025, with so much uncertainty, upheaval, and challenge around us, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed and ask, “Why is this happening to me?” But what if we choose to see this year not as a cruel prank, but as a wise teacher’s lesson plan?

When a beloved routine is shattered—schools shifting online again, or new rules reshaping our days—a good teacher mindset says, “Let’s adjust. What can we learn here?” When setbacks arrive—a lost job, a canceled trip, a personal crisis—a good teacher reminds us that mistakes and struggles are part of learning. They whisper, “We can do this,” and hold the belief that every challenge carries a lesson in resilience, creativity, or compassion.

Maybe 2025 will be remembered as the year Life was the most transformative teacher we’ve ever had. It’s certainly one of the most demanding. Yet each surprise, each disruption, sharpens us like a pencil preparing for the next page. If life wanted to repeat the same old classroom year, it wouldn’t keep surprising us. Those surprises are its way of saying, “Aha—pay attention. There’s something new to learn!”

Remember that Star Student Board I created in that chaotic kindergarten room? I shifted my attention away from the few who challenged me most and instead celebrated the many who were quietly doing right. In doing so, I transformed my classroom. Today, we can do the same for our world: rather than fixating on problems and setbacks, let’s spotlight what are good acts of kindness, moments of creativity, and sparks of resilience.

In homes and schools, in communities and online, look for your own “star students”—the neighbors checking in on each other, the teachers finding new ways to engage, and the students who show up with courage. Celebrate those bright spots. By focusing our energy on what’s working, we not only lift others up but remind ourselves that goodness still thrives, even amid uncertainty.

So to every educator, every parent, every person striving to teach or to learn; trust that a good teacher—often unseen—is guiding you behind the scenes. Lean into those lessons, ask questions, be patient with yourself, and remember that growth often arrives in the most unexpected assignments. This year—and every year—might just surprise you with how much it can teach, and how much you can learn.

“In every challenge lies the seed of learning; a great teacher helps you find it.”

Let this year be your classroom, and life your guide—seek the lessons, celebrate the growth, and watch yourself bloom.

With something to think about.

Niki Spears

Author, Motivational Speaker, Mindset Elevator