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Unearthing identity consciousness of novice STEM teachers to promote queer-inclusive classrooms: a qualitative action research study

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Content Unearthing Identity Consciousness of Novice STEM Teachers to Promote Queer-Inclusive
Classrooms: A Qualitative Action Research Study
by
Alexander Rectra
Rossier School of Education
University of Southern California
A dissertation submitted to the faculty
in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of
Doctor of Education
August 2024

© Copyright by Alexander Rectra 2024
All Rights Reserved

The Committee for Alexander Rectra certifies the approval of this Dissertation
Daniel Soodjinda
Julie Slayton
John Pascarella, Committee Chair
Rossier School of Education
University of Southern California
2024

iv
Abstract
My dissertation investigates the intricate relationship between identity and teaching within the
context of internalized homophobia and societal expectations. It was inspired by my experiences
as a queer Filipino cis-male educator, who, while grappling with self-suppression and
invisibility, faced the dual challenge of maintaining personal authenticity while navigating the
professional and social demands of K–12 education. My study explores how these dynamics
affect both my participants’ (novice STEM teachers) self-perception and their interactions with
queer students. It underscores the challenges and contradictions faced by queer educators in a
cis-heteronormative society, and the deep connections formed with students through shared
experiences of courage and identity. By reflecting on personal experiences and teaching
practices, my dissertation highlights the significance of authenticity and representation in
education, advocating for more queer-inclusive classroom environments.

v
Dedication
To my dad, thank you for believing in me unconditionally, you taught me to be resilient.

vi
Acknowledgements
To my mom, your sacrifices taught me patience. To my siblings, niece, nephew,
colleagues, queer students, former students, and friends, thank you for your support and helping
me learn self-love, being authentic, and brave.

vii
Table of Contents
Abstract.......................................................................................................................................... iv
Dedication ....................................................................................................................................... v
Acknowledgements........................................................................................................................ vi
List of Tables ................................................................................................................................. ix
List of Figures................................................................................................................................. x
Historically Entrenched Inequity ........................................................................................ 3
Context................................................................................................................................ 6
Role ..................................................................................................................................... 8
Conceptual Framework..................................................................................................... 10
Queer Theory ........................................................................................................ 15
Queer AAPI Teacher Educator ............................................................................. 16
Adaptive Leadership ............................................................................................. 18
Andragogy............................................................................................................. 21
Intersectional Teacher Identity ............................................................................. 25
Secondary Novice STEM Teachers...................................................................... 30
Critical Reflection Dialogue ................................................................................. 31
Implement Queer-Inclusive Classroom Practices (Outcomes)............................. 33
Research Methods............................................................................................................. 34
Participants and Settings....................................................................................... 35
Actions.................................................................................................................. 40
Data Collection ..................................................................................................... 42
Data Analysis........................................................................................................ 45
Limitations and Delimitations............................................................................... 47
Credibility and Trustworthiness............................................................................ 48

viii
Ethics..................................................................................................................... 49
Findings............................................................................................................................. 50
Holding Environment, Trust, & Vulnerability...................................................... 51
Guiding & Probing Questions............................................................................... 76
Afterword............................................................................................................ 103
Point of View ...................................................................................................... 104
Beyond the Study................................................................................................ 109
References................................................................................................................................... 115

ix
List of Tables
Table 1: Sequence of Opening Procedure to Raise Trust and Vulnerability (Theme 1) Page 41
Table 2: Guiding and Probing Questions to Unearth Identity Complexities (Theme 2) Page 42

x
List of Figures
Figure 1: Conceptual Framework Page 14

1
Unearthing Identity Consciousness of Novice STEM Teachers to Promote Queer-Inclusive
Classrooms: An Action-Research Qualitative Study
I struggled with internalized homophobia throughout my life. My peers, family members,
and societal messages taught me to suppress my innate feminine mannerisms and adopt a
perpetual habit of silence. When I decided to become a classroom teacher, I was not fully aware
of the implications of being an authority figure. As a teacher, I was expected to be a model,
visible to students and peers, and subject to gossip and possible judgment about my personal
identity. This was the genesis of the contradictory situation I willingly entered: wrestling with
the queer, Filipino identity I wanted to both suppress and embrace. Terms like LGBTQQIAA
(Goodrich et al., 2016), queer (Brant, 2017), and LGBTQ+ (Human Rights Campaign, n.d.) were
implemented interchangeably to acknowledge the evolving understanding within the queer
community, while avoiding deliberate conflation or reduction of these identities, and fostering a
sense of solidarity.
As a queer adult facing the pressures of a cis-heteronormative1
society, especially
magnified in K–12 settings, I began to develop my innate ability to be vulnerable, empathetic,
and hyperaware of professionally surviving detection from others. I constantly struggled with my
ability to feel safe, brave, and authentic. I never officially “came out” to my students, nor was I
out to all my colleagues or all family members. Nobody else could prescribe how out I could or
should be. It was ultimately my decision. In my interactions with middle school students over 3
years ago, being my authentic self openly and freely was challenging. Although difficult to
explain, I chose not to reveal those intimate details to my students.
1
I use a hyphen with “cis-heteronormative” instead of a forward slash (cis/heteronormativity) to signal that gender
and sexual orientation are not unintentionally conflated.

2
I recognize the classroom is a microcosm of the systems, beliefs, and values of the wider,
dominant society. When I entered the teaching profession 10 years ago, I naively assumed that
the teacher was a symbol of wisdom, authority, and power. I suppressed my vulnerability. But I
was a work in progress. As I wrestled with my own identity, I looked at my queer students. Some
of them were out. Some have shared with me their chosen names and pronouns. Some of them
proudly wore their rainbow bracelets or smiled at my pride badge on my school lanyard. In fact,
a few of my students have come out to me privately. I will always cherish that honor. Despite my
insecurities and limiting beliefs, I saw my queer students and connected with their own
individual displays of courage and authenticity.
In my previous middle school classroom position, I tried to provide opportunities for my
students and I to explore the historical lack of diversity in STEM and the growing number of
females of color entering STEM fields. I also had the privilege to teach comprehensive sexual
health as mandated by California law. It was affirming for my students and me, despite the minor
forms of resistance by some students’ caregivers by opting their students out from this mandate.
Prior to that, I designed a bioethics unit during my time teaching 9th grade biology where one of
the topics my students debated was on transgender youth and their access to hormone
replacement therapy. At the time, I was unaware of the advantages and privileges associated with
the image of an Asian American/Pacific Islander (AAPI), cis-male science teacher. There is a
stereotype that science teachers are “smart” or are scientists themselves. Meanwhile, there is a
historical gender and sexuality omission in STEM, stereotyping the White, able-bodied “mad
scientist” image. In some ways, being queer and in science/STEM fields is another contradiction.
At the time of my study, in my role as a teacher on special assignment (TOSA) I was surrounded
by like-minded teachers and leaders who expressed their support for queer youth.

3
Through my dissertation process, I embarked on a journey with fellow novice science and
STEM teachers to unearth our identities, understand who we were as individuals, and discover
how our students saw us, all while exploring ways we could better equip our classrooms for
queer students. Educators serve all students, but I remain committed to queer youth because their
stories and lived experiences are meant to be heard. My story is meant to be heard.
Historically Entrenched Inequity
As a historically marginalized group, queer youth and queer trans people of color
(QTPOC) continue to be challenged by questionable educational policies and contentious
debates regarding inclusive restroom access, sports participation, accessing healthcare, updating
legal documents, comprehensive sexual health education (Meyer et al., 2022), representation in
children’s books, and currently 527 anti-LGBTQ+ bills in the U.S. as tracked by the American
Civil Liberties Union (2024). This includes the passing of legislation like S.B. 129 (Alabama)
which would prohibit universities, K–12 school systems and state agencies from sponsoring
D.E.I. programs, defined under the bill as classes, training, programs and events where
attendance is based on a person’s race, sex, gender identity, ethnicity, national origin or sexual
orientation (NPR, 2024), as well as the advancing of S.B. 1451 (Arizona), which proposes
constraints on the administration of gender reassignment drugs to minors without prior parental
consent. Recently, California Governor Newsom signed the Support Academic Futures and
Educators for Today’s Youth (SAFETY) Act, a landmark state law—the first of its kind in the
nation—that prohibits California school boards from passing resolutions requiring teachers and
school staff to notify parents if they believe a child is transgender (EdSource, 2024).
According to the GLSEN National School Climate Survey (2021), nearly all LGBTQ+
students (97.0%) heard “gay” used in a negative way (e.g., “that’s so gay”) at school; 68.0%

4
heard these remarks frequently or often, and 93.7% reported that they felt distressed because of
this language. Additionally, the same school climate survey (2021), found that 91.8% of
LGBTQ+ students heard negative remarks about gender expression (not acting “masculine
enough” or “feminine enough”); 56.2% heard these remarks frequently or often. 83.4% of
LGBTQ+ students heard negative remarks specifically about transgender people, like “tranny” or
“he/she;” 39.5% heard them frequently or often. While pro-LGBTQ+ laws and policies do exist
in states like California and Colorado, there is a backsliding of policies by state. In another
example, 39% of transgender youth live in states that have passed bans on gender-affirming care
(Human Rights Campaign, 2024).
Educational settings are not immune to discriminatory teacher practices (e.g., language or
curriculum) that involve gender and sexuality. Ineffective anti-bullying policies that are muted
about gender and sexuality reinforce the invisibility of lesbian and gay youth (Ferfolja, 2007).
Gendered roles and hegemonic masculinity are perpetuated by teachers and students in various
schoolwide rituals, like sports rallies and prom (Pascoe, 2012). In addition, queer teachers and
administrators pit themselves in dual roles having to sacrifice their “outness” and authenticity to
avoid uncomfortable conversations, discrimination, and potential professional repercussions
(Lee, 2020, 2022), or, in my experience, feeling ill-equipped or inexperienced to handle conflicts
with adult peers.
At the same time, opportunities for science teachers to embrace a more inclusive science
curriculum regarding gender, race, and sexuality is promising but remains to be illuminated.
According to the National Science Teacher Association (2022),
Science educators must recognize and respect diversity within gender and sexuality to
include LGBTQ+ students, and become sensitized to the ways in which language,

5
curricular materials, and pedagogical choices can impact, both positively and negatively,
students’ feelings of belonging and competence in science classes and careers. (NSTA,
2022, para. 3)
In one of my previous districts, there were various ways institutionalized cisheteronormativity infused school wide culture, and consequently delayed pro-LGBTQ+ inclusion
in my previous district. Meanwhile, like other California public schools in both suburban and
rural areas, teachers (including me) and administrators went by “mister” or “miss,” segregated
students into male and female lines, sports, overused the phrase “guys,” designated one female
and one male for monthly awards, or talk and share openly about their heterosexual married
partners. I, personally, had not segregated lines, and still posted pictures of my niece, nephew
and family, and omitted disclosing my relationship status constantly (e.g., “Do you have a
girlfriend?”). I was cognizant not to imply my former school was an unsafe place for all queer
youth. For example, our school counselor was very accepting and gender-affirming. Rather,
despite small gestures of teachers and staff (e.g., displaying Safe Zone posters in their
classrooms, wearing of allyship badges, informal reminders from our counselor to acknowledge
current transgender students and their pronouns), homophobia and transphobia remained.
While there was an emerging supportive teacher environment, there were teachers and
other personnel who were not out to students. The paucity of social justice issues from my
former district leadership, especially during the events of George Floyd and Black Lives Matter,
was a clear indication that race and diversity issues were not being prioritized. As district
leadership continued to change, district priorities were unclear. That said, I still appreciated the
small steps my former district took by offering professional development opportunities on
supporting LGBTQ+ students, having counselors work with teachers to design curriculum (or

6
seek out consultants), etc. Ultimately, I changed districts to step into a new role of mentoring
novice teachers as an Induction TOSA.
When I served as a mentor teacher to science preservice teachers, I found that I was able
to engage in more authentic and approach conversations about identity and positionality with
preservice teachers in accredited teacher preparation programs with a social justice and
multicultural focus. With a focus on novice teachers, the inclusion of gender and sexuality in
teacher preparation courses and skills is both urgent and necessary (Bower-Phipps, 2020). Using
explicit dialogue on sexuality and homophobic rhetoric among teachers is one way we can
continue to move as “confronters” rather than remain silent (Zack et al., 2010). At the time of my
study, I recognized the possibilities, as an induction TOSA, to deepen reflections with teachers
beyond descriptive and move into more identity-conscious reflections relating to gender and
sexuality. I aimed to connect this relevance to their classroom practices and the queer students
under their care.
Ultimately, the purpose of my action research study was to study how I promoted critical
self-reflection with novice STEM teachers so that they would understand the role their identities
play in the ways they teach queer youth. To achieve this purpose, I sought out to address the
following research question: How do I promote critical self-reflection with novice STEM
teachers so that they would understand the role their identities play in the way they teach queer
youth?
Context
During my study, I worked at Grapevine School District located outside the greater East
Los Angeles area. This organization was composed five high schools, six intermediate schools,
and 17 elementary schools with a student population of approximately 20,446 students. The

7
student population was 95% Hispanic, 1.2% Asian, 0.2% Filipino, 0.1% Black, and 0.5% White
(CA Dashboard, 2023). Additionally, there were 32.3% of English Learners, 5.2% homeless,
0.7% foster youth, 77.3% socioeconomically disadvantaged, and 15.5% students with disabilities
(CA Dashboard, 2023). At the time, I was unable to access current data on self-identified queer
students in the district, as the California Healthy Kids Survey (CHKS) Report was last posted on
the district website for 2018–2019.
The California Healthy Kids Survey is a comprehensive and customizable youth selfreport data collection system that provides essential and reliable health risk assessment and
resilience information to schools, districts, and communities. There are two questions that ask
students about sexual orientation and gender identity. The lack of accessible survey data on the
district website conveyed to me that this information was not prioritized by the top-down
leadership. Although there was an emphasis on social emotional learning (SEL), I recalled not all
the teachers at my site fully implemented the district-issued SEL curriculum with fidelity and
were not fully aware that the curriculum had explicit lessons on gender and sexuality, which
made some teachers unprepared or uncomfortable. Despite this, there were some professional
learning opportunities offered by the district in the past through a local LGBTQ+ center.
When I transitioned into my next district during my study, its induction program adhered
to California’s two-tiered credentialing system, a 2-year job-embedded individualized program
that focused on extensive support and mentoring to new teachers in their two years of teaching
(California Commission on Teacher Credentialing, n.d.). An induction TOSA and their candidate
are paired together. This relationship can vary in duration (e.g., 1 or 2 years) with the notion that
the induction candidate demonstrates competency in the California Standards for the Teaching
Profession (CSTP, 2009) serving a multicultural and diverse student population.

8
As part of their induction program design, teachers (also known as “candidates”) must
complete an individualized learning program (ILP) document based on ongoing teacher
reflections, outlining an inquiry cycle for teacher to works towards a professional goal(s).
Grapevine’s induction program stated candidates’ program was “based on a clearly defined set of
goals and outcomes designed around the CSTP and induction standards to support new teacher
growth and student achievement” (Grapevine Induction website, n.d.). Immediately, when I
joined the program as an induction TOSA, I noticed how the ILP document itself was extensive,
prescriptive, and displayed reflection prompts that reinforced some deficit language (e.g., “other
student”). More importantly, I noticed that it lacked culturally responsive language that could
have centered teachers’ identity and could have enabled them to confront their dominant belief
systems and behaviors and work towards more queer-inclusive classroom practices. Not
surprisingly, there was no language on a teacher or their students’ racial, gender, and/or sexual
orientation identity markers.
Role
There was a need to move teachers from surface level, descriptive reflections to an
increased awareness of their intersectional identities (revealed through the sharing of their lived
experiences) and the ways these identity markers could affect their interactions with their
students, especially their queer students. At the time of my study, I was assigned several
candidates who taught subjects primarily in science, mathematics, and/or physical education at
the middle school and high school level. As an induction TOSA, I was positioned at the district
office. I was a part of a team of fellow TOSAs who held credentials in other content areas.
Additionally, I was facilitating similar workshops with external candidates and teachers at
educational conferences.

9
In the beginning stages of this new role, I had to adjust to exiting the controlled, closed
environment of a classroom to working with adult learners on a personal and individual basis. It
was the first time that I had to create a schedule where I would visit my candidates’ classrooms,
establish professional goals with them, complete paperwork (i.e., ILP), record them teaching and
provide feedback, and so on. I developed my own routine for our mentoring sessions: I had
developed meeting agendas, provided timelines of program requirements, sent reminders, and
weekly emails. In my meetings, I aimed to form a connection with each of them. In listening to
their reflections and insights, I gained insights into their reality and how/if I could move them
into critical reflection or higher-order thinking. For example, given that our student population
was predominantly Latinx, I recalled referring to this point with my candidates often. In
hindsight, this was not critical reflection. However, it might have been an unconscious effort on
my part to signal to them that their students’ racialized identities are also significant, a
perspective I did not fully attend to during my study.
I recognized that I might not be able to push all my candidates beyond their surface level
reflections. According to Larrivee (2008), surface reflections, also referred to as descriptive (Jay
& Johnson, 2002), are characterized by a teachers’ strategies and methods, as opposed to
attending to their values, beliefs, and assumptions that lie ‘beneath the surface’ (pp. 342–343).
However, I knew that the induction program structure itself (while absent of identityconsciousness in its program design) could be leveraged in a way where I as their induction
TOSA could create opportunities to deepen their reflections. From this point onward, I will refer
to the candidates I invited into my action-research project as “teacher-learners.”

10
Conceptual Framework
The conceptual framework serves as a compass (Ravitch & Carl, 2016) to guide the
researcher-practitioner in their study’s key components (e.g., data collection and analyses), and
in their ability to make connections between their tacit theories and existing literature. It acts as a
tentative theory of the phenomena being studied (Maxwell, 2013). In this dissertation, acronyms,
letters, and umbrella terms were extensively used to navigate the complexities of identity. It is
crucial to acknowledge the evolution of this language and terminology, considering the historical
implications and potential for future revisions. Personally, I claim the term “queer” for its
inclusivity of diverse identities and orientations, a term historically reclaimed from its pejorative
usage (Human Rights Campaign, n.d.). The original conceptual framework I employed guided
my action research, aiming to address the following research question: How do I promote critical
self-reflection with novice STEM teachers so that they would understand the role their identities
play in the ways they teach queer youth?
A revised framework has emerged, and it serves as my new tentative theory of change
based on my in the field experience and out of the field analysis as I generated new meanings to
accomplish my long-term goal of mentoring novice STEM teachers to approach more queerinclusive classrooms. I aimed to guide them towards critical reflection to unearth their
intersectional teaching identities while approaching queer-inclusive classroom practices and/or
consciousness. I realized that recognizing and disrupting dominant narratives (in the form of cisheteronormative orientations and perspectives) towards critical reflection was a non-linear
process that moved in and out of one’s lived experiences and classroom experiences (towards
practice), recognizing one’s sense of safety, and noticing the ways they see their queer students
(and vice versa). These conversations could not have occurred in an unstable holding

11
environment, composed of levels of trust, opportunities for vulnerability, and moments of
reciprocity (a heightened form of trust). In my conceptual framework, I refer to my novice
STEM teachers as “teacher-learners,” as I will continue to work with teacher-learners in the
future.
My conceptual framework illustrates the interplay between the key concepts in my study
and my distinct role as an adult learning facilitator. It attempts to illuminate K–12 institutions
with socialized beliefs, teaching practices, and behaviors deeply rooted in cis-heteronormativity
(an extension of dominant ideologies) and how I, as a queer, AAPI teacher-educator, can resist
and disrupt these constructs proximally to guide my teacher-learners towards critical reflection to
approach more queer-inclusive consciousness and/or classroom practices. As outlined in my
conceptual framework, I believe that as a teacher educator, I can leverage the teacher reflection
process (required by the state of California for novice teachers in their induction program) with a
focus on their intersectional identities and the queer students they serve.
As outlined in my conceptual framework, critical reflection dialogue was a non-linear
process (as represented with the dotted lines), to convey the interactive dynamics navigated
through the context of their classrooms and lived experiences. Over the course of three cycles, I
set to promote conditions that moved my teacher-learners and I from speaking from surface
level, descriptive experiences towards critical reflection in relation to a teacher’s ability to
connect with their queer students. As I will discuss in my findings, these reflections (while not
fully critical) were sometimes characterized by moments of negotiation, interrogation, and
tension among some of my teacher-learners. Within the scope of my study, my teacher-learners
and I landed on recognizing one’s intersectional teacher identity that centered one’s gender

12
without everyone directly challenging one’s internalized hegemonic orientations that privileged
one’s gender presentation while omitting sexuality and race/ethnicity altogether.
In my revised theory of change, I argue that positive learning conditions are necessary for
teacher-learners to feel safe and share about their lived experiences, memories, and beliefs about
their queer students while approaching a problem of practice in a group setting. I also argue that
positive learning conditions cultivate a strong holding environment, defined as a “structural,
procedural, or virtual space formed by cohesive relationships between people” (Northouse, 2019,
p. 265). If affective learning conditions are ignored, then the learning among teacher-learners is
compromised and therefore impacts their learning. This is where I focused on implementing
procedures or patterns of routine, providing a level of structure for my teacher-learners.
These cohesive relationships between my teacher-learners and I were built upon trust and
vulnerability to aim towards a brave space, so my teacher-learners could surface potentially
disorienting dilemmas and discuss sensitive topics related to their classrooms, brought on by new
learnings about their identities and classroom practices. While it is not reflected in my findings, I
anticipate that having a deeper understanding of cognitive forms of assistance with teacherlearners is necessary to help them continue to engage in forms of critical reflection to be able to
unearth their beliefs, assumptions, and attitudes towards queer lives and enact more queerinclusive classroom practices.
To begin to normalize conversations on queer identities in the classroom setting and the
impact teachers have on these students, I argue that it is imperative to engage in reflective
practices to systematically unearth their assumptions and potentially problematic and harmful
teaching practices, such as separating students and/or placing them in groups by gender or
choosing to ignore or reduce mandated sexual health lessons on gender and identity. I note that

13
these actions can also be considered microaggressions in the classroom, as well as
microaggressions that could weaken the holding environment in an adult learning environment
(an important aspect I could have more fully attend to during my study).
I also continue to argue that teacher-leaders, such as induction TOSA’s servicing novice
teachers, have a responsibility to engage these teachers beyond surface level, description
reflection and move towards critical reflection, a practice not explicitly taught in traditional
teacher preparation programs. Thus, I enacted a more non-traditional reflective cycle approach
having designed a series of learning activities coupled with reflective prompts when done
collaboratively, it enabled my teacher-learners and I to slow down and turn towards practice.
Even though my teacher-learners and I did not fully achieve critical reflection, it made
me wonder about other accessible ways teacher-learners can engage in reflective practices when
time is limited, or in response to a homophobic or transphobic incident at a school where
students were harmed, and the teaching staff was not adequately trained. It also made me wonder
about teacher-learners who might be resistant or unwilling to confront problematic ideologies or
practices. I still believe that as an adult learning facilitator, critical reflection is essential to see
how I am positioned with my teacher-learners (and future learners).
It is essential for me to cultivate a strong holding environment and implement
andragogical moves, such as modeling, cognitive structuring, and questioning, that promote
intellectual and emotional risk-taking. As a novice facilitator, I was initially limited in my ability
to use these forms of assistance with fidelity. However, by prioritizing a strong holding
environment through more explicit modeling and providing more opportunities for my teacherlearners to practice, coupled with questioning to encourage deeper self-reflection, I might have

14
facilitated deeper reflections. Through this approach, I aim to empower teachers to unearth and
wrestle with their socialized beliefs moving forward.
I provide an in-depth explanation of the evolution of my theory of change, as depicted in
Figure 1. I will begin with defining queer theory (not pictured), followed by gender and sexuality
consciousness, cis-heteronormativity, and intersectional teacher identity, as they related to the
aims of my study. Then, I define critical reflection dialogue, coupled with the storytelling of
one’s lived experiences and their students, as they related to my teacher-learners. Then, I define
adaptive leadership, learning conditions, holding environment, and andragogy. Within
andragogy, I will define holding environment and expand upon the forms of assistance I used
(not pictured). Furthermore, in the following section, I will describe how my conceptual
framework has changed because of my experiences in the field.
Figure 1
Conceptual Framework

15
Queer Theory
Queer theory was central to the framing of my study as illustrated by the “Q” shape
visual in my conceptual framework. It challenges conventional assumptions about relationships,
identity, gender, and sexual orientation, aiming to dismantle rigid, normative categories and
explore possibilities beyond traditional binaries such as man/woman, masculine/feminine,
student/teacher, and gay/straight (Meyer, 2007, p. 15). It investigates how sexual power is
embedded in various aspects of social life and scrutinizes areas not typically associated with
sexuality (Pascoe, 2007). In the context of teacher education, queering is not about reinforcing
rigid binary notions of heterosexual and gay/lesbian identities, but rather about deconstructing
and decentering normative heterosexuality (Vavrus, 2009, as cited in Bower-Phipps, 2020, p. 4).
For new teachers, understanding queer theory is essential for creating inclusive and equitable
classrooms. It encourages them to critically examine societal norms, question traditional power
dynamics, and foster an environment that embraces diversity and challenges conventional
understandings of identity and relationships. This perspective is vital for promoting social justice
and equity in education.
I aimed to use queer theory to guide my novice STEM teachers (i.e., teacher-learners in
exploring their lived experiences and identities to examine their roles in supporting queer
students. Queer theory, then, illuminated the ways my teacher-learners and I were socialized into
a heteronormative culture. While it may or may not have compelled my teacher-learners and I to
dismantle binary divisions and gender norms, it could have revealed blind spots my teacherlearners and I carried, such as the privilege associated with one’s gender, race/ethnicity, and/or
sexuality. Queer theory questions the notion that the heteronormative social order is the natural
order (Minton, 1997, as cited in Bazzul & Sykes, 2010, p. 271). For science, math, and physical

16
education teachers, queer theory can illuminate the social order within their content and learning
environments (e.g., textbooks, curriculum, laboratory spaces, locker rooms). It does not seek to
establish a new hierarchy but rather acts to rupture boundaries, exposing and challenging polar
opposites and rigid structures (Snyder & Broadway, 2004, as cited in Bazzul & Sykes, 2010, p.
272). Although my teacher-learners and I did not accomplish this during my study, I continue to
argue that teachers should challenge the heteronormative rituals so prevalent in schools.
Queer AAPI Teacher Educator
Although not established in my initial conceptual framework, I believe that my queer,
AAPI cis-male positionality was and is the entry point for me to engage in ongoing critical selfreflection. My lived experiences in educational institutions rooted in dominant ideologies,
specifically cis-heteronormative orientations, have led me to the origins of my action research
project. During my career as a classroom teacher, I navigated numerous uncertain and
uncomfortable scenarios. From dodging questions about “not having a girlfriend” to
courageously displaying Safe Zone (i.e., pride) posters, I still was not completely out. This
internalized homophobia can be described as homophobic prejudice (Ferfolja, 2007), often
manifesting in the form of silence, omission, and assumption. Ultimately, one’s teacher identity
presents real challenges. In my role as a teacher-educator during my study, I made efforts to
decenter myself and disrupt the power I held as an induction TOSA. Despite this, my teacherlearners and I still contributed to and reproduced hegemonic acts (e.g., misgendering, saying
“guys”) that might have affected the holding environment, an aspect I did not fully attend to in
my findings.
Additionally, as a Filipino-American, I recall struggling with my Asian identity during
my adolescence. The model minority myth (Ocampo & Soodjinda, 2016) permeated my

17
schooling experiences. The pressures and obligations to excel academically, both as a signal or
respect for parental sacrifices and to ultimately securing a good job in the longer term (Ocampo
& Soodjinda, 2016) was further complicated and compounded by being gay. Homophobic
remarks and pointing out my feminine tendencies (e.g., the way I talked, acted) by family was
difficult. At the same time, these tensions seemed to be buffered by extracurricular interests and
other strong role models. During my study, I intentionally named my queer AAPI positionality to
my teacher-learners but unintentionally disinvited them from engaging with my approach or
understanding the relevance of our intersecting racial/ethnic and queer identities. As a novice
facilitator, I struggled to unpack the intersectionality of our identities despite including
explanatory videos, ultimately reverting to a colorblind approach. Moving forward, I remain
committed to grounding myself in my queer AAPI identity, as this is essential to highlighting the
complexities of queer identities, including those of queer black indigenous people of color
(BIPOC) and queer trans people of color (QTPOC), perspectives I could have attended to further
in my study.
Moving forward, I believe it is essential to be cognizant of the diverse racial, ethnic, and
cultural identities of my future teacher-learners. As a novice facilitator, I evaded further
interrogation of our racial identities which led to mainly colorblind perspectives. Despite this,
my teacher-learners in my study represented predominantly Latinx, and I wondered if similar
cultural values such as relationships, religion, and masculinity could have been other accessible
entry points towards critical reflection during my study. I will continue to embrace the
storytelling of my own queer experiences in the classroom as a model of vulnerability and
humanizing. I expect that my lived experiences will be an entry point for my teacher-learners to

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share their own vulnerability and develop more empathy for all youth, especially their queer
students.
Adaptive Leadership
Adaptive leadership can be described as supporting teacher-participants to attend to and
adapt to challenging situations (e.g., problem of practice) by providing support and
encouragement (Northouse, 2019). Initially, I had not included this essential aspect in my initial
conceptual framework. As part of my revised theory of change, adaptive leadership was essential
to guide my teacher-learners towards a problem of practice centered on queer youth. As a novice
facilitator, I was unprepared in embracing other aspects of adaptive leadership, such as “get on
the balcony” (Heifetz et al., 2009). Despite this, I continue to believe that adaptive leaders assist
their teacher-learners in regulating distress (Heifetz et al., 2009), such as when approaching
critical reflection.
Moreover, I will continue to be cognizant about the power awarded to me as a facilitator
and continue to decenter myself by co-creating knowledge. As someone who tends to avoid
conflict and lives with the cultural expectation of obedience as an AAPI person, I will continue
to be hyper-aware of this dynamic and ensure I provide opportunities to challenge the culture of
niceness, something I did not fully address during my study. I look forward to identifying
“unlikely allies” (Heifetz et al., 2009) in future spaces by modeling compassion and empathy and
welcoming multiple perspectives. During my study, I offered anonymous surveys after every
session for my teacher-learners to offer me feedback after every meeting. As I stated earlier, it
was also essential for me to embrace my “authenticity” (Lee, 2022) as a teacher-leader and
incorporate this into my adaptive leadership.

19
Learning Conditions
According to Slayton and Mathis (2010), learning conditions are defined by the
relationships and interactions within an organization that enable individuals to make meaning
and take action. As illustrated in my conceptual framework, I continue to believe that these
learning conditions are possible through positive interactions among the group, hence the setting
of discussion norms and modeling of vulnerability early on (or as early as possible) in a group
setting. Leaders are responsible for fostering participation, setting clear intentions, and
establishing collaborative practices to enhance observation, learning, and teamwork “as they cocreate with their environment” (Slayton & Mathis, 2019, p. 28). I aimed to create these
conditions so that my teacher-learners can participate in authentic ways, given the constraints of
a virtual environment. Leaders ‘‘create environments in which each individual feels empowered
to fulfill their needs as a member of a productive learning community’’ (Slayton & Mathis, 2019,
p. 41).
In my initial conceptual framework, I believed that learning conditions promoted
transformative learning, or I aimed to promote transformative learning conditions, without
referencing a holding environment. The key aspect of transformative learning is the “critical
assessment of assumptions which leads toward a clearer understanding by tapping collective
experience to arrive at tentative best judgment” (Mezirow, 2000, as cited in Cox, 2015, p. 34).
For these experiences to be considered transformative, it simulates shifts in thinking (Mezirow,
1990, 1997, 2000, as cited in Cox, 2015). In my revised theory of change, I believe that learning
conditions do not automatically promote transformative learning. Rather, I argue that a holding
environment (as the “container” or “vessel” within which cognition and interactions take place)
is contingent upon its strength; it can be either strong or weak. When there is a strong holding

20
environment, positive or strong learning conditions are present, making transformative learning
possible. I will discuss my progress in building a holding environment in my findings section.
Holding Environment
A holding environment is a structural, procedural, or virtual space formed by cohesive
relationships between people (Northouse, 2019). As illustrated in my conceptual framework, I
recognized that reflective dialogue in a group setting should occur within a strong holding
environment. This includes the interactive dynamics of trust and vulnerability (not pictured).
During my study, I recognized that trust and opportunities for vulnerability were not
interchangeable and were necessary components in reflective dialogue for teacher-learners to
speak of their lived experiences and classroom practices. I also focused on mostly the procedural
aspects of the holding environment, ensuring that incorporated activities at the beginning of our
sessions that invited my teacher-learners to share about their emotional state and ground our
session with a positive and empathic tone.
One of the most important actions of an adaptive leader is creating a strong holding
environment (Northouse, 2019), like a “brave space” (Arao & Clemens, 2013). While I believe
that my actions were consistent with nurturing a safe space and working towards “cohesive
relationships” among the group, my teacher-learners and I did not fully embrace a brave space
that would have had more opportunities for risk-taking, challenging opposing viewpoints, and
sitting longer in moments of tension (Arao & Clemens, 2013). Additionally, I also had intended
to facilitate the co-constructing community agreements with my teacher-learners, and it did not
happen until Session 3 of Cycle 2. Despite this and our being supportive of one another, there
were patterns of vulnerability characterized by emotional storytelling followed by a diversion or
pivoting where my teacher-learners and I might have deepened our perspectives and approach

21
critical reflection, and this will be discussed further in my findings. It is unclear if “niceness”
was to blame for this shortcoming. A “language of safety” might have encouraged entrenchment
in privilege (Arao & Clemens, 2013). Despite this, I continue to believe that an intellectual space
where individuals can contribute something is still possible.
To challenge my learners, I need to embrace a brave space (Arao & Clemens, 2013) that
goes beyond comfort and safety, one that is uncomfortable enough for them to think more
critically, challenge their assumptions and biases rooted in cis-heteronormativity, and speak
more authentically about gender, sexuality, and/or race/ethnicity. Reticence and caution are real
considerations. As someone who struggled with expressing themselves openly in professional
settings, I want to continue to normalize these feelings of hesitation (Horn & Little, 2010)
without judgment, because it “lowers the heat” in the holding environment (Heifetz et al., 2009).
Thus, I updated my conceptual framework to show that critical reflection is a non-linear process
(represented as dotted, tri-directional lines) that should occur in a strong holding environment in
a collaborative setting (as represented by the multi-directional arrows).
Andragogy
Adult learning or “andragogy” refers to the process of facilitating teacher-learners to
draw on their experiences and create new learning based on previous understandings (Knowles,
n.d., as cited in Cox, 2015). As an adult learning facilitator, I needed to utilize adult learning
moves (andragogy) to enable my teacher-learners to adopt new approaches to thinking and
acting. I continue to recognize that teacher-learners represent a range of identities and belief
systems. As someone who tends to avoid conflict (i.e., culture of niceness) and wrestling with
the cultural expectation of obedience (or begin effeminate or asexual), I will continue to confront

22
this assumption and anticipate moments of disorientation. As stated earlier, it is essential for me
to engage in ongoing critical self-reflection.
During my study, there were certainly moments where I could have stretched my
participant’s thinking but fell short of doing so out of fear, diversion, or lack of experience.
Despite this, I still believe that positive learning conditions is essential in order for teacherlearners to adopt new belief systems, by acknowledging issues of power and conflict, and
integrating them into dialogue so we can take “collaborative, transformative action” (Freire,
2007, as cited in Goodrich et al., 2016, p. 214). I continue to believe that it is up to me to
facilitate “constructive disorientation” (Wergin, 2007), an element essential for transformative
learning, so that teacher-learners are not discombobulated, and become more and more selfdirected and autonomous (Knowles et al., 2011, as cited in Cox, 2015). I define andragogy as an
organized and sustained process where teacher-learners draw upon their lived experiences and
beliefs to critically examine their perspectives and classroom practices, constructing new
understandings within a strong holding environment.
Forms of Assistance
In the context of andragogy, forms of assistance are actions by the teacher-educator to
help their teacher-learners towards their zone of proximal development (TZPD) (Tharp &
Gallimore, 1988). The two forms of assistance I relied on during my study were modeling and
questioning. Although not discussed in my findings, I added cognitive structuring here based on
my out of field experience. I also added “while referencing positionality” to modeling because I
wanted to point out this nuance, another aspect I will discuss in my findings. Although I did not
fully embrace all three forms while in the field, I still believe they are essential in driving my
future work with teacher-learners.

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Modeling. This is a process of “offering behavior for imitation” (Tharp & Gallimore,
1989, p. 48). As discussed in my findings, I was able to leverage opportunities to model new
terminology through my storytelling of my queer positionality. While I did not fully model
critical reflection explicitly, nor did I invite my teacher-learners to critique or observe what I
aimed to do in those instances of modeling my positionality, I believe it is crucial for a facilitator
to model their vulnerability by speaking about their lived experiences and previous errors in
judgment. Brookfield (2017) stated that “disclosing errors in judgment and action is one of the
most effective ways of demonstrating critical reflection; but it’s also one of the hardest things to
do. Publicly revealing parts of myself I don’t particularly like is not pleasant” (p. 145). During
my study, I believe I leveraged my tendency to be reticent and siloed and embraced the
opportunity as a facilitator to reclaim space and model my vulnerability, a behavior I believe
some of my teacher-learners were able to emulate.
Questioning. The use of questioning is crucial in cognitively assisting adults towards
stimulating one’s higher-order thinking (Larrivee, 2008) and approach critical reflection. Tharp
and Gallimore (1989) posit that “questioning calls for an active linguistic and cognitive response;
it provokes creations by the [learner]” (p. 59). As I will discuss in my findings, I incorporated the
use of guiding and probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008); guiding questions to turn teachers
towards their practice, and probing questions to push into their thinking and reasoning, both of
which will be discussed in my findings later. As I continue my work with classroom teachers, I
will continue to rely on questioning as a form of assistance to direct them towards their
classroom practices as an entry point into one’s beliefs, lived experiences, and identities in
relation to supporting their queer students.

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Cognitive structuring. According to Tharp and Gallimore (1989), this refers to the
“provision of a structure for thinking and acting” (p. 63). I believe it is crucial for adult learning
facilitators to assist teacher-learners to move beyond surface level, descriptive reflections to
challenge and disrupt hegemonic classroom practices rooted in cis-heteronormativity. Through
my action research, I was able to offer a structure (e.g., opening procedure activity and the use of
Google Slides to capture their thoughts), to guide my teacher-learners to reflect on their
classroom experiences while unearthing their own lived experiences, beliefs, and identities, as it
relates to the topic of queer youth. Although I was unable to fully achieve critical reflection with
them all, I was able to provide opportunities to approach critical reflection within a structure for
thinking and acting that required my teacher-learners to engage in new terminology and
definitions, active listening, and recall previous learning experiences all within a virtual format. I
relied on the use of Google Slides, graphic organizers, and multimedia to drive my instruction
with my teacher-learners. My actions aligned with the notion of “all action and mentation are
organized into sets, within which evaluation, grouping, and sequencing occur” (Tharp &
Gallimore, 1989, p. 63).
Additionally, I was able to center my teacher-learners’ lived experiences and classroom
experiences to integrate into our learning in relation to the topic of queer youth, consistent with
the notion that “the teacher assists the pupil to organize the raw stuff of experience” (p. 65).
While I did not follow a traditional reflective cycle, I will continue to learn and use cognitive
structuring to more effectively guide teachers in adopting new learning and navigate complex
information.

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Intersectional Teacher Identity
As illustrated in my conceptual framework, I operationalized the term “intersectional
teacher identity” to encompass the concepts of a teacher’s professional identity and their ability
to recognize how their identity markers benefit or hinder their interactions in the world. The
concept of intersectionality (Crenshaw, 1989) was ambitious to unpack during my study, and
although the goal was not for my teacher-learners to fully grasp the concept, I argue that
intersectionality plays a significant role in teachers engaging in critical reflection dialogue. This
was also the lens through which I viewed my teacher-learners who participated in my study.
While I initially emphasized a teacher’s ability to name their identity markers (i.e., gender, race,
and sexual orientation), I realized there was a distinction of which aspects of one’s identity were
more “accessible” to speak about and notice which of those identity markers gave them
advantages and privileges when interacting with their queer students, as well as the identity
markers that impeded those interactions. I argue that unearthing the intersectionality of
classroom teachers broadens one’s perspectives on how their multiple roles (both perceived
within and projected by their students) influences their interactions with their students and the
ways they can approach more queer-inclusive teaching practices.
As I will explain in my findings, understanding and embracing an intersectional teacher
identity involves recognizing the complex and multifaceted quality of one’s identity and how
these factors impact both personal and professional experiences within the educational
environment. Additionally, for queer teachers, there will continue to be a nuance of how these
identity markers interplay, as the conflation of queer identities continues to beg the question on
how one can be authentic, safe, and brave. The concept of intersectional teacher identity relates
to cis-heteronormativity and gender and sexuality consciousness, which will be discussed next.

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Cis-heteronormativity
Initially, I established that cis-heteronormativity was a form of hegemonic or dominant
ideology, as represented in my conceptual framework. Dominant ideologies are reflected in the
symbols and practices of the dominant culture, shaping people’s thinking to unconsciously
accept the current social order as “natural” and “normal” (Bartolomé, 2008, p. 13). Within queer
lived experiences, hegemonic ideology manifests through transphobic and homophobic slurs and
microaggressions from various sources. As a form of hegemony, cis-heteronormativity described
as a systematic process of privileging heterosexuality relative to homosexuality, based on the
assumption that heterosexuality and heterosexual power and privilege are normal and ideal
(Chesir-Teran, 2003, as cited in Zook, 2017, p. 1758). This ideological force may seem invisible;
however, its manifestations are automatic and unquestioned in educational settings. It is
constantly reproduced. A culture of heteronormativity differs between schools due to the societal
influences of the demographic and location in which each school is situated (Lee, 2022; Toomey
et al., 2012). It is the “privileging of heterosexuality through its normalization” (Jackson, 2006,
as cited in Bower-Phipps, 2020, p. 1). Within the context of traditional classrooms, this is seen
through the hypervisibility of heterosexual partnerships, the assumptions of heterosexual
partnerships between students, and the use of “mister” or “miss” for teachers, adults, and other
authority figures on campus. As a result, gender conformity describes identifying and behaving
in ways that are consistent with the socially constructed expectations for one’s birth gender
(Zook, 2017, p. 1758).
Admittedly, I participate in this ideology unintentionally and intentionally (depending on
where I am, or if I am in a new school, and so forth). Novice teachers reproduce this
automatically. The most obvious and blatant example of this is in the prevalence of school rituals

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and routines, especially in the prioritizing of masculinity through sports, colloquialism, and
attire. In fact, masculinity can be described as constituted and understood in the social world, a
configuration of practices and discourses that different youths (boys and girls) may embody in
different ways and to different degrees. It is associated with, and not reduced or solely equivalent
to, the male body; argued that adolescent masculinity is understood in this setting as a form of
dominance usually expressed through sexualized discourses (Pascoe, 2007).
In response to these driving forces, gender and sexuality topics are often left off the table.
In curriculum, this “blindness” (like colorblindness) is a mere ignoring or silencing of queer
identities (and subsequently discourse), perpetuated through the emphasis of heterosexual
themes, relationships, or biological references. It is an avoidance of conflict by students, their
caregivers, or unsupportive administration. Through this blindness, by not explicitly naming
trans and queer identities in curriculum and educational policy (e.g., anti-bullying policies), it
reinforces cis-heteronormativity. While queer theory is one framework to begin challenging
naturalized heteronormative oppressions in biological science education discourse,
deconstructing binaries, and interrupt heteronormative constructions of sexual identity (Bazzul &
Sykes, 2010, p. 271).
Gender and Sexuality Consciousness
Gender and sexuality consciousness refers to the awareness and understanding of the
diverse and complex ways in which gender and sexuality influence individuals’ identities,
experiences, and social interactions. In my conceptual framework, I argue that classroom
teachers’ identities are shaped and bound within a related idea of “professionalism” to ensure
what teachers say and do, and how it constricts the ways educators, especially queer educators,
can enact or disrupt the status quo. Teacher professionalism, then, is quite deceiving. On the

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surface, it influences the way teachers present themselves through attire, language (e.g., tone,
intonation), and mannerisms (i.e., masculine, feminine). On a deeper level, teacher
professionalism is rooted in cis-heteronormativity (an extension of dominant ideology), which
instills fear—fear of being outed (i.e., internalized homophobia), fear of being perceived as gay
or lesbian (Ferfolja, 2007)—and therefore impedes the way teachers can show up authentically
(Meyer, 2007).
Furthermore, gender and sexuality (alongside other diversity and equity topics, like
race/ethnicity) continue to be reduced, muted, or omitted entirely from professional
conversations and professional development (Ferfolja, 2007; Zack et al., 2010). Traditional
teacher education programs unknowingly instill and reproduce hegemonic ideologies, as
represented in the perpetuation of colorblind and/or science curriculum (Bazzul & Sykes, 2010),
and manifest as cis-heteronormative gender norms and rituals (Pascoe, 2007), discriminatory
language, and microaggressions in novice teachers’ classrooms (Bower-Phipps, 2020; Lee, 2022;
Meyer, 2007; Zook, 2017).
In my study, I aimed to center teachers’ gender and sexuality consciousness by
recognizing that gender and sexuality intersect with other aspects of identity, such as
race/ethnicity, class, ability, and religion. Thus, by activating teachers’ gender and sexuality
consciousness, they can begin to recognize how their intersectionality affects their experiences of
privilege and oppression in different contexts, and how this impacts the ways they interact with
their students. While there is a lack of inclusion of gender and sexuality topics in teacher
preparation courses (Bower-Phipps, 2020), specifically developing explicit skills on affirming
and supporting transgender and queer youth, it calls to question how much novice teachers can
realistically take on (or want to).

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Identity (e.g., race/ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation), then, is a contentious topic
among classroom teachers, making it a very complex and urgent issue. At the same time,
facilitating explicit dialogue on sexuality and homophobic rhetoric among teachers is a possible
pathway in moving towards “confronters’’ rather than remain silent (Zack et al., 2010). To call
attention to novice teachers and their mentors to systematically confront their own biases and
analyze ways they intentionally or unintentionally reproduce heteronormativity is a tall order,
considering the paucity of cultural critical consciousness taught within teacher preparation
programs (Gay & Kirkland, 2003). Nonetheless, dominant ideologies present itself in various
contexts, in this context as cis-heteronormativity. As illustrated in my conceptual framework, the
complex and interacting identities of both the induction TOSA and their novice STEM teachers
are illustrated here.
Teacher education literature points to the complexity of hegemonic ideology that
reproduces itself in traditional teacher education programs, even those that have a social justice
or multicultural focus (Ferfolja, 2007; Zack et al., 2010). This manifests through the paucity and
omission of gender identity courses being integrated into preservice teacher curriculum. As a
result, classroom teachers, especially those that are content-specific such as science and math,
may fail to see the relevance of acknowledging gender and sexuality in the curriculum because
such topics are seen as taboo or “inappropriate” (Iskander, 2021; Meyer, 2007). In the context of
novice teachers, approaching such topics can be viewed as risky and fear retaliation from
parents, the community, administration and ignore transphobic and homophobic
microaggressions altogether (Bower-Phipps, 2020). The personal lack of training and resources
around LGBTQ+ issues as well as cultural and religious contexts act as barriers (Sadowski,
2017). To avoid surveillance by their colleagues or students, queer teachers may feel forced to

30
remain closeted, in turn perpetuating the heteronormative discourse and engage in literal
silencing about their life (Paechter, 2002, as cited in Lee, 2022, p. 143). For example, teacher
actions might include, and not limited to use of binary framing (e.g., “Hello boys and girls,” pink
is for girls, blue is for boys), reinforcing gender stereotypes and invisibility.
Historically, teacher preparation programs vary in their approach to training and
preparing teachers. Amidst a national teaching shortage, there are stark differences on what and
how new teachers should be prepared considering today’s multicultural student population. For
example, the training of primary school teachers includes the teaching of a hidden curriculum, or
the unwritten institutional demands for conformity to socially acceptable norms (Walton, 2005,
as cited in Zook, 2017, p. 1758). In contrast, multicultural teacher preparation programs or those
that have a social justice mission statement can experience what is considered a hierarchy of
differences (Ferfolja, 2007) also occurs. This is when some areas of social justice are perceived
as more acceptable or appropriate and they are more readily addressed in education (Ferfolja,
2007, pp. 150–151). Novice teachers resist for different reasons. One is that the religious charge
to issues of sexuality presents a unique challenge for those who wish to combat homophobia–a
challenge that does not exist to the same extent as when combating racism, classicism, or sexism
(Zack et al., 2010). This reinforces what was introduced earlier as teacher “professionalism”
(Meyer, 2007), or when LGBTQ+ teachers feel forced to remain closeted (Paechter, 2002, as
cited in Lee, 2022, p. 143). In the name of professionalism, other non-queer teachers (e.g.,
straight allies, BIPOC teachers) may wrestle with this tension as well.
Secondary Novice STEM Teachers
My participants depicted in my conceptual framework as secondary novice STEM
teachers, taught at the middle and high school levels. During my study, they taught courses in

31
biology, earth science, math, and/or science. Although I had not fully explored the relevance of
STEM teachers in supporting queer students, this remains an area for further exploration. Middle
school teachers are positioned in front of students, for example transgender students, a time
where they are coming of age. I continue to believe that middle school teachers can play a
valuable role in support their queer students, and the complexities of oneself and one’s identity
within the middle school structure (Namaste, 2000; Stone, 1991; Stryker, 1994, as cited in Lewis
& Sembiante, 2019, p. 4). Additionally, at the high school level, biology teachers play a role in
the teaching of anatomy and physiology, comprehensive sexual health, and the perpetuation of
heteronormative themes and “rituals” (Pascoe, 2007). Despite this, my teacher-learners
expressed a desire to participate in my study. As I will discuss in my findings, I was able to
direct their gaze towards their classrooms and see their queer students. In doing so, I guided them
to “story” themselves and their identities in vulnerable ways, and to story the queer students they
interacted with. This storytelling of one’s lived experiences and their students’ lived experiences
was pivotal in approaching critical reflection dialogue.
Critical Reflection Dialogue
As illustrated in my conceptual framework, the purpose and aims of the interactions
among my teacher-learners and me throughout the three cycles were centered on critical
reflection dialogue. I use “dialogue” to indicate that I enacted a non-traditional reflective cycle.
Instead, I incorporated a continuous pattern of discussion questions embedded within learning
activities to initiate discussion and stimulate reflections with opportunities for “higher-order
thinking” (Larrivee, 2008). This form of reflection refers to critically examine the beliefs,
attitudes, and social structures that serve to privilege some and simultaneously marginalize and
limit others from successful participation; to be introspective of one’s own deeply held beliefs

32
and attitudes, as well as contemplative of the social structures that perpetuate inequity and
injustice within the organization and, more broadly, throughout society (Zook, 2017). I continue
to believe that for classroom teachers to move beyond surface level, descriptive reflections, and
move towards critical reflection is to anchor themselves in storytelling of their lived experiences
and interactions with their students. Thus, teacher educators and teacher preparation programs
have a responsibility to cultivate dialogue with them that elicits aspects of critical reflection,
which can strongly align with the California Standards of the Teaching Profession, especially
with the updated version that now includes a culturally responsive, equitable, and holistic
emphasis to teaching and learning. For reflection to be critical, I continue to argue that classroom
teachers must continuously unpack their intersectional identities and challenge assumptions,
power structures, and deeply held beliefs.
Although my teacher-learners and I did not achieve critical reflection during group
dialogue, it continues to be an essential component of my theory of change. Therefore, as an
adult learning facilitator, I continue to argue that as an expression of critical reflection, classroom
teachers should learn tools to not only disrupt homophobic and transphobic behaviors in the
classroom, and question their own instructional decisions, classroom environments, and events
that center cis-heteronormativity and therefore silence queer identities. These problems of
practice are the conflicts or “openings” to the initial phases of the transformation process; these
personal crises act as the stimulus to transformation (Mezirow, 1990, as cited in Cox, 2015).
In my conceptual framework, I did not follow a traditional reflective cycle with my
teacher-learners. Instead, I relied on embedding two to three reflection questions within
structured learning activities both at the beginning of our sessions (more open-ended) and within
the main learning activity itself (more content-related). As illustrated with the triangular shape

33
and dotted lines, this form of reflection occurred through dialogue among my teacher-learners
and within the context of their lived experiences and their classrooms, their interactions from
each other, but also to show how their growth was non-linear and to show their willingness to
disclose how much of themselves. I continue to believe in Wergin’s (2019) notion that “learning
in the presence of others” (p. 154) is crucial, and that learning in dialectical fashion requires the
adult learning facilitator to navigate dynamics. By asking a series of questions in a Socratic
fashion, intended to surface my teacher-learners’ latent ideas into consciousness. With the proper
facilitation, this model has the potential to be a uniquely powerful way of building respect and
understanding (that is, social capital) among my teacher-learners.
Drawing upon the works of Tharp and Gallimore (1991) and Sahin and Kulm (2008), I
continue to believe it is essential to turn teachers towards their practice while storying their own
lived experiences to approach critical reflection and eventually question their classroom practice
and shift. When I posed these reflection questions, their responses elicited mostly descriptive and
surface level responses. As an adult learning facilitator, I must consider how I as an adult
learning facilitator should eventually move my learners after description and to higher levels of
thinking, such as thinking from multiple perspectives and/or taking intelligent action (Rodgers,
2002) moving forward. Teachers talking with each other about their individual and collective
thoughts, insights, and instructional actions is an essential part of being reflective practitioners
(Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1993; Richert, 1992, as cited in Gay & Kirkland, 2003).
Implement Queer-Inclusive Classroom Practices (Outcomes)
As illustrated in my conceptual framework, the ultimate desired outcome or “ideal
state” (Coghlan, 2019) of my study can be subdivided into short-term and long-term goals.
My initial, long-term goal was for my teacher-learners to implement queer-inclusive

34
classroom practices. The notion of “queer-inclusive practices” can be described as
promoting a classroom where gendered language is challenged, the displaying of pride
posters, to confront homophobic and transphobic language from students and self, and/or
creating learning opportunities that center students’ identities. While my teacher-learners
and I did not fully achieve this ambitious goal, I was able to assist them in starting to
unpack their intersectional teacher identities (particularly their gender identities) in relation
to their queer students, as illustrated in my study’s short-term goals. As stated earlier, these
outcomes were not possible had there not been a strong holding environment.
In my findings, I argue that increased trust and vulnerability led some of my
teacher-learners to take emotional risks and others to reveal their beliefs about queer
students. Additionally, my use of guiding and probing questions prompted my teacherlearners to examine their heteronormative orientations, share lived experiences, reveal the
complexities of their identities, and explore the implications for their queer students. While
I did not attend to this fully during my study, I continue to believe queer-inclusive practices
includes confronting trans- and homophobic “abusive language” (Ferfolja, 2007) in their
classrooms, be aware of the ways they (or their peers’ tendency) to ignore abusive
language (Bower-Phipps, 2020), and being more aware of heteronormative social norms,
policies, and practices in schools, and move towards more queer-inclusion in their schools.
Research Methods
The following section outlines the qualitative approach instruments, data collection, and
methods I utilized to conduct my study. It was guided by the following research question: How
do I promote critical self-reflection with novice STEM teachers so that they would understand
the role their identities play in the way they teach queer youth? To address this question, I

35
specifically analyzed data that demonstrated how I created a holding environment and enacted
andragogical moves of questioning to develop critical reflection with my novice STEM teacherlearners. As mentioned earlier, this was connected to the goal of my study, which was for my
teacher-learners to unearth their identities and begin to approach queer-inclusive classroom
practices. In this section, I will discuss my participants (i.e., teacher-learners) and settings,
actions, data collection and instruments, data analysis, limitations and delimitations, credibility
and trustworthiness, and ethics.
Participants and Settings
My action research primarily took place virtually, on Zoom, and during individual
mentoring meetings at my teacher-learners’ classrooms at Grapevine School District. I used
purposeful, convenience sampling to identify and recruit my teacher-learners. The three STEM
teachers included one middle school science/math teacher and two high school biology teachers.
To answer my research question, I set out to discover, understand, and gain insights into a
particular phenomenon (Merriam & Tisdell, 2016; Patton, 2015): the connection between their
teacher identities and their interactions with queer youth in their classrooms or schools. As a
teacher on special assignment supporting novice science/STEM teachers in the district’s
induction program, I approached my individual teacher-learners to participate in my study,
expressing to them my dissertation topic involved “how teachers can better support their
LGBTQ+ students.” I ensured they understood it was completely voluntary and that it would not
interfere with our current professional relationship and their obligation of completing their
induction requirements.

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Participants
I engaged three participants (i.e., teacher-learners) in my study. The first STEM teacher
was Mikayla. This was Mikayla’s first year in Grapevine School District teaching in a high
school setting. Mikayla grew up in an urbanized area located in southeastern Los Angeles
County. She was adamant about teaching in the community she grew up in. Mikayla identified as
a Latina, cis-female in her 20s. She did not disclose her sexual orientation, nor did she reference
her relationship status during my study. In my initial classroom observations of Mikayla, I
noticed her calm demeanor, her tendency to ignore her students’ being off task, and motivation
to complete her induction assignments.
At the outset of my study, Mikayla displayed traits of an instrumental knower. DragoSeverson and Blum DeStefano (2017) characterize instrumental learners with the notion of,
“What, exactly, am I supposed to do? Please tell me” (p. 467). When I observed Mikayla at the
beginning of my study, she expressed in front of the group a level of intimidation as not knowing
enough about LGBTQ+ topics, for example terminology or having a queer-identified family
member. Despite this, she remained committed to our sessions and later revealed significant
revelations about how she participated in the gender policing of fellow students and owning her
actions (as will be unpacked further in my findings section). Through the study, Mikayla began
to approach the later part of an instrumental learner (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017).
While she expressed a new awareness on intersectionality and how she had not reflected about
her identities before, Mikayla largely focused her “social justice efforts on [her] more immediate
surroundings and specific individuals rather than on organizational or systemic dynamics” (p.
468). I also was unable to help Mikayla “understand or address the larger roots of injustice or to
recognize the ways that they themselves may inadvertently benefit from or contribute to the

37
problem” (p. 468). However, she was empowered to display diversity classroom posters and a
pride flag after the study.
The second STEM teacher was Valeria. This was her first year in Grapevine School
District teaching in a middle school setting. Valeria grew up in an unincorporated area of the
southwest part of the East San Gabriel Valley of greater Los Angeles area. Valeria also attended
a private religious school and previously taught in a religious school. Valeria identified as
Hawaiian-Spanish, cis-female in her 30s. She did not state her sexual orientation to the group,
however she frequently referred to her heterosexual relationship (e.g., “my husband”) during my
study. In my initial classroom observations of Valeria, I noticed her presence, her focus on direct
instruction with her students, and the ways she spoke about her identity as a mother.
At the outset of my study, Valeria was a socializing knower. She spoke about her
personal connection to LGBTQ+ topics while referencing her sister-in-law, someone she grew
up with and admired greatly. According to Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano (2016),
“socializing knowers have grown to have the internal capacity to understand and consider others’
experiences and perspectives” (p. 469). Through my study, Valeria began to approach selfauthoring knower, where she was able to raise her consciousness of her gendered identity and
expanded it into the creation of a women’s empowerment group at her site. With an emphasis on
her femaleness and the advantages it brought with her ability to better connect to her queer
students, she demonstrated her “self-authoring capacities can help individuals from all
backgrounds author their own understanding of who they are and their intrinsic value and worth”
Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2016, p. 471). Despite this, I was unable to help Valeria
further interrogate the way she may by complicit in cis-heteronormative thinking. This supports
the notion that “while self-authoring knowers may feel more comfortable advocating for their

38
students, colleagues, themselves, and what they believe in, they have not yet, developmentally
speaking, grown the capacity to see into and critique their own ideologies and belief systems”
(Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2016, p. 471).
The third STEM teacher was Kacey. This was their first year in Grapevine School
District teaching in a high school setting. Kacey grew up in a suburban area of the greater Los
Angeles area. Kacey was a product of the public school setting, completed their teacher
preparation program at private religious university, and actively coached sports. At the beginning
of my study, Kacey identified as a Latino cis-male in his 20s, and later “came out” to the group
as non-binary/genderqueer. Kacey also stated their sexual orientation to the group as “straight,”
and referred to their heterosexual relationship (e.g., “my wife”) during my study. In my initial
classroom observations of Kacey, I noticed that their classroom environment included a nonbinary/genderqueer and a pride flag, and they were enthusiastic about wanting to participate in
my study about LGBTQ+ topics.
At the outset of my study, Kacey was a self-authoring knower. Kacey expressed having a
strong foundation in LGBTQ+ terminology, leading discussions with their students in class about
gender identity, and openly wrestled with their own authenticity as a queer-identified teacher not
out to their students. This coupled with being cis-male (referring to themselves as “malepresenting”) and their coaching identity, Kacey displayed several contradictions. Through my
study, Kacey remained in self-authoring knower, as they built the courage to lead their school’s
GSA and lead their first pride event at the school. Like Valeria, I was unable to help Kacey
interrogate further their maleness. According to Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano (2016),
“just as a self-authoring knower’s developmental suit of armor can protect when advocating with

39
and for others, it can also inadvertently block out disparate thinking or limit possibilities for even
more inclusive connections, relationships, and social justice” (p. 471).
At the beginning of the study, I was a self-authoring knower. I was able to help my
teacher-learners access parts of their identities, particularly gender, that they did not previously
consider in a professional learning setting. It involved coming to recognize that “if I didn’t define
myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people’s fantasies for me and eaten alive”
(Lorde, 1982, as cited in Drago-Severson & Blum DeStefano, 2017, pp. 470–471). With that
said, I modeled my queer positionality while speaking in vulnerable ways throughout my study.
As I will unpack in my findings, I had not more directly engaged my teacher-learners about their
sexual orientation and race, which could have deepened our conversations in relation to their
queer students. While I could have more directly engaged my teacher-learners of what I was
doing, the language I was using, and notice the ways I diverted from further introspection, this
led me to conclude that I remained as a self-authoring knower by the end of my study. As DragoSeverson and Blum DeStefano (2017) stated, “When making sense of questions of identity and
diversity, self-authoring capacities can help individuals from all backgrounds author their own
understanding of who they are and their intrinsic value and worth” (p. 471).
As I will discuss further in my findings section, I had grown in my ability to pose
questions more directly aligned with the aims of my study; however, I could have modeled more
explicitly my own critical reflection and provide more opportunities for my teacher-learners to
critique my actions (and each other’s) to move into a brave space, a practice I want to explore
further. As Drago-Severson and Blum DeStefano (2017) say,
A powerful support for self-authoring knowers is working with others to explore not just
the things they fundamentally agree on or are most proud of about their practice in

40
support of social justice but also the inconsistencies, paradoxes, limitations, and gaps that
may show up in their work and collaborations. (p. 472)
Settings of Actions
The purpose of my study was to examine my teacher-learners’ identities and the ways
they interacted with their queer students, as well as my adult learning facilitator growth and
leadership. The action research primarily took place outside of our regularly scheduled induction
program meetings (which usually took place during the teachers’ prep period during the school
day), and occurred across six, non-consecutive 90-minute sessions on Saturday mornings on
Zoom (online). Prior to and during the study, I continued to hold individual meetings with them.
However, for the purpose of my study, I conducted my sessions in a group format and online
because of the importance of social interaction in sharing knowledge and experiences, cocreating knowledge, and convenience given the geographical distance for each of us.
Actions
In line with my conceptual framework, I recognized that guiding novice STEM teachers
towards queer-inclusive practices required critical reflection dialogue. This involved discussing
LGBTQ+ terminology, understanding gender and sexuality microaggressions, challenging
socially acceptable gendered classroom language, and recognizing how a STEM classroom
teacher could advocate for their queer students. However, these critical reflection prompts were
largely absent in their induction program ILPs. To achieve this long-term goal, I needed to create
a supportive environment to deepen our trust. I also had to provide forms of assistance to
facilitate our engagement in critical reflection discussions over three cycles. Consequently, I
designed the action research in three cycles:
1. Nurturing a holding environment and defining cis-heteronormativity.

41
2. Unearthing the self: Exploring what makes me feel safe, how I see myself, and how
my queer students see me.
3. Understanding a problem of practice: Addressing gender and sexuality
microaggressions and exploring queer-inclusive classroom practices.
Table 1
Sequence of Opening Procedure to Raise Trust and Vulnerability (Theme 1)
Cycle 1: Nurturing a holding environment and defining cis-heteronormativity
Session 1 Session 2
1. Agenda
o Card sort (part 1)
o Setting the stage: Sociopolitical context
o Grounding the space
o Teacher identity
o What is cis-heteronormativity?
o Learning audit questionnaire
2. Planned action cycles (tentative)
3. Session 1 learning objective
o Educators will be able to establish community
agreements (i.e., norms), begin to describe their
personal and professional identities, and define
cis/heteronormativity.
4. Card sorting activity (part 1)
1. Agenda
o Card sort (part 2)
o What is cis-heteronormativity?
o Learning audit questionnaire
2. Planned action cycles (tentative)
3. Session 2 learning objective
o Participant-teachers will begin to explore cisheteronormativity, establish community agreements
(i.e., norms), and describe their personal and
professional identities.
4. Recall session 1
5. What are you noticing, wondering?
o Since our last session, has anything come up for
you?
o Was there anything said last time that you’re
thinking about?
6. Card sorting activity (part 2)
Cycle 2: Unearthing the self: Exploring what makes me feel safe, how I see myself, and how my queer students see me
Session 3 Session 4
1. Agenda
o Safe & brave spaces
o Intersectionality
o Science teacher identity
o Learning audit questionnaire
2. Session 3 learning objective
o Participant-teachers will begin to establish
community agreements, unpack intersectionality,
and describe their personal and professional
identities.
3. Recall session 2
4. What are you noticing, wondering?
o Since our last session, has anything come up for
you?
o Was there anything said last time that you’re
thinking about?
5. Virtual chalk talk (7-minute timer)
1. Check-in: How are we all doing? (1-minute timer)
2. Recall session 3 (5-minute timer)
3. What are you noticing, wondering?
o Since our last session, has anything come up for
you?
o Was there anything said or shared last time that
you’re still thinking about (or wanted to challenge)?
4. Agenda
o Quotable quotes
o Positionality
o Intro to queer-inclusive strategies
o Learning audit questionnaire
5. Session 4 learning objective
o Participant-teachers will begin to define
positionality, describe ways dominant ideology
expresses itself in ourselves and in education, and
explore queer-inclusive strategies to start
incorporating in our classrooms.
o Key ideas for today: Positionality, dominant
ideology, queer-inclusive
6. Quotable quotes
Cycle 3: Understanding a problem of practice: Addressing gender and sexuality microaggressions and exploring queerinclusive classroom practices
Session 5 Session 6
1. Check-in: How are we doing? (2-minute timer) 1. Check-in

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2. Recall session 4 (5-minute timer)
o What are you noticing, wondering? (Type in chat)
• Since our last session, has anything come up
for you?
• Was there anything said or shared last time
that you’re still thinking about (or wanted to
challenge)?
3. New term: Positionality
4. Agenda
o Microaggressions
o Next steps
5. Session 5 learning objective
o Participant-teachers will begin to explore the
impact of microaggressions, describe the ways
dominant ideology shows up in our classrooms, and
continue to unpack one’s positionality.
6. Key ideas for today
o Positionality, dominant ideology, microaggressions,
teacher professionalism
7. Checks For Understanding
o How are we doing?
o What is a recent example of queer joy in your life?
2. Recall session 5 (5-minute timer)
o What are you noticing, wondering? (Type in chat)
• Since our last session, has anything come up
for you?
• Was there anything said or shared last time
that you’re still thinking about (or wanted to
challenge)?
3. Agenda
o Revisit microaggressions
o Final reflection
4. Activity: Microaggressions
Table 2
Guiding and Probing Questions to Unearth Identity Complexities (Theme 2)
Cycle 1 Cycle 2 Cycle 3
Guiding
Question(s)
• Have you ever laughed at or
made a joke at the expense of
LGBTQ+ people? Think of
one of your earliest memories.
What do you think the root of
it was?
• Can you think of an instance
where you didn’t feel safe in
a learning space, as a child
and now as an adult? What
happened?
• What did you do to
protect yourself?
• At that moment, what
were some potential
consequences?
• If applicable, who did
you turn to when this
occurred?
• Think about our last
discussion of intersectionality.
In the last 2–3 weeks, have
you noticed how your
intersectionality (e.g., race,
gender, sexuality) plays out
with your LGBTQ+ students?
If so, how? If not, why?
• As a result of this awareness,
have you done anything
differently so far in your
classroom?
Probing
Question(s)
• (unscripted): Acknowledging
that we’ve all participated in
[transphobia/homophobia] at
some point in our lives, and
even as a classroom
teacher…Would you say that
it’s still there within you?
• (unscripted): Can you tell us
a little bit more about that?
• How do you know we’re in a
safe learning space right
now?
• (unscripted): Do you think
there’s other factors that are
playing out in terms of the
way your queer students are
trusting you as far as you can
tell?
Data Collection
As the primary research instrument, my data collection included three critical reflections
(out of field, post study), six jottings, three learning audit questionnaires, six reflective memos
(post-Zoom sessions), eight methodological memos, and six Zoom recordings with transcripts.

43
My reflections were intended to be critical, however, they were more descriptive. These sources
collectively formed the body of evidence I analyzed to demonstrate my growth as an adult
learning facilitator.
Documents
I generated several documents to collect data. I primarily used a slide deck (provided
before each session) with hyperlinks to guide our learning during Zoom with the learning
objectives and agenda stated in the slide deck at the beginning of each session. While I did not
physically write on a separate printed agenda, I referred to it while creating my reflective memos
in audio form through Otter. I also generated a printed version of my initial conceptual
framework to take notes on when I reviewed the session’s recording, although I only did this for
Session 1. I also created learning audit questionnaires as a Google Form after each session,
although my teacher-learners stopped responding to them after Session 3. It is unclear if this was
due to my and/or my teacher-learners’ technology fatigue. Nonetheless, it provided me a
snapshot of their learning at the beginning stages of my study.
Observations
I had initially aimed to act as a “skilled observer” (Patton, 2015) during my study. This
included learning to pay attention, to write “descriptively,” practicing the disciplined recording
of field notes, knowing how to separate data from trivia, and using systematic methods to
validate and triangulate observations (Patton, 2015, p. 331). As a novice researcher, I soon
realized in the first session it was challenging for me to make observations while facilitating.
Researchers are rarely total participants or total observers (Merriam & Tisdell, 2016). That said,
I primarily relied on handwritten jottings (after the session) to document specific words or
phrases that occurred during our meetings (Emerson et al., 2011). From our session’s recordings,

44
jottings, and revisiting of transcripts during my coding process between cycles, I generated my
critical reflections.
Jottings. I used to jottings to articulate the tension and wonderings I experienced as a
facilitator and participant during my study. While I attempted to do this during my first session, I
had eventually generated notes of what I was doing and what my teacher-learners were doing
after Cycle 1, specifically behaviors or quotes/statements they repeated over time, which led me
to make initial speculations about what I was observing at that time. For example, I created the
following categories in my jottings: andragogical moves, participants’ behaviors, what am I not
seeing?, what am I not doing?, and ideas for the following session. My jottings enabled me to
note the agreeability among the group and served to jog my memory of the previous sessions. As
a novice researcher, I had not progressed to field notes, as I wanted to remain fully engaged with
my teacher-learners. That said, the session transcripts, recordings, and memos were crucial in my
data analysis.
Memos. I generated reflective, methodological, and analytic memos during my study.
Using Otter to record audio reflections, my reflective memos captured my initial thoughts and
wonderings immediately following a session, where I recapped what my teacher-learners and I
covered during out session (referring to the session’s agenda) and articulating my thoughts. As
stated earlier, I could have written down my thoughts on my printed agenda, however, I made the
decision to record my reflection in audio form. When I began to revisit my session transcripts
more intensely during my coding phase post-study, I generated brief analytic memos to critique
my role as a facilitator. In my methodological memos, I noted some of the challenges I made in
terms of data collection and analysis. For example, I noted how I decided to use two colors when
combing through my first transcript multiple times. Finally, I generated analytic memos to

45
articulate my thoughts about the phenomena consistent with my conceptual framework, ideas I
had not previously considered (e.g., intersectionality), and ongoing speculation of my teacherlearners’ growth. My memos were fluid and not entirely adhering to a fixed timeline.
Critical Reflection. The purpose of critical reflection is to interrogate my teacherlearners’ biases, assumptions, and beliefs (Mezirow, 1991). I had aimed for critical reflection to
reground myself in the literature I set out in my conceptual framework and observe how I
illuminated (or muted) these big ideas. Instead, my written critical reflections (while not
following a formal set of questions), enabled me to continuously critique the power dynamics I
and my teacher-learners contributed to during our sessions. While I did not refer to my written
critical reflections directly in my findings, my efforts in speaking to and noticing these power
dynamics during my study were essential. For example, I repeatedly pointed out to myself who
was starting the conversations more than others.
Data Analysis
For my action research study, qualitative data was collected and analyzed. This was an
iterative and interactive process where I continuously revisited transcripts, recordings, and
reviewed initial drafting of analyses with my chair and members of my committee. For my inthe-field analysis, I relied on my jottings and memos to articulate my thoughts and speculate on
the phenomena I was observing while referring to the concepts outlined in my initial conceptual
framework. For example, after Session 1, I had generated my initial conceptual framework on a
separate piece of paper and jotted down my observations as I watched the session recording. As a
novice researcher, I initially focused on my teacher-learners’ behaviors, and some of the initial
concepts outlined in my study, such as negotiating, and other ideas not initially considered like
fear or credentialing.

46
For my out-of-field analysis between cycles, I continued to refer to my critical reflections
and memos where I posed multiple questions about my progress as a teacher-educator and the
progress of my teacher-learners. In my jottings and memos, I wrote down and articulated
emerging themes, ideas, areas for further investigation (Bogdan & Biklen, 1997), as well as
questions, wonderings, contradictions, and dilemmas. For example, the dilemma of agreeability
among the group and my wrestling with how I could move us beyond a safe space into a brave
space. Once I left the field, I was able to dive more deeply into my data by creating a code book.
As a novice researcher, I aimed to develop a group of codes that would assist me in interpreting
my data within the aims of my study.
My inductive codes emerged from the data as repetitive actions, themes, or behaviors of
my teacher-learners and myself. These included codes relating to classroom dynamics,
expressing of vulnerability, or taking up space. This included my facilitator actions and
behaviors. My deductive codes, or predetermined codes based on my conceptual framework,
included ideas I initially aimed to operationalize in my study, such as cis-heteronormativity,
critical teacher reflection, and competing identities. For example, when meeting with my chair,
he pointed out one of my deductive codes, negotiation of self (Iskander, 2021) with Kacey.
Additionally, as a novice researcher, my limited experience with analytical tools was augmented
by continuously meeting with my chair and committee after initial attempts to analyze excerpts
on my own.
Furthermore, I committed to an additional year of my program to continuously meet with
my chair to help me make sense of these codes in my transcripts, followed by recording a
methodological memo and analytic memo. I continuously met with my committee members to
generate tables of potential themes and assist in analyzing excerpts of my transcripts more

47
thoroughly. I wrote up large sections of my initial analysis and worked through identifying
inconsistencies and opportunities to strengthen the analysis with the support of my chair and
committee members. This process helped me identify concepts that I had not previously
considered, which I will discuss in my findings section.
Limitations and Delimitations
Limitations are factors in my study that were outside of my control and constrained what
I was able to learn. Delimitations are conditions that defined the boundaries of what I learned
from my study.
Limitations
One limitation was engagement in a virtual format. The competing commitments my
teacher-learners were experienced were teaching full-time, family obligations, attending their
regularly scheduled department and staff meetings, and completing their induction assignments.
My teacher-learners and I had to reschedule a few times. Additionally, when revisiting the Zoom
recordings of our sessions, I was unable to observe the facial expressions and body language of
my teacher-learners while someone else was speaking due to the settings I had in place where I
could not see everyone at the same time. Therefore, I had to rely on the transcripts and listen
more intently to their tone and other speech patterns. I also reduced block transcripts to better fit
within the parameters of my analysis section, while staying true to the speaker’s tone and
insights.
A second limitation was the power dynamics evident between me, the teacher-educator
(i.e., induction TOSA) and my teacher-learners. It was challenging to completely ignore the level
of trust established in our previous interactions, prior to the beginning of my study. During my
study, I assumed in their effort to appease me, this might have clouded their judgment in wanting

48
to push up against my views or how I was facilitating. It made me wonder how that relationship
might have been threatened had I challenged their thinking more directly in my efforts to lead
them towards critical reflection. Although there was no explicit evidence for this during my
study, I spoke about my observations and wonderings in my reflective memos.
Delimitations
A delimitation of a 3-month time frame limited the amount of time and progress my
teacher-learners and I could have made towards unearthing our teacher identities to create more
queer-inclusive classrooms. In focusing on our teacher identities, it was also mostly absent of
their queer students’ voices, as well as our conversations being mostly colorblind. As a novice
researcher, I was limited in how to explicitly collect, analyze, and interpret data, which limited
my ability to effectively support the growth of my teacher-learners. In the process of refining my
analysis, I made the decision to reduce block quotes from my teacher-learners due to its
excessive length. This adjustment, under the supervision and guidance of my chair, was
necessary to maintain the coherence and conciseness of the narrative, ensuring that the key
insights from my teacher-learners were effectively communicated without overwhelming the
reader. Additionally, my teacher-learners and I might have benefited from dedicating more time
to exploring a single problem of practice and a specific queer-inclusive classroom practice, rather
than addressing these topics more broadly.
Credibility and Trustworthiness
High quality data is achieved through maintaining credibility and building relational trust.
Throughout my study, I continued to maintain a professional relationship with each of them as
my teacher-learners and I managed their induction assignments and discussed their thoughts
about their participation in the study simultaneously. As the key instrument of data collection

49
and facilitator, I had to acknowledge the power dynamics shaping our interactions. There were
several ways I aimed to challenge the powder dynamic I held. I made efforts to be vulnerable and
transparent about my lived experiences and challenges as a queer educator. I consistently
referred to my positionality in vulnerable ways, while I intentionally decentered myself (e.g.,
sharing last) as the sole provider of knowledge in the space. While I did not explicitly refer to my
critical reflections during my study as I initially intended, I look forward to implementing them
again more intentionally in my future professional learning experiences.
Triangulation of my data was also evident in my efforts to collect and revisit my memos,
jottings, transcripts, and recordings. Additionally, I conducted at least a single round of informal
member checks with each of them after Cycle 1. I did not share the analysis of my findings with
my teacher-learners. Finally, I met regularly with my chair and another committee member, as
needed, for feedback and support in analyzing my findings. Thus, I remained committed to
strengthening the credibility of my findings by engaging in a yearlong analysis process, which
ultimately extended the completion of my program. This mattered because I did not want to rush
my process. I recognized I needed to draw upon the strengths of my committee (sometimes
meeting with both at the same time), to move forward.
Ethics
By ensuring to “do no harm” (Rubin & Rubin, 2012, p. 89), I maintained to humanize my
teacher-learners and maintain confidentiality. I was mindful of not to “out” my teacher-learners
or put them on the spot, particularly if they identified with a particular gender and/or sexual
orientation identity marker that they did not want to openly share with the group. Prior to the
initiation of my study, I received prior consent from the school district’s Chief Academic Officer
to conduct the study. As well as went through USC’s Institutional Review Board, following their

50
rules regarding the protection and rights of my teacher-learners in the study. I had received
approval by my direct supervisor and the assistant superintendent of Grapevine School District. I
emphasized to my teacher-learners that the study was voluntary, and their identity would be
confidential. I used pseudonyms to report my research findings to further obscure my teacherlearners’ identities.
My teacher-learners were made aware that they would receive no retaliations if they
chose to decline. Throughout our sessions, I offered my learning audit questionnaire
anonymously, with no explicit expectation to complete them. I also emphasized any resources or
materials I offered (e.g., readings), were not necessarily required to complete beforehand, and
were all offered openly and as opportunity for their discovery. When providing them all the
recorded sessions, I ensure the video files were “locked” to only them and that it could not be
opened or share by anyone else. Although briefly mentioned to my teacher-learners, I stated that
reinforcing the narrative that queer youth are consistently being harmed was problematic. For
future work, it is important to illuminate anti-deficit counternarratives, such as queer youth in
urban schools, and not leave out examples of queer joy.
Findings
In this section, I answer the action research question: How do I promote critical selfreflection with novice STEM teachers so that they would understand the role their identities play
in the ways they teach queer youth? First, I discuss how I developed an opening procedure to
strengthen the holding environment, while I leveraged opportunities to model vulnerability in
referencing my queer identity, to engage my teacher-learners in ongoing reflective conversations.
I describe the unique progress my teacher-learners made, as I assisted them in moving from
distant, impersonal dialogue in Cycle 1 towards more open, authentic conversations with the

51
willingness to take emotional risks by Cycle 3. Second, I discuss how I utilized guiding and
probing questions to anchor the topic of queer youth and guide my teacher-learners from surfacelevel, hegemonic perspectives in Cycle 1 to a more nuanced understanding of one’s teacher
identity by Cycle 3.
Holding Environment, Trust, & Vulnerability
As envisioned in my conceptual framework, a strong holding environment was an
essential precondition for my STEM participant-teacher’s ability to engage in critical selfreflection. It required creating an atmosphere of trust, where my teacher-learners may experience
less fear of being judged or harmed by one another and me and getting to know someone over a
period of time and seeing their honesty modeled in their actions (Aguilar, 2020; Brookfield,
2017; Fullan, 2004; Northouse, 2019; Spikes, 2018; Wergin, 2019). Without trust, one cannot be
their authentic self and be open if one sits in fear of judgment, betrayal, or harm. When one can
be vulnerable, they are being open and authentic in expressing themself; it involves taking
emotional risks. Given my professional relationship with my teacher-learners and being aware of
the perceived positional power I held as their assigned Induction TOSA, I recognized I needed to
establish and strengthen the holding environment to move from an atmosphere of some trust and
reticence to be vulnerable to more trust and increased willingness to be vulnerable, especially
while engaging in conversations about our identities, lived experiences, experiences in the
classroom, and beliefs about our queer students. While I had “come out” to each of my teacherlearners separately prior to the study, it was important for me to continuously show my authentic
self as a queer teacher educator of color to strengthen the existing trust between us (Khalifa,
2018; Lee, 2020; Northouse, 2019). To extend this trust further, I repeatedly modeled my
vulnerability by unpacking the complexities of my AAPI queer identity to “leverage our

52
identities as sources of power” (Cavalieri et al., 2019, p. 152) and observe the varying level of
reciprocity shown by some of my teacher-learners over time. Ultimately, my teacher-learners’
expressions of trust, vulnerability, and emotional risks both individually and with one another
illustrated the complex dynamics of approaching one’s self-examination for the purposes of my
study.
In Cycle 1, I focused on strengthening the procedural aspects of the holding environment
by introducing structures that promoted stability, allowing my teacher-learners to engage in
reflective conversations about their instructional practices, identities, and beliefs about their
queer students. Through my opening procedure, I aimed to leverage my adaptive leadership
skills and set-up a structure that would prepare my teacher-learners to “attend to the issues, [and]
to act as a reality test regarding information” (Northouse, 2019) at the beginning of each session.
As noted in Table 1, the features of my opening procedure included an agenda, a learning
objective, and a recall or review section. Central to this procedure was my “notice and wonder”
instructional routine, in which I primed my teacher-learners’ reflection skills, activated prior
knowledge, and called attention to their innermost thoughts and emotions since our previous
session, consistent with the notion that “learning in the presence of others requires creating an
atmosphere of trust” (Wergin, 2019, p. 154). In the following excerpt of Session 2, Cycle 1,
Valeria’s level of trust was demonstrated by her willingness to share aloud, her vulnerability by
her personal yet distant disclosure of her lesbian family member, all while evading emotional
risks at that moment. Similarly, Kacey’s vulnerability was displayed by their sympathy for queer
youth and avoidance of disclosing their non-binary/genderqueer identity themselves. Mikayla’s
vulnerability was illustrated by her willingness to allude to a classroom example of homophobic
language. The unstructured and low-risk quality of this procedural aspect marked the starting

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point of our reflective conversations. In Cycle 1, all three of my teacher-learners were present in
the second session, during which I enacted the opening procedure to encourage my teacherlearners to reflect on their thoughts and invite them to freely share anything they were
comfortable sharing since the first session.
The following excerpt is from my “notice and wonder” routine in Session 2, Cycle 1,
which begins with me asking a “notice and wonder” question:
F: Since our last session, uhh, has anything come up for you? Was there anything
said last time that you’re thinking about?
V: Watching the last session made me feel really sad because it, umm, reminded me
of my sister-in-law who grew up in a very Catholic family and she is actually
lesbian...It saddens me that they [queer youth] should have a safe environment at
school but still can’t feel like they can be themselves.
F: Thank you. Anybody else?
K: Yeah, last time we talked about, umm, just the statistics of [queer] kids in schools
and how they don’t feel they can be themselves, and I think about that daily…I
just want to make sure my classroom is a safe place for them.
F: Thank you, Kacey.
M: So we talked about how, umm, it’s often easier for younger children to change
their ways and understand there needs to be respect in the classroom, but older
students come with a sense of ideas from their families…I was thinking about
ways to help older students recognize the importance of respect and being
welcoming, instead of using slurs, and to leave that negativity at home (raised,
accelerated tone).

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F: Very good…I want to acknowledge I hear the sense of urgency and personal
connection with all of you when thinking about this question, especially regarding
the ideas of safe spaces, respect, of inclusion.
When I asked, “since our last meeting, has anything come up for you?,” this encouraged my
teacher-learners to reflect on their internal experiences—any thoughts, feelings, or new insights
since our previous session. By prompting them to notice and share their internal processing, my
actions were consistent with Fullan’s (2004) notion of “sharing information, telling [their] truth”
to build trust. My approach allowed each of my teacher-learners to choose how much of their
authentic self to reveal, ensuring their thoughts were heard and validated from the outset.
Additionally, I regularly thanked my teacher-learners after they shared, reinforcing our
developing trust and making it a cornerstone of our sessions together.
When Valeria started with, “watching the last session,” she signaled her level of trust in
me and her willingness to respond to my invitation. By sharing first and taking a possible
emotional risk, she demonstrated her level of trust in the group despite potential fear of judgment
or harm. She further demonstrated a complexity in her vulnerability when she shared a personal
connection to the topic, mentioning her lesbian sister-in-law after a brief moment of hesitation.
Valeria demonstrated her sympathy for her in-law while connecting it to queer youth (“it saddens
me”).
When I responded with, “thank you,” I reinforced my procedure of acknowledging my
teacher-learners after they shared, which builds trust (Aguilar, 2020). My first exercise
encouraged Valeria and the others to share personal stories, building trust (Spikes, 2018). By
saying, “anybody else?,” I offered Mikayla and Kacey an open invitation to share whatever they
were willing to reveal after Valeria.

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When Kacey started with, “Yeah, last time we talked a lot about the statistics,” they
signaled their level of trust with me in their willingness to respond to my opening question and
speak second. By emphasizing the notion of not being able to be openly authentic (“be
themselves”), Kacey displayed a complexity in their vulnerability, like Valeria. Kacey’s
repetition of “to be themselves” indicated how much this idea resonated with them, suggesting
that Kacey might wrestle (“I think about that daily”) with their own authenticity. When Kacey
said, “I just want to make sure my classroom is a safe place for them,” they seemingly diverted
further introspection and moved outwardly again.
When I replied, “thank you, Kacey,” I openly acknowledged their contribution to build
trust in the group. My sincere tone conveyed empathy and showed that I was actively listening,
continuing to build trust (Aguilar, 2020). As a novice facilitator, I recognize I missed the
opportunity to elaborate on Kacey’s and Valeria’s responses and offer a clarifying question to
further reinforce my active listening skills.
When Mikayla started with, “so we talked about how…,” she first signaled a level of
trust in me in her willingness to respond to my invitation, after Valeria and Kacey shared. In
sharing last, it might have indicated a weaker connection to her peers, in light of her reserved
personality or fear of judgment. Similar to Kacey and Valeria, she demonstrated a complexity in
her vulnerability as she reflected outwardly while alluding to a classroom example, suggesting
Mikayla’s reticence with the group and yet a willingness to speak to her classroom context.
When focusing on the neutral concept of “respect” and repeating it in other conversations, she
diverted attention away from herself, while expressing a willingness to learn and do better (“I
was thinking about the ways”) in the face of problematic language among her students. As a
novice facilitator, I could have recognized her cloaking herself (characterized by her raised,

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accelerated tone) from further introspection at that moment and more gently directed her
attention to her role as a teacher and how she wrestled with this problem currently with her
students. Mikayla’s level of trust was demonstrated in her willingness to explore her beliefs
(“respect in the classroom”) in front of the group, as this must happen within a context of trust
(Aguilar, 2020). Like Valeria, Mikayla averted emotional risks by not disclosing too much of
herself at that moment.
When I said, “very good,” I reinforced my procedure of acknowledgement after Mikayla
shared. As a novice facilitator, I recognized my response was limited, and I could have guided
Mikayla in deepening her reflections in that instance. When I said, “...with all of you,” I
reinforced the structure of our interactions and signaled my active listening, consistent with
Aguilar’s (2020) idea of “we trust people who listen with empathy and with their full attention”
(pp. 162-163). By saying “all of you,” I promoted trust and a positive learning environment
where they would not feel judged (Spikes, 2018, p. 9). I affirmed to them that their lived
classroom experiences mattered as they all conveyed a desire to be responsive to their queer
students. As a novice facilitator, I noted that Kacey and Valeria mostly initiated the
conversations while Mikayla shared last per my reflective memo. I could have paraphrased their
responses more equitably to synthesize their key ideas and bring a stronger sense of closure
before transitioning activities.
In Cycle 1, I aimed to establish a strong holding environment among my teacher-learners.
The interaction between trust, vulnerability, and the willingness to take emotional risks among
my teacher-learners was complex, and each displayed their readiness to explore the topic of
LGBTQQIAA+ youth in nuanced ways. Within my research context of queer youth, Valeria’s
responses displayed her willingness to be vulnerable when speaking to people (her family, her

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students) close to her, and evaded introspection about herself. Kacey’s vulnerability was felt
through their wrestling with their authenticity and safe spaces, and Mikayla’s emphasis on
respect and cautious approach to sharing personal information. Their nuanced display of
vulnerability and willingness to take emotional risks could not have occurred in the absence of
trust, consistent with Spikes (2018) notion that “establishing trust so that participants are willing
to be vulnerable” (p. 7). Additionally, my ability to maintain a stable holding environment while
navigating group dynamics, while also negotiating my own level of trust, vulnerability, and
emotional risk-taking with my teacher-learners was a challenging task. As a novice facilitator, I
recognized the importance of creating a safe atmosphere, particularly at the beginning of each
session. However, I also recognized there needs to be moments of risk taking and my ability to
“turn up the heat.” This reminded me of Northouse’s (2019) idea of “creating a holding
environment refers to establishing an atmosphere in which people can feel safe tackling difficult
problems, but not so safe that they can avoid the problem” (p. 265). Through my opening
procedure, a consistent structure that promoted a sense of stability, I invited my teacher-learners
into opportunities of dialogue. While I attempted to speak about my own identity in a scripted
way later on in this session (and model a level of reflection, while not fully critical), I had aimed
for my teacher-learners to take it up and raise their consciousness in some way. I recognized the
challenges in ensuring all voices were invited and heard. I also recognized that when speaking
about one’s identity, it solicits vulnerability.
By Cycle 2, I continued to enact my “notice and wonder” routine as part of my opening
procedure to prime my teacher-learners in open and authentic conversations with the willingness
to take emotional risks at the beginning of the session. The consistency of the opening procedure
was aligned with Spike’s (2018) notion that “trust building should not be relegated to one

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activity on one day, but should be something that is practiced throughout” (p. 10). While I
developed the holding environment with these consistent structures (noted in Table 1), I
recognized the expressions of my teacher-learners’ and my vulnerability—while important in
fostering trust—does not guarantee a high level of trust for everyone, even after “the intimate
sharing of personal information” (Lee, 2020, p. 3) as a queer teacher educator. I also recognized
that the interplay between trust, vulnerability, and emotional risk-taking is non-linear and can
ebb and flow. In the following excerpts of Session 4, Cycle 2, Valeria and Kacey began to reveal
more aspects of their identities, while Mikayla directed her gaze on a current problem of practice
in her classroom during the “notice and wonder” routine. Consistent with Spikes (2018), Valeria
and Kacey demonstrated greater trust because “these activities allow[ed] for my teacher-learners
to share personal stories and/or something personal about themselves” (p. 9). However,
Mikayla’s reticence might have indicated she did not fully experience a degree of trust necessary
to share more personal details about herself and rather allude to the ongoing prevalence of
homophobic language by her students, without explicitly naming and describing “homophobia.”
When I spoke after my three teacher-learners during my “notice and wonder routine,” I modeled
vulnerability by offering a “bold disclosure” (Fine, 2017, as cited in Lee, 2022), where I openly
wrestled with the concept of bravery as a queer, AAPI cis-male. As I became immersed in the
emotional depth of my personal testimony and shared significant details of myself, I
unintentionally shifted focus away from my teacher-learners, illustrating the complexity and
intricacy of trust. In response to sharing details of my authentic self (a practice I first
incorporated in Cycle 1 and again in Cycle 3), Kacey demonstrated a level of reciprocation at
this moment, while I could have embraced the opportunity to reconnect with Mikayla and
Valeria directly after Kacey shared.

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The following excerpts are from my “notice and wonder” routine in Session 4, Cycle 2,
which begins with me asking a “notice and wonder” question, followed by the reciprocal
exchange with Kacey:
F: We’ve got 40 seconds left. Do we need more time? What are you noticing or
wondering? Anything from last time that you’re still thinking about or want to
challenge? I’ll go last…anyone can start.
K: I’ll go…Since our last session, I’ve been thinking about our roles as science
teachers and our personal identities. As educators, we wear a ton of different
hats—teachers, coaches, moms—but don’t really stop and think about those
different hats throughout the day. It doesn’t really allow us to be fully authentic
and for some of us, we don’t share with our students.
V: I’ll go ahead and go. I mentioned it earlier, the whole comfortable thing, and how
I like I’m very comfortable sharing…I asked my husband, and so we started
talking back about our childhood and how we grew up and how that affected who
we are today.
M: Something I’ve been thinking about is the whole brave space versus
accountability in my classroom. I feel everyone should hold themselves
accountable when communicating with others…as opposed to someone, umm,
having the need to feel brave. I try to make my students think before they speak.
F: I really hear a lot of growth and insight in what you’re all sharing…Sometimes I
don’t want to be brave. I don’t always want to be seen as “the gay guy” in the
room…Safe means something different for everyone; being Asian, cis-male, ablebodied, and quite privileged in some ways. There’s often pressure to “just be

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brave” and authentic in the queer community, which I struggle with…I know that
was a lot…Does anyone else want to respond to what somebody else said?
K: Yeah, I’ll respond to you, Alex. I don’t always want to be seen as the brave one
too. It’s exhausting to constantly challenge and advocate for LGBTQ+
inclusivity…As advocates, we want to make sure that we are being brave, and
we’re providing people with a safe place, but I get it, it’s hard.
When I added a timed temperature check and independent recall prior to my “notice and
wonder” routine, I enhanced trust in the room by supplementing the structure of our opening
procedure. By incorporating these additional structures (as noted in Table 1), I demonstrated a
desire to pull my teacher-learners forward by gauging their emotional and psychological state at
the beginning of the session, as well as my impulse to balance the dominant voices in the room
without casting fear or judgment on Valeria and Kacey. My action aligned with Northouse
(2019), who emphasized creating a holding environment “...that allow groups to function with
safety” (p. 265). During the timed recall, I signaled remaining time, fostering trust in my ability
to hold space. When I asked, “Do we need more time?,” I demonstrated vulnerability and a
willingness to accommodate individual processing. When I said, “anything from last time that
you’re still thinking about or want to challenge?,” I invited them to recall thoughts from the last
session and presented an emotional risk to address any challenges. When I said, “I’ll go
last…anyone can start,” I reinforced my own vulnerability, decentering myself to share last. I
could have slowed down in the number of open-ended questions I asked.
When Kacey said, “I’ll go,” they signaled their level of trust with me in their willingness
to initiate the conversation sooner and without hesitation. They signaled a level of vulnerability
as they began to describe themselves speaking in the first person (“as educators”) and others in

61
the room (“moms”). With the emphasis on “we,” Kacey extended their level of trust in the group
to acknowledge this shared experience of multiple identity markers (“hats”). They demonstrated
a complex level of vulnerability as they alluded to the ways in which they choose to be visible or
not (“hats”) at school or in front of their students. They reprieved this notion of authenticity
mentioned previously in Cycle 1. When Kacey said, “...we don’t share with our students,”
contrasting their classroom experience with Valeria, who mentioned she’s “comfortable sharing
with [her] students” in the temperature check earlier, taking up a possible emotional risk of
pointing out that not everyone in the room is as “comfortable” as Valeria (without actually
naming Valeria). Their actions are consistent with Fullan’s (2004) notion of “that people must
feel safe before they will express divergent ideas” (p. 223).
When Valeria said, “I’ll go ahead and go,” she signaled her level of trust in me by
responding to my invitation soon after Kacey, without hesitation. She demonstrated her level of
vulnerability with the group by disclosing her acknowledgment of “feeling comfortable” in
spaces with her students. Her ongoing revelation implied that little to no trust is not necessarily
required for her to share openly with her students. She further demonstrated a complex level of
her vulnerability in disclosing this revelation with her partner. She also shared her exploration of
her upbringing by engaging in a conversation with her partner, an action she took for her own
self-exploration. Valeria’s actions were consistent with Aguilar’s (2020) notion that “exploration
of beliefs and behaviors must happen within a context of trust” (p. 146).
When Mikayla shared, she showed trust in me by responding to my invitation after
Valeria. Referring to her classroom experience, Mikayla displayed a level of vulnerability
despite possible fear or judgment. Her reflection on safe spaces demonstrated her fixed gaze on
her classroom and students. Mikayla highlighted the importance of accountability over bravery,

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particularly for her queer students, implying the ongoing challenges with homophobic language
in her classroom and the efforts she is making. Based on what Mikayla described here, she
demonstrated a shifting gaze “closer” to her students, implying a willingness to sympathize with
her queer students and perhaps disrupt the homophobia, while still cloaking herself from
judgment or harm at that moment. Her efforts reminded me of Fullan’s (2004) notion of “climate
of openness makes people more willing to report and discuss errors and to work at correcting
them” (p. 223). As a novice researcher, the prevalence of homophobic and transphobic language
could be unpacked more deliberately.
When I said, “I really hear a lot of growth and insight in what you’re all sharing,” I
demonstrated a level of trust with my teacher-learners by actively listening to each of their
responses, validating what they shared and acknowledging the depth of their responses. I also
demonstrated a level of vulnerability by decentering myself in sharing last and centering their
voices before mine. When I said, “sometimes I don’t want to be brave,” I demonstrated a level of
vulnerability and took up the emotional risk of disclosing openly with my teacher-learners that I
wrestle with the expectation to be brave in the queer community. My actions aligned with the
idea that for [queer] leaders, “bold disclosures” are needed to develop a level of vulnerability,
trust and mutual understanding to motivate followers (Fine, 2017, as cited in Lee, 2022). When I
said, “safe means something different for everyone,” I modeled a level of critical reflection of
my own complexities of safety and conveyed to my teacher-learners that we can be open to
interrogating our perceptions of safe spaces. When I said, “being Asian, cis-male, able-bodied,
and quite privileged in some ways,” I demonstrated a level of vulnerability in stating my
positionality and naming the identity markers I carried, while also modeling my awareness of the
intersectionality of my identity and imply to my teacher-learners how these identity markers

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shaped my experiences. When I said, “I know that was a lot,” I demonstrated less trust in the
group at that moment by beginning to turn attention away from myself and bring my disclosure
to a close. Through this shift in tone, I seemingly invalidated what I had just shared, apologizing
for and minimizing my story. When I followed up with, “Does anyone want to respond to what
somebody else said?,” I inadvertently avoided my teacher-learners’ gaze, missing the chance to
extend my level of trust and vulnerability in the room. By redirecting their attention away from
what I had just shared (“to respond to what somebody else said,” emphasis added), I disallowed
the opportunity for my teacher-learners to engage with how I had modeled my awareness of my
positionality and how the identity markers I carry shaped my experiences with my students.
When Kacey said, “Yeah. I’ll respond to you, Alex,” they demonstrated their trust in me
by taking up my offer to extend their thoughts after my disclosure. In response to my invitation,
Kacey did not directly take up the way I had just spoken about my positionality. However, they
did reciprocate an expression of vulnerability in front of the group. By un-silencing myself about
an aspect of my queer identity, Kacey felt safe enough to reciprocate to an extent. Through the
use of storytelling and self-disclosure, I modeled my own development and vulnerability
(Cavalieri et al., 2019). When Kacey said, “it’s exhausting,” they demonstrated an extension of
vulnerability in their willingness to disclose their wrestling in being brave and took up the
emotional risk of describing their lived experience as a closeted, non-binary/genderqueer teacher,
signaling their empathy with a shared experience with someone else in the room while also
problematizing bravery. This moment is consistent with Lee’s (2020) notion that “when a school
leader is unusually silent about an aspect of their life, this can provoke in followers a lack of
trust.” By disclosing a shared experience with me, they inadvertently offered a more authentic
and relatable perspective to the two other cis-female teacher-learners in the space.

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As I continued to nurture a stable holding environment at the beginning of each session
through my “notice and wonder” routine in Cycle 2, my teacher-learners moved in their
expression of trust, vulnerability, and willingness to take up emotional risks in nuanced ways.
Kacey discussed the idea of competing identities and wrestled with their internal identity as a
non-genderqueer teacher. Valeria realized the comfortability and lack of fear she experiences
when presenting herself as a wife and mother in her spaces, though it is unclear if she perceived
this as a positive or negative trait at that moment. Mikayla focused more on the role of respect
and her students. Through my modeling of vulnerability and form of reciprocation by Kacey
during my “notice and wonder” routine, I noticed a stronger connection and higher level of trust
with Kacey. My actions were consistent with the idea that leaders “need to create and sustain
trust through congruity and a climate of candor that allows problems to be discussed” (Fullan,
2004, p. 223). I could have re-established connection with Mikayla and Valeria after Kacey
demonstrated a level of reciprocation here. I could have embraced the opportunity to extend trust
and vulnerability more deliberately with Mikayla and Valeria (after Kacey shared), perhaps
assuming Kacey and I (as the only queer-presenting persons in the room) connected to the notion
of “being brave.” As a novice action researcher, I noted the dynamics of my teacher-learners and
the “niceness” up until this point in the study may have limited opportunities to challenge
perspectives. However, I was not prepared to potentially destabilize the group. Given the
emotional risk I took by modeling vulnerability in front of my teacher-learners during Cycle 2, I
assumed that my connection was deepened with the other queer person in the room, while not
deliberately considering my other teacher-learners’ perspectives at this moment. Kacey remained
mostly anchored with the content and their identity, while I disallowed Valeria and Mikayla to
move closer in that direction. It makes me think of the importance of ensuring all of teacher-

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learners (especially my cis-heteronormative-presenting learners) are connected and directly
engaged with me and everyone.
By Cycle 3, I continued to enact my “notice and wonder” routine as part of my opening
procedure, while adding the chat message option (noted in Table 1), to further promote my
teacher-learners in open and authentic conversations with the willingness to take emotional risks
at the beginning of the session. My actions aligned with Aguilar’s (2020) notion that “we [as
coaches and leaders] need to know how to create structures that will support the weight of the
conversations” (p. 162). As the holding environment remained mostly stable among my three
teacher-learners as characterized by their willingness to respond and participate in the opening
procedure, as well as my tapering of speaking to my queer positionality, their individual levels of
trust were displayed in nuanced ways. At the temperature check preceding my “notice and
wonder”, Kacey and Valeria hesitated to initiate the conversation immediately (waiting
approximately 17 seconds before Kacey began), Mikayla displayed reluctance to go first, and I
reiterated my intention to share last (repeating my approach in Cycle 2). These actions suggested
that the holding environment was formed by “cohesive relationships between people”
(Northouse, 2019). In the following excerpt of my “notice and wonder” in Session 5, Valeria
asked her students about the qualities of a safe space and began to realize the complexities of
safety; Kacey spoke about taking on leading their school’s GSA club and expressed the desire to
make the club more visible; Mikayla shared a personal story of feeling included in her recent
department meeting. When I invited my teacher-learners to elaborate further on what Mikayla
shared, Valeria and Kacey took up the offer to reciprocate and affirm Mikayla for the first time.

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The following excerpts are from my “notice and wonder” routine in Session 5, Cycle 3,
which began with me asking a “notice and wonder” question with the chat function, followed by
the reciprocal actions of Valeria and Kacey towards Mikayla:
F: I’ll share the links from the last slide deck and previous activities for the next 5
minutes. Take this time to review your notes or the follow-up email I sent. Feel
free to share any questions or thoughts in the chat…Thank you all for typing in
the chat.
F: Valeria, you wrote continuing to create a safe space for my students. Can you tell
us a little bit more about that?
V: Yes, with my women’s empowerment group, I kind of did what you did by
discussing what a safe space means to them. It was similar to our own
discussions—like people won’t judge me and people will continue to support
me…and I keep encouraging them to share and hear each other’s views on safe
spaces and also providing my input too.
F: Excellent. You opened up the discussion to hear everyone’s thoughts on safe
spaces…Valeria, do you also anticipate times when it might not feel safe?
V: Yeah, we kind of went over that too. Sometimes it’s scary and you might not feel
safe, even if we’re saying it’s a safe space…it’s okay to be silent as well.
F: Powerful, thank you. Giving each other permission to communicate in a way that
feels safe and comfortable is awesome…Okay, Kacey, you wrote these quotes
from last time resonated with you. Can you tell us a bit more about that?
K: Sure. Working with the GSA club, I noticed other clubs get more visibility, so I
reached out to the ASB and Renaissance clubs to help us be more visible…These

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quotes resonate because our community needs to show we’re here, and many
students are comfortable being invisible.
F: I’m so proud of you for taking that on…Mikayla (elevated tone), you mentioned
feeling visible in your department. Can you tell us more about what happened?
M: It was just the five of us in the biology department discussing ideas for next year’s
assessments. I shared my ideas, and everyone agreed without questioning them,
which made me feel included and like I’m improving as a teacher.
F: I love that. Does anyone want to respond to that? (raised tone)
V: That’s awesome that you felt comfortable and received positive feedback,
especially when you shared feeling uncomfortable with them before…You’re a
great teacher, and I’m glad you’re feeling more confident now.
K: Yeah, keep putting yourself out there and taking the space they give you. You’re
competent in your subject matter and can contribute a lot to collaboration.
F: I’m really glad you all shared. It makes me feel so good…I’m feeling everything.
When I started with, “I’ll share the links,” I demonstrated a level of trust to my learners by
offering them resources from our previous session and time to reorient themselves independently
into the structure of our ongoing routine. By allocating five minutes to the group, I signaled a
level of trust to them by repeating a consistent structure (first introduced in the previous session),
to help manage the use of their individual processing time and reviewing of resources. My
actions were consistent with Northouse’s (2019) notion that “[the] holding environment involves
providing direction as to what and how the goals are to be accomplished” (p. 266). I also
demonstrated a level of trust by conveying to them a sense of flexibility and reassurance. When I
said, “feel free to type in the chat this time,” I signaled to them a strengthening of the existing

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structure in our engagement by merging my “notice and wonder” with the timed independent
recall session to better streamline their thoughts into a more centralized location, and
demonstrating a level of trust by offering the space and flexibility to process and formulate their
thoughts on the screen without the added pressure of sharing out loud right away. My actions
were consistent with Northouse’s (2019) notion that an adaptive leader “creates a therapeutic
setting and uses effective communication and empathy to provide a sense of safety and
protection for the [learner]” (p. 265).
When I later said, “Valeria, you wrote continuing to create a safe space for my students,”
I signaled a level of trust with her by reciting her message in the chat. When I said, “Can you tell
us a little more about that?,” I posed a question (“a little bit more”) to invite her into the opening
discussion while presenting a potential emotional risk in divulging further on what she
experienced.
When Valeria responded with “yes,” she demonstrated trust by engaging actively in the
structured activity, typing her thoughts without hesitation. Her disclosure about starting a
women’s empowerment group demonstrated a level of vulnerability by replicating a recent
activity we participated in earlier with her students. Her actions reminded me of Aguilar’s (2020)
view that trust allows educators to adopt new practices and beliefs (p. 146). It is unclear if this
was a definitive shift in Valeria’s behavior, but it signaled a possible emotional risk of
attempting a similar activity with her students.
When I said “excellent,” I acknowledged Valeria’s contributions with trust and openness.
Reframing her statement as ‘opening the space’ demonstrated active listening and further trust.
Asking about times it might not feel safe extended the conversation and posed an alternative
perspective, consistent with Northouse’s (2019) idea of adaptive leaders “turns up the heat on the

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issues.” At the same time, I demonstrated a nuanced level of trust by asking Valeria a leading
question, signaling to her to consider that she may or may not always be promoting a “safe”
environment in her class, a perspective that could have destabilized her and the group in that
moment. Additionally, Valeria continued to show a stronger connection to me in her willingness
to respond to my question at that moment. This is consistent of Lee’s (2020) notion that, within a
context of trust, “[LGBTQ+] teachers have extensive experience of operating under great
personal stress whilst betraying nothing in their professional demeanor” (p. 4).
When Valeria said, “yeah,” she demonstrated her level of trust in me in her willingness to
respond immediately after my follow-up question, as well as her level of trust in the group in her
willingness to share. She demonstrated a complex level of vulnerability in her disclosing in how
she approached that alternative perspective (“we kind of went over that too”), implying she
attempted to unpack this tension with her students. Her revelation (“it’s okay to be silent”) is the
first time Valeria, who previously described feeling “comfortable” in most spaces, took up the
emotional risk to openly acknowledge that being silent was acceptable, while still cloaking
herself from further interrogation at that moment. As a novice facilitator, I could have probed
Valeria further about the significance of “silence” in her eyes, despite her comfortability to speak
in most spaces.
When I said, “powerful,” I continued to signal my trust with Valeria by acknowledging
her contribution after my probing question, without conveying any judgment or harm. I signaled
my trust to Valeria in attempting to paraphrase what she said and to demonstrate my active
listening. When I said, “Okay, Kacey you wrote these quotes from last time resonated with you,”
I shifted our focus to our next participant’s response and signaled trust to Kacey by reciting what
they typed in the chat. I called attention to Kacey and to draw out their thoughts in relation to the

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previous learning activity. Like Valeria, by saying “a little bit more,” I called attention to Kacey
to elaborate on what they typed and if they felt comfortable.
When Kacey said, “sure,” Kacey demonstrated their level of trust in me in their
willingness to step into this enhanced structure and promptness in responding to my prompt
when called upon, as well as their level of trust in the group to visually display their thoughts in
front of them. When they said, “working with the GSA club at school,” they demonstrated a
level of vulnerability in disclosing their observation of other clubs having more visibility than
theirs and a desire to be more visible. When Kacey said, “many students are comfortable in the
invisibility,” they further demonstrated a complex level of vulnerability in how they turned their
gaze from inward to outward, moving away from themselves and “closer” to their students, like
Valeria in the same excerpt. Kacey cloaked themself from further sharing about how they may
have felt invisible themselves. As a novice facilitator, I could have strengthened my connection
with Kacey further and taken up the emotional risk of asking Kacey (“As a nonbinary/genderqueer teacher, how do you feel invisible with your queer students?”), instead of
evading that potentially stabilizing moment.
When I said, “I’m so proud of you,” I demonstrated my strong connection to Kacey in
this moment by affirming their efforts in leading their GSA club, an unprecedented event at their
site. When I said, “Mikayla,” I shifted our focus to the next participant-teacher and signaled my
trust to Mikayla by acknowledging what she typed in the chat with a positive and elevated tone. I
demonstrated my trust in her by reciting what she typed through my active listening. When I
asked, “can you tell us more about what happened?,” I called attention to Mikayla to draw her
out further on what she experienced.

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When Mikayla said, “it was like the five of us,” she demonstrated her level of trust in me
in her willingness to reply when called upon and step into this enhanced structure and signaled
her level of trust in the group by her willingness to visually display her thoughts on the screen.
She also demonstrated a nuanced level of trust in response to my sharing, as well as a level of
vulnerability in her disclosing a recent work encounter involving her fellow colleagues. She
revealed a complex level of vulnerability by disclosing her sense of relief and willingness to
divulge how she shared ideas with her department (taking up the emotional risk in that instance),
despite experiencing otherwise in a prior meeting she first described in Cycle 2, where she felt
judged and harmed. I could have asked her what could have motivated her to be more present
with her department, and if this “new behavior” (Aguilar, 2020, p. 146) was connected to a level
of trust with her colleagues and/or the group. Mikayla demonstrated a significant level of
vulnerability in disclosing her eagerness to feel valued and seen by her colleagues. In contrast to
previous sessions where her gaze turned closer towards her students, Mikayla’s gaze remained
steady on herself in this instance, as it offered insight into Mikayla’s own humanity and lived
experience as a novice teacher. In contrast to Kacey’s previous reflection on queer visibility of
their students (and their own queer invisibility), and Valeria’s unpacking of safe spaces with her
women’s empowerment group, Mikayla’s revelation of wanting to be visible and feel included
signaled her movement up to this point in the study. As a novice facilitator, I could have
prompted Mikayla on how her personal revelation on visibility and feeling included could relate
to her queer students at that moment.
When I said, “I love that. Does anyone want to respond to that?” I openly acknowledged
and affirmed Mikayla’s contribution with my raised tone and without conveying fear or
judgment. When I said, “Does anyone want to respond to that?,” I extended the existing level of

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trust in the room by indirectly calling upon Valeria and/or Kacey to respond to what Mikayla
shared in the moment. I took up the emotional risk of inviting the two more active voices
towards Mikayla, enabling Valeria and Kacey the opportunity to express themselves without
specific prompts.
When Valeria said, “that’s awesome,” she demonstrated trust by responding promptly to
my invitation and showed empathy towards Mikayla’s experiences. As a novice action
researcher, I observed Valeria potentially projecting her own vocabulary onto Mikayla’s
experiences (‘feeling comfortable’ and ‘feeling more confident’), which could imply a
dominance dynamic. Despite this, Valeria showed compassion and affirmation towards Mikayla
in the group setting, though I reflected on the possible power dynamics at play. I also wonder if
Mikayla’s possible projection stemmed from her desire to connect with Mikayla further as
another cis-female and attempting to better understand Mikayla based on Valeria’s lived
experiences or unaware of her own unconscious biases in this moment.
When Kacey added, “yeah,” it signaled their trust in me by promptly responding to
Mikayla’s comment. Additionally, it demonstrated a level of trust within the group, as Kacey
replied after Valeria without hesitation. They signaled a level of trust to Mikayla by offering
encouragement (like Valeria), in relation to Mikayla’s actions. As a novice action researcher, I
recognized how Kacey (like Valeria), implied to Mikayla that she may have lacked presence
before (“just put yourself out there”). They demonstrated a complex level of trust in Mikayla by
offering additional encouragement, juxtaposed by their further implication of Mikayla’s progress
in her presence (“take it right”). As a novice action researcher, I recognized that Kacey and
Valeria had positive intentions to show compassion (Aguilar, 2020) to Mikayla, but might have
unintentionally projected their dominance over Mikayla’s perceived shortcomings. Like Valeria,

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Kacey’s possible projection might have stemmed from their desire to strengthen their connection
with Mikayla, also unaware of their own unconscious biases at this moment.
When I said, “I’m really glad you all shared,” I demonstrated my level of trust in the
group by acknowledging what everyone shared without conveying fear or judgment. I displayed
a level of vulnerability by disclosing how their ongoing acknowledgements of Mikayla elicited a
positive feeling for me at that moment. Additionally, the nuanced progress of my learners was
demonstrated by the reciprocal actions of Valeria and Kacey, in which they both took up the
opportunity to turn their gazes onto Mikayla, their fellow participant-teacher, during the “notice
and wonder” routine. This potential shift in power dynamics highlights their ongoing
appreciation of Mikayla in a transactional manner, which might not have occurred without a
significant level of built trust and their perceived stronger connection with Mikayla, with
minimal guidance from me in that moment. The complex level of trust in the group was revealed
by Mikayla’s willingness to be highly vulnerable and receive acknowledgements from Valeria
and Kacey. Their open and authentic conversations were characterized by their sincere tone and
encouragement for one another.
Immediately after my “notice and wonder” routine, I modeled vulnerability (similar to
Cycle 2), when referencing my positionality as a queer, able-bodied cis-male in the following
excerpt. Soon after, Kacey reciprocated an aspect of this practice by implying their nonbinary/genderqueer identity, while I could have embraced the opportunity to reconnect with
Mikayla and Valeria after Kacey shared:
F: …When I was in my teacher preparation, I didn’t consider my race, ability, or
privilege from my suburban upbringing. It was a culture shock when I started
teaching in a suburban school, realizing I lacked cultural responsiveness and

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struggled in my first two years…Any thoughts on discussing positionality? Is it
easy to talk about?
K: No, I don’t think it’s easy. It’s actually hard. We’re taught not to think about those
things, but they do matter. Our experiences shape our teaching and how we relate
to students. If we can’t connect our experiences to theirs, it’s difficult to create a
comfortable environment for them to share their own experiences. In our teacher
prep, they tell us to ignore these aspects, but in reality, it plays a huge part in our
teaching.
When I said, “when I was in my teacher preparation,” I demonstrated my level of trust in the
group by sharing a personal experience and disclosing my story, showing vulnerability in
discussing my colorblindness and admitting my own ableism. This included acknowledging my
privileges and admitting my lack of experience when teaching students of color as a novice
teacher. I reflected on possibly over-intellectualizing my thoughts without checking in with my
teacher-learners. Sharing more identity markers and asking for thoughts on positionality further
extended trust, though I could have explicitly directed responses to what I modeled. Despite
speaking for about 3 minutes, I aimed to remain connected with my teacher-learners by inviting
their responses and showing a gradual release of responsibility of speaking less here.
When Kacey said, “No, I don’t think it’s easy,” they showed trust in responding to my
invitation and took an emotional risk by admitting the challenges of being authentic without
explicitly naming themselves. They also revealed vulnerability by discussing experiences of
censorship as a non-binary/genderqueer teacher and its impact on their teaching, though without
sharing explicit examples from their classroom. Kacey further demonstrated vulnerability by
discussing their teacher preparation in relation to identity and teaching, signaling their level of

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trust while evading direct self-disclosure. As a novice facilitator, I could have engaged Kacey
more deeply on their experiences as a non-binary/genderqueer teacher and reconnected with
Mikayla and Valeria after Kacey’s contribution to foster further trust and vulnerability.
By Cycle 3, I nurtured a holding environment that was stable enough for some of my
teacher-learners to reveal more aspects of their identities and the ways they interact with their
queer students. In response to the structure of my “notice and wonder” routine within my
opening procedure, Kacey revealed how they negotiated the internal, non-binary/genderqueer
identity while advocating for visibility of their queer students in the GSA Club; Valeria revealed
her wrestling with personal safety and acknowledged her comfortability may not be the same for
her students and others; Mikayla affirmed her wanting to be visible among her peers, where she
was affirmed by Kacey and Valeria. I could have deliberately pointed to (or follow-up
individually) with them about my observations of the more active voices in the room. As a queer
facilitator and mentor, I recognize that our ongoing interactions align with Lee’s (2020) notion
that, within the context of queer teachers, “workplace relationships often rely on transactional
processes in which there is an exchange of personal information which over time builds trust” (p.
3). Valeria and Kacey were approaching a level of praxis in the ways they applied their learning
in their classrooms or school sites, while Mikayla was approaching a more personal awareness as
evidenced in the evolution of the “notice and wonder” routines in the opening procedure. After
this activity, Kacey continued to remain anchored in the study when I asked about positionality
as evidenced by their emphasis on their identity markers, while I continued to inadvertently
disallowed Valeria and Mikayla, which ultimately demonstrated my unconscious lack of trust
with them. As trust and opportunities for vulnerability were essential in establishing these open
and authentic conversations, the open-endedness of my “notice and wonder” might have been too

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open, too “nice”, and absent of more identity-conscious language that might have revealed the
dialogue with an intersectionality lens of race, gender, and sexual orientation, which could have
deepened our conversations further. Consequently, it is important for me to confront these power
dynamics more deliberately head on, and explore opportunities that lean further into a queer,
intersectional lens during these discussions, as well as probe further when the opportunity
presents itself. It is also important for me to confront my intimidation by other cis-heteropresenting teacher-learners in the room. It is crucial to continue a consistent structure to enter
these conversations, aligned with Northouse’s (2019) notion that “without the leader’s initial
catalyst, little dialogue would transpire.”
Guiding & Probing Questions
Prior to beginning my, action research as the induction TOSA to my novice STEM
teacher-learners, I had typically guided them through discourse that elicited mostly surface,
descriptive reflections that revealed their “beliefs and positions about teaching practices
supported with evidence from experience, not theory or research” (Larrivee, 2008, p. 348). With
my prompting, I seldom asked them about their race, gender, or sexual orientation and the
implications those identity markers might bring when interacting with their students and queer
students. Since I did not require it of them, what they produced in their reflections were
consistent with Larrivee’s (2008) concern that “reflections of pre-service teachers tend to be
mostly descriptive, failing to connect to a theoretical framework or societal issue” (p. 345).
Given this initial context, I used questioning to cognitively assist my teacher-learners to look
inward and deeply reflect on the interplay of their internal and external teacher identities–gender
presentation, maleness and femaleness–and how their identities might impede or benefit their
interactions with their queer students and “consider the larger social and political contexts”

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(Larrivee, 2008, p. 345). In centering LGBTQ+ discourse with my novice STEM teachers, I
sought to enable my teacher-learners to self-excavate and reflect beyond what they were
accustomed to, consistent with the idea of “working on a level that lies below the surface”
(Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, p. 58).
Consistent with my conceptual framework, I used guiding and probing questions (Table
2) to move my teacher-learners from descriptive reflections in Cycle 1 to a more nuanced
understanding of their identities and lived experiences by Cycle 3, although not fully achieving
critical reflection. I leveraged guiding questions to “promote dialogue, critical thinking, and
discussion” that centered LGBTQ+ discourse, direct my learners’ gaze towards their classrooms,
and draw upon problems of practice relating to their queer students, while probing questions
(mainly unscripted) “pushed into” this problem of practice by “seeking clarification,
justification, or explanation” (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, p. 224). As a result, my guiding and
probing questions encouraged Mikayla, Valeria, and Kacey to examine their heteronormative
orientations, unearth their lived experiences, and reveal the complexities of their identities and its
implications for their queer students.
In Cycle 1, I used guiding questions to encourage dialogue about my teacher-learners’
earliest memories of homophobia at school, and a probing question to prompt them to "clarify,
justify, or explain" (Sahin & Kulm, 2008, p. 224) to push further into this problem of practice.
The first two sessions began with a vocabulary matching activity on key terms like gender
expression and brave space, repeated in the second session due to Valeria’s absence in the first.
In Session 2, with all three of my teacher-learners present, I initiated discussion with my guiding
and probing questions, specifically about their earliest memories of homophobia. In asking this
potentially destabilizing question early on in my study, I was unaware that it evoked a level of

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critical reflection consistent with Brookfield’s (2017) concern of “disclosing errors in judgment
and action is one of the most effective ways of demonstrating critical reflection” (p. 145). In
response to my line of questioning, my teacher-learners revealed their lived experiences of
internalized gender norms, the shaming of queer-presenting students, and the social stigma
associated with gender non-conforming youth in nuanced ways. Their responses were consistent
with the notion of “teachers’ tendency to ignore homophobic, biphobic, and transphobic slurs”
(Bower-Phipps, 2020, p. 4). Kacey discussed the pressures they experienced as a cis-hetero,
male-presenting student athlete; Valeria recounted a former male-presenting student wearing
makeup; and Mikayla shared a story about a classmate wearing women’s clothing. When I asked
an unscripted probing question about internalized homophobia, Kacey discussed their reluctant
participation; Valeria acknowledged her involvement without fully admitting it; and Mikayla
admitted complicity within her friend group, with some of them expressing a desire to improve.
In response to my set of questions, Kacey answered first, followed by Valeria and
Mikala. The order of their responses reflected a pattern that recurred in Cycle 1:
F: Have you ever laughed at or made a joke at the expense of LGBTQ+ people?
Think of one of your earliest memories, and what do you think the root of it was?
K: I’ll go, because coming from the male perspective. My earliest moments were in
sports. When athletes are criticized for, well, you throw like a girl…Like you’re
seen as less than a man…I feel bad now looking back. But now I kind of know
better, right?
V: When I was teaching elementary school, I had a student who painted his nails, and
I used to laugh at him. Looking back, I feel terrible because he’s an artist now,
and I still reach out to him…It’s like what Kacey said about being a man. We’re

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shutting people down from expressing themselves. Growing up, we’re taught that
certain things are not acceptable for boys, like wearing certain colors.
M: When we were younger, things were different; some still carry old thoughts, but
we should stick to the times. In high school, I used to judge people for dressing
differently and ask, why is she dressed as a tomboy, but now through experience,
I’m like, yeah, I shouldn’t have done that…and I tell my students that everyone’s
free to express themselves! (accelerated, raise tone)
F: Thank you, I really appreciate all of you sharing…acknowledging that we’ve all
participated in this…Would you say that it’s still there within you?
K: I think so, I see it as a defense mechanism. Being a male science teacher, there’s
pressure to be a certain way. When students say ‘that’s gay,’ I feel conflicted
about whether to address it. Being a coach adds another layer where such
language is common, and I struggle with when to intervene and when to let it go.
V: Growing up with my in-law and looking at my students, I think of my own child
too. If my child weren’t able to express themselves in their classroom or were
made fun of, I’d completely shut it down…I love that I created a safe
environment where we have open conversations, challenging things like "my dad
says that’s gay," and discussing how hurtful stereotypes can be, using examples
like sports to make it relatable.
M: In my classroom, I’m very big on respect, so I always tell my students not to use
certain words here. I acknowledge that we’re not perfect and I might say, oh,
that’s so gay. But we need to learn from it. Everyone has the right to be who they
want to be, and I want my students to understand and respect that.

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F: Thank you, Mikayla, for acknowledging that these issues will always be present.
It’s important to be aware, acknowledge them, and continue working on it, as
Kacey and Valeria also mentioned.
When I asked my teacher-learners, “Have you ever laughed at or made a joke at the expense of
LGBTQ+ people?,” I invited my teacher-learners to direct their gazes towards queer youth and
their schooling experience. By truncating my guiding question into parts, it prompted a “mental
operation that the pupil cannot or will not produce on their own” (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, p.
60). As a novice facilitator, I could have more strongly connected the purpose of my question to
the aims of my study by prefacing with understanding one’s own complicity in homophobia. I
could have modeled a response by sharing my own earliest participation in homophobia as an
adolescent queer, AAPI cis-male. This might have normalized any reticence or discomfort in the
room, enabling my teacher-learners to engage in deeper reflective discourse.
When Kacey said, “I’ll go,” they directly responded to my invitation by emphasizing
their external identity as male-presenting (“coming from the male perspective”), reflecting on
their upbringing in school and the gender dynamics they navigated. They recalled being taught
early on about traditional expectations of masculinity and the verbal consequences associated
with it when outside of those norms (“you throw like a girl”) which shaped their identity and
perceptions. As a novice facilitator, I could have probed Kacey further on how athletics shaped
their external identity and its implications on their current queer students. While not explicitly
asked in my question, Kacey took it upon themselves to extend the guiding question and “discuss
problems” (Sahin & Kulm, 2008, p. 225) further by expressing a level of remorse for their past
actions. Kacey acknowledged learning from their past but left ambiguity about fully taking
responsibility. My questions prompted Kacey to explore these beliefs and acknowledge what

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shaped their external identity, yet they did not fully confront the implications for their current
queer students and fully own their past mistakes.
When Valeria started with, “when I was teaching elementary school,” she responded to
my invitation by recounting a specific classroom context where she laughed at one of her gender
non-conforming students. She continued to approach my guiding question by reinforcing what
Kacey shared about societal expectations of masculinity (“like wearing certain colors”). As a
novice facilitator, I could have probed Valeria on how her prior experiences shaped her
heterosexual, external identity and its implications on her current queer students. Similar to
Kacey, Valeria extended the guiding question by expressing regret, acknowledging her
complicity in a form of gender policing. Unlike Kacey, she mentioned how the student she once
laughed at is now an artist, and she continues to reach out to him, implying her wanting to revisit
their relationship (though it is not clear if she wants to or knows how to repair it). Valeria’s
response demonstrated how the guiding question was “socially and contextually appropriate”
(Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) for her. It prompted her to explore her socialized beliefs, though she
did not fully address her role or recognize the impact on queer students.
Mikayla responded to my invitation by describing her experiences in high school and her
past judgments with a gender non-conforming peer (“Why is she dressed as a tomboy?”). As a
novice facilitator, I could have probed Mikayla on her past experiences that shaped her
heterosexual, external identity and its implications on her queer students. Like Valeria and
Kacey, she expressed regret for her past behavior. Unlike Valeria and Kacey, she started to own
her actions (“I shouldn’t have done that”) and emphasized teaching her students about freedom
of expression. In response to my guiding question, Mikayla’s response was consistent with
Larrivee’s (2008) notion that teachers reflect not only on behaviors and events within the

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confines of the classroom but should include the influence of the larger social and political
contexts.
Preceding my unscripted probing question, I aimed to normalize their experiences and
alleviate potential feelings of guilt or shame among my teacher-learners at that moment (“I really
appreciate all of you sharing”). I then probed whether homophobia still existed within them to
“extend their knowledge, encourage explanations, and promote deeper thinking” (Sahin & Kulm,
2008, p. 224) by revisiting the idea and asking it differently (“would you say that it’s
[homophobia] still there within you?”). It is unclear why I pushed further into their thinking at
that moment as it was certainly risky. My actions aligned with the challenge of stretching their
thinking (Horton, as cited in Wergin, 2019, p. 154). I also could have probed to the group more
explicitly, “How have we participated in homophobia? How have we perpetuated homophobia in
our own classrooms?” (emphasis in the original). This sequence proceeded with Kacey speaking
first, followed by Valeria and Mikayla.
Kacey responded to my probing question when they described negotiating their comfort
with intervening against homophobic language, revealing their personal struggle with societal
norms and expectations as a male science teacher. They recalled instances of homophobic
language among their students and expressed a desire to act while navigating their identities (“I
feel conflicted”). Kacey’s response highlighted one of the complexities of gender and sexual
orientation dynamics in their classroom, displaying a “level of comprehension that was highly
sophisticated” (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, p. 62) after responding to my series of questions. As a
novice facilitator, I could have pointed towards a deeper exploration of how Kacey’s identity as a
“male science teacher” intersected with their interactions with their queer students. More

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notably, Kacey’s response reinforced the context of my probing question, which indirectly
anchored Valeria and Mikayla’s responses soon after.
When Valeria started with, “growing up with my in-law,” she responded to my probing
question by referring to her personal experience with a queer family member, drawing upon a
familiar reference point. She turned inward more by referring to her students and even closer
referring to her own child. She shared insights from her students about gender norms, the
presence of homophobia, and the social stigma from their homes (“my dad says that’s gay”).
Like Kacey, Valeria described navigating these conversations with her students. Unlike Kacey,
Valeria did not admit how she still wrestled with homophobia. As a novice facilitator, I could
have asked her more explicitly on how she might have perpetuated homophobia in her class in
relation to her identity, or had she considered her own biases.
When Mikayla started with, “in my classroom,” she responded to my probing question by
directing her gazes towards her classroom and emphasizing respect. She showed unreadiness to
engage her students in discussion, diverting the opportunity and silencing herself about the issue
(“don’t say that in my classroom”). Unlike Valeria and Kacey, Mikayla admitted her complicity
in homophobia more explicitly (answering my probing question more “closer” than Valeria and
Kacey), though she didn’t fully name herself in it. By acknowledging her imperfection and
sharing a personal example of her circle of friends, she displayed a willingness to improve and
affirmed people’s right to be themselves. Mikayla’s response demonstrated how my probing
question “pushed [her] to use previous knowledge to explore and develop new concepts” (Sahin
& Kulm, 2008, p. 224), in this moment, respect for all in her classroom.
When I said, “Thank you, Mikayla” I signaled to her and my teacher-learners my desire
to wrap up our discussion after my line of questioning. I might have invited Valeria to notice

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how Mikayla and Kacey answered my probing question more closely. As a novice facilitator, I
could have probed them more deeply by asking follow-up questions that encouraged them to
reexamine the importance of their internal and external identities, their complicity in
homophobia, and their interactions with their queer students.
In response to my guiding and probing questions about their earliest participation of
homophobia in school during Cycle 1, my teacher-learners responded in nuanced ways. Kacey
revealed aspects of their cis-hetero, male-presenting, external identity shaped by their
participation in sports; Valeria revealed how her teaching identity was influenced by the social
pressures from her students; and Mikayla discussed how her identity was influenced by her
upbringing and circle of friends. Upon revisiting the transcripts of Cycle 1, I noticed that my
teacher-learners’ responses focused on issues related to gender presentation (implying
transphobia) rather than homophobia (as initially asked in my guiding question). It is unclear if
that was a deflection or misunderstanding on their part, but it signaled to me to reconsider how I
framed my questions about gender norms and sexuality more explicitly. I also recognized that
my questioning omitted their racial identity, leading to colorblind responses. I realized that
“questioning as a powerful means of assistance” (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, p. 58), coupled with
Brookfield’s (2017) notion of “publicly revealing parts of myself I don’t particularly like is not
pleasant” (p. 145) was challenging, as demonstrated by my teacher-learners’ responses at that
moment. Additionally, I wondered about the familiar pattern of complicity in using oppressive
language or behaviors and how to guide teachers in disrupting these in schools. Consequently,
my teacher-learners’ responses reflected a larger problem of practice where marginalized
identities (teachers of color) might internalize oppressive practices, such as gender policing and
homophobia, often institutionalized in schooling experiences. This highlighted the learning

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opportunities we have as teacher-leaders to guide novice teachers in disrupting problematic
behaviors rooted in cis-heteronormative ideologies. I also recognized the importance of “a
sustained use of questioning as a means of assistance” (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, p. 62).
Although my line of questioning did not explicitly prompt it, each of my teacher-learners
expressed remorse for their participation in transphobia, not homophobia. As a novice facilitator,
this led me to consider the dynamics of managing tension in the room when my teacher-learners
are self-excavating past errors while also shielding themselves from potential harm or judgment.
I understand that these types of questions solicit a level of vulnerability, so it is crucial for me as
a facilitator to remain sensitive to these dynamics. This reminded me of the complex interaction
between trust and vulnerability, and the limitations of the holding environment (Theme 1).
Second, I needed to differentiate and further truncate this guiding question for better
comprehension and to mitigate the conflation of gender and sexuality. Finally, I could have more
strongly connected my guiding question with the wider aims of my study by coupling their
identities with their participation in homophobia. Based on their initial responses, I could have
asked: “How has your external identity been influenced by your earliest experiences of
participating in homophobia in school, and what implications does this hold for your support of
queer students as a teacher today?” or “Recall your earliest participation in homophobia in
school: Where did you learn it, and how can you take responsibility for those actions as you
support your queer students today?” While my guiding question in Cycle 1 was in the context of
queer youth, I could have more strongly framed my line of questioning around the identities of
my teacher-learners, unpacking how they were socialized, and the implications this had when
working with their queer students, such as the presence of homophobic language and their queer
students’ sense of safety.

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In Cycle 2, I continued to engage my teacher-learners with guiding questions (Table 2) to
turn towards their classroom settings and reveal their lived experiences regarding safety (with
Kacey speaking about their queer students), including a probing question to push into Mikayla’s
experience further. My actions were consistent with Tharp and Gallimore’s (1989) notion of “a
sustained use of questioning as a means of assistance” (p. 62). While I did not explicitly connect
the notion of safety with my teacher-learners’ roles as teachers and their queer students during
this part of the discussion, I could have more closely aligned these questions with my study’s
aim, especially since this discussion preceded our exploration of intersectionality that followed
in the subsequent activity. In the following excerpt of Session 3, my teacher-learners responded
to my line of questioning using identity-conscious language in nuanced ways: Kacey revealed an
instance where they experienced initial skepticism from their principal when expressing
eagerness to lead the GSA club, feeling unsafe as a closeted non-binary/genderqueer, malepresenting teacher; Valeria described a childhood memory where she felt isolated and
stigmatized at school following her parents’ divorce; Mikayla revealed an experience where she
felt reprimanded by her colleagues during a department meeting when discussing student
assessments, causing her to withdraw and remain silent. While Kacey addressed a situation
involving students where issues of gender and sexuality were pertinent to the lack of safety felt
as a closeted non-binary/genderqueer teacher, Valeria and Mikayla inadvertently pivoted from
the topic and spoke to different experiences, omitting gender and sexual orientation language
altogether. Valeria shared her experience coming from a non-traditional home, while Mikayla
highlighted facing judgment from more experienced teachers. In the following excerpt, I
introduced my first set of guiding and probing questions following a brief overview of safe and

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brave spaces (Arao & Clemens, 2013) and within the context of the Gay Rights Movement. In
response to my set of questions, Kacey answered first, followed by Valeria and Mikala.
The order of their responses reflects a pattern that recurred since the first session of Cycle
1:
F: Can you think of an instance where you didn’t feel safe in a learning space?
Maybe as a child and now as an adult? What happened? What did you do to
protect yourself?
K: I wanted to support our school’s GSA. When I expressed interest to my vice
principal, he seemed surprised and said, you want to do GSA?...which made me
feel weird. It made me question our school’s support of our queer students…and
the way I combat it was I stuck to my decision.
F: Thank you, Kacey.
V: I think it’s awesome that you took that on, honestly, like for a male to go into that
and be confident.
V: When I was in third grade, my parents divorced…I attended a private school
where everyone’s parents were still together, making me feel uncomfortable and
anxious. I struggled with my grades, but my teacher noticed. I didn’t feel safe at
my house and then going to school. But with my teacher’s support, I gained
confidence and learned to stand up for myself.
F: Thank you, Valeria. I hear it in your voice.
M: During our recent PLC meeting, we were discussing data exchange and decisions
around testing. I chose to listen quietly as experienced teachers shared their

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perspectives, even though I felt they were attacking me. I decided not to respond
and remained silent…I wasn’t gonna say anything.
F: Thank you, Mikayla…I’m curious, when they were doing that to you, you said
you stayed quiet. Can you tell us a little bit more about that?
M: I feel like a new teacher…I shouldn’t be arguing with someone who’s a veteran.
F: How do you know we’re in a safe learning space right now?
V: Being completely vulnerable, you know, sharing, listening.
M: We’re sharing aspects of our lifestyle that we would have otherwise kept to
ourselves.
K: In this safe space, sharing personal experiences is challenging for me, as it takes
time for me to open up. I appreciate you guys listening and I have your respect.
When I posed my guiding question to my teacher-learners, I invited them to consider a time
where they did not feel safe at school. In posing additional questions, my action aligned with
Tharp and Gallimore’s (1989) “sustained use of questioning as a means of assistance” (p. 62). As
a novice facilitator, I could have prefaced how my line of questioning related to the importance
of creating safe classrooms for their queer students. I also could have explained to them by
uncovering instances of discrimination or feeling excluded, it can humanize our experiences and
connect with our queer students’ experiences.
When Kacey started, they took up my invitation to respond directly to my guiding
question by referring to a time they experienced a microaggression from their administrator
related to queer visibility (which included Kacey and their queer students). Kacey continued to
answer the next part of my guiding question, describing their decision to remain firm in front of
their administrator. As a novice facilitator, I could have offered to Kacey how the

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microaggression likely stemmed from assumptions about Kacey’s male-presenting, able-bodied
coach exterior, and perhaps probed Kacey to consider the identity their administrator projected
onto them, and how this could relate to the ways Kacey’s students see them. Kacey’s response
elicited a nuanced reflection, describing a moment of temporary disorientation, an inner state of
negotiation, and a subsequent sense of dominance. This was acknowledged by Valeria soon after
I acknowledged Kacey’s response.
When Valeria responded to Kacey unprompted, she took up my guiding question by
extending Kacey’s point while affirming Kacey for their challenging traditional gender norms
(“like for a male to go into that”), and reinforcing gender stereotypes by implying that it is
unusual for a cis-male to undertake the role of GSA advisor. As a novice facilitator, I could have
more strongly connected this notion of external identities and pose a probing question to Valeria
and how she pictured the image of a GSA advisor, and what “[being] confident” entailed. It
made me wonder about “male” and “confidence” as closely linked with hegemonic notions of
masculinity. I could have invited Mikayla to share what she thought about what Kacey said.
Considering the microaggression described by Kacey, both Valeria and Kacey drew upon aspects
of their identities that give them power (again, later affirmed by Valeria).
When Valeria started with, “When I was in third grade,” she continued to take up my
invitation to respond to my guiding question by describing a significant childhood experience,
outside of the context of queer youth experiences. As a novice facilitator, I could have made a
stronger connection to the aims of my study by more directly guiding Valeria to consider the
content of queer youth experiences (like her in-law), or any of her queer students. My guiding
question could have more strongly aligned with Sahin and Kulm’s (2008) notion of me asking “a
sequence of factual questions that provides ideas or hints that scaffold or lead toward

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understanding a concept” (p. 225). Albeit Valeria took my guide and spoke to her sense of safety
at school (therefore revealing a part of her internal identity), I could have rephrased my guiding
question as: “Think of a time you felt unsafe at school. How does your experience relate to your
queer students’ sense of safety?” I could have invited Kacey on what he thought Valeria shared.
When Mikayla started with, “During our PLC meeting,” she took up my invitation to
respond to my guiding question by describing a significant work experience, outside of the
context of queer youth experiences (like Valeria). As a novice facilitator, I could have made a
stronger connection to the aims of my study by more directly guiding Mikayla to consider the
content of queer youth experiences and her identity. In contrast to Valeria and Kacey, Mikayla’s
external identity of appearing young and inexperienced could have been connected to her
teaching identity. I also could have highlighted Mikayla’s point on “silence” and how this could
relate to the ways queer students silence themselves in classrooms they feel unsafe in. In doing
so, it might have avoided a “misfire” had my guiding question been more socially and
contextually appropriate at this moment (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, p. 59).
When I posed a probing question to Mikayla (unscripted) at that moment, I invited
Mikayla to push into and to encourage her to “elaborate on and explain [her] thinking” (Sahin &
Kulm, 2008, p. 224) on her notion of silence. To be more strongly aligned with the aims of my
study, I could have more explicitly probed Mikayla and ask: You mentioned feeling silent or
silencing yourself. “What would you do if you knew a queer student silenced themselves in your
class?”
When Mikayla said, “I feel like a new teacher,” she took up my invitation to respond to
my probing question. She revealed aspects of her identity (“I feel like a new teacher”) by
demonstrating her internalized sense of hierarchy and power dynamics among her group of

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colleagues. I wonder how Mikayla’s external identity of being young and reserved interacted
with her reticence in challenging the status quo at that moment. I also could have asked her and
the group: “How does your perception of more experienced colleagues and their identities affect
your current ability to support your queer students? How can we collaborate with those
teachers?” This might have pushed their thinking more to “...synthesize and evaluate information
instead of simply recalling” (Sahin & Kulm, 2008, p. 224). I also could have invited Valeria and
Kacey to respond to what Mikayla shared.
When I asked, “How do you know we’re in a safe learning space right now?,” I posed
another guiding question to turn them towards our present setting. While I did not make this
explicitly clear to them at that moment, I prompted my teacher-learners to consider an alternative
perspective and consider if our current learning environment was safe. I could have more
strongly connected my guiding question to the aims of my study by asking, “How does your
sense of safety in relation to your identity vary across different environments, and how can this
understanding inform support for your queer students?”
As each of my teacher-learners responded to my line of questioning by unearthing their
sense of safety, they responded in nuanced ways: Kacey answered using gender and identityconscious language, while I inadvertently disallowed Valeria and Mikayla to access my question
had I used language in my guiding or probing questions that was specific to gender and
sexuality. Kacey shared about their experience with their administrator within the context of the
queer students they support and their own lived experience as a closeted, non-binary/genderqueer
teacher; Valeria’s response revealed the origins of her being vocal and assertive, while staying
outside of the context of the study; Mikayla’s response revealed her tendency to be private and
silent in front of her peers, also outside of the context. I could have remained grounded in

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guiding their responses within the topic of queer youth, the queer students they teach, and their
teaching identities at that moment. As a novice facilitator, I instinctively evaded risk of “turning
up the heat” (Heifetz et al., 2009) and productively disorienting my teacher-learners. In other
words, I shielded myself from being uncomfortable and evading an emotional risk. Had I better
differentiated my questions on gender and sexuality and harnessed the role of my teacherlearners’ identities in relation to homophobia and safety, it might have produced more critically
reflective dialogue. I could have probed more directly with, “How do you know your classroom
is safe for all your queer students?” I also might have asked them to reflect on a situation in
which their perceived gender identity and/or their perceived sexual orientation mattered to their
sense of safety: “Can you recall your earliest experiences of feeling safe or unsafe in relation to
your gender? In relation to your sexual orientation? Have you encountered any challenges related
to your sexual identity as you’ve pursued a career in science education, and if so, how have you
addressed or overcome them?” In contrast to my previous line of questioning in Cycle 1, it was
notable that my teacher-learners evaded speaking to one’s sexual identity, where they mostly
focused on gender presentation initially, and evaded sexuality in relation to their sense of safety
altogether in Cycle 2.
Furthermore, some pertinent questions from my initial line of questioning were left
unasked or unaddressed by my teacher-learners. My questions about potential consequences and
whom they turn to might have revealed deeply held beliefs or internalized fears, aligning more
closely with my study’s context. Despite this, the complexity of my guiding question made me
think of the ways my teacher-learners interpreted the question as we engaged in “an ongoing
spiral in which each element of reflective practice is constantly involved in an interactive process
of change and development” (Reagan et al., 2000, as cited in Larrivee, 2008, p. 344). My

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question regarding how they knew their classrooms were safe spaces (not asked) might have
deepened our conversation. It made me reflect on the relevance and connection between safety
and queer identities, especially within the context of my study on queer youth. Had I centered my
participant-learners’ identities—their gender and sexuality—in relation to their sense of safety, it
might have been more relevant to their queer students’ sense of safety. My participants and I
could have further unpacked our queer students’ experiences encountered in the hallways,
restrooms, cafeteria, locker rooms, or on the athletic field. Humanizing our shared experiences of
feeling unsafe as it connected to our gendered and sexual identities might have opened further
critical dialogue.
In Cycle 3, I continued to pose guiding questions (Table 2) to my teacher-learners to
reflect upon their identities as teachers using identity-conscious language in contrast to the
previous cycle. I also continued to use probing questions for my teacher-learners to push further
into themselves about other aspects of their identities (in addition to gender) in relation to their
queer students. This is consistent with Tharp and Gallimore’s (1989) notion of “sustained use of
questioning as a means of assistance” over time. In the following transcript of Session 5, Cycle
3, my teacher-learners responded to my line of questioning about their identities in nuanced
ways, referring to their gender presentation (omitting their race and sexuality, even when I used
identity-conscious language in my guiding question) and began to reveal how their identity
markers benefit and/or challenge their interactions with their queer students. In response to my
guiding question, Kacey “negotiated” (Iskander, 2021) the complexities of their male-presenting,
“straight” identity markers, and described the resistance they felt from their queer students, while
unaware their queer students might not connect with them as a closeted, non-binary/genderqueer
teacher; Valeria described her perceived advantage as a cis-female and claiming that her queer

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students felt more comfortable with her, and spoke to creating her school’s first “women’s
empowerment group” that she also opened to her gay students; Mikayla agreed with Valeria’s
notion of comfortability with their queer students as a cis-female. In response to my unscripted
probing question about noticing other identity markers, Mikayla reciprocated and offered a new
idea of one’s appearance (without elaborating further about her own).
In response to my next guiding question about them incorporating any queer-inclusive
practices, Mikayla described her efforts in applying more gender-inclusive language; Valeria
agreed in her similar efforts; and Kacey did not discuss any new practices in their classroom at
that moment:
F: Okay, so in the past couple of weeks, have you noticed how your intersectionality
plays out with your LGBTQ+ students? If so, how? If not, why?
K: As a straight male-presenting science teacher, I feel my LGBTQ+ students often
think I don’t understand them and can’t connect with them. Despite my efforts to
lead GSA and support them, they sometimes push back, believing I have little to
offer.
V: For me, I feel it’s the actual opposite of Kacey and I think it’s just because I am a
woman. So my LGBTQ+ students feel very comfortable with me because I am a
girl and they know a lot about me…And even with my women empowerment
group my gay students are more than welcome to attend.
M: Yeah, I agree with Valeria only because we’re both females and being closer in
age to my LGBTQ+ students, they feel comfortable opening up to me. They see
me as a safe space or they can tell me anything.

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F: Do you think there’s other factors that are playing out in terms of the way your
queer students are trusting you as far as you can tell?
M: I was gonna say appearance. [F: mm]. So really the way they see you, like they
might see us in a specific way.
F: So, perception?
M: Mmhm.
F: Interesting. Yes. All right…Next question. As a result of this awareness, have you
done anything differently so far in your classroom, in relation to your queer
students?
M: Something interesting I’ve tried is refraining from saying “guys”…I tried “all,”
“scientists,” and everyone just looked at me like I was weird…and then they’re
like, “Oh, what happened to guys?” and I told them I prefer not to. I don’t know.
It’s just so hard.
F: Anyone want to respond to that?
V: I’ve been doing the same thing too. I’m like, hey everyone’s here, or I’ll start
saying guys, and then I stopped myself. And they look at me weird too…And so
they enjoy it. One time I said scientists too.
F: Yes, I want to acknowledge that you are training yourself…And again, ask
yourself where does this come from?
When I began with, “okay, so in the past couple of weeks, have you noticed how your
intersectionality plays out with your LGBTQ+ students?,” I posed a guiding question to invite
my teacher-learners to reflect upon any of their identity markers (“your intersectionality”) as
teachers. In my question, I led my teacher-learners to acknowledge and bring attention (“have

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you noticed”) to their behaviors, such as their use of language, as it relates to their queer
students. This is also consistent with Tharp and Gallimore’s (1989) notion that questioning calls
for an active linguistic and cognitive response.
When Kacey stated their positionality (“as a straight male-presenting science teacher”),
they responded to my invitation by using identity-conscious language from my guiding question
itself. Kacey continued to respond to my guiding question by connecting their science teacher
identity to their queer students, disclosing a level of frustration or dissatisfaction from a lack of
connection, even though Kacey’s “visibility” as the GSA lead and having expressed a desire to
be closer to them. This is consistent with Sahin and Kulm’s (2008) notion of a guiding question
enables them to “discuss problems,” in this case a tension of a queer teacher’s credentialing of
themselves and disconnect from their queer students. In response to my guiding question, Kacey
offered a nuanced perspective of their intersectionality at that moment, offering a glimpse of the
complexities of queer identities as a male-presenting, “straight,” and closeted nonbinary/genderqueer teacher. In this contradictory position, where these identity markers
“compete” (Iskander, 2021; Ocampo & Soodjinda, 2016) in K–12 settings, Kacey’s reflection
aligned with the notion that “becoming a teacher requires of LGBTQ+ people tricky and often
taxing emotional work (Ferfolja, 2018) called a ‘negotiation of self’” (as cited in Iskander, 2021,
pp. 201–202). It made me wonder how Kacey might unconsciously diminish or amplify their
presenting identity (or maleness) to their queer students, and the ways teachers (especially queer
teachers) credential themselves to appear more relatable. Additionally, this act of “presenting” is
distancing for their students. Kacey’s response demonstrated how one’s identity markers might
impede on their connection with their queer students, an observation Kacey had not openly
shared with the group before, and by the only male-presenting teacher-learner of the three.

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Despite the complexity of my guiding question, Kacey displayed “a level of comprehension that
was highly sophisticated” (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, p. 62) at that moment.
When Valeria said, “I feel it’s the actual opposite of Kacey,” she responded to my
guiding question by using some identity-conscious language, her gender identity (“because I am
a woman”), at that moment. This is consistent with Sahin and Kulm’s (2008) notion of how the
question provokes the teacher-learner and active listening. Valeria continued to take up my
guiding question by connecting her personal identity to her queer students, in describing the
closeness she experiences with them (in contrast to Kacey), in response to her being more intouch with who she is (“I am a woman,” “I am a girl”), the level of transparency she has with her
students (“they know a lot about me”), and/or her femaleness (“because I am a girl”). In response
to my guiding question, Valeria offered a nuanced perspective of her intersectionality at that
moment, affirming her femaleness (repeating her gender more than once) and stating the
advantages she had when connecting with her queer students as a cis-female (which implied her
feminine attributes of nurturer and protector). Valeria also demonstrated a level of identityconsciousness (and perhaps some sociopolitical awareness) by describing the creation of her
women empowerment group (where the act itself implied a response to male dominance or
patriarchy) while extending an open invitation to her gay students (“my gay students are more
than welcome to attend”), a space where they could also feel included. It is unclear if this was a
new understanding of herself in relation to her queer students, but Valeria’s actions suggest that
through this awareness of her femininity, her queer students could feel they belonged there too
alongside them. This is consistent with Tharp and Gallimore’s (1989) notion of questioning that
are “socially and contextually appropriate,” with Valeria’s reflection making subconscious
connections to the wider sociopolitical context inside and outside of her classroom.

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When Mikayla agreed with Valeria’s response, she responded to my invitation by
referencing her gender after Valeria (“Yeah, I agree with Valeria…”) and age (in contrast to
Valeria and Kacey). This is consistent with Sahin & Kulm’s (2008) notion of how a question
promotes active listening. Mikayla continued to respond to my guiding question by connecting
her personal identity (“we’re both females and being closer in age”) to her queer students and the
closeness she experiences with them (also like Valeria). In response to my guiding question,
Mikayla shared her presumption—and introduced another perspective to the group—that her
young age made her more relatable (“they feel comfortable opening up to me”), allowing her to
connect better with them (“they see me as a safe space or they can tell me anything”), suggesting
a sense of comfortability and relatability. In response to my guiding question, Mikayla offered a
nuanced perspective of her intersectionality by extending Valeria’s notion of femaleness and the
advantages Mikayla experienced with her queer students, while adding the perspective of her
young age. This signaled to me a possible expansion of Mikayla’s awareness of other identity
markers not previously verbalized by the group (and not explicitly named in the language of my
guiding question). With Mikayla’s tendency to share last and her offering a deeper perspective at
that moment, I wondered how a teacher-learner like Mikayla could benefit in this type of
questioning approach. This is consistent with Tharp and Gallimore’s (1989) notion of “all ideas
are discovered by the dialectical method of questioning and answering” (pp. 57–58).
Additionally, Mikayla’s contribution made me wonder about the ongoing tension between
masculinity and femininity, that being female (or having feminine attributes or characterizations)
was somehow a more “available” gender identity for gay or non-binary/genderqueer students,
perhaps by sharing a form of marginalization.

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When I asked, “Do you think there’s other factors…?,” I posed an unscripted probing
question to my teacher-learners in line with what Mikayla just shared, and invited the group
again to push into and “think more deeply about the topic being discussed” (Sahin & Kulm,
2008, p. 224), and also revisit how other identity markers (“other factors”) might influence their
interactions (“trusting you”) with their queer students, moving beyond gender at that moment.
This also demonstrated my desire to move beyond a scripted question and lean into further what
Mikayla illuminated about additional identity markers and invite my teacher-learners into a
moment of more self-excavation.
When Mikayla said, “I was gonna say…,” she reciprocated with me by responding to my
probing question. When Mikayla elaborated further on her appearance, she took up my probing
question and demonstrated a heightened level of identity-consciousness (“appearance” and “the
way they see you”). I added to her description (“so perception?”) to show my active listening,
while Mikayla acknowledged after. In response to my probing question, Mikayla elicited a
response that connected her external identity mattered to her queer students. Instead of pushing
further into Mikayla’s thinking while reconnecting with Valeria and Kacey at that moment, I
pivoted and posed my next guiding question. I might have been unsure about what to ask in
relation to Mikayla’s idea on appearance, but it could have expanded into a deeper discussion on
external and internal teacher identities. After that moment, I invited my teacher-learners to turn
towards their teaching practice again, calling attention to any new behaviors, such as using more
inclusive language with their students.
When Mikayla began with “Something interesting…,” she began to answer my guiding
question with a level of self-assurance, in contrast to the previous pattern of Kacey or Valeria
initiating the discussion first. She continued to answer my guiding question by describing her

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willingness to enact a new behavior (“I’ve tried is refraining from saying guys”). In response to
my guiding question, Mikayla revealed her efforts in pressing up against and/or disrupting her
own internalization of gendered, hegemonic language by adopting new language (“scientists”
and “all”) and naming her actions to her students (who also internalized this socially acceptable,
gendered language). When she said, “I don’t know. It’s just so hard,” Mikayla displayed her
humanity by grappling with a behavior she acknowledges is difficult to unbreak. Mikayla’s
reflection is aligned with Larrivee’s (2008) notion of going beyond surface-level reflection, as
she began to challenge underlying assumptions about her teaching and students’ learning (p.
352).
When I invited my teacher-learners after what Mikayla shared, I deflected at that
moment. It is unclear if I was directing attention away from myself to not directly engage with
Mikayla. I could have more explicitly invited Valeria or Kacey to respond to what Mikayla just
shared and make a stronger connection to the aims of my study, which included approaching
queer-inclusive practices.
When Valeria said, “I’ve been doing the same thing too,” she answered my preceding
guiding question, took up my invitation to respond to Mikayla, and demonstrated how my
guiding question prompted active listening (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) to Mikayla. In response to
my guiding question, Valeria (like Mikayla) revealed a similar experience in her own
internalization of gendered language and her attempts to consider her language choices
(“everyone” and “scientists”). When Valeria said, “I’ll start saying guys, and then I stopped
myself,” she offered a nuance in her ability to press up against and/or disrupt her internalization
of gendered language, describing a temporary moment of self-restraint. When Valeria said, “and
so they enjoy it,” she implied a more positive reaction from her students, who are younger than

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Mikayla’s students. It is unclear if Valeria experienced a similar revelation like Mikayla,
however, she displayed her willingness to try a new behavior with her students. After this line of
questioning, Valeria went on to share her efforts in conducting an identity exercise with her
middle school students and the sense of validation she felt when two of her gay students
indirectly “came out” to her in the activity.
When I began with “I want to…,” I first signaled to my teacher-learners my bringing our
discussion to a close after my guiding question. I also aimed to normalize Valeria and Mikayla’s
discomfort from their internalization of gendered language as novice teachers (“...acknowledge
that you are training yourself”). When I ended with, “ask yourself, where does this come from?,”
I encouraged my teacher-learners to revisit their own socialization and use of language, in this
question, gendered language. My actions at that moment, in addition to posing my guiding
question, was consistent with Larrivee’s (2008) notion of directing and guiding pre-service
teachers gaze beyond their classrooms and into “the larger social and political contexts” (p. 345).
The nuanced responses of my teacher-learners to my line of questioning in Cycle 3
highlighted the complex interplay between internal (covert) and external (overt) teacher
identities. Kacey’s poignant reflection on the dissonance between their internal and external
identities set the stage for deeper discussions on identity and queer teacher identities. It made me
think of my own experience as a closeted classroom teacher, where “LGBTQ+ teachers often do
not know for sure who knows about their gender or sexual identity…and rumor is usually
commonplace in school communities” (Lee, 2020, p. 3, as cited in Ocampo & Soodjinda, 2016).
In contrast, Valeria and Mikayla’s affirmations of their femininity highlighted the advantages it
brings in connecting with their queer students, with Mikayla further expanding the discussion to
include her appearance and young age (another external factor). Although I missed an

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opportunity to delve deeper into this entry point of their students’ perceptions of their external
identities as teachers, the responses to my final guiding question revealed a raised consciousness
about one’s gender among my teacher-learners, in part by Mikayla’s and Valeria’s through line.
Mikayla’s openly wrestling with and willingness to disrupt internalized notions of gendered
language (followed by Valeria) in their classrooms were particularly noteworthy, even though I
could have reengaged Kacey directly at that moment. While Mikayla and Valeria (both
heterosexual cis-females of color) asserted their gender identities in response to my line of
questioning, I could have also embraced opportunities in “deconstructing and decentering
normative heterosexuality” (Vavrus, 2009, as cited in Bower-Phipps, 2020, p. 4) by posing
additional probing questions.
In conclusion, my line of questioning with my teacher-learners were crucial in anchoring
them within the aims of my study. This is consistent with the notion that “all ideas are discovered
by the dialectical method of questioning and answering” (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, pp. 57–58).
My questioning enabled my teacher-learners to unearth and explore that one’s identity markers
among novice teachers should not stop there. The experiences of my cis-female teacher-learners
in forming close connections with their queer students stand in contrast to the unique challenges
faced by my male-presenting, non-binary/genderqueer, and closeted teacher-learner, coupled
with their association to male sports and the implications that brings in terms of
hypermasculinity and homophobia in a predominantly Latinx student population. This is aligned
with the notion that “teachers may reflect at different levels simultaneously, interweaving
various levels” (Larrivee, 2008, p. 344). This juxtaposition revealed the complexities and
potential barriers that queer teachers might face in presenting themselves authentically while
striving to connect with their students. The notion of fear and potential repercussions by queer

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teachers was revealed by Kacey’s response and is certainly part of a much larger discussion. It
also raised important questions about the implications of queerness and masculinity versus
femininity and the unique advantages and disadvantages each brings in different educational
settings. The exploration of these dynamics offered insights into how queer teachers and queer
teacher leaders could navigate their identities to foster genuine and meaningful connections with
their students and colleagues.
Afterword
During my time in the leading instructional change concentration within the doctoral
program at USC, I could not entirely see the magnitude and possibilities of the type of change I
could enact among my peers centered on a timely, relevant, and personal topic of LGBTQ+
voices and queer experiences in the educational field. The notion of critical reflection was still
developing for me; however, it did not become clear to me that the emphasis of self was deeper
than I thought until the analysis phase. My action research project was ambitious. However, I
believe that this form of research is rigorous and challenging for its multifaceted, non-linear, and,
at times, contradictory process.
Since I left the field, I have thought about strengthening my skills as an adult learning
facilitator, especially as I continue to consider designing and facilitating future workshops and/or
potentially take on an adjunct instructor role in a university teacher preparation program. Second,
I have considered how I can apply critical reflection if I remain in a mentor, coach, and/or
teacher on special assignment role. At the time of this writing, I have since left Grapevine School
District and I recognize the ongoing need for critical reflection in induction programs with new
teachers and, more broadly, in classrooms with teachers further along in their careers. I expect to
support educational agencies, universities, and other teacher preparation programs with the

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implementation of the updated California Standards for the Teaching Profession (2024), which
focuses on students’ cultural backgrounds and unique identities, increased focus on family
engagement, and social-emotional learning. Finally, I wonder about how I could apply this
experience to my role as a science classroom teacher reentering the classroom. Because I did
entirely attend to the unique identity of science teacher in relation to their queer students in my
study, I will seize on new opportunities to explore and unpack science teacher identities in
relation to promoting a queer-inclusive science curriculum and teaching practices.
Point of View
As a general education science teacher with experience mentoring pre-service and inservice teachers, I approached this project with ambition and motivation. As a newly minted
teacher on special assignment (TOSA) assigned to working with novice STEM teachers, I was
eager to share my experiences as a queer teacher with fellow queer educators and allies, feeling
confident as I stepped out of the classroom setting for the first time. However, my action
research highlighted several important areas of growth that can be new opportunities for me to
strengthen my skills as a facilitator of adult learning.
Throughout my study, I instinctively spoke to my positionality as an AAPI, queer teacher
of color in vulnerable ways, simultaneously cultivating a holding environment (Theme 1). As an
example in Cycle 1, I would share intimate details of myself. My actions were consistent with
Lee’s (2022) notion that the intimate sharing of personal information is invaluable for [queer]
school leaders when building trust with different stakeholders across the school community. In
my “unearthing and scrutinizing assumptions” about what it means to be a visible queer, AAPI
cis-male, it “entailed a strong element of vulnerability” (Brookfield, 2017, p. 144). I continued to
demonstrate a complexity in my vulnerability by disclosing my personal struggle with my

105
identity and a desire to be seen beyond a single aspect of my queer identity. In response to my
sharing my nuanced queer lived experience and taking up the emotional risk in Cycle 1, I
leveraged “the use of storytelling and self-disclosure” to model my own development and
vulnerability (Cavalieri et al., 2019, p. 152). I reinforced my level of vulnerability by openly
challenging my perceived assumptions of the queer community, demonstrating the complexity of
my own authenticity and socialization. However, I did not invite my participants to reflect on
what I shared with them about my positionality. I directed them away from speaking directly
about the details of my experience and encouraged them to refer to other examples or situations
than those I shared with them. This self-protective pivot inadvertently interfered with each
learner’s opportunity to connect with me or my experience directly, enabling them to avoid how
and what I disclosed, preventing me from gauging their comprehension, and diverting them to
examinations of their interactions with students or colleagues.
In unintentionally refraining from further engagement with them, I revealed a fear of
potential harm or judgment from my teacher-learners by not drawing them closer to me. In other
words, I displayed a high level of vulnerability and a low level of trust to my teacher-learners in
that instance, highlighting the intricate and multifaceted dynamics of trust. In modeling a version
of the “I Am From” (Brookfield, 2019) to invite my teacher-learners to do the same, I
demonstrated my buried fear of judgment or harm. I cut off my teacher-learners to protect
myself. This interfered with their ability to connect with that I intended to do, the opposite of
what I meant to accomplish. I demonstrated vulnerability and a lack of trust. This taught me that
being vulnerable does not guarantee trust all the time. I needed to express vulnerability,
demonstrate trust, and protect myself. To do so going forward, I must continue to develop and

106
experiment with instructional moves that maintain a holding environment and promote a brave
space with other educators committed to queer-inclusive teaching practices.
In relation to how I posed guiding and probing questions (Theme 2), there were areas that
I could strengthen. I could have revisited discussions on racialized identities, gender, and sexual
orientation more thoroughly. Although I incorporated videos on racial and queer identities (e.g.,
AAPI and intersectionality) in prior sessions, I should have unpacked these topics further before
posing complex questions. My initial guiding question would have been more effective if it was
segmented and relevant to the student population, aiding teacher-learners in recognizing their
biases, privileges, and perspectives, especially concerning their queer Latinx students. The
complexity of my question was compounded by its colorblindness. By recognizing that explicitly
including “queer students of color” would have aligned better with my study’s aim, I am better
positioned to recognize the importance of this intersectionality in my ongoing and future work.
Additionally, subdividing questions into race, gender, and sexual orientation and noting
participants’ focus on gender identity over others could have made the topic more accessible,
extending their awareness of biases and shared experiences. As a novice facilitator, I overlooked
the assumption that queer people feel safe with other queer individuals and the existing tensions
within the queer community, such as those involving queer trans people of color and cisgender
white lesbians. Kacey, for instance, did not disclose how they benefit from their identity markers.
I could have prompted Kacey to consider how their association with sports and masculinity
might influence their queer students’ perceptions and their own internalization of masculinity,
potentially signaling a lack of understanding. Engaging Kacey more explicitly on these points
could have strengthened the connection to intersectionality and highlighted potential barriers
posed by Kacey’s identity while fostering their desire to support LGBTQ+ students.

107
As stated earlier in my findings about Valeria in Cycle 3, Valeria revealed an assumption
that cis-female are perceived as safer by queer students. I could have challenged this belief and
her comfort in sharing her nuclear family structure, which reinforces traditional family notions.
Like Kacey, I could have asked Valeria probing questions about her sexual orientation and racial
identity markers. Valeria later discussed creating her school’s first “women’s empowerment
group” and welcoming gay students to participate, revealing her gender identity and hinting at
her sexual orientation, but omitting her racial identity. While Valeria focused on her cis-female
identity in supporting LGBTQ+ students, she could also consider how her race and
socioeconomic status influence these interactions. It was unclear if Mikayla was praising herself
considering what Valeria just shared (or mimicking what Valeria shared), or sort of rambling. As
a novice facilitator, I could have facilitated further exploration of Mikayla’s intersectionality
(like Valeria and Kacey). I could have more explicitly and directly probed all my teacherlearners on how each of them benefits from their identity markers, ways they have experienced
discrimination based on those identity markers, and how my participants and I can explore
further their potential blind spots when interacting with our queer students.
Upon further analysis of this excerpt, it made me consider how challenging it is to unpack
intersectionality and how these complex guiding questions can be more accessible, while still
incorporating identity-conscious language. I could have incorporated Kacey’s point on their
male-presenting heterosexual identity and inquire about these traditional notions of gender and
age with the group. Upon further analysis of this moment, I could have revisited this idea and
posed it as a guiding question altogether and ask, “What are your earliest classroom experiences
of when you noticed your gender was a topic of discussion with your queer students?” or “Can
you describe a classroom experience when your age was a topic of discussion with your queer

108
students?” or “What is a recent classroom experience in which your sexuality was assumed or
questioned?” I could have probed Mikayla about her experiences about appearance at that
moment. I could have posed to the group how they view the superficial aspects of themselves
(and the identity markers they willingly display as teachers). I could have posed what aspects
they display (for example choice of garment, accessories, makeup) and what that entails about
their socialized identities. Reflecting on these missed opportunities made me think about the
notion of authenticity and my experiences as a classroom teacher: to admit to my teacherlearners that there were certain identity markers and qualities about me that might have made my
former students feel more comfortable and uncomfortable with me. I could have slowed down
and posed another probing question to Mikayla here to elaborate on this idea of perception. Upon
further analysis of the transcript, I could have probed Mikayla and the group with, “How do you
think your queer students see you?” Instead, I stalled momentarily and pivoted into my second
guiding question. As a novice facilitator, it is possible I was unsure of what to say at that
moment. Going forward, I will anticipate these moments and continue to better prepare myself to
ask probing questions rather than pivot away from further, deeper engagement.
Within the same example in Cycle 3 (Theme 2), it was unclear if Mikayla was praising
herself, mimicking Valeria, or rambling. As a novice facilitator, I could have better explored
Mikayla’s intersectionality, along with Valeria’s and Kacey’s. I could have explicitly probed all
teacher-learners on how their identity markers benefit them, how they experience discrimination,
and potential blind spots when interacting with queer students. This excerpt highlighted the
challenge of unpacking intersectionality and making complex guiding questions accessible while
incorporating identity-conscious language. For example, I could have used Kacey’s point about
their male-presenting, heterosexual identity to discuss traditional notions of gender and age with

109
the group. Guiding questions could have included, “What are your earliest classroom experiences
of gender being a topic with queer students?” or “Describe a classroom experience when your
age was discussed with queer students.” I could have also probed Mikayla about her experiences
related to appearance and asked the group how they view their own appearance-based choices
(e.g., choice of garments, accessories, makeup) to explore with them what their choices imply
about their socialized identities. This realization made me consider authenticity and my own
classroom experiences, admitting certain identity markers might have made students more or less
comfortable with me. As stated earlier, I could have slowed down and asked Mikayla, “How do
you think your queer students see you?” Instead, I stalled and pivoted to my second guiding
question, possibly due to uncertainty as a novice facilitator. Going forward, I will look out for
these impulses to move on without further examination of perspectives or ideas that perpetuate
cis-heteronormative ideologies.
Beyond the Study
I expect that my project will open doors to numerous possibilities for me. I expect to
continue to collaborate with my dissertation chair and committee members for workshop
presentations, publications, and mentoring. I will continue to revisit critical reflection as a
continuous process, while remaining open to additional ways of knowing, inner reflection, and
sense-making. My study’s findings could offer instructional leaders important insights on
increasing queer-inclusive approaches to mentoring new teachers completing their teacher
induction programs. Grapevine School District is currently restructuring its personnel and
leadership at the time of this writing. If I were still in my TOSA role with Grapevine, I would
have been better positioned to present to the principals and leadership at one of the quarterly
meetings. However, I am reassured knowing that some of the leadership plans to outsource

110
professional learning on this topic with other contractors. Additionally, the teachers, TOSAs,
athletic directors, and administrators I met during my study will most likely continue the work in
whatever capacity they can, although only one of my teacher-learners will be returning.
At the time of this writing, I look forward to this part-time role mentoring and instructing
pre-service and supervising in-service teachers at the regional county office of education.
Because of my study’s findings, it is crucial for me to be aware of the following. In terms of
instructional moves, I will continue to model my queer AAPI positionality in vulnerable ways
and directly inviting my learners in what I am doing (or trying to do) and provide ample
opportunities for them to practice this skill. I want to slow down and identify a real problem of
practice in relation to queer youth, such as language and curriculum. I want to continue to focus
on unearthing their identities and push up against the status quo of cis/heteronormativity. I also
want to consider co-presenting this upcoming year, as much of my previous workshop work had
been solo, as well as embracing opportunities to connect with real students so I can (with their
permission) center their lived experiences through a lens of queer joy, a narrative that deserves
attention aside from the real, concerning, and urgent sociopolitical climate society is facing.
In my new role as a lead teacher at an elementary school in an underserved community, I
expect to leverage the initiatives of the California Community Schools grant, which supports
schools’ efforts to partner with community agencies and local government to align community
resources to improve student outcomes. As I continue to learn about this growing initiative, I
recognize it is rooted in culturally responsive pedagogy. I expect to leverage what I learned from
my project and argue the need for queer youth visibility as it relates to current social emotional
learning curriculum and programs, strengthen partnerships with teacher-allies and leadership
access to transformative professional learning, and build connections with healthcare agencies,

111
local LGBTQ+ centers, and other contractors that affirm queer youth’s needs as it relates to
mental health, comprehensive sexual/reproductive health, improved academic outcomes, and
social support.
In addition to my new role at the time of this writing, I will seek out opportunities to
facilitate future workshops and conference sessions at the statewide and national level. As part of
my long-term goal in this area, I wrestle with the importance of being in front of audiences who
are not as receptive and being able to establish a sense of urgency with them to facilitate their
movement forward. I also expect to continue to nurture my relationships with USC. Finally, I
will seek out opportunities to teach a university course in teacher education and school
leadership to advance queer topics, challenge the status quo, and uplift queer leadership. During
my time in Rossier, there could have more time dedicated to unpacking queer literature within
teacher education. There could have been more queer professors. There needed to be more
acknowledgement of the reproduction and perpetuation of cis-heteronormativity. Given my
experience in this leadership preparation program, I am committed to disrupting this paradigm of
practices in whatever program or institution I might serve going forward.
Finally, I want to continue to model my vulnerability and engage my learners in lessons I
learned, normalize making mistakes and errors, and speak about moments when I am complicit
in reproducing hegemonic, cis-heteronormative behaviors. I want to continue to model my use of
identity-conscious language. “Language development itself is pulled along through imitation”
(Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, p. 48). I also want to more intentionally engage my learners on their
use of language, an opportunity I could have more fully embraced in my study. I continue to
believe that “peer models are highly important sources of assisted performance” (Tharp &
Gallimore, 1989, p. 49). Nonetheless, language is one of the most basic requirements for creating

112
LGBTQ+-inclusive classrooms. Teachers should pay close attention to what they say and how
they respond to students who use problematic language (Sapon-Shevin, 2019). Although not
attended to during my study, I want to continue to explore how to pose gender and sexuality
questions more effectively, and further unpack the implications of race and ethnicity. As I stated
earlier, my participants’ responses to my line of questioning were mostly colorblind, and I could
have attended to this more during my study. I will continue to explore the implementation of
higher-order questioning (Larrivee, 2008), as these types of questioning can move teachers
beyond surface-level, descriptive reflections.
Turn Fear Into Joy: The Negotiation of Self
The answer to the question of why critical pedagogy is hard is fear (Sapon-Shevin, 2019).
In the planning of my action study, I was initially drawn to the notion of the ‘negotiation of self’
(Ferfolja, 2018), a deeply calcified sense of avoidance and silence that I have experienced
throughout my teaching career. I was fearful. As a queer, AAPI cis-male, my teacher identity
was complicated by the contradictory state of my role. These competing discourses or
“contradictory position” (Gilbert & Gray, 2020, as cited in Iskander, 2021), describes when
LGBTQ+ teachers are being hailed by competing discourses internally, and make instantaneous
decisions to essentially protect themselves from psychological and physical harm. On one hand,
the discourse of gay pride and being “out and proud” calls on us to be visible, brave, and open
about our identities to serve as “role models” for queer youth. On the other hand, as mentioned
previously, histories of abjection and norms of “professionalism” render them suspect and
perpetuate fear – fear of exposure, ridicule, punishment, or discrimination. This was certainly
accurate for my queer participant, Kacey. For teachers who identify as LGBTQ+, the decisions
are more complex because their own openness and revelations will affect the possibilities for

113
student discussion and openness (Sapon-Shevin, 2019). In my initial conceptual framework, I
had wanted to center myself and this perspective of “negotiation.” Now that my study is
complete, I recognize that this concept could be further explored in another form (e.g., short
essay or op-ed). While there was evidence of the negotiation of self with my queer participant
(and not thoroughly unpacked in my findings), I could engage other queer educators of color to
continue this discussion of fear and explore its implications for non-queer educators committed
to being allies.
As I mentioned earlier in my revised conceptual framework, I wanted to amplify my
queer AAPI positionality by naming it extensively and vulnerably, naively expecting it to
transfer to my teacher-learners, ultimately reverting to colorblindness. This made me realize how
I was unconsciously reproducing hegemonic orientations, even while aiming for racial/ethnic and
queer identities to matter. As my work with future teacher-learners continues, it is crucial to
establish a strong holding environment that can sustain meaningful conversations that do not
omit race/ethnicity altogether. In fact, having a shared identity of race/ethnicity could be a primer
or entry point in building trust to eventually explore gender and eventually sexuality in these
intellectual spaces. I must continually ask myself if the questions I pose to my learners are ones I
can personally answer. Why did I find the concept of intersectionality, coupled with queer
identities, so challenging during my study? I now recognize the need to continuously remain
engaged in the literature, collaborate with queer AAPI scholars, and engage in critical selfreflection.
In the teacher education literature, researchers argued that becoming a teacher requires of
LGBTQ+ people a tricky and often taxing emotional work (Ferfolja, 2018). I struggled with
relational transparency, which refers to being open and honest in presenting one’s true self to

114
others (Northouse, 2019, p. 204). In a similar way, competing identities within the queer AAPI
community (Ocampo & Soodjinda, 2016) reveals how LGBTQ+ teachers often do not know for
sure who knows what about their gender or sexual identity. Initially, this idea complicated my
conceptual framework; however, I continue to believe that it cannot be left out. This tension will
always be there. Initially, I had expected to move closer and closer to a more self-actualized
version—a braver version—of myself during my action research study. I can honestly say that
this experience and outcome was accurate. For me, my evolution was about embracing a deeper
level of queer joy.

115
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Asset Metadata

Creator Rectra, Alexander J. (author)

Core Title Unearthing identity consciousness of novice STEM teachers to promote queer-inclusive classrooms: a qualitative action research study

School Rossier School of Education

Degree Doctor of Education

Degree Program Educational Leadership

Degree Conferral Date 2024-08

Publication Date 09/10/2024

Defense Date 08/31/2024

Publisher Los Angeles, California (original), University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag AAPI,cis-heteronormativity,gender and sexuality,intersectionality,OAI-PMH Harvest,Queer,Teacher Education

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