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Turning toward practice: establishing group reflective practice among upper elementary educators

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Turning toward practice: establishing group reflective practice among upper elementary educators

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Content Turning Toward Practice:
Establishing Group Reflective Practice Among Upper Elementary Educators
By
Julia Meserve Blount
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
(Educational Leadership)
August 2023

© Copyright by Julia Blount 2023
All Rights Reserved

The Committee for Julia Blount certifies the approval of this Dissertation

Akilah Lyons-Moore
John Pascarella
Julie Slayton, Committee Chair

Rossier School of Education
University of Southern California
2023
iv
Abstract
This action research study focuses on my teacher-educator skills as an administrator in a small
independent and nonpublic elementary school in the Los Angeles area. My research question
was: How do I establish a knowledge-of-practice learning environment that promotes my own
and upper elementary teachers’ ability to turn toward practice? I engaged a group of four upper
elementary educators in reflective practice with a focus on problems of practice involving
BIPOC students and students with dis/abilities. I examined how effectively I used adaptive
leadership and andragogical strategies to establish a knowledge-of-practice learning
environment. I considered how effectively I supported adult learners in turning toward practice
and the steps needed to move towards a critical lens in the future. I examined the role my own
identity and socialization played in my practice. To answer my research question, I collected
field notes, transcripts, reflections, and documents that I developed as a teacher-educator and
researcher. I found that I was able to move the group into a knowledge-of-practice space and that
the progress each learner made was dependent on my ability to push each learner appropriately
based on their zone of proximal development.
Keywords: action research, teacher-educator, reflective cycle, problem of practice,
adaptive leadership, andragogy.

v
Dedication
To my grandmother, a life-long educator who showered us all with her radical love. I miss you.
To my grandfather, who put aside his dreams and, in doing so, made all our dreams possible.
To my parents, who made sure I knew and loved the many places that I come from.
To my brother, whose deep learning and artistry inspire me every day.
To my teachers and mentors, who cultivated my self-efficacy and encouraged me to think big.
To my friends and extended family, for your encouragement, support, and patience.
To our pups, who sat next to me through every word of this dissertation.
To my husband, for your undying love and affection.
vi
Acknowledgements
Thank you to my committee chair, Dr. Julie Slayton, for the many constructive
disorientations you provoked and the encouragement you gave. To my committee members: Dr.
John Pascarella, and Dr. Akilah Lyons-Moore, thank you for your feedback and support. Thank
you to my Leading Instructional Change cohort, you have made me a more critical thinker and a
better teacher-educator and person. Thank you to my school and my participants, who made my
action research possible.

vii
Table of Contents
Abstract .......................................................................................................................................... iv
Dedication ....................................................................................................................................... v
Acknowledgements ........................................................................................................................ vi
List of Tables ............................................................................................................................... viii
List of Figures ................................................................................................................................ ix
Turning Toward Practice: ................................................................................................... 1
Establishing Group Reflective Practice Among Upper Elementary Educators .................. 1
Historically Entrenched Inequity ...................................................................................... 14
Context .............................................................................................................................. 18
Conceptual Framework ..................................................................................................... 31
Research Methods ............................................................................................................. 65
Data Analysis .................................................................................................................... 85
Limitations and Delimitations ........................................................................................... 89
Credibility and Trustworthiness ................................................................................... 91
Ethics ................................................................................................................................. 93
Findings ............................................................................................................................ 95
Epilogue .......................................................................................................................... 242
References ....................................................................................................................... 248

viii
List of Tables

Table 1: Teacher Educator-Leadership Actions Before Study and Cycle 1 79
Table 2: Teacher Educator-Leadership Actions Cycle 2 81
Table 3: Teacher Educator-Leadership Actions Cycle 3 and After Study 82
Table 4: My Nervous Laughter, Sessions 1-5 194
Table 5: My Questions about Student and Teacher Actions, Sessions 2-6 209
Table 6: Self-Reflection on my Power and/or My Socialization in the Learning
Environment
214

ix
List of Figures
Figure 1: Conceptual Framework 34
Figure 2: Large sticky note used during a mid-year reflection faculty meeting 135
1

Turning Toward Practice:
Establishing Group Reflective Practice Among Upper Elementary Educators
I am from an interracial family, a Black cisgender man who grew up poor in the rural
South and a White cisgender woman who grew up in a newly wealthy family in the suburban
North, who came together over a shared reverence for education and storytelling, and love in the
face of family and societal expectations. I am from an upper class family who reaped the benefits
of capitalism and lived on the side of Washington, DC that refused to build the metro because
they did not want the rest of the city to visit. Growing up, the effects of my father’s upbringing
during segregation and his role as part of the first integrated sixth grade class in his Southern
town were palpable. Likely because of his own experience, my father often—inadvertently or
not—attempted to protect my brother and me from racism by speaking as if most racial conflict
was over, and that love like my parents’ would conquer all. It took many years for me to
recognize the racism operating around me and within me. As a multiracial Black person, I had
access to Whiteness (Saad, 2020) due to the color of my skin and the texture of my hair, which I
was unaware of for many years. At the same time, my brother and I were in for a rude awakening
as we grew older and realized that we were treated differently from our White peers because of
the ways others constructed our race. Even our financial security did not stop me from getting
repeatedly stopped for extra screening at every TSA checkpoint for about 2 years after 9/11, even
though I was just a preteen. It did not stop a White male neighbor from questioning my brother
about why he was taking a walk in our own majority-White neighborhood shortly after Trayvon
Martin’s murder.
Experiencing others experiencing me as I walked through the world was often confusing
and I struggled with feelings of “racial homelessness” (Franco & Franco, 2016). However, one
2

place where I always felt a sense of belonging was with my Black grandparents—Gran-Gran
(Doris) and Pop-Pop (Edward). They farmed the same land where our ancestors were once
enslaved. Although my grandparents often struggled to pay the bills, they raised three boys who
each rose to the top of a competitive field: running a nuclear powerplant, serving as President of
a theological seminary, and directing national news for NBC. For better (the work ethic it
instilled) and for worse (the sometimes-crushing expectations it also instilled) the story of my
dad and his brothers defined success for me as soon as I was able to comprehend it. In addition to
farming and raising three boys, my grandmother Doris also taught in a Black church
kindergarten for many years, defying a public school system that deemed early childhood
education “for Whites only;” she retired from the same school system decades later after serving
as a paraprofessional and aide. Doris was also one of the reasons I became a teacher. When I was
in elementary school, I was grocery shopping with her in their small town when a 30-something
called “Mrs. Blount! Mrs. Blount!” from across the store. He proceeded to come up to us and
thank her for teaching him how to read. I was blown away at the potential impact of a teacher
from that moment on. Later, when I entered the field, her wisdom often guided me on difficult
days and she always, always, believed in the capacity of every student—hers and mine.
While my grandparents are my biggest inspiration, the sacrifices they made came at a
cultural and emotional cost. My grandparents knew that the only way for my father and his
brothers to achieve success as poor Black boys growing up in the segregated South was for them
to know how to operate within the White world. Doris grew up attending integrated schools in
Philadelphia, PA and lived with my great-grandmother and namesake, Julia Delk, who worked as
the help in wealthy White peoples’ homes. My grandmother knew upper class White norms and
ensured her sons knew them too. Similarly, my White mother’s parents—both of whom were
3

born working class and became new money through their own almost unbelievable journeys—
put a premium on instilling etiquette and excellence in my mother. My mother, who went on to
break societal expectations as one of few women in national television news in the 1980s and
1990s, saw firsthand how her gender impacted her career and salary and wanted me to have as
much access as possible as a multiracial, Black, cisgender girl. As a result, I was heavily
socialized into White upper class norms by both my parents in a highly gendered way, while also
being told a lot of second wave White feminist rhetoric. I was not allowed to have a pink Barbie
bike as a 7-year-old because Barbie’s design and marketing were sexist. Yet, as far as I know,
neither my brother nor most of my friends know that there is a proper side to clear the plate of a
dinner guest, but there is (it is the guest’s right side).
I assume that this socialization, along with my general curiosity and love of reading, is
what made the transition to school relatively easy for me. I attended Predominately White
Institutions (PWIs) from nursery school through graduate school. K–12 we frequently talked
about race in school as if racism was mostly over, even as it played out within our grade, and I
became the only BIPOC
1
student in most of my advanced classes. I was considered smart in
school from the moment I stepped into the admissions office of my private nursery school and
showed off my knowledge of the alphabet and fine motor skills. I am sure that this biased my
teachers, who approached me assuming I would do well. I am also neurotypical and able-

1
Throughout this dissertation I use the acronym BIPOC. Although all the different racial and ethnic groups
included in this acronym have very different experiences and histories, they tend to be grouped together in policy
(Ladson-Billings, 2006). I choose to use BIPOC rather than POC to consider the unique histories of enslavement and
genocide experienced by Black and Indigenous communities in the United States, a history that also had a large
influence on the development of formal education in the country (Givens & Ison, 2023). However, there are still
many different identities grouped together within People of Color (POC) whose experiences and histories are
unique. I also use Black, rather than African American, as I personally see African American as an ethnic group that
is specifically made up of descendants of enslaved Africans in the United States, whereas the word Black, to me,
encompasses all people of African descent living in the United States or other majority-White countries and is a
political and social reality. One example of this reality is the phrase and movement “Black Lives Matter.”
4

bodied—I was able to “listen to authority” (e.g., follow directions on the first try) and “become
and maintain a docile body” (Hatt, 2012, p. 15). I also compellingly enacted just enough
femininity and straightness to be seen as a “strong woman”—but not one who would radically
threaten the status quo. I came from a culturally Christian family, and I was White-adjacent. I
was occasionally chided for being bossy or for talking too much, but eventually learned to
present myself in ways that teachers and administrators of all races and genders—but within the
construct of a predominately White independent school—valued: opinionated but polite,
passionate but not angry, more prone to tears than yelling, responsible and timely. I always had
facts ready to back up my arguments in case anyone questioned me. In high school I completed
dozens of hours of community service tutoring students from under-resourced DC public
elementary schools, which both introduced me to saviorism and—at the same time—confirmed
my interest in entering the field of education. All these behaviors and interests were rewarded at
school: I earned special recognition, honors, or awards upon graduation from high school,
college, and my master’s program.
Yet, the more I learned the more I became uncomfortable with accolades I received. In
middle school and high school, I attributed these types of achievements to meritocracy (Patel,
2016), but I learned in college that I was more likely to receive them due to my socioeconomic
privilege and light skin (Saad, 2020). I still often think that any praise directed at me reinforces
the myth of meritocracy (Patel, 2016) and obscures the colorism and classism that have allowed
me to travel in most upper class White academic circles without being perceived as threatening.
Although I began to understand my socioeconomic privilege in high school, it was through my
pursuit of an African American Studies certificate and history degree at Princeton University that
I truly started to grapple with my families’ histories and our country’s history in relation to my
5

own identity. It strikes me as ironic that at one of the nation’s oldest, most elitist institutions of
higher education—whose history is so deeply intertwined with enslavement and White Southern
antebellum money (Garcia-Navarro, 2017) that I almost declined my acceptance—I made my
first long-lasting friendships with BIPOC peers within larger interracial friend groups.
As I made my way through college, I learned via phone calls and visits that all was not
well at home. My younger brother, a brilliant child who had repeatedly made me watch
documentaries about octopi for fun, was struggling socio emotionally in school. My brother was
bullied by his peers and humiliated by teachers, to the point that other students reported one
teacher’s cruel jokes. Even before he came out as queer, my Black brother’s refusal to conform
to gender norms and his refusal to silence his own thoughts and opinions to make them palatable
to others meant he was classified as a “difficult” student. Research demonstrates that experiences
like my brother’s are unfortunately commonplace; Collins (2013) writes, “certain identity
markers, which have been viewed as differences from normative cultural standards, have allowed
teachers, other school personnel, and society to perceive particular students as deficient, lacking,
and inferior” (as cited in Annamma et al., 2013, p. 12). Like many Black students whose
behavior is considered outside the norm by White-normed educational systems (Annamma et al.,
2013; Annamma & Handy, 2021), my brother's teachers began to believe that he had ADHD,
and the school required my parents to pay for neuropsychological testing—which revealed he did
not have ADHD.
However, my brother was diagnosed with dysgraphia and was given access to
accommodations such as a laptop during class and extra time for assessments. My parents and I
were skeptical of my brother’s diagnosis given the fact that (1) his dysgraphia was only revealed
due to his teachers’ seemingly racialized interpretation of my brother’s behavior and (2) we held
6

ableist beliefs about what learning disabilities meant that did not align with what we knew about
his intelligence. Our suspicions continued when, even with his new accommodations, things
were not necessarily getting better. During high school a White male history teacher wrongfully
accused my brother of plagiarism, claiming that he “did not expect” my brother to be capable of
such strong vocabulary—which my parents, brother, and I read as being racially coded. My
brother advocated for himself, and eventually the teacher was fired, as this was not the first
complaint about their pedagogy. My brother was constantly pushing back. His behavior was a
“[strategy] of resistance” (Annamma & Morrison, 2018, p. 124) against teachers who made
incorrect assumptions and judgments about him and his capabilities. Watching my brother’s
experience revealed to me how lucky I had been to love school and be loved at it.
After my freshman year in college, I interned at DC Public Schools in the central office,
shortly after Michelle Rhee became chancellor. My role was to address backlogged constituent
complaints from teachers, parents, students, and alumni. I loved the job, even though I ended up
with complex feelings about Michelle Rhee’s policies by the end of her tenure. After this
experience, I decided that I would become an education policymaker. Back on campus, I became
a founding member of Students for Education Reform, which eventually became a national
nonprofit and is now called Our Turn. The following summer I interned at the Obama White
House where I attended the White House’s event commemorating the 20
th
anniversary of the
Americans with Disabilities Act, and realized I knew almost nothing about the history of
dis/ability in the United States. I left the internship disillusioned with the government and
decided I should try the classroom instead. I did not want to go back to independent schools,
whose racial history was now on my mind due to my academic studies. However, I was also
horrified by contemporary stories about so-called rubber rooms and teachers’ unions, especially
7

in New York City where I hoped to live after graduation. I believed that charter schools might be
the best way to give back and provide more students the type of education I had received. I was
assuming, of course, that such an education was a good thing, that I had something worthy to
give, and that charter school students needed whatever that worthy thing was.
The summer before my senior year I interned at Uncommon Schools in a program
designed to recruit BIPOC teachers into their charter network in Brooklyn, NY; it worked. I was
hired as a Teach for America (TFA) Corps member at the same school where I had interned in
Brooklyn, NY. I wrestled with joining TFA as I thought at the time that the program was highly
problematic. I also knew that it was a status symbol that made it acceptable within upper class
circles for someone with an elite degree to become a teacher and I would be less likely to be told
I was wasting my degree. I joined and my discomfort intensified during our speedy training in
summer institute. Following that summer, my biggest connection to TFA was getting grants to
cover a large portion of the cost of my master’s degree, which I deeply appreciated. During my
first 2 years of teaching, I pursued my master’s at Relay Graduate School of Education, whose
program was mostly made up of charter schoolteachers like myself.
Within my first 2 years in the classroom several things happened that created disorienting
dilemmas for me: my brother refused to walk at his high school graduation, my BIPOC students
accepted my racial identity in a way many of my peers had not, and those same BIPOC students
were left in tears after being forced to go through a random and unscheduled security search one
morning by the New York City Police Department. The summer after my second year of
teaching, Eric Garner was killed in Staten Island. In December, during my third year in the
classroom, a grand jury failed to indict Garner’s killer. The morning after the failed indictment
was announced I asked my White female principal what we would do to support our students,
8

and she explained that she did not think it would have a big impact on them. Although I had
grown increasingly uncomfortable with the discipline system at our school that required demerits
and detentions for even the smallest child-appropriate infractions—like talking to a friend during
instruction—it was in this moment that I decided I was too much a part of the problem of
systemic and structural racism in education and decided to leave. At the same time, I wrote
publicly about my experiences with race and class for the first time—publishing a piece inspired
by an assignment I had written for my master’s program. The winter of 2014 was also my first
time participating in an unpermitted protest. My brother and I grew closer by protesting
together—he was doing a semester of college in the city—and we would meet up in Manhattan
with a Black queer friend of mine from college and march past the riot police. Once, we found
ourselves in a throng of hundreds chanting “Black Lives Matter” inside Grand Central Station.
I left New York City and landed at a charter school in Washington, DC. I was
disappointed to find many of the same systems without the same feeling of belonging I had in
Brooklyn. I struggled to manage fistfights and make connections with colleagues and parents; all
challenges I had not experienced. At my first school I had been coached regularly and given
meaningful feedback about my practice. At my new school, the White male principal presented
me with a pink sparkly pen and told me to “journal about my feelings,” while the White female
vice principal told me to give students fun games like crossword puzzles so my students would
like me. I was constantly physically ill from stress. I received a call from my former high school
principal asking me “to come home” to the school I had attended. Although returning to
independent schools was never something I had intended to do—I did. After a few months it
became clear to me why I had failed so quickly at my second school; the part of DC that I came
from was so insular and so elitist and I had not fully grasped the power of my positionality and
9

how it would play out differently inside DC compared to Brooklyn. I was not prepared to
meaningfully consider or understand the challenge my positionality presented, so I failed to
address it. I learned many valuable lessons as result.
Although it was still insular and elite, I did find that my alma mater had begun to change.
The school had always had good intentions—it was founded before Brown vs. Board of
Education as an integrated school—but it was finally beginning to grapple with how race, class,
gender, and sexual orientation were playing out within its own walls. I found I was constantly
learning, especially when collaborating with a diverse group of teachers on curriculum for a
Grade 6 social justice course. Colleagues and mentors encouraged me to reflect on my own
tendencies—including the way I devalued the voices of other people, including other Black
women, by jumping in too quickly to add my opinion to discussions or by assuming I was
correct. This was the type of feedback I had been missing.
Despite this progress, at all three schools I found the same thing: colleagues who labeled
students “difficult”—like my brother—or even “bad.” I finally began to appreciate my brother’s
experience as a student. I found that I enjoyed working with these “special friends” and
“highflyers,” labels used by more veteran teachers that I repeated during my early years in the
classroom. Eventually I stopped using these terms, which passed judgment on some of the
students I most enjoyed working with. It was through my experience working with and getting to
know students with ADHD, hearing differences, dyslexia, dysgraphia, sensory processing
disorders, autism, behavioral challenges, and more—all of whom were included in the General
Education (GenEd) classroom both in my charter schools and independent schools—that I
learned to try to find value in all students’ contributions and to view “misbehavior” as a form of
valuable feedback and communication.
10

For example, I once taught a Black female student in the independent school I had
attended; she was generally considered among the faculty to be a little “slow.” However, I found
she participated frequently and thoughtfully in class. I was confused when I gave her first test—
she failed. I gave her a different version of the test which I administered verbally—an
accommodation I had learned as a teacher administering state tests in a public charter school—
and she got an A. She had been passed from teacher to teacher and been labeled as a student who
just would not really do well when really, she was reading far below grade level. I found this
unacceptable. I had the social capital as an alumna to criticize the school—and I did so. I made it
my mission to make sure every student at my alma mater achieved and felt smart, as I had. My
colleagues provided new ideas about how to do so. I was given loving critical feedback, constant
encouragement, and professional growth opportunities by the principal and vice principal, two
Black women who became my mentors. Another White female friend and colleague introduced
me to standards-based grading and helped me reconsider what classroom structures I considered
equitable. I again found myself receiving accolades within this community. When I had to leave
due to my husband’s job relocation, I sobbed—a few times. After 8 years teaching, I decided to
leave the classroom and became an administrator to see if I liked school leadership. I also
applied to and enrolled in USC’s Doctor of Education in Educational Leadership program
because I recognized that all BIPOC women in leadership positions at the school I was leaving
had doctorates—although none of the White men or women did. Now, after 3 years working in
administration, I would say that I have mixed feelings about leadership and leaving the
classroom. However, the switch in perspective has provided even more opportunities for self-
reflection.
11

Some of my own greatest reflections on my practice have occurred through self-reflection
that was the result of honest conversations with others. For example, around the time I went back
to independent schools, I stopped using gendered terms like “ladies and gentlemen,” in my
classroom instead moving towards phrases like “lovely humans” (one my former students used
to tease me for), “y’all” and, “folks” after one of my brother’s best friends’ from high school
transitioned. Early on, I failed repeatedly as I tried to make this important adjustment in my own
language. The fact of my failure made me more aware of heteronormativity and cisnormativity in
other parts of my language and eventually my curricula. As a result, 4 years later, I felt
comfortable supporting the fifth and sixth grade science teacher at my current school as he
created a gender inclusive language guide for his units on human development. Although I am
very aware that I continue to perpetuate heteronormativity and cisnormativity, these changes and
my own self-awareness of these hegemonic norms were the result of open and honest reflection
and feedback with my brother and a queer colleague, both of whom I consider friends and who
regularly talk about history, government, and structural inequities with me in our day-to-day
conversations. I also found myself asking similar questions around race when I worked to shift
my language from “slave” to “enslaved” while teaching United States history during my final 3
years teaching. I often find myself asking similar questions about socioeconomic status when I
speak with my White husband, who grew up middle class and went to public school kindergarten
through college, about our upbringings. I am very lucky to be surrounded by so many people
who have willingly shared their stories with me, challenged me, and helped me begin to
recognize some of my own assumptions and blind spots, although I still have a lot to learn.
I am amid a similar journey around ability inspired by the same queer former colleague
and friend who is neurodivergent, my neurodivergent students, my d/Deaf students, my role as
12

an administrator responsible for student support, and greater societal awareness about ableism
overall.
2
I am starting to become more aware of my language and actions around dis/ability that
perpetuate deficit ideologies and dehumanize students. Even in writing this dissertation, I
struggle with what language to use. When feasible, I have been more specific about student(s)’
dis/abilities. I use the term “d/Deaf,” because Deaf with a capital letter D refers to people who
identify as part of the Deaf community and use a signed language, such as American Sign
Language (ASL) (National Association of the Deaf, 2022). When deaf is spelled with a lower-
case letter, it refers to anyone who has a hearing difference (National Association of the Deaf,
2022). Although we do not use ASL at my school site, some of our students and families do
identify as being part of the Deaf community, so I use d/Deaf. I also use the terms
neurodivergent, neurotypical, and neurodiversity to refer to different ways of understanding and
perceiving the world with the goal of “increasing[ing] acceptance and inclusion of all people
while embracing neurological differences” (Baumer & Frueh, 2021, para. 2). When writing more
generally, I have chosen to use the phrase “students with dis/abilities,” with the “/” indicating
that dis/ability is not fixed, but rather, it is defined in opposition to ability and is socially
constructed (Waitoller & King Thorius, 2016).
Yet, the phrase “students with dis/abilities” includes many disparate and different
identities and experiences. Activist Alice Wong (2020) writes, “disability is not a monolith, nor
is it a clear-cut binary of disabled and nondisabled. Disability is mutable and ever evolving.
Disability is both apparent and nonapparent” (p. xxii). Many activists like Wong have moved
away from person-first language, instead placing “disabled” back at the front to make the point
that dis/ability is core to identity and is not something to be ashamed of or cured. As someone

2
For evidence of the increased societal awareness, see the conversations around artists Lizzo and Beyoncé
after they each used an ableist slur in new songs over the course of spring and summer 2022.
13

who does not have a dis/ability and who struggles with the way the label of dis/ability
disenfranchises her students, I am not sure what language I should use. As such, I have chosen to
go with the current academic standard, which is person-first. However, I am continuing to
consider and learn about this evolution of language even though my action research has
concluded.
When I think of ableist language inside of schools, I think about teachers describing
students as “difficult” or discussing students who “can’t” in the faculty lounge or in meetings. I
think about all the students who do not feel that they belong, whose teachers have been so
influenced by their own socialization that they lose sight of the worth and potential of every
child. Yet, I know that I too have participated in these conversations. I absorbed ableist messages
through the institutions I attended, which valued White-supremacist ideals of normalcy, and even
from both sides of my family, who believed in “the structural promise of formal education”
(Patel, 2016, p. 398). It is incumbent upon me to continue to work to uncover and dismantle the
deficit ideology that I hold as a result so that I can best serve the students I work with. Wong
(2020) argues that, when we consider dis/ability rights and representation, “We all should expect
more. We all deserve more [italics original]” (p. xxi).
My initial long-term goal for my action-research was for teachers to internalize asset-
based perspectives on dis/abilities and adopt high expectations for students with dis/abilities.
Based on my experiences during my action research, I now consider asset-based perspectives to
be part of high expectations, as described in my conceptual framework. I have also expanded my
long-term goal to include the adoption of high expectations for BIPOC students in addition to
students with dis/abilities. My action research demonstrated to me the truth of Annamma et al.’s
(2013) assertion that “the legacy of historical beliefs about race and ability, which were clearly
14

based on white supremacy, have become intertwined in complex ways that carry into the present
day” (p. 2). It became clear during our group reflection-on-action (Schön, 1983, as cited in
Rodgers, 2002) that teachers needed space to reflect on their interactions with BIPOC students as
well as students with dis/abilities. By continuing to grow and improve my own reflective practice
and support others in beginning theirs, I hope we can begin to disentangle and dismantle both
White supremacy culture and ableism.
Historically Entrenched Inequity
Gloria Ladson-Billings (2006) describes the “historical debt” (p. 5) the United States
owes to BIPOC students. From the illegality of Black education during enslavement, to the
brutalization and forced assimilation of Indigenous children in boarding schools (Given & Ison,
2023), to segregation for Black and Latinx students, to requirements around speaking English
(Ladson-Billings, 2006), schools have engaged in what Bettina Love calls the “spirit murdering”
(Love, 2019, p. 34) of BIPOC children. Even after Supreme Court rulings like 1954’s Brown vs.
Board of Education ended de jure segregation for Black students (Martin, 1998), racial inequities
continued. Beginning in the late 20th century, many politicians and scholars began to focus on
the “achievement gap,” or difference in performance on standardized test scores between BIPOC
and White students (Ladson-Billings, 2006), which led to numerous policy initiatives like No
Child Left Behind that, although perhaps well-intentioned, failed to get to the roots of inequity
and instead perpetuated it (Love, 2019). Instead, suspension rates have skyrocketed for BIPOC
students, especially Black girls (Love, 2019). At the end of the 2021–2022 school year in
California, the state where I work, 78.6% of Black students graduated on time, compared to
87.8% of Native American or Alaska Native students, 84.7% of Latinx students and 90% of
White students; there is still work to do in ensuring equitable outcomes (California Department
15

of Education, 2022). As Annamma et al. (2013) and Love (2019) argue, these inequalities are
only amplified for BIPOC students who also have dis/abilities or who have other historically
marginalized identities.
Like the Brown vs. Board decision, when the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act
(IDEA) was first passed as the Education for All Handicapped Children Act (EHA) in 1975, it
was revolutionary (Neilsen, 2012). For much of the preceding 2 centuries, people with
dis/abilities in the United States had been shunned, institutionalized, and denied access to any
type of education at all (Neilsen, 2012). Students who were not obviously dis/abled but who
were not considered smart were often placed in “segregated special classes…populated with
students from non-dominant racial and ethnic groups, from immigrant populations, and from
‘lower’ social classes” (Annamma et al., 2013, p. 2), thereby defining “normal” students as of
Western European origin, middle or upper class, able bodied, and neurotypical (Annamma et al.,
2013; Nielsen, 2012). When the EHA mandated that public schools serve all students with
dis/abilities in the least restrictive environment, the intention was to address these historical
wrongs and increase access (Neilsen, 2012). On its face, it was successful—today, most students
with dis/abilities in California, are taught in mainstream classrooms (Petek, 2019).
However, California public school students with dis/abilities have a lower 4-year
graduation rate, higher suspension rate, and a high rate of chronic absences (Petek, 2019).
Nationally, people with dis/abilities are less likely to earn bachelor’s degrees or higher (U.S.
Department of Labor, 2022). Educational inequities persist into income inequities; people with
dis/abilities are systematically underemployed. People with dis/abilities are less likely to be
employed than people without a dis/ability in the United States, regardless of their age or
educational attainment (U.S. Department of Labor, 2022). Many of the people with the power to
16

hire others were educated in US schools, so these numbers are unsurprising; these managers
were socialized in a system that has oppressed people with dis/abilities for generations,
especially BIPOC students with dis/abilities (Annamma et al., 2013; Love, 2019).
The US education system has also educated the (usually neurotypical) students who go
on to become US educators, assessors, and policymakers who then reproduce the same outcomes
for marginalized students because of their own socialization (Gorski, 2011). Most educators are
not “purposefully repressive educators acting in purposefully oppressive ways” (Gorski, 2011, p.
158), but rather have been socialized to believe that different outcomes are the result of
“supposed deficiencies within disenfranchised individuals and communities” (Gorski, 2011, p.
153). If unchecked, educators’ deficit mindsets can lead them to implement ableist and racist
“violent” (Love, 2019, p. 7) policies including segregation, tracking, and isolation without
question (Annamma & Morrison, 2018; Love, 2019; Nielsen, 2012). Without learning to identify
deficit ideology (Gorski, 2011) through critical reflection and inquiry (Brookfield, 2017;
Rodgers, 2002), all educators are bound to reproduce it.
For example, GenEd teachers, most of whom are White (Ahmad & Boser, 2014, as cited
in Utt & Tochluk, 2020) refer BIPOC students to special education at higher rates due to their
own implicit biases (Annamma et al., 2013; Love, 2019; Nielsen, 2012). Referrals become even
more disproportionate if the diagnosis is based on student behavior rather than a physical
difference, because disruptive behavior is more likely to be perceived as deviant if demonstrated
by BIPOC students (Annamma et al., 2013). Most GenEd teachers are not trained to identify or
support students with dis/abilities, so they may make assumptions that BIPOC students need
special education services if their actions are outside White middle class norms (Annamma et al.,
2013). A 2009 United States Government Accountability Office study revealed that, at the time,
17

only half of teacher preparation programs required teachers’ field work to include working with
students with dis/abilities and many programs only included one course on supporting students
with dis/abilities. This study spurred programs in states—including California—to improve
preparation for GenEd teachers who teach students with dis/abilities, but it is still a work in
progress (Brownell, 2020). It follows that, based on their own educational experiences, GenEd
teachers would be likely to express the desire to “fix” dis/abled students to meet the (White,
able-bodied, and neurotypical) norm (Annamma et al., 2013) and less likely to address the deficit
ideology beneath this mindset (Gorski, 2011). As a result, ableism is still rampant even in
settings that include mainstreaming and inclusion (Annamma et al., 2013); “one can be included
and isolated” (Annamma & Handy, 2021).
Any educational program can fall into the trap of “focus[ing] upon what children with
dis/abilities cannot do, instead of emphasizing what their strengths are and what unique abilities
they possess” (Annamma et al., 2013, p. 10). Similarly, teachers will continue to enact
hegemonic assumptions based on race (Brookfield, 2017) if they are unable to consider their own
socialization and relation to race. Love (2019) argues that “racial and disability analyses are
necessary” (p. 7) given the historical and present outcomes for BIPOC students and students with
dis/abilities. It is critical that schools and educators consider the ideologies underlying their
approaches and the impact on both BIPOC students and students with dis/abilities. My goal in
my research was to create a knowledge-of-practice learning environment that allowed teachers to
“dialogue around a set of questions that will lead them to a better sense of their students’ full
selves, their students’ challenges, the grace and beauty that is needed to juggle multiple identities
seamlessly, and how schools perpetuate injustice” (Love, 2019, p. 7) that will begin to address
these historically entrenched inequities.
18

Context
In 1970, two White listening and spoken language (LSL) educators came together to
create the LSL Program,
3
an educational program for d/Deaf and hard of hearing children
(DHH), because they believed the existing options for DHH students were poor. LSL Program
was amongst the vanguard in seeking opportunities for mainstream instruction for students with
dis/abilities. Although the EHA had not yet been passed, LSL Program partnered with a local K–
12 school affiliated with a state university, who agreed to educate LSL Program’s DHH students
within their GenEd classrooms for part of the day. In 1983, the LSL Program decided to create
its own GenEd program, called School Where I Work (SWIW),
4
to create a full inclusion co-
enrollment educational institution. Today, LSL Program continues to have its own LSL
programming and Director within SWIW.
LSL Program’s history and legacy are complex; although its founding was
groundbreaking, its pedagogy and its management of the student body reinforced hegemonic
norms about dis/ability. First, the LSL pedagogical approach, formerly known as oralism, is
often critiqued by members of the Deaf community as ableist (Nielsen, 2012) because the
premise of LSL instruction is that d/Deaf people should have access to listening and spoken
language to communicate with hearing people, not that hearing people should have to learn to
sign and communicate with d/Deaf people. LSL became a prominent form of d/Deaf education in
the late 1800s and promoted the use of lip reading and oral speech as opposed to sign language
(Nielsen, 2012). LSL became predominant in the early 20th century, when many d/Deaf schools
banned the use of American Sign Language (ASL) (Denworth, 2015). While ASL was
eventually re-embraced in d/Deaf education, improved hearing technology had a large impact on

3
Pseudonym
4
Pseudonym
19

the policies and structures guiding DHH education (Denworth, 2015) including at LSL Program
and SWIW, which I will discuss later in this section.
Second, LSL Program’s focus on recruiting “gifted” DHH students (Director, 2020, p.
20) played into hegemonic ideas around smartness (Hatt, 2012). In a world that assumed d/Deaf
children were not as intelligent as hearing children (Denworth, 2015; Nielsen, 2012), the idea
that there could be a “gifted” DHH program was revolutionary. At the same time, the idea of
“giftedness” is one way that smartness can be used for social positioning (Hatt, 2012)—in this
case raising “gifted” d/Deaf children above neurodivergent d/Deaf or hearing children. LSL
Program’s focus on “gifted” d/Deaf students was also rooted in an economic and capitalistic
view of dis/ability. One of the two founders described the outcomes for DHH students prior to
the creation of LSL Program as follows: “[they]…could not take their place in the hearing world,
and they had a lifetime of underemployment. That was their future'” (Director, 2020, p. 20).
While statistically these assertions were true (Denworth, 2015; Nielsen, 2012), the founders’
assumption that ability to make money was related to one’s worth or success was rooted in White
supremacist ideas around normalcy and capitalism (Annamma et al., 2013). The focus on
“gifted” or neurotypical d/Deaf children also implied that there was not as much worth—
economic or otherwise—in the lives of d/Deaf children who were neurodivergent and,
potentially, hearing children who were neurodivergent.
LSL Program’s founders strongly believed that separate schools for d/Deaf students
reflected the historical segregation of students with dis/abilities. When LSL Program leaders
founded SWIW to create a full inclusion co-enrollment educational institution for DHH students,
they chose to cap the number of DHH students at 15% of the total student body. The founders
worried that if the percentage of DHH students was too high, DHH students would self-isolate
20

and lose the potential benefits of making connections with their hearing peers (Director, 2020).
Today, the SWIW school body is 18% DHH and 72% hearing due to a decline in GenEd
enrollment, rather than a change in policy about DHH enrollment. The idea that “self-
segregation” is a problem is rooted in White supremacist norms—actually, these affinity-like
spaces are places where marginalized students often provide each other with support (Tatum,
2017). Overall, the LSL Program’s founders’ focus was to integrate DHH students with hearing
peers to improve access to hegemonic systems, rather than to fight against the hegemonic
systems themselves.
Today, SWIW and LSL Program operate together. LSL Program is the DHH program
within SWIW and is run by the LSL Program Director. The phrases “LSL Program students” and
“DHH students” refer to the same group within SWIW’s larger heterogeneous student body.
SWIW is an independent school with membership in the California Association of Independent
Schools (CAIS) and National Association of Independent Schools (NAIS), run by a Head of
School, who reports to a Board of Trustees. I work just beneath the Head of School on a
leadership team that includes the LSL Program Director. LSL Program has maintained
certification as a nonpublic school that contracts with local districts to serve DHH students for
many years. All DHH students placed by local districts have Individualized Education Plans
(IEPs) and are officially classified as students with dis/abilities. Over 10% of our hearing
students are neurodivergent, but they do not have IEPs because they are enrolled as independent
school students and IDEA applies to public education. Instead, their teachers are guided by
neuropsychological assessments and “student accessibility plans” created by the school’s
learning support specialist—in my experience this is typical for independent schools, both as a
teacher and as a sister. As a result of its unique co-enrollment inclusion model, the phrase
21

“students with dis/abilities” is particularly complex at SWIW. For the purposes of my research, I
choose to include both DHH students and neurodivergent hearing students under the umbrella
term “students with dis/abilities” as hegemonic ideas about both smartness and dis/ability
underlie the founding of the institution as described above.
Given these underlying ideologies, it is unsurprising that the school has only recently
begun to begin to consider how to serve its neurodiverse student body. SWIW’s neurodivergent
student body has increased over time, just as the number of neurodivergent students in America
has also increased (Centers for Disease Control, 2021). While there have always been structures
in place to support LSL instruction, the school did not employ a learning specialist or counselor
until the 2019–2020 school year, both on a part time basis. While the hours for both roles have
increased, they are both still part-time positions. The counselor serves all students—DHH and
hearing—while the Learning Specialist predominately supports neurodivergent hearing students
who do not have as much access to the certified special education DHH teachers who support our
DHH students.
For many SWIW students, intersectionality—the overlap of multiple forms of oppression
or marginalized identities (Crenshaw, 1991)—is a daily lived reality. While I do not have access
to historical demographic data for SWIW, today, 50% of all students at SWIW identify as
students of color and students live in 45 different zip codes within Los Angeles County (SWIW
at a glance, 2021). Race and class are always at play, although often subtly, because most or all
nonpublic school students’ tuition is paid by their home school district, while the parents of
students enrolled directly in SWIW (whether neurodivergent, neurotypical, d/Deaf, or hearing)
pay all or a large part of the $35,970 tuition for Grades 1–6 (SWIW, 2022). As described in the
following section, there is little data available to me about student outcomes aside from middle
22

school acceptances, but this is a concern I have been working to address along with other
members of our Leadership Team. The LSL Program Director and DHH teachers do track
measurable IEP goals for our DHH students, but I do not have access to this data in my role.
Official Justice, Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion (JEDI) programming began at SWIW in
2017 when the current head of school arrived. At the time, the Associate Head of School, a Black
man who attended segregated schools in Mississippi and the Spanish languages and cultures
teacher, a Latinx woman from southern California, led or organized programming for
faculty/staff and parents. In 2020, the Spanish languages and culture teacher stepped down, and I
became a co-chair along with a White, neurodivergent, Jewish female colleague who is a year
younger than me and who grew up in Los Angeles. After the Associate Head of School left after
the 2020–2021 school year, I took over the Director of JEDI role, and continue to work with the
same colleague on our efforts. We have spent a significant portion of our time supporting our
faculty in learning and reflection and in developing curriculum and evaluating curriculum to
ensure it is culturally affirming. However, BIPOC students do still experience microaggressions
from White students and teachers, who believe they are aware, but are not (DiAngelo, 2021). At
the same time, teachers dive into learning opportunities open-minded and ready to talk. The LSL
Program provides a foundation around equity that we continue to build from in many aspects of
our JEDI work.
One of the things that drew me to SWIW is that dis/ability is always present in SWIW
classrooms. At my previous schools I found that dis/abilities were often spoken about in hushed
tones—that simply cannot be within SWIW’s model. All students gain a strong understanding of
equity at a young age as they observe the structures and procedures that are in place to support
DHH students including Roger DM microphones worn by all teachers, the use of pass-around
23

microphones during class discussions, and DHH teachers who push into the classrooms and
provide pre and post teaching as necessary. The structures and procedures that are in place within
each classroom to serve DHH students send the message that everyone should have what they
need to succeed. There are no separate classes for DHH students. At SWIW, DHH students are
never “the only one” in the school and are rarely the only DHH student in a classroom. This is
unique from the experience of many students with hearing technology mainstreamed in the
public school GenEd classroom, where they are often alone (Antia & Kreimeyer, 2015 as cited in
Carter, n.d.).
Today, the LSL Program continues to use LSL instruction. However, unlike at the LSL
Program’s founding in 1970, students now have three different types of hearing technology that
improve their access to sound: hearing aids, bone-anchored hearing aids, and cochlear implants.
Like, LSL, some d/Deaf people have criticized cochlear implants for being rooted in a deficit-
mindset focused on “fixing” (Denworth, 2015), while others view them as a way for d/Deaf
people to more fully access the ableist hearing world. Either way, to effectively use these three
forms of hearing technology, explicit listening and spoken language instruction is required
(Denworth, 2015).
Currently, all teachers at SWIW were born hearing, although one wears hearing aids for
age-related hearing loss. From 2018–2022, the LSL Program had its only d/Deaf director—a
Chicana woman who was hired 3 decades after the famous Deaf President Now protests at
Gallaudet University in 1988 (Denworth, 2015). From 2020–2022, SWIW employed a d/Deaf
Black woman as a GenEd teacher, who I supervised. From 2018–2021, SWIW employed a
d/Deaf Latina woman as a DHH teacher. However, despite the technology at SWIW, none of
these faculty or leadership team members who were born d/Deaf stayed very long, which
24

suggests that there is still ableism—or at minimum a lack of belonging—for d/Deaf adults in the
community. During the 2022–2023 school year, 20 of SWIW’s 32 teachers (including DHH and
specialist teachers) were White. Currently, none of them are out to students as LGBTQIA+, and
most of them are culturally Christian.
Role
At the time of my study, in my roles as a hearing and neurotypical administrator, my own
understandings and biases around dis/ability undoubtedly played a major role in the way I
enacted leadership at SWIW. My two administrative roles were the Director of Upper
Elementary, in which I served as the curricular lead, student support lead, and family support
system for fourth, fifth, and sixth grades. I also served as the Director of JEDI, in which I ran and
developed JEDI curricula, events, and parent and teacher training at SWIW with the White,
neurodivergent, Jewish female colleague who I described above. In both roles I hold positional
authority. I was one of multiple BIPOC members of our leadership team but was also by far the
youngest person on the leadership team, and the only Black leadership team member who
directly supervised teachers or worked frequently with enrolled families. Our Director of
Admissions was a Black man in his early 50s, our Chief Operating Officer was a Black gay
woman in her early 60s, and our Director of Communications and Marketing was a Latina
woman in her late 30s or early 40s. The LSL Program Director, Director of Teaching and
Learning, and Director of Lower Elementary were all White women in their mid-to-late 40s. Our
Head of School was a White woman in her early 50s.
I encountered microaggressions from parents, including shock that I was getting my
doctorate not my master’s, negative remarks about my age, and assumptions about what my
qualifications were or are not. As someone who had to directly interface between parents,
25

teachers, and students, I often found myself remaining “forethoughtful [and] anticipating issues
related directly to [my] race and gender while devising proactive strategies for circumventing
potential occurrences” (Aaron, 2020, p. 160). Like the Black female principals (one of whom is
also multiracial Black/White) that Aaron (2020) profiled, I spent a lot of time trying to build
relationships and distance myself from stereotypes that faculty, staff, and families might hold
about younger BIPOC women, although in the end this also probably perpetuated White
supremacy culture (Okun & Jones, 2001). Certainly, my perfectionism and “I’m the only one”
tendencies were both rooted in White supremacy culture (Okun & Jones, 2001) and were also
hard to let go of when I knew my mistakes might be attributed to my race, gender, and age
(Aaron, 2020), something I grappled with throughout my research, as described in my third
finding. I wanted to prove that I deserved the role that I had and felt like I must. My own
complex feelings around my positional power in an institution where most employees and
parents are White led me to initially focus my research on all students with dis/abilities, but over
the course of my research it became clear that I had to take on my own discomfort and address
low expectations for BIPOC students as well.
“Worship of the written word,” in this case, documentation via data, is a White
supremacy culture construct (Okun & Jones, 2001) that I actively employed with the hopes of
gaining more insight on the experience of historically marginalized students at SWIW, including
students with dis/abilities and BIPOC students. In both my JEDI and Director of Upper
Elementary role, I worked (and continue to work) to help centralize and streamline data systems
so that we could better understand if there were certain groups of students who are systematically
struggling academically or socio emotionally at SWIW. During the 2022–2023 school year, we
gained the capacity to track demographic data more accurately over time due to a new student
26

information system and digital gradebook, and I plan to look at the data more closely during
summer 2023. Up until the 2021–2022 school year, it was impossible to look at any students’
year-to-year academic trajectory without searching through hundreds of individual PDFs or
physical piles of previous progress reports, let alone disaggregate the data. While improved data
collection may prove useful in moving towards an inquiry stance, the hegemonic focus on data
and outcomes could also reinforce deficit ideology (Gorski, 2011).
In my role I also collaborated with the learning specialist, counselor, and Director of
Lower Elementary to think about how provide more explicit training to teachers around student
accommodations. In 2021, we added a professional development session with the learning
specialist to our August planning week. We required teachers to complete an introductory online
course on universal design for learning over summer 2002. We revisited the course in-person
throughout our 2022 planning week and did so in two additional faculty meetings throughout the
year. In summer 2023, we required multiple readings selected by our learning specialist and
counselor to help us continue to build understanding of neurodiversity. Unfortunately, the
knowledge-in-practice structure of most of these adult learning opportunities may have rendered
them andragogically ineffective because, given the approach, the sessions were unlikely to move
teachers towards a knowledge-of-practice or inquiry stance (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999).
Whole-group professional learning at SWIW was complicated by the fact that teachers
approached teaching from very different educational backgrounds; some teachers were certified
and had been through teacher education or preparation programs while some had been through
neither—independent schools do not require certification or teacher preparation programs
(NAIS, n.d.). Moreover, these sessions were based on the premise that all teachers already
believed in every student’s capacity to achieve and engage in the work; as I continued my
27

conversations with teachers and administrators, I no longer believed that this was a relevant
starting point for the conversation as it did not address the underlying deficit ideologies many of
us held (Gorski, 2011).
Whether due to their own developmental level (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano,
2017), the knowledge-in-practice approach to teacher learning (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999)
taken in the design of our PD sessions, or a lack of critical reflection (Brookfield, 2017), I found
that many teachers continued to hold and/or perpetuate hegemonic ideologies, which often were
revealed by teachers’ language. Teachers’ language often reinforced White supremacy and
ableism and appeared to go unnoticed, or at least uninterrupted, by most people, sometimes
including me. For example, while I explained to a White male teacher who I supervise why
saying “the” before “Indigenous” was othering and perpetuated stereotypes, I avoided the
difficult conversation by delivering the feedback via email and omitted the fact that I thought this
language harmed the BIPOC students in his class. I also did not correct a more experienced
White male teacher (who I also supervise) who used the phrase “normal hearing kids” to
describe hearing children in a faculty meeting during the 2021–2022 school year—during the
meeting or after. The word “normal” has ableist implications, and the Directors always use the
word “typical” instead. However, I also see progress—in August 2022 the same teacher used the
word “neurodivergent” in one of our team meetings when talking about a student—a term we
had just introduced in August planning week.
Although I believed that I had developed at least a somewhat consistent ability to notice
when deficit ideology revealed itself in my language and/or others’, I did not consistently
“challenge this language” or “name the imitations of these discourses and offer a counter-
narrative” (Gorski, 2011, pp. 168–169). I attributed this partially due to my own socialization
28

within the culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021; Roegman et al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022) and into a
deficit perspective, and the complex space I occupied as a multiracial Black, cisgender female
school leader who was younger than the rest of the Leadership Team (Aaron, 2020). Regardless
of the reasons, when I chose silence, I perpetuated the hegemonic systems that are harming
historically marginalized students.
The school’s culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021; Roegman et al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022)
made giving meaningful feedback about potentially ineffective or culturally irrelevant pedagogy
difficult. For example, I took roundabout ways of addressing two student concerns rooted in
intersectional experiences around their dis/abilities. I had a d/Deaf BIPOC female student share
that she thought her White female teacher was critiquing her for behavior that her White “blond”
(a characteristic the student mentioned multiple times) female classmates exhibited without
consequence. I had the parents of a White, hearing, neurodivergent female student share that she
thought her White male teacher only corrected her for interrupting her classmates, not her male
peers (whether the male peers were neurotypical or neurodivergent). Although I spoke to both
teachers, I chose to hedge my feedback—for example, I explained that the second student felt
unheard, not that she felt discriminated against—which likely reproduced the assumptions that
resulted in these students’ experiences in the first place.
Deficit ideology was also clear amongst administrators, as well as teachers. Ableist
language and assumptions often revealed themselves during our Student Support Meetings. This
team of administrators, the learning specialist, and the school counselor met monthly to discuss
student needs and trends at a higher level and raise any larger concerns to the attention of the
Head of School. These concerns were usually focused on students who were not demonstrating
“success,” rather than what supports teachers were or were not providing. For example, concerns
29

were repeatedly raised by teachers and in our meetings about the behavior of a Black boy, who
also came up in a problem of practice shared during my research. During the 2021–2022 school
year the student’s parents asked me to push for weekly communication with their child’s teachers
(one White, one Black, both women), so they could discuss the incidents at home, and the
student’s behavior improved. Initially, I had not suggested this approach due to deficit-focused
stories both White and Black administrators had shared with me about this family. At the
beginning of the 2022–2023 school year I was clear with his teachers about the importance of
relationship building and he got off to a stronger start but ended the year again feeling bad about
school and himself.
This story is one example of how I frequently worked with parents and teachers, ideally
in support of students’ academic and socio emotional growth, in my role as Director of Upper
Elementary. At times, I also directly supported students academically or in their relationships
with peers or teachers. I lead team meetings with the fourth and fifth/sixth grade teaching teams
every other week, which included both the GenEd teachers I supervised and the DHH teachers
who I did not supervise. During the 2022–2023 school year I supervised seven hearing GedEd
teachers: one multiracial (Asian American/White) man who is younger than me, two White men
(one older than me, one about the same age), and three women (two older than me, one younger
than me). Only the three women had teaching credentials. Prior to my study, the meetings took a
knowledge-in-practice approach. I designed the agenda—with the opportunity for additions from
teachers—and about half of the meeting time was focused on student support. Typically, this
looked like all of us (teachers, learning specialist, counselor, and me) naming students who were
struggling socio emotionally or academically, describing what supports had already been tried,
and brainstorming what next steps might be. In this format, it was easy to fall into deficit-based
30

language that reinforced the idea of “fixing” students so that their behavior or academic
performance was more typical or “normal.” For example, it was in these spaces that White
teachers (men and women) complained about the number of “high needs” students. At times,
teachers discussed how much neurodivergent students “need[ed] to do,” with the idea that
accommodations meant less learning. This assumption was rooted in the idea that there was one
appropriate way to be a student and that any deviations from those norms were negative. These
assumptions were rooted in deficit-focused, capitalistic, and student-as-product mindsets
(Annamma & Morrison, 2018) that I also held.
I focused my action research on the student support component of our grade-level
meetings because deficit thinking was and continues to be rampant in these spaces. The problems
of practice that were presented in these meetings created a natural opportunity to shift toward
group reflection-on-action (Schön, 1983, as cited in Rodgers, 2002), especially around moments
in the classroom involving students with dis/abilities and BIPOC students, who have historically
been hurt by educational systems, as described in the section “historically entrenched inequity.”
Through my research, I hoped to gain more courage to disrupt the culture of niceness (DiAngelo,
2021; Roegman et al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022) that I observed and participated in as a multiracial
Black cisgender woman socialized in PWIs, but, as I discuss in my third finding, this was harder
than I anticipated. While my long-term goal is for teachers to adopt high expectations for BIPOC
students and students with dis/abilities, I now believe that teachers must first be able to turn
toward practice together (Horn & Little, 2010) and engage in reflective practice as a group, as
described by Rodgers (2002) first. My action research answered the following research question:
How do I establish a knowledge-of-practice learning environment that promotes my own and
upper elementary teachers’ ability to turn toward practice?
31

Conceptual Framework
Conceptual frameworks represent researchers’ “tentative theory” (Maxwell, 2013, p. 39)
and inform their research designs. Maxwell (2013) describes the components of a conceptual
framework as the “concepts, assumptions, expectations, beliefs, and theories that [support] and
[inform] your research” (p. 39). All conceptual frameworks are informed by the researcher’s
experiences, and therefore are a way to explicitly name how a researcher’s beliefs and
assumptions are influencing their theories and research design (Ravitch & Carl, 2016). In
qualitative research it is particularly important to consider how experiences, tacit theories, and
researcher choices impact the study because “the researcher is the instrument of the research”
(Maxwell, 2013, p. 45). Initially, the process of constructing my conceptual framework allowed
me to draw connections between theories (e.g., critical reflection), beliefs (e.g., asset-based
perspectives are positive), and assumptions (e.g., teachers are not currently interrogating their
practice in a meaningful way) that informed my theory of action and the design of my action
research to answer my original research question: How do I promote my own and GenEd
teachers’ internalization of asset-based perspectives on dis/abilities and adoption of high
expectations for students with dis/abilities using critical reflection?
As a conceptual framework should, my theory and framework have now evolved based
on my action research. While my long-term intention is still for teachers to adopt high
expectations—now encompassing both BIPOC students and students with dis/abilities—we were
not able to reach this goal given the limitations and delimitations of my action research, as
discussed in a later section. I still believe that teachers can engage in group critical reflection-on-
action together. However, I have modified my conceptual framework to reflect my new tentative
theory that teachers must first be able to turn toward practice together (Horn & Little, 2010) and
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engage in reflective practice as a group, as described by Rodgers (2002), before extending this
practice to critical reflection. After this, a critical lens can be introduced and applied and the
group can reach inquiry as stance (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999), which we did not accomplish
in our work together. Additionally, while enacting my action research I discovered that my
journey as a novice teacher-educator mirrored my teachers’ journeys in many ways, so I have
also incorporated this new understanding (Ravitch & Carl, 2016) into my revised theory. Based
on my updated tentative theory and action research, my action research answered the following
research question: How do I establish a knowledge-of-practice learning environment that
promotes my own and upper elementary teachers’ ability to turn toward practice? My revised
conceptual framework is expanded to include the initial turn toward practice with the opportunity
to later add a critical lens and embody inquiry as stance (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999). I have
also revised it to better incorporate my own learning as a teacher-educator. My revised
conceptual framework is illustrated in the narrative below and in Figure 1.
As seen in Figure 1, all work takes place within a holding environment that I, as the
facilitator, had to create and maintain for participants and myself; our emotional and cognitive
response throughout played a large role in my ability to do so. Within this holding environment,
teachers and I engaged in group reflection-on-action centered around a problem of practice or
moment from the classroom. My facilitation was informed by evidence-based andragogical
strategies (e.g., forms of assistance) and adaptive leadership strategies (e.g., regulating distress).
Participants brought their own identities and experiences to our group reflection-on-action, as did
I, represented in the visual by my hair. Participants demonstrated self-efficacy and motivation to
engage in reflection, which was then influenced by how each session progressed, as indicated by
the bidirectional arrow. Group reflection-on-action led teachers to either internalize the reflective
33

cycle or improve their ability to “see” and hear alternate perspectives. When teachers were able
to “see” their moment and hear alternate perspectives, the opportunity presented itself for me to
clarify “disconnect[s]” with their practice and trigger a constructive disorientation by asking
probing questions at the edge of participants’ zones of proximal development (ZPD), resulting in
a reconsideration of self in relation to practice. As we lacked a critical lens, it was impossible for
a full constructive disorientation to take place. I now believe that this initial practice of group
reflection-on-action must become regular practice before a critical lens can be applied. However,
although we did not achieve this, I continue to believe that, with the addition of criticality,
constructive disorientation can unearth deficit mindsets, and hegemonic norms and assumptions,
allowing teachers to progress along their journey and adopt deep learning mindsets as well as
high expectations for BIPOC students and students with dis/abilities.
As the facilitator, I used individual critical reflection and conversations with my chair and
peers to reflect on my enactment of andragogical and adaptive leadership strategies. My revised
theory argues that both individual critical reflection and reflection with peers are needed for me
to experience my own constructive disorientation. During my action research, I experienced
constructive disorientations that allowed me to unearth some of my own deficit mindsets and
hegemonic norms and assumptions and reconsider myself in relation to my learners and practice.
Individual critical reflection improved my ability to see the hegemonic structures we
were and are operating within, including ableism, sexism, and White supremacy culture. I assert
in my revised conceptual framework that, should I continue to critically reflect, I will be able to
combat the culture of niceness and hold my adult learners to high expectations. Additionally,
through repeated individual critical reflection I will be able to embody a deep learning mindset
myself.
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Figure 1
Conceptual Framework

35

Group Reflection-on-Action
Drawing on Rodgers (2002), Horn and Little (2010), and Cochran-Smith and Lytle
(1999), I now define group reflection-on-action as group of teachers, administrators, and/or
teacher-educators collectively reflecting upon actions taken by a member of the group during a
specific and concluded moment in the classroom in order to better “‘see’ the world, to be present
to it and all its complexities” (Rodgers, 2002, p. 230). Group reflection-on-action is one
embodiment of the knowledge-of-practice approach to teacher learning, which is based in the
belief that “through inquiry teachers…make problematic their own knowledge and practice as
well as the knowledge and practice of others” (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999, p. 273) thereby
improving their practice moving forward.
This approach contrasts with both knowledge-in-practice and knowledge-for-practice
approaches, wherein teachers are asked to listen to information from either researchers or master
teachers respectively and use this knowledge to inform their practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle,
1999). As an administrator, I previously took a knowledge-in-practice approach to teacher
learning, relying on myself or other experts to share information we perceived as important. The
shift to a knowledge-of-practice approach was a larger change than I anticipated for both me and
my participants, as addressed in my findings. I now believe that to reach critical group reflection-
on-action—my original intention—any group that is still based in a knowledge-in-practice or
knowledge-for-practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 2010) approach must first navigate the change
of adopting a knowledge-of-practice approach before they can add the lens of criticality and
embody inquiry as stance (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 2010).
As with all knowledge-of-practice approaches, group reflection-on-action does not put
stock in the years of experience a teacher has or the position someone holds (Cochran-Smith &
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Lytle, 2010), rather the diversity of experience and understandings (Rodgers, 2002) is an asset to
the group as they collectively inquire and investigate their practice together. Horn and Little
(2010) describe this shift in the group’s focus to what happened in the classroom—rather than
the conditions outside of the classroom—as a turn toward practice. This turn is focused on the
“moments” (Rodgers, 2002) or “problems of practice” (Horn & Little, 2010) that teachers
provide as the initial material for group reflection-on-action. These problems of practice are
occurrences in the classroom—small or large—that serve as an anchor from which teachers can
question their practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999; Horn & Little, 2010; Rodgers, 2002) and
engage in group reflection-on-action. Reflection-on-action is particularly valuable in a group
setting because other participants may see or interpret the same moment differently (Rodgers,
2002). The process of collectively investigating a problem of practice through group reflection-
on-action allows participants to consider alternate perspectives and understandings of what
transpired (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999; Horn & Little, 2010; Rodgers, 2002) and learn from
them.
I chose to operationalize group reflection-on-action by using Rodger’s (2002) reflective
cycle. Rodger’s cycle serves as a “systematic and intentional” (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999, p.
279) way to structure practice-based inquiry, a key attribute of the knowledge-of-practice
(Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) approach. Rodger’s (2002) reflective cycle “[supplies] specific
means for defining, elaborating, and reconceptualizing the problems that teachers encountered
and for exposing or building principles of practice” (Horn & Little, 2010, p. 190). Additionally,
as explored in the section “constructive disorientation,” Rodgers’s (2002) cycle provides the
“clear criteria for performance” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) required for a constructive disorientation,
which also made it a strong choice for my action research.
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During the first phase of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle, the group works to support
the sharer in generating a thorough description of the problem of practice without offering any
analysis or interpretation. Participants must avoid dispensing advice or trying to understand the
impetus for the events under discussion (Horn & Little, 2010; Rodgers, 2002). Instead,
participants ask questions that elicit more details about the moment (Rodgers, 2002), eventually
allowing everyone in the space to visualize the problem of practice like a short film. Only once
participants can see and hear the moment should the group move onto collective analysis and
attempt to identify multiple perspectives or understandings of the moment (Rodgers, 2002). As
Rodgers (2002) argues and as I found in my research, depending on their zone of proximal
development (ZPD) (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) some participants may need support consistently
differentiating between description and analysis and will need to internalize (Tharp & Gallimore,
1989) this concept and the steps of Rodgers’s (2002) cycle before they can glean much about
their practice through group reflection-on-action. Whether teachers need to internalize the cycle
first, once they are able to hear additional perspectives, they can become more able to “see”
(Rodgers, 2002, p. 230) the intricate dynamics at play within their classrooms. In concert with
support from the facilitator—as described below in the section “andragogy”—this realization
may allow teachers to clarify “disconnect[s]” (Wergin, 2020) within their practice and reconsider
their relationship to their practice. These disconnects are gaps between “where we are and where
we need to be” (Wergin, 2020, p. 70)—where a teacher is unaware that their actions within the
classroom do not align with their stated goals or beliefs. When these disconnects are uncovered
and clarified teachers may experience constructive disorientation—defined in a later section—
which can result in teachers reconsidering themselves in relation to their learners and their
practice.
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Although this was not explored in my action research due the duration of my study,
Rodgers (2002) asserts that based on teachers’ new understanding of their problem of practice,
they can take more “intelligent action” in their classrooms moving forward. Through this
experimentation, along with description and analysis, teachers can continue to improve their
ability to “see” and eventually develop the capacity to engage in reflection-in-action rather than
reflection after the fact (Rodgers, 2002). Additionally, I argue that if a critical (Brookfield, 2017)
lens is applied, group reflection-on-action operationalized through Rodgers’s (2002) reflective
cycle can provoke constructive disorientations that unearth deficit mindsets and hegemonic
norms and assumptions (Brookfield, 2017; Wergin, 2020). I still believe, as stated in my original
conceptual framework, that group reflection-on-action becomes critical when the group can
“confirm and also challenge assumptions they hold” (Brookfield, 2017, p. 116) and consider the
hegemonic norms and power dynamics at play (Brookfield, 2017; Wergin, 2020) within the
problem of practice. The incorporation of criticality can allow the group to embody inquiry as
stance (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) where teachers “challenge the purposes and underlying
assumptions of educational change” (p. 295). During my action research we were unable to reach
a critical group reflection-on-action as we first needed to make it through the shift to a
knowledge-of-practice approach to teacher learning and improve upon our ability to engage in
group reflection-on-action operationalized through Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle.
Identity and Experience
As described above, the diversity of identity and experiences of the participants is one of
the reasons that reflection-on-action is higher impact in a group setting (Rodgers, 2002). As in
my initial conceptual framework, I continue to believe that both the facilitator and participants’
identities and experiences are vitally important to the process of group reflection-on-action. In
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my revision of my conceptual framework, I have chosen to consider epistemology—the ways we
conceive of knowledge and the types of knowledge that we value (Douglas & Nganga, 2015)—
as part of our identities. Participants’ educational backgrounds were explicitly discussed within
our group reflection-on-action multiple times. In my initial conceptual framework, I addressed
my epistemology specifically, which I continue to believe is an important component to my
tentative theory. In most US schooling, the dominant epistemology is protestant and settler-
colonialist, focused on “hard work,” meritocracy, and the written word (Spring, 2016). As
articulated at the beginning of this dissertation, I deeply internalized this dominant epistemology
both due to my schooling and family. These hegemonic epistemologies and concepts certainly
remain in my revised theory. Along with my identity as a young, biracial Black woman in an
administrative role (Aaron, 2020), my own epistemology and socialization had a larger impact
on my facilitation than I originally anticipated as discussed in my second and third findings.
Social identifiers such as and race and gender informed my experience of the participants
in the learning space. Everyone’s identities and experiences influenced their choice or ability to
be vulnerable in the space. My participants’ identities and experiences, as well as my own,
influenced the way we approached sharing our moments, the questions we asked, and what we
took from group reflection-on-action. Experiences are based on assumptions and these
experiences create new assumptions on which we base future actions—sometimes correctly and
sometimes incorrectly—that go on to inform our reflections (Brookfield, 2017). Group
reflection-on-action gives us a moment to pause and try to uncover these assumptions. When
participants or I chose to share moments from past classrooms, we were referring to our
experiences as an anchor for our group reflection-on-action. When done carefully, the sharing of
previous experiences served to “normalize” the problem of practice (Horn & Little, 2010)—
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explored in more detail in a later section—and allowed for more meaningful interrogation of the
problem of practice. However, when shared without care, previous experiences turned us away
from practice and even served to reinforce the deficit mindsets I was seeking to change.
Self-Efficacy and Motivation
Participant self-efficacy and motivation are two additions to my tentative theory based on
my action research. Self-efficacy, or one’s belief about their own capacity (Schunk, 2020) can
impact the enthusiasm with which a learner engages in an experience like group reflection-on-
action. When people have low self-efficacy, they may choose not to participate in the learning
experience(Schunk, 2020). If someone’s self-efficacy is high, they are more likely to engage
(Schunk, 2020), which I found to be true during my action research. Participants with stronger
self-efficacy engaged more in group reflection-on-action, as explored in my first finding. The
more participants deeply engage, the more likely group reflection-on-action can generate
multiple diverse perspectives on the problem of practice. Schunk (2020) argues that strong self-
efficacy gives learners a “sense of agency” (Schunk, 2020, p. 150)—this belief in one’s ability to
succeed is particularly important when change occurs (Northouse, 2019)—such as a shift in the
approach to adult learning. Additionally, as described in the later section “constructive
disorientation,” self-efficacy is required for constructive disorientation (Wergin, 2020).
Motivation, too, impacts both participation and the possibility of constructive
disorientation, also described in more detail below. Motivation is what creates engagement in a
learning process (Schunk, 2020) such as group reflection-on-action. Group reflection-on-action
particularly requires motivation from participants, because if only the facilitator is engaged it can
quickly shift out of knowledge-of-practice and into a knowledge-in-practice (Cochran-Smith &
Lytle, 1999) experience. Wergin (2020) argues that “autonomous motivation, an amalgam of
41

intrinsic motivation and extrinsic motivators” (p. 71), is required for constructive disorientation,
and I would argue for group reflection-on-action as well. Intrinsic motivation, our desire to
engage with no clear reward (Schunk, 2020), is at play in group reflection-on-action when some
parts of the process may not have a tangible or even clear outcome. At the same time, extrinsic
motivation—focused on reward (Schunk, 2020)—is also at play; there are potential “rewards”
both in classrooms and in the connections with colleagues (Horn & Little, 2010; Rodgers, 2002)
that can come out of group reflection-on-action. However, given the time and vulnerability
required, learners must simply want to know more (Wergin, 2020) about themselves and others
to find the work of group reflection-on-action worthwhile.
Emotional and Cognitive Response
As I asserted in my initial conceptual framework, my ability to recognize participants’
emotional and cognitive responses and adjust my adaptive leadership and andragogical strategies
appropriately to maintain the holding environment, which I define in the following section, had
an impact on how close participants got to experiencing constructive disorientation. Participants
engaged in group reflection-on-action had both cognitive and emotional responses to the
conversation which stemmed from the moments themselves as well as the participants’ own
identities and epistemologies. As described in more detail below, constructive disorientation
relies on an emotional response to the topic at hand, however, it must be carefully managed by
the leader of the conversation to prevent paralysis, which I was only able to do effectively once.
An emotional response meant that the discussion evoked feelings for me and/or the
participants. I continue to believe, as I asserted in my initial conceptual framework, that emotion
is a key part of the learning process. If the adult educator manages to appropriately balance
emotions in the room, the emotions can lead to a constructive disorientation. If emotions like
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anxiety are too high, they can prevent learners from constructive disorientation and even from
seeing or hearing alternate perspectives. It was critical for me to try to gauge emotion during our
group reflection-on-action to regulate distress and maintain the holding environment, as
expanded upon in the “adaptive leadership” section. While I did originally theorize that my own
emotional response would be relevant, I underestimated the extent to which it would be, as
explored in my second finding. For this reason, I added my emotional response to my revised
conceptual framework visual, which previously had been implied but not explicit. My ability to
manage my own emotions and regulate my distress turned out to be just as—if not more—
important than my ability to do so for my participants.
In addition to emotional responses, I continue to believe that constructive disorientations
also result in cognitive responses, which means the participant is learning (Mezirow, 2000). In
my revised critical reflection, I assert that group reflection-on-action, whether it results in
constructive disorientation, can result in other cognitive responses such as clarifying a
disconnect, as described above. Cognitive response “from and in experience” creates “learning
for experience” (Wergin, 2020, p. 27). When teachers differentiated between description and
analysis or expressed new ideas or thoughts or revised their interpretation of an event based on
the groups’ discussion, there was evidence of a cognitive response. These cognitive responses
had the potential of leading to constructive disorientation or the unearthing of deficit mindsets
and hegemonic norms and assumptions (Brookfield, 2017), as described previously.
Holding Environment
The holding environment was mentioned as part of adaptive leadership within my
original conceptual framework, but I have chosen in my revision to give the holding environment
its own section and more importance. As demonstrated by my visual, the holding environment is
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impacted by/holds everyone in the learning space, but it must be created and maintained by the
facilitator (Northouse, 2019). Northouse (2019) describes the holding environment as a feeling
of “safety.” Initially, I defined a holding environment as an emotional space where adult learners
were experiencing constructive, as opposed to destabilizing, disorientations (Wergin, 2020).
While I still believe this to be true, our holding environment was present even when
disorientation was not. As such, I now define the holding environment as a space of
psychological safety (Arao & Clemens, 2013), where participants can share their problem of
practice without fear that doing so will result in judgment or other repercussions. While there is a
collective holding environment, each participant also has their own individual sense of
psychological safety that I had to continue to cultivate in my role as the facilitator, as explored in
my findings. One way of doing so was by regulating my distress as well as the distress of
participants, which I explore further in the following section. The psychological safety created
by the holding environment did not mean that participants were never uncomfortable—without
discomfort no disorientation would have been possible—however, my goal was for discomfort to
come through the act of engaging vulnerably in group reflection-on-action, not as the result of
fearing that engaging in group reflection-on-action would lead to judgment or other professional
or personal repercussions.
My revised conceptual framework also explicitly names that the facilitator can support
both the collective and individual holding environments through the co-construction of norms
(Northouse, 2019; Rodgers, 2002), which was only briefly mentioned in my original framework.
The success of group critical reflection-on-action is dependent upon “collegial relationships”
(Horn & Little, 2010, p. 183) which norms can help maintain. Additionally, norms can reinforce
a sense of psychological safety (Arao & Clemens, 2013) as defined above. Norms are “the rules
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of behavior that are established and shared by group members that are not easily changed”
(Northouse, 2019, p. 267). When co-constructed, or arrived at together by participants and
facilitators, this reinforces the knowledge-of-practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) belief that
all participants have something to offer. Moreover, norms can serve to strengthen both the group
and individual holding environment by setting expectations for the space.
Adaptive Leadership
In addition to creating a holding environment, adaptive leadership also asks that leaders
address “adaptive challenges,” such as shifting the approach to adult learning, without taking a
technical approach or quick fix (Northouse, 2019). As I asserted in my original conceptual
framework, by writing my context statement and conceptual framework I was able to “get on the
balcony”—in other words, remove myself from the fray of the day-to-day and take a step back to
consider the situation “from above” (Northouse, 2019, pp. 262–263). I was also able to take a
step back throughout my research process during my out-of-the-field analysis weeks and data
analysis processes. Initially, I named normalizing a problem of practice (Horn & Little, 2010)
and forms of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) as aspects of adaptive leadership, but I have
chosen in my revised framework to shift these to the section “andragogy” that follows.
However, there were other components of adaptive leadership that ended up playing an
important role in my action research that I did not address in detail in my first conceptual
framework: regulating distress, maintaining disciplined attention, giving work back to the
people, and protecting leadership voices from below (Northouse, 2019).
As explored above, group reflection-on-action can evoke an emotional response. For that
emotion to result in learning, the facilitator must “regulate distress” (Northouse, 2019, p. 265) for
participants and themselves, a key adaptive leadership behavior. As I noted in my initial
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conceptual framework, regulating distress does not mean preventing distress. Rather, drawing on
Heifetz as cited by Northouse (2019), I define regulating distress for participants as encouraging
enough emotional response to facilitate learning and create change, while also ensuring that
emotional response does not get so strong it causes paralysis (Wergin, 2020). Another way to
think of this is to push participants to learn at the edge of, but not past, their ZPD (Tharp &
Gallimore, 1989). Based on my action research, I now also believe it is of equal or more
importance that the facilitator regulates their own distress, which Northouse (2019) calls
“regulating personal distress” (p. 267). As explored in my second finding, when I was caught up
in my own emotional reaction, I was unable to be fully present (Rodgers, 2002)—defined
below—to my learners, which limited their opportunities to grow. As Northouse asserts, teacher-
educators must regulate their own stress to become “fully available to students” (Northouse,
2019, p. 268). Both the distress levels of the facilitator and the participants can have a large
impact on the holding environment, as described above. As such, the ability to regulate distress is
an adaptive leadership behavior that is required for group reflection-on-action to result in
meaningful adult learning.
Additionally, group reflection-on-action requires that the facilitator support the group in
“maintain[ing] disciplined attention” (Northouse, 2019, p. 268), an adaptive leadership behavior
that was absent from my original conceptual framework. Northouse (2019) describes this
behavior as “mobiliz[ing] and encourage[ing] people to drop their defenses and openly confront
their problems” (p. 268) rather than avoiding them, as avoidance is common when change
occurs. Using Rodgers (2002) and Wergin (2020), I expand this definition to include not only
requiring participants to focus on the problem of practice at hand, but also to include slowing
down and being fully present (Rodgers, 2002) to the conversation, two additional and related
46

forms of attention. If participants are not fully focused on the problem of practice at hand, they
are unlikely to contribute as many diverse perspectives to the conversation—a key component of
group reflection-on-action. If only the facilitator is fully attentive, the space can quickly shift out
of knowledge-of-practice and into knowledge-in-practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999).
Moreover, a lack of disciplined attention can harm the holding environment, as defined above,
and prevent a constructive disorientation from taking place, as described below.
Another adaptive leadership behavior that was absent from my initial conceptual
framework that I am including in my revised framework is “giving work back to the people”
(Northouse, 2019, p. 269), which is highly related to the knowledge-of-practice approach
(Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999). Drawing on Heifetz as cited by Northouse (2019), I define
giving work back to the people as empowering participants to direct aspects of their own
learning. Wergin (2020) describes this as giving learners the ability to adjust their “level of
challenge” (p. 71). In group reflection-on-action operationalized by Rodgers’s (2002) reflective
cycle, one way work is given back to the people is by having them choose the problems of
practice. Eventually, the facilitator might remove themselves from the conversation and
encourage participants to ask questions of the problem of practice on their own. If the facilitator
takes on the cognitive work of asking all the questions and interpreting all the problems of
practice, the space quickly shifts away from group reflection-on-action and puts control of the
space completely with the facilitator, moving the group back toward a knowledge-in-practice
(Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) approach to adult learning.
Last, the final adaptive leadership behavior I am adding to my revised conceptual
framework is “protecting voices from below” (Northouse, 2019, p. 270). I define this as the
ability to listen to and hear opposing points of view, which is deeply intertwined with the ability
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to regulate one’s own distress, as I explore in my second finding. Rodgers (2002) too highlights
the importance of protecting voices from below in the reflective cycle, writing, “because the
gathering of different perspectives is a necessary step, I seek to welcome rather than dismiss
diverse points of view, to broaden rather than narrow the conversation” (p. 232). Group
reflection-on-action requires different perspectives, and if the facilitator can protect all voices—
even ones that are controversial or who they may disagree with—the number of perspectives to
considers grows and the holding environment is strengthened.
Andragogy
In my original conceptual framework, I cited constructive developmental theory as one
theory underlying my individual critical reflection. In my revised framework, I view constructive
developmental theory as the underlying rationale behind the andragogical strategies that the
facilitator can use to meet each learner where they are (Mezirow, 2000). Andragogy refers to
teaching adult learners, and I use andragogical strategies to describe strategies that can be used to
support adults in their learning. The idea that each learner’s identity and ways of knowing inform
the way they learn is foundational to the knowledge-of-practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 2010)
approach I wanted to embody. Based on Vygotsky’s work in child development, Tharp and
Gallimore (1989) argue that like children, adult learners also have a ZPD—a space just beyond
their current capabilities where a small assist will help them meet their goals and extend their
learning. To challenge adult learners appropriately, adult educators must constantly assess how
much assistance the learner needs and provide or remove forms of assistance, such as modeling,
to provide the right level of challenge (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989). Creating just the right level of
challenge is key to ensuring that learning happens (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) and that a
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disorientation is constructive rather than paralyzing (Wergin, 2020). One way of assessing
teachers’ ZPD is through constructive developmental theory.
Constructive developmental theory acknowledges that adults continue to learn and grow
and engage or make meaning in one of four ways: as instrumental, socializing, self-authoring, or
self-transforming knowers (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017). Instrumental knowers
are concrete and have a right/wrong orientation. Socializing knowers understand there is not
necessarily “one right way” to do things, but still tend to “prioritize others’ feelings” over their
own (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017, p. 464). Self-authoring knowers understand that
there is not “one right way” and are able to take a step back and consider different perspectives
and assess others’ ideas against their own. Self-transforming knowers have their own belief
systems that they are constantly re-evaluating. They embody a deep learning mindset, as
described by Wergin (2020). Instrumental, socializing, and self-authoring knowers are most
common (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017).
I considered participants’ and my own place on the Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano
(2017) typology prior to engaging in my action research and as I analyzed my data. This action
helped me adjust my andragogical strategies appropriately to strengthen the holding environment
and to try to ensure the first seven of the eight requirements for constructive disorientation were
met, as described in the section “constructive disorientation” below. Although my original
conceptual framework drew mostly from Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano (2017), my
revised conceptual framework also draws andragogical strategies from Horn and Little (2010),
and Rodgers (2002), Sahin and Kulm (2008), and Tharp and Gallimore (1989). Below, I will
discuss the andragogical strategies I believe are necessary for successful group reflection-on-
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action and can help ensure the eight requirements for constructive disorientation—as described
in a later section—are met.
There are a few andragogical strategies that apply regardless of the constructive
developmental level of the learner which I am expanding upon in this revised framework,
although the way they look may change based on the individual (Mezirow, 2000). First, probing
questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) can be used to push a learner’s thinking. Good questions “probe
student understanding and guide students as they construct knowledge” (Sahin & Kulm, 2008, p.
222). Specifically, probing questions “push students to use previous knowledge to explore and
develop new concepts” (Sahin & Kulm, 2008, p. 224) rather than focus on recall or short
responses. As a result, learners’ answers to probing questions also provide insight into the
learner’s current understanding and ZPD, allowing the teacher-educator to use more targeted
forms of assistance moving forward. For the teacher-educator to hear where the learner is based
on their response, the facilitator must be fully present (Rodgers, 2002) to their learners. If the
facilitator is focused on covering content or moving through activities, they are not fully
listening to how students are learning (Rodgers, 2002). For this reason, another important
andragogical strategy is to work to be a fully present facilitator; only through “observ[ing] what
the learner is doing and respond[ing] in a way that serves the continuity of that learner”
(Rodgers, 2002, p. 236) can the teacher-educator ask the right probing questions (Sahin & Kulm,
2008) and provide the right forms of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) based on each
participant’s needs (Mezirow, 2000).
In addition to these andragogical strategies that are relevant regardless of a learner’s
developmental level, constructive developmental theory, and participants’ placement along
Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano’s (2017) typology can be used to choose targeted forms of
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assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989). Instrumental knowers can be supported by providing clear
models through examples, questioning, and providing direct feedback about their questions and
analysis (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989). Instrumental knowers can be stretched by pushing them
beyond the idea of a “right” solution or approach or offer multiple pathways (Drago-Severson &
Blum-DeStefano, 2017, p. 474). Pushing instrumental knowers requires the facilitator pay close
attention to their emotional and cognitive reactions during group reflection-on-action and the
quality of the holding environment to effectively regulate distress (Northouse, 2019). One
andragogical strategy that can help regulate distress (Northouse, 2019) is normalizing the
problem of practice (Horn & Little, 2010). Normalizing the problem of practice is when the
facilitator chooses to share a similar experience to the problem of practice that has been brought
forward for group reflection-on-action with the intention of reassuring the sharer that the
facilitator too had experienced similar struggles, thereby reducing potential emotional stress or
embarrassment and supporting a turn toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010).
Facilitators can support socializing knowers by “express[ing] appreciation” during
reflection-on-action sessions and “validat[ing] progress, commitment, and hard work” (Drago-
Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017, p. 474). Tharp and Gallimore (1989) describe this form of
assistance as praise. The process of sharing one’s thoughts and feelings and looking at one’s own
practice during group reflection-on-action is a challenge for socializing knowers, so this
discomfort must be considered when asking probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008). Critical
reflection may come more naturally for self-authoring knowers, but it is challenging for self-
authoring knowers to engage with others who have completely different perspectives or different
worldviews. I entered my research believing that no participants were self-authoring but
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discovered through my research that Johnny was. I had not prepared ways to support self-
authoring knowers; as described in my first finding, this affected his learning.
Individual Critical Reflection and Conversation with Peers
In my original conceptual framework, I argued that I could evaluate my facilitation
through individual critical reflection. While I continue to believe this is true, individual critical
reflection serves a larger purpose in my own learning—provoking constructive disorientation
that will allow me to realize my goals of holding teachers to high expectations and embodying
deep learning. As I initially theorized, my individual critical reflections required me to
investigate the hegemonic assumptions undergirding my actions during our group critical
reflection-on-action (Brookfield, 2017). However, they were less rooted in the four theories that
initially informed my research design: DisCrit, Inclusive Pedagogy, constructive developmental
theory, and deep learning. Rather, DisCrit and deep learning served as ways to reconsider my
goals and outcomes for our work together, as described in sections that follow. Constructive
developmental theory informed my andragogical choices. Inclusive pedagogy, while important,
did not end up being a key part of my research at all, so you will not see it reflected within any
sections in my revised framework.
Initially, my individual reflections were not critical, but descriptive. One way to move
toward a more critical conversation was through conversation with my classmates and chair. As
a result, I have now added “conversations with peers” as a key part of achieving my own
constructive disorientations and more critical reflections. Brookfield (2017) explains, “the only
way we can become aware of our assumptions, particularly ones we’ve missed or never been
aware of, is....to see ourselves from unfamiliar angles” (p. 61). For this reason, Brookfield (2017)
suggests that those who hope to practice critical reflection consider their actions through four
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lenses: students’ eyes, colleagues’ perceptions, personal experience, and theory. Although I did
not receive much student feedback, I was still able to reflect critically, as explored in finding
three. As a result of this experience, I did not include students’ eyes in my conceptual
framework, although I certainly believe student feedback is helpful and valuable. Personal
experience and theory are reflected in the section of my conceptual framework focused on
identity. For these reasons, in this area of my conceptual framework I chose to highlight
conversations with peers—what Brookfield (2017) describes as colleagues’ perceptions—and
our group conversations—my personal experiences—as the two main avenues through which I
could potentially find myself in a state of constructive disorientation.
As I originally theorized, I was able to identify when my individual reflection became
critical when I was trying to pinpoint my own hegemonic assumptions. However, rather than
focusing on the presence of theories to understand the depth or level of criticality in individual
critical reflection, I now believe that my own continued return to the same moment, looking to
understand it in a different way—was more reflective of whether I was truly engaging in critical
reflection. As I initially asserted, I continue to believe that important signs my reflection had
become critical were actively taking up my own power, the power dynamics at play, and the
assumptions that I was making while engaging in conversation, which are grounded in my
identity markers. Initially, I believed that doing this consistently could lead to deep learning. I
now believe that before I can embody a deep learning mindset, in additional to individually
critically reflecting, I must experience constructing disorientations more regularly.
Constructive Disorientation
Individual critical reflection, conversations with peers, and group reflection-on-action all
can lead to constructive disorientation. A constructive disorientation is when an adult learner’s
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worldview is challenged, either through an obvious disconnect between what is happening and
what they want to happen, through experiencing meaningful art, or through mindful deep
learning (Wergin, 2020). Constructive disorientations result in a meaningful shift in practice
moving forward (Wergin, 2020) and therefore require a critical lens (Brookfield, 2017). In the
case of my action research, I was also an adult learner along with my participants—I was
learning as a researcher and facilitator—and I have added this perspective to my revised
conceptual framework. For a constructive disorientation to be productive (rather than
paralyzing), learners must feel a disconnect but must also be able to maintain a growth mindset
and believe that they can meet the challenge (Wergin, 2020). Managing learners’ emotional and
cognitive responses is required for the disorientation to be productive, but I now recognize that
this is only a piece of the puzzle. Drawing on Horn and Little (2010), Northouse (2019), Rodgers
(2002), Sahin and Kulm (2008), Tharp and Gallimore (1989), and Wergin (2020), and my action
research experience, my revised conceptual framework includes a more detailed explanation of
what is needed to provoke a constructive disorientation. I will refer to these throughout this
dissertation as the eight requirements for constructive disorientation:
1. Create a strong holding environment (Northouse, 2019) by demonstrating care and co-
constructing norms (Northouse, 2019, Rodgers, 2002), ensuring each participant believed
they were “socially connected [and] cared for by others” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) and were
not concerned about judgment or repercussions.
2. “Empower” each participant’s “sense of efficacy” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) by regulating
distress (Northouse, 2019) and normalizing problems of practice (Horn & Little, 2010),
ensuring each participant believed they could meaningfully engage in Rodgers’s (2002)
reflective cycle and that doing so was worthwhile.
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3. Engage each participant’s curiosity about their own practice and others’ practice to foster
“autonomous motivation” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) for each participant.
4. Hold participants accountable to “maintain[ing] disciplined attention” (Northouse, 2019,
p. 268), creating “an environment free from distractions” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) where
participants were able to slow down (Rodgers, 2002) their thinking.
5. Provide “clear criteria for performance” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) through the structure of
Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle which requires participation while also giving
participants agency over the “level of challenge” (Wergin, 2019, p. 71) they experienced.
6. Provide individualized forms of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989), such as “concrete
feedback” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71), modeling, praise, and instructing (Tharp & Gallimore,
1989) to create “a clear but manageable” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) intellectual and emotional
challenge for each participant, while also giving each participant the “freedom to fail”
(Wergin, 2020, p. 71).
7. Ask probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) as a form of assistance (Tharp &
Gallimore, 1989) in order to help participants see and clarify “disconnect[s]” (Wergin,
2020, p. 70) within their own practice.
8. Approach reflection with a critical lens (Brookfield, 2017), so that disorientation results
in a meaningful shift in participants’ worldviews and has an impact on participants’
actions moving forward (Wergin, 2020).
As explored in my first finding, all eight requirements need to be in place for a constructive
disorientation to be possible. However, given that we began with group reflection-on-action
without a critical lens, it was only possible for me to meet the first seven requirements and get as
close as possible to a constructive disorientation. As described in the preceding sections,
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adaptive leadership and andragogy can both be used to ensure that, at a minimum, the first seven
requirements are met. However, the way each is met is dependent on each learner (Mezirow,
2000); for example, the strategies that strengthen the holding environment for one participant
may not for another. It was my responsibility to manage and approach constructive disorientation
through the adaptive leadership and andragogical strategies described above.
I could tell when I had approached constructive disorientation when a teacher or I
experienced discomfort or distress and recognized that there was a disconnect between what we
wanted for our students and what was happening. As expected, participants expressed their
discomfort verbally and through their body language. I continue to believe that if participants
had expressed high levels of anger or upset, I would know the disorientation had not been
constructive, but rather paralyzing (Wergin, 2020), but this did not happen. However, I will now
note that I also knew constructive disorientation had not been approached when participants did
not, at a minimum, begin to reconsider themselves in relation to their learners and their practice.
Unearthing Deficit Mindsets, Hegemonic Norms and Assumptions
In my original conceptual framework, the two dominant hegemonic structures
(Brookfield, 2017) that I anticipated being most at play in moments involving students with
dis/abilities were ableism and White supremacy. In my revised framework I also include sexism.
All three hegemonic structures were at play in our group reflection-on-action, both in the ways
students were discussed and within the adult learning environment. For this reason, my visual
includes “ableism, sexism, and White supremacy culture” as being inside our holding
environment, as represented by the dashed box. Ableism was directly expressed when structures,
lessons, classrooms, andragogy/pedagogy were not accessible to students or people with
dis/abilities, deficit mindsets around dis/ability were used or displayed, or language around
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“normal” or “normalcy” was used, both in relation to K–12 teachers’ discussion of their students
and in the way the teacher-educator and teachers considered each other within the adult learning
space. Similarly, sexism was expressed when structures, lessons, classrooms,
andragogy/pedagogy reenforced or actively supported the prioritization of men/boys over
women/girls, deficit mindsets around gender were used or displayed, or language or tones that
denigrate women or girls were used, both in relation to K–12 teachers’ discussion of their
students and in the way the teacher-educator and teachers considered each other within the adult
learning space.
As anticipated, White supremacy was also present during our group sessions. As
Annamma et al. (2013) explain, when discussing dis/ability, we are always discussing race as
well. In our conversations, the moments provided by teachers, and in my own critical reflection I
found signs of White supremacy culture as outlined by Okun and Jones (2001): perfectionism,
sense of urgency, defensiveness, quantity over quality, worship of the written word, only one
right way, paternalism, either/or thinking, power hoarding, fear of open conflict, individualism,
I’m the only one, progress is bigger/more, objectivity, and right to comfort. Related to
defensiveness and fear of open conflict is the culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021, Wiborg,
2022) or “culture of nice” (Roegman et al., 2019, p.90)—a culture where legitimate feedback and
critiques are not given to protect the comfort and status quo of Whites in power. Many of these
signs of White supremacy culture were present in teacher language, my language, my
facilitation, and in the moments teachers brought for conversation. Wiborg (2022) writes, “to
move beyond…a culture of niceness, it requires a deep engagement with our own social
identities and how we have been socialized to uphold racism and other forms of oppression (p.
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54)”—to truly disrupt White supremacy in the space, we would have needed to embody true
critical reflection (Brookfield, 2017) during our group reflection-in-action.
As noted in the section “group reflection-on-action” our group reflection-on-action was
not critical. As a result, we did not combat these hegemonic norms and structures. However, I
continue to believe that if criticality is employed after group reflection-on-action has become
routine, it is possible to combat these structures more effectively by unearthing deficit mindsets,
hegemonic norms, and hegemonic assumptions (Brookfield, 2017). Reflection-on-action
becomes critical when the participants and facilitator are not only able to “confirm and also
challenge assumptions we hold” (Brookfield, 2017, p. 116) but are able to consider the
hegemonic norms and power dynamics at play (Brookfield, 2017; Wergin, 2020). Brookfield
(2017) explains that hegemonic assumptions are often revealed when we exclaim “that’s just the
way things are!” (p. 40). Through critical reflection, we can become aware of our own
assumptions (Brookfield, 2017; Wergin, 2020) and discover/uncover/unearth the beliefs that are
informing our actions (Rodgers, 2002). We can examine both our own language and participants’
language to see what beliefs may underlie our words, for example, when we might be saying, in
our own words “that’s just the way things are!” An assumption has been “unearthed” when
someone expresses that they had assumed or seen things one way but now recognize, with an eye
on power, that they may not have been viewing the whole picture or were missing a perspective.
We can support the unearthing of assumptions by following up with probing questions asking
each other to justify our ideas and potentially reveal a mismatch between actions and
assumptions, which could lead to constructive disorientation.
Groups can effectively combat some of these hegemonic structures if they are able to ask
probing questions that cause each other to meaningfully question our practice in relation to
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power and continue to engage with even if they are uncomfortable. We can disrupt cultures of
niceness by sharing honest thoughts, asking questions, and/or providing direct feedback when
other adults in the space express hegemonic assumptions. If truly critical, critical group
reflection-on-action can reveal many hegemonic assumptions rooted in ableism, sexism, and
White supremacy.
The understanding of hegemonic assumptions goes hand in hand with recognizing deficit
mindsets. Gorski (2011) explains, deficit mindsets “justify outcome inequalities…by pointing to
supposed deficiencies within disenfranchised individuals and communities” (p. 153). Deficit
mindsets allow for the perpetuation of ableism, sexism, and White supremacy, continuing the
historically entrenched inequity of unequal outcomes for students with dis/abilities and BIPOC
students. If group reflection-on-action reaches a critical space, there is the potential to call out
deficit mindsets and move towards asset-based perspectives on students. Deficit mindsets can
sound like blaming BIPOC students or students with dis/abilities or their families for that
students’ struggles in the classroom. For example, one might hear “well, if this student would
turn in their work on time” rather than a discussion about how teachers might better scaffold and
structure assignments to make them accessible for students who struggle with executive
functioning skills. In that case, the facilitator could move the discussion towards a critical
reflection-on-action by asking questions like, “what structures do you have in place to help the
student turn in their work?” The facilitator can confront deficit language through questioning or
direct feedback, which also requires combating the culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021;
Roegman et al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022), as described above.
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Reconsider Self in Relation to Learners and Practice
My initial conceptual framework was focused solely on the outcomes of critical group
reflection-on-action. As described in detail in the section “group reflection-on-action” I assert in
my revised framework that group reflection-on-action must be adopted before it can become
critical. Even without a critical lens, learner’s ZPDs can still be pushed. As a result, there is a
meaningful learning outcome that can come from group reflection-on-action without a critical
lens. Drawing on Cochran-Smith and Lytle (2010), Horn and Little (2010), and Rodgers (2002),
I describe the positive outcome of group reflection-on-action as the ability to reconsider the self
in relation to learners and practice, both for the adult-educator and K–12 teacher.
Turning toward practice as opposed to away from practice (Horn & Little, 2010) supports
teachers in recognizing the “endemic dilemmas of teaching” (p. 192), which includes the
relationship between teachers and their learners and their pedagogy or practice. When a
knowledge-of-practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) approach that supports a turn toward
practice is taken—as described in the section group reflection-on-action—participants can
“uncover and clarify their implicit assumptions about teaching, learning, and schooling” (p. 275),
in other words, they can reconsider how their identity and the way they show up in the space
impacts their students. While the resulting ability to “see” (Rodgers, 2002) may not be through a
lens of hegemonic norms and power (Brookfield, 2017) as in the case of a critical group
reflection-on-action, Rodgers (2002) argues, and I believe that participants leave group
reflection-on-action more aware of their assumptions about students and disconnects within their
practice. This is an important and powerful first step.
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Embody a Deep Learning Mindset
I set out to strengthen the holding environment by staying aware of how I chose to
engage and what assumptions I made about teachers while we engaged in group reflection-on-
action, as opposed to only reflecting after the fact, which I described as deep learning. However,
it was only through consistent individual critical reflection that I was able to approach non-
critical reflection-in-action (Rodgers, 2002) while facilitating—I was not able to embody a deep
learning mindset, which is why I have adjusted its placement within my conceptual framework. I
now believe that it will require continued individual critical reflection and conversations with
peers, as described above, before I can embody a deep learning (Wergin, 2020) mindset. I
continue to believe that deep learning is mindset that resists easier ways of engaging in the
world, such as seeking information that confirms your worldview or choosing not to reflect on
your actions and assumptions (Wergin, 2020). Deep learning requires us to constantly question
how and why we are making the assumptions we make about any given situation, which I
believe is reflective of Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano’s (2017) self-authoring knower.
When deep learning is embodied, we are mindful of disorienting emotions and the cues they are
providing us to reflect on our own assumptions (Wergin, 2020). In my revised framework, I
clarify that a “deep learning” mindset also requires criticality and the ability to reflect
specifically on assumptions we make in the moment that have to do with power and hegemonic
norms (Brookfield, 2017). Additionally, deep learning mindsets require self-awareness and the
embrace of constructive disorientation, as deep learning is almost a state of constant
disorientation. By reflecting on transcripts, individual critical reflections, and analytic memos, I
was able to recognize how difficult it was to question my assumptions in real time, let alone to
approach the consistency required to embody a “mindset.”
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In my original conceptual framework, I described the following as signs I might be
approaching deep learning, which I still believe to be true: listening to dissenting voices in the
moment, providing appropriate “unambiguous” feedback (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, p. 56) when
needed, and reacting with probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) that promote deeper thinking
without passing judgment. I continue to believe that I will have approached deep learning when
there is evidence that I have weighed the assumptions beneath my questions before asking them,
and even articulated this out loud to teachers as a form of modeling. My participants are also
capable of embodying a deep learning mindset once a critical lens is applied to group reflection-
on-action, as described above. It would also be more likely for participants to take on a deep
learning mindset if I were able to model (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) it meaningfully and
successfully, which I cannot yet do. While I previously believed that I would need to see social
connection, purpose, and self-efficacy to know that teachers were approaching deep learning, I
now believe those are only parts of achieving constructive disorientation (as described above)
and therefore are only a steppingstone toward deep learning. I now assert that teachers must be
able to engage in critical group reflection-on-action and be able to unearth their deficit mindsets
and hegemonic norms and assumptions as described above before they can approach deep
learning.
High Expectations
In my initial conceptual framework, I theorized that asset-based perspectives and high
expectations for students with dis/abilities were the desired outcome of a critical group
reflection-on-action. I still believe this to be true but believe this must be expanded and
complicated. First, I will draw on DisCrit, which I previously thought would inform my
individual critical reflection, as the theoretical reason behind adding BIPOC students to this
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outcome, in addition to my experience during action research. DisCrit is a critical framework and
theory developed by Annamma et al. (2013) that is informed by critical race theory and disability
studies. DisCrit focuses on the interplay between ableism and racism and calls attention to the
social construction of both race and ability (Annamma et al., 2013). DisCrit argues that both
ableism and racism are rooted in capitalist beliefs around “normalcy” and productivity
(Annamma et al. 2013). There are six tenets of DisCrit and the four that most informed my
research are: (1) racism and ableism are intertwined, (2) multifaceted identities exist and are
valuable, (3) race and ability are social constructions with real impacts, and (4) race and ability
have been used to oppress multiply marginalized people legally and historically. While I set out
for my action research to begin an interrogation into deficit-based thinking at SWIW with a
focus on students with dis/abilities, I found that—as Annamma et al. (2013) describe, BIPOC
students were also being impacted by deficit-thinking and assumptions around the way they
learned that were based in hegemonic norms and assumptions. For this reason, I expand my
desired outcomes to include BIPOC students in addition to students with dis/abilities.
Hegemonic perceptions of race are “modeled by teachers and taken up by children as early as
elementary school” (Hatt, 2012, as cited in Kulkarni et al., 2021, p. 663) and I continue to
believe that critical group reflection-on-action can result in uncovering hegemonic notions that
would allow meaningful change to take place (Brookfield, 2017).
Only by uncovering our hegemonic assumptions can we move towards creating a truly
inclusive space for BIPOC students and students with dis/abilities. While I continue to believe
asset-based perspectives are needed, I now see asset-based perspectives as a part of high
expectations, which is reflected in the choice to only use the phrase “high expectations” in my
revised conceptual framework. I do not believe they can exist without each other. Asset-based
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perspectives interrupt forms of domination and control, “resist[ing] and counter[ing] deficit
views of students” instead, assuming “all students’ cultural practices are valuable tools for
learning academic content” (Nasir et al., 2006, as cited in Waitoller & King Thorius, 2016, p.
369). Internalizing an asset-based perspective about race and dis/ability is required before
teachers can hold high expectations for all students; if a teacher does not believe students have
things to offer, they will be unable to hold them to high expectations. I continue to believe that
asset-based language is one sign that teachers are jettisoning deficit mindsets. Robin DiAngelo
(2021) writes, “language is political and thus a continual site of struggle over who is deemed
worthy of respect and access. Terms can implicitly authorize and normalize forms of domination
and control or interrupt them” (p. xvii). The language teachers use around race and dis/ability
often reflect their mindsets about students; I will know teachers have moved towards asset-based
language if they are talking about what students can offer and provide in the classroom, rather
than focusing on how students with dis/abilities or BIPOC students are disrupting or holding
back the learning experience, classroom experience, or teaching.
Low expectations for BIPOC students and students with dis/abilities have contributed to
the inequitable outcomes and reinforce ableist and racist norms for all students. I have found that
teachers often believe accommodations make school “easier” rather than making it accessible. If
teachers can engage in group critical reflection-on-action around moments involving students
with dis/abilities and BIPOC students, teachers are more likely to recognize the ableism and
racism within their practice because of constructive disorientation. As a result of these
conversations, teachers will be able to truly adopt high expectations for students with
dis/abilities. The phrase “high expectations” has frequently been used to describe expectations on
test scores or for “normal” (e.g., White-normed) student behavior. I define high expectations as
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teachers believing that all students can achieve the desired academic skills as outlined by the
school’s academic goals or standards, as well as the student and family’s own expectations
(Khalifa, 2018). Academic skills are “literacy, numeracy, technological, social, and political
skills in order to be active participants in a democracy” (Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995, p. 160).
Additionally, having high expectations means believing that all students are capable of and,
moreover, should, develop the “sociopolitical consciousness that allows them to critique the
cultural norms, values, mores, and institutions that produce and maintain social inequities”
(Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995, p. 162). If teachers do not expect this level of engagement from
all students, they are reinforcing the idea that only certain ways of expressing knowledge are
valid.
In my revised conceptual framework, I have expanded beyond high expectations for
students with dis/abilities to also include high expectations for teachers on my part. Beginning
with writing my proposal and continuing throughout the research process, I recognized my own
deficit mindsets about participants. I believe that, through constructive disorientation, I was able
to begin to reconsider myself and my identity in relation to my participants, as described in my
third finding. Now that I have this awareness of myself in relation to my learners, including my
deficit mindsets, I am more able to move towards high expectations—including an asset-based
perspective—for the teachers I work with. However, to hold teachers to those high expectations,
I will have to continue to combat the culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021; Roegman et al., 2019;
Wiborg, 2022) as learners require direct feedback (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989; Wergin, 2020) if
they are to reach and be held to high expectations. I believe that, with continued individual
critical reflection and conversations with peers, as described above, I will be able to “see”
(Rodgers, 2002) how I am enacting or reproducing deficit mindsets or low expectations in my
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work and continue to confront hegemonic assumptions I may be holding and work to operate
under inclusive and affirming assumptions instead, eventually moving towards a deep learning
mindset of my own.
Research Methods
During our 2022 August Planning Week, the Director of Lower Elementary, the Director
of Teaching and Learning, and I led professional development sessions on the concept of
neurodiversity and UDL because of our joint understanding that teachers were not fully equipped
to support students with dis/abilities at our school. These August planning week sessions
introduced the idea of the social model of dis/ability, highlighted the voices of people with
dis/abilities, and included space for teachers to share their expertise and experiences,
conversations we continued during two subsequent faculty meetings over the course of the year.
During our 2022 August Planning Week, we also hosted a diversity, equity, and inclusion
consultant and former SWIW parent who led a 2-hour workshop around race and equity, a
conversation we continued in one subsequent faculty meeting later in the year. All these sessions
fell prey to two of the challenges of traditional professional development as outlined by Elmore
(2002): They were not rooted in a theory of adult learning, and we did not have clear plans for
follow-up, assessment, or evaluation. While my action research had the potential to fill some of
that gap by providing practice-based opportunities for professional learning (Elmore, 2002) and
space for critical reflection on the same topics, it was not sufficient. Far before we could address
issues around expectations for BIPOC students and students with dis/abilities, teachers first
needed to be able to turn toward practice and consider problems of practice through group
reflection-on-action, as detailed in my conceptual framework. As a result of this reality, my
action research answered the following question: How do I establish a knowledge-of-practice
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learning environment that promotes my own and upper elementary teachers’ ability to turn
toward practice?
Qualitative action research was best suited to answer this question, as its focus is on
examining problems or challenges within a specific setting and practice (Lochmiller & Lester,
2017). The largest challenge was supporting participants through a major shift in adult learning
from a knowledge-in-practice approach to a knowledge-of-practice approach while working to
create seven of the eight conditions necessary for constructive disorientation, as described in my
conceptual framework. Group reflection-on-action requires the acknowledgement that there are
multiple truths and perspectives operating at once, an epistemological viewpoint that underlies
post-positivist qualitative research (Lochmiller & Lester, 2017). Maxwell (2013) argues that
qualitative studies are particularly meaningful when trying to “improve existing practice,
programs, or policies” (p. 31); in this case, the long-term goal was to improve learning
opportunities for students with dis/abilities and BIPOC students, while the short-term goal was to
support teachers in turning toward practice. As in many qualitative studies, my research design
was emergent (Lochmiller & Lester, 2017), and continued to develop over the course of my
action research.
Setting and Participants
Reimer (1977) suggests that qualitative researchers focus their research on “familiar
situations” (as cited in Coughlan, 2019, p. 19). The familiar situation I chose was grade level
team meetings where I met with the four fifth and sixth grade GenEd teachers, one LSL Program
DHH teacher, our counselor, and our learning support specialist. Only the GenEd teachers were
present during our group reflection-on-action. The meeting slots were already scheduled, so they
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did not require any additional time from the teaching team or me (outside of my preparation as
an action researcher and facilitator).
Although some qualitative research may be transferable, the goal of qualitative research
is not to be generalizable; rather, the focus is on studying an experience in depth (Lochmiller &
Lester, 2017). For this reason, qualitative researchers utilize purposeful sampling where
participants are chosen based on certain criteria (Lochmiller & Lester, 2017, p. 141). In this case,
I chose to work with my four fifth and sixth grade level GenEd teachers. The 2022–2023 school
year was the second year that this group of teachers had worked as a team with me, so there was
already relational trust to build on. Additionally, there were diverse lived experiences and
approaches that informed all our approaches to working with students. Although I initially
anticipated that not all of them would agree to participate and/or I would focus my data analysis
on just one or two of them, all teachers did agree to participate, and I analyzed all participants’
learning. I describe all four teachers in the section that follows using pseudonyms. I was
conducting action research, so I was also a participant.
Participants
The 2022–2023 school year marked my 11th year working in education, having spent 4
years teaching in public charter schools and 4 years teaching at the same K–12 independent
school I attended. Preschool through graduate school I attended private educational institutions. I
have taught fifth through eighth grades and have taught science, history, nonfiction reading, and
a social justice seminar. I took on teacher-leadership positions during my third through eighth
years teaching. I signed my contract at SWIW in early February 2020, right before the COVID-
19-19 pandemic began and moved to California—my first time living on the west coast and my
first time in administration. At the time of the study, I was 32 years old, hearing, neurotypical,
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and able-bodied. My family was Christian, and I enjoyed celebrating Christian holidays and
continuing family traditions—certainly Christian norms were embedded in the way I saw the
world—but I considered myself more agnostic and spiritual in terms of my actual beliefs. I was a
multiracial Black cisgender woman married to a White cisgender man.
When writing my proposal, I found it difficult to place myself on Drago-Severson and
Blum-DeStefano’s (2017) typology as the process itself activated both my perfectionism and
tendency to undersell myself. Based on my action research, I now believe I was accurate to
assess myself as a socializing knower (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017). I had
perspective on my own beliefs, considered my feelings about diversity, equity, and inclusion,
and believed I was responsible for others’ feelings. I appreciated being validated and at times
struggled to express my own feelings, as explored in my second and third findings. Although my
thoughts and opinions were easier to share, I often got choked up if something evoked a lot of
feelings for me. I had worked on turning toward conflict, but I struggled to call other people into
the work of fostering equity and inclusivity successfully and consistently. However, I was on the
route towards becoming a self-authoring knower: I was driven by my own values and standards,
I could think systematically and reflect on my roles within the system, and I experienced
frustration when I did not meet my self-determined goals in these areas. My action research
pushed my growth edges, as explored in my second and third findings. It forced me to reflect on
my own assumptions, move beyond those ideas, and engage with others whose “ideologies fe[lt]
diametrically opposed” (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017, p. 475). Ben and Steve, two
of my participants, were sometimes these people for me. My own self-development proved
challenging as I worked to create a holding environment, however, it also created many
opportunities to learn and improve my practice. I appreciated the encouragement and
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accountability from my chair and peers in this program that made my reflection more
meaningful.
At the time of this study Ben had been teaching for over 20 years. The 2022-2023 school
year was his fifth year at SWIW. In addition to teaching sixth grade humanities, he also served as
the school’s athletic director. He was born and raised in the Los Angeles area and attended an
elite independent school and private university, where he played athletics until he was injured.
Ben was in his mid-to-late 40s. He was hearing and able bodied, and an advocate for talking
openly about mental health struggles. He did daily yoga and adhered to some Buddhist teachings.
Ben’s family celebrated Christmas; however, he identified strongly as not religious but spiritual
(either atheist or agnostic) and had one Jewish grandparent. Ben was married to a White woman
who was also an educator at SWIW. They had two children, a daughter who was in seventh
grade at a local public school after graduating from SWIW, and a son who was in third grade at
SWIW. Ben was a White male.
Prior to the start of my study, Ben demonstrated strong willingness to engage in
conversation around race, sexual orientation, gender, and socioeconomic status, working
diligently to diversify the curriculum in his grade level: Over the previous 2 years he adopted
texts that feature Black, Latina, Asian, Jewish, and non-binary protagonists and were written by
authors who shared these identities. When a politically conservative and observant Jewish parent
pushed back against these more diverse texts, Ben wrote a compelling response back about the
texts’ literary value. I was impressed when, in spring 2022, he quickly implemented the feedback
of two Black students who requested that Ben focus on sub-Saharan African civilizations as part
of his ancient civilizations social studies curricula.
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At the same time, Ben demonstrated a lack of awareness of his place within society’s
systems and structures. For example, in a discussion after a school shooting in spring 2022, he
explained that he was not really worried about his own children being shot because they would
not be in any bad neighborhoods—he was more worried about their mental health with shooting
drills and depression running in their family. When I offered that gun violence was now the
number one cause of death for children even over car accidents or mental health struggles, he
was dismissive, which he later apologized for—but only for his tone, not the content of his
words. I experienced his argument as highly racialized, and he seemed unaware. He was also the
same teacher who had complained of students with dis/abilities “taking too long” and who used
the word “normal” to describe hearing students.
When I considered Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano’s (2017) typology, I struggled
with where to place him and began the study believing that Ben was between an instrumental and
socializing knower. I now believe that this placement was correct. He was committed in name to
social justice and making concrete decisions (such as curricular ones) in support of social justice.
Ben was easily and consistently able to name that he was a White man who held privilege.
Although Ben was able to name that we had all been socialized into our current systems and the
stereotypes we held, he was not always aware of how others perceived or received his comments
and demonstrated difficulty generalizing. At the very beginning of the school year Ben used the
term “neurodivergent,” which accurately described the student we were talking about. While Ben
correctly used and implemented the new vocabulary we introduced during August planning
week, his tone and reaction to the accommodations under discussion indicated that he did not
fully understand the reason for this change in language and/or that it did not cause him to rethink
his approach or perspective. His lack of awareness in his tone and comments caused me to
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believe that he did not yet have a full understanding of his role within the hegemonic systems we
were operating within (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017).
This study took place during Steve’s third year teaching fifth grade humanities at SWIW;
previously, he did student teaching, associate teaching and tutoring near his alma mater, a private
university in West Los Angeles. He grew up in the Los Angeles area and lived and taught abroad
some in his mid-to-late 20s. Prior to that, he worked as a personal stylist. I believed that we were
around the same age, but Steve did not really discuss how old he was. He was hearing,
neurotypical, and generally able bodied, although he had difficulties with his vision at night. His
family was Christian, and he liked to spend the holidays with his grandmother. Prior to joining
SWIW, he did not have much experience in diversity, equity, and inclusion conversations; in
fact, he initially identified himself as multiracial although he was White and multiethnic (he
identified strongly with his Swedish family members, and we discussed our common Swedish
ancestry from time to time). Steve was in a serious heterosexual relationship and his partner was
a school counselor.
His first year Steve expressed the belief that he could teach United States history without
bias. However, over the course of his second year and the year of the study, Steve become
willing to engage in difficult conversations with me about teaching race and United States
history. At one point during the 2021–2022 school year, he became slightly emotional about
feeling like he was being asked to demonize European settlers. Steve continued to push his
curricula and approach to be more inclusive and began the year working on diving into difficult
conversations with students rather than running away from them. I was proud of him for
engaging students in a difficult conversation during spring 2022. One student brought up the
leaked draft of the Supreme Court’s Roe vs. Wade repeal and a fellow classmate, who was
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adopted, expressed confusion and sadness about why anyone would be pro-choice. Steve
engaged in a conversation with the class that all students felt positively about and followed up
with families and students to ensure they felt heard in the conversation. During his first year, he
likely would have stopped the conversation from the outset if/when it made him uncomfortable,
so this moment was a sign of meaningful growth. After a professional development session in
Washington, DC during summer 2022 with Ben, Steve emailed me about what a powerful
experience it was to visit the Smithsonian Museum of African American History and Culture and
wore a shirt he bought there during the first week of school.
Steve demonstrated a willingness to get feedback and grow. He would seek me out to
discuss curricula and appreciated my feedback when I came to observe his classroom. He was
willing to defer to the LSL Program teacher in the room in support of our DHH students and our
Learning Support Specialist who pushed into his writing classes once a week. However, at times
Steve “pushed” students with dis/abilities in ways that I found demonstrated a lack of
understanding; for example, during the 2021–2022 school year Steve spent a lot of time
encouraging a student with fine motor skill challenges to work on his handwriting and praised
the student when his legibility increased. I think this was time taken away from that student
engaging meaningfully with the content. Initially, I believed that Steve was a socializing knower
because he had taken responsibility for his own perspectives and felt responsible for others’
feelings (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017), however I now believe that he, like Ben,
entered somewhere between an instrumental and socializing knower. Wearing his Smithsonian t-
shirt was one an example of “demonstrat[ing] commitment to social justice in concrete ways”
(Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, p. 474) that was indicative of an instrumental knower. It
became clear during our group reflection-on-action that Steve experienced students as “either
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helpers or obstacles to [his] worldview” (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, p. 474). While
Steve was very intellectual, his ability to see himself within larger systems or to notice patterns
was still developing over the course of the study.
The study also took place during Johnny’s third year at SWIW; he taught fifth and sixth
grade science and took on a curricular role supporting science in grades K–4 during the 2022–
2023 school year. He applied to graduate school for teaching right out of undergrad but was not
accepted, which led to his years outside of the classroom. Previously, Johnny worked in outdoor
education and internationally as a surf instructor. He grew up in the Pacific Northwest in
predominantly White spaces and attended public schools. He was in his mid-20s, able bodied,
neurotypical, and hearing. I knew that he had visited home for Christmas before, so I assumed he
was Christian, although we had not spoken about it. He identified as multiracial (White/Asian
American); he was very tall and based on his skin tone and facial features many would likely
assume he was fully Asian. His family was from Hawaii. Although they were not when I began
my proposal, Johnny was dating Emma, another participant, during the study.
During the 2021–2022 school year Johnny attended the National Association of
Independent School’s People of Color Conference (NAIS PoCC) virtually, attended our first
attempts at a faculty/staff of color affinity space, and worked with me to support a group of
Asian American students who organized events for AAPI Heritage Month. During the 2022–
2023 school year we attended NAIS PoCC together along with two other colleagues. Johnny
tended to take a listening stance in these diversity-focused spaces and did not talk a lot about his
own racial identity or other aspects of his identity at school. Johnny was a true force since
arriving at SWIW, beloved by students, parents, and colleagues for the way he brought science to
life. He embraced different types of students and ran an after-school Dungeons and Dragons
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class for many semesters, which was highly attended. Johnny was very open-minded and willing
to admit if he did not know something. We collaborated extensively together on a gender
inclusive approach to human development at SWIW, and I co-taught parts of this unit with him.
Throughout this process I was impressed by Johnny’s willingness to ask questions and his
willingness to admit if he had made a mistake.
Johnny thought creatively about how different students would approach his assignments
and increased the choice he provided students. He thoughtfully designed project-based learning
opportunities that provided access points to multiple kids. After year one in the classroom, he
moved away from using traditional multiple-choice tests. Instead, he used standards-aligned
formative assessments, projects, and open-note critical thinking questions that required
application of learning in class to assess mastery. Entering my action research, he appeared to be
the least tied to traditional epistemologies. Johnny’s greatest area of challenge was finding a
balance between lots of creativity and fun and structure; at times, kids were more off-task and
silly, which could be difficult for neurodivergent students who struggled with attention and
d/Deaf students who struggled to hear when there was background noise. I began my research
believing that Johnny was a socializing knower moving towards being a self-authoring knower;
he had his own clear values and standards for teaching and social justice, but he was not a vocal
advocate and did not necessarily take a firm stand in discussions around justice, equity, diversity,
and inclusion topics (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017). However, during our group
reflection-on-action it became clear that Johnny was a self-authoring knower, as explored
thoroughly in my first finding under the section “Johnny’s learning.”
The 2022–2023 school year was Emma’s fifth year teaching at SWIW and her sixth year
teaching; her first year she was a self-contained (autism) special education teacher in the Los
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Angeles Unified School District through Teach for America. Her first 3 years at SWIW she
taught fourth grade; 2022–2023 was her second year as the fifth and sixth grade math teacher.
Emma grew up in Los Angeles and attended SWIW for elementary school before moving onto
another LA independent school for Grades 7–12 and a private university in the Midwest for her
undergraduate degree. Her parents still lived in Los Angeles, and she lived with them during the
height of the COVID-19 pandemic. She was in her late 20s, hearing, neurotypical, and able
bodied. She was Jewish and White. Emma was in a heterosexual relationship with Johnny.
I began my research believing that Emma was in a similar developmental place on the
Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano (2017) typology as Johnny; she worked hard to
incorporate social justice topics into her morning homeroom meetings by creating materials for
Pride Month and other cultural and heritage celebrations. As a math teacher, she had been trying
to find ways to bring more discussions of identity into her class but struggled some with taking a
justice-oriented approach to math. She attended professional developments and completed
readings with the goal of moving in this direction. Emma was very open to feedback and was
honest with me; during the 2021–2022 school year we had a couple of discussions about how she
believed students perceived her differently as the only female teacher on the fifth and sixth grade
team. However, I now believe Emma entered as a socializing knower. She had the “internal
capacity to take perspective on and take responsibility for [her] own needs and desires” (Drago-
Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017, p. 474), but was unable to fully take perspective on her
interactions with others, which would have indicated she was a self-authoring knower. She had
high expectations for all students, including students with dis/abilities, however, she sometimes
appeared to students to lack empathy if they struggled to meet those expectations. Parents and
students described her as cold at times—a highly gendered term that was rarely reflective of how
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I experienced her—although she could be more traditionally strict about her classroom
expectations and struggled to display empathy with parents. In terms of her pedagogy, she often
had students in stations, writing on their white board desks, playing games, and doing math
projects to create access points for different learners. She was ambitious and had clear goals to
move into an administrative position at some point. Going into the study Emma reminded me a
lot of myself when I was her age and teaching at my own alma mater.
Setting of Action
Prior to beginning my study, Ben, Steve, Johnny, and Emma met with me every other
week during our fifth and sixth grade team meetings. I set out to engage in group reflection-on-
action during these meetings. I chose this setting because the meetings were already scheduled
and did not require additional time for teachers. Additionally, we already spent part of these
meetings engaging in conversations around “student support,” and I hoped that these sessions
would—in the end—result in more effective support of students with dis/abilities and BIPOC
students than our previously existing structure. Finally, these meetings never had an evaluative
component and always included time and space for teachers to share their needs and feedback;
this space was one that was open to learning and therefore was an ethical place for me to engage
in action research. After passing my proposal defense, I gained approval from the Head of
School and our Chief Operating Officer to invite teachers to participate in my action research.
When I preliminarily mentioned the action research approach required by the Leading
Instructional Change concentration, my Head of School indicated that the most important thing
was just that teachers truly believed and understood the research as completely optional, which
was also required by USC’s Internal Review Board (IRB). All teachers said yes, so I did not
have to adjust the time, space, or composition of the group outside of my original proposal.
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Actions
I completed a reflection myself before taking any action with the four GenEd teachers.
Then, I engaged in three cycles of action, with each cycle including two 45-minute sessions for a
total of six 45-minute sessions. The first cycle began with a session introducing the critical
reflection-on-action process, after which we practiced the describe and analyze sections of
Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle using a scenario I had experienced and example questions I
provided; I modeled (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) vulnerability in addition to explicitly teaching
the reflective cycle. There were five sessions (one “moment” per teacher) where I facilitated
group reflection-on-action—two “moments” took 1.5 sessions, while the other two each received
one session. I worked to create constructive disorientations that resulted in change through the
adaptive leadership and andragogical strategies detailed in my conceptual framework. At the end
of each session, participants were asked for their feedback. During Cycle 1, I asked participants
to complete the three questions that make up Brookfield’s (2017) learning audit, hoping to gain
learner feedback for my reflection process. However, participants did not respond to this format,
and I received no completed learning audits. After moving towards a sticky note for feedback
during cycle 2, I received more feedback, some of which informed my practice moving forward
as explored in the section “Johnny’s Learning.”
Over the course of the three cycles, I asked each teacher to describe, in detail, a moment
or interaction with a student with a dis/ability in their classroom (Rodgers, 2002), although
teachers also chose to offer moments with BIPOC students, which I allowed and eventually led
to my expanded long-term goal for my research. This “description of experience” was one
quadrant of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle. I looked for teachers to be able to describe the
events without interpreting them and without analysis as Rodgers (2002) instructs. Participants
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and I asked questions to help teachers further specify the problem and revise their account of the
problem.
Then, we progressed to the “analyzing experience” quadrant (Rodgers, 2002). Through
the analysis of experience, we began to touch on “the assumptions that drive our actions as
teachers, learners, teacher-educators, and researchers” (Rodgers, 2002, p. 247). The depth of the
analysis depended on each individual learner, as described in my first finding. I knew that asking
probing questions or setting up conversation without sufficient think time or a protocol could be
dis/abling and prevent some learners from entering the conversation due to through lack of
access. However, I had not considered the reliance on speedy aural processing. Johnny’s
participant feedback called my attention to this and, as a result, I documented every question
asked on the Smart Board so participants could more easily track the conversation for the final
two sessions. It was my responsibility to ensure that over the course of my action research each
teacher had the opportunity to bring a moment into the group reflection-on-action and prompt
our collective engagement in group reflection-on-action. The 3-cycle process I used is outlined in
Table 1, Table 2, and Table 3.

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Table 1
Teacher Educator-Leadership Actions Before Study and Cycle 1
Action researcher Teacher leader Setting Data collected
Before
Study
Communicated the
purpose and
objective of the
study, the learner’s
role in the study.

Communicated the
structure of study.

Wrote a reflection
in anticipation of
cycle.
Met with each
participant one-on-
one to answer any
questions about the
study.
Individual
meetings
1 “critical”
reflection
Cycle 1:
Session 1
Teachers began to
practice describing
a “moment” per
Rodgers (2002)
and asking
questions.

Teachers
reaffirmed and co-
constructed new
discussion norms.

Group reflection-
on-action (Rogers,
2002) with
modeling (Tharp &
Gallimore, 1989).

Modeled bringing a
problem of practice.

Learning audit
(Brookfield, 2017).
Team
meeting
1 agenda

1 slide deck

1 field note
and jottings

1 recording
and
transcript

0 learning
audit
responses

Cycle 1:
Session 2
Teachers engaged
in reflection-in-
action around a
“moment” brought
by themselves or a
colleague
(Rodgers, 2002).

Teachers
reaffirmed and co-
constructed new
discussion norms.

Group reflection-
on-action (Rogers,
2002) with probing
questions (Sahin &
Kulm, 2008) and
other forms of
assistance (Tharp &
Gallimore),
including
normalizing a
problem of practice
(Horn & Little,
2010).

Fifth
and
sixth
team
meeting
1 agenda

1 slide deck

1 field note
and jottings

1 recording
and
transcript

0 learning
audit
responses
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Action researcher Teacher leader Setting Data collected
Solicited participant
feedback.

Out of Field Analysis and Critical Reflection: I was able to better assess
teachers’ ZPDs (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) and place them along the
Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano (2017) typology through informal
analysis of the first two sessions. I got on the balcony to understand group
dynamics, identify any constructive disorientations, and to analyze
progress for the purpose of informing my subsequent actions. I recognized
that my initial modeling of vulnerability may not have gone far enough. I
considered whether the norms that had been co-constructed were effective.
I evaluated the strength of the holding environment and attempted to
consider the power dynamics at play. Participants and I began to separate
the describe and analyze portions of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle. I
recognized I was not successful at redirecting learners if ideas perpetuated
ableism, sexism, or White supremacy and that we were engaging in group
reflection-on-action, not critical group reflection-on-action. I recognized
my own identity in relation to my learners was increasing my own distress
needed to be better regulated to hear dissenting voices. I recognized I was
not giving all participants equal time or power in the space and critically
reflected on why. I recognized that we were moving too fast.
1 critical
reflection

1 analytic
memo

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Table 2
Teacher Educator-Leadership Actions Cycle 2
Action researcher Teacher leader Setting Data collected
Cycle 2:
Sessions 3
and 4
Teachers engaged
in reflection-in-
action around a
“moment” brought
by themselves or a
colleague
(Rodgers, 2002).

Group reflection-
on-action (Rogers,
2002) with probing
questions (Sahin &
Kulm, 2008) and
other forms of
assistance (Tharp &
Gallimore),
including
normalizing a
problem of practice
(Horn & Little,
2010).

Solicited participant
feedback
Fifth
and
sixth
team
meeting
2 agendas

2 field notes
and jottings

2 recordings
and
transcripts

3 sticky
notes of
feedback
from session
3; 1 from
session 4

Out of Field Analysis and Critical Reflection: I found I was better able to
place the participants who had shared along the Drago-Severson and
Blum-DeStefano (2017) typology through informal analysis of the first
two sessions and understand their ZPDs. However, I had not been able to
do so with the two participants who were listening and had not yet shared
their moments. Using my cycle 2 critical reflection and analytic memo, I
was able to get on the balcony to understand group dynamics. I located
potential constructive disorientations and analyzed progress for the
purpose of informing my subsequent actions. I continued to consider
whether the norms that had been co-constructed were effective. I evaluated
the strength of the holding environment and attempted to consider the
power dynamics at play. Participants and I were more successful at
separating the describe and analyze portions of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective
cycle. I continued to grapple with my realization that I was not
consistently successfully redirecting learners if ideas perpetuated ableism,
sexism, or White supremacy, however, I improved as I became able to
better regulate my own distress. I recognized that we continued to engage
in group reflection-on-action, but not critical group reflection-on-action. I
was able to slow us down, although I still struggled to give all participants
equal time or power in the space and continued to critically reflect on why.
1 critical
reflection

1 analytical
memo

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Table 3
Teacher Educator-Leadership Actions Cycle 3 and After Study
Action researcher Teacher leader Setting Data collected
Cycle 3:
Sessions 5
and 6
Teachers engaged
in reflection-in-
action around a
“moment” brought
by themselves or a
colleague
(Rodgers, 2002).

Group reflection-
on-action (Rogers,
2002) with probing
questions (Sahin &
Kulm, 2008) and
other forms of
assistance (Tharp &
Gallimore).

Solicited participant
feedback.
Fifth
and
sixth
team
meeting
2 agendas

2 field notes
and jottings

1 recording
and
transcript

2 lists of
questions
asked

0 participant
feedback

After
Study
Solicited feedback
about the
experience via a
google form
survey
Solicited feedback
about the
experience via a
google form survey
Via
email
3 responses
Out of Field Analysis and Critical Reflection: I realized I had sped us up to
finish on time and therefore had not reached the same level of depth in
cycle 3 as I had in cycle 2. I was less successful at placing the last two
sharers along the Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano (2017) typology.
Using my critical reflection and analytic memo, I was able to get on the
balcony to understand group dynamics and located no constructive
disorientations during cycle 3. I continued to consider whether the norms
that had been co-constructed were effective. I evaluated the strength of the
holding environment and attempted to consider the power dynamics at
play. Participants and I were usually successful at separating the describe
and analyze portions of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle. I continued to
grapple with my realization that I was not consistently successfully
redirecting learners if ideas perpetuated ableism, sexism, or White
supremacy. I recognized a shift toward reflection and a general ability to
hear or consider alternate perspectives that all participants displayed over
the course of the three cycles.
1 critical
reflection

1 analytical
memo

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At the end of each cycle, I engaged in out of the field analysis and individual critical
reflection. My out of the field analysis involved looking back at the two sessions earlier in the
cycle and re-evaluating the next cycle as needed. I used my conceptual framework to write a
critical reflection and an analytic memo at this time, which I then used during my final data
analysis. During these out of the field analysis weeks I will also met with my chair to discuss my
progress and approach with an expert in the field. I also received feedback from my peers in our
EDUE 725 course.
Data Collection
Bogdan and Biklen (2007) explain that “data are both the evidence and the clues” (p.
117) in qualitative research. Although I already generated team meeting agendas in my job, I
created specific agendas for me as the facilitator to guide my action research. During the three
cycles of action, I generated documents including my own critical reflections and teachers’
learning audits (Brookfield, 2017). I did not ask teachers to provide data outside of our meetings
or observe their classrooms, as I did not want them to view this critical reflection as evaluative in
any way. Rather, the focus of my data collection and analysis was on their conversation, my
facilitation of that conversation, and any feedback they chose to give at the end of each session. I
recorded sessions 1–5 (I experienced technical difficulties during session 6) and took jottings,
which I expanded into field notes shortly after the end of each session. I created transcripts of
sessions 1–5 based on the recordings. I also generated transcripts of all my sessions with my
chair. I collected observational data to gauge the efficacy of my actions and to see if there were
changes in our conversations and questions over time that appeared to reflect a turn toward
practice.
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Documents and Artifacts
I did not use any existing documents in my study. As the writer of the agendas, the initial
slide deck, and the field notes, I did not need to seek permission for these artifacts. However, I
did need to seek permission for the learning audits. Participants often opted out of providing
feedback throughout the process, which made it more difficult to document the change in my
learners over time (Bowen, 2009). The feedback I did get provided a student view of the actions
I took, a key lens for critical reflection (Brookfield, 2017). One piece of feedback led to me
generating lists of the questions that were asked during group reflection-on-action for both
sessions 5 and 6.
I generated individual critical reflections, as described in my conceptual framework,
before I began acting and at the end of each research cycle (for a total of four), as well as six
field notes (which included descriptive reflection)—one for each session. I relied on the feedback
I received and the content of the sessions as documented in my jottings and field notes, to write
four critical reflections during each out-of-the-field session. I reflected on my own hegemonic
norms and assumptions that were operating and considered how they were impacting the way I
employed andragogical and adaptive leadership strategies such as asking probing questions and
modeling. Additionally, I looked to see if my reflections and actions during each session
appeared to be grounded in the theories informing my work.
Observations
I collected observations to record participant behavior and my behavior during reflection-
on-action sessions and triangulated my findings with the documents I collected (Merriam &
Tisdell, 2015). I observed each session, for a total of six observations. Observational data
included the following: video and audio recording, transcripts, and field notes.
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When we ran a hybrid school option in the spring of 2021, SWIW adopted the Swivl
system, which allows you to record a class on Zoom through a mounted iPad and includes small
microphones to pick up conversation at different tables. With my participants’ permission, solely
for the purpose of data collection and not to be disseminated further, I used Swivl record our
sessions and used Zoom transcriptions of our sessions. This system worked for all sessions
except session 6, which did not record. These recordings allowed me to analyze participants’
behavior and contributions after the fact, as I missed some nonverbal cues while taking
observational notes.
I also took traditional observational jottings that included noting who was sitting where,
who participated, and key questions or remarks offered by teachers and me, which met the
descriptive purpose of observations (Bogdan & Biklen, 2007). I also included my own thoughts
and feelings through observer’s comments (Merriam & Tisdell, 2015), which served the
reflective purpose of observations (Bogdan & Biklen, 2007). After the session, I built on these
jottings to develop field notes with rich description, which resulted in a “personal log that helps
[me] keep track of the development of the project, to visualize how the research plan has been
affected by the data collected, and to remain aware of how [I] have been influenced by the data”
(Bogdan & Biklen, 2007, p. 119). Notes on my own emotional and cognitive reactions and
questions allowed me to track whether I was present (Rodgers, 2002) to my participants and
resisting my own desire to solve the problem on my own and was instead successfully
implementing adaptive leadership and andragogical strategies.
Data Analysis
Qualitative research is emergent (Lochmiller & Lester, 2017), and “findings and ideas
about findings emerge together” (Bogdan & Biklen, 2009, p. 128). As I collected the documents
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and observations above and reflected on each session, I began the data analysis process.
Throughout my research I evaluated how successfully I was establishing a knowledge-of-practice
learning environment that promoted my own and upper elementary teachers’ ability to turn
toward practice. Coughlan (2019) notes that there are key points after each planned action where
the researcher must pause, evaluate, and adjust their plans for the next action accordingly. At the
end of each cycle of action, I paused and completed an out of field analysis of the two previous
sessions, resulting in an analytic memo that, in turn, led to necessary adjustments or changes in
my plan for the next cycle (Coghlan, 2019). In my analytic memos, I connected my analysis to
my conceptual framework, using the concepts outlined in my conceptual framework to inform
my analysis of my data while I was in the field. For example, in my second analytic memo, I
discussed my choice to normalize a problem of practice to maintain the holding environment and
regulate distress. In my third analytic memo, I went through each facet of White supremacy
culture as outlined by Okun & Jones (2001) and identified where each was represented within
the learning space, such as how my focus on logistics was representative of perfectionism and
sense of urgency.
In my end of cycle analytic memos and critical reflections, I also re-assessed how each
teacher and I were adopting and implementing knowledge-of-practice and turning toward
practice. For example, in all three analytic memos I considered the efficacy of my probing
questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008). I considered whether my questions were effectively pushing
participants’ ZPDs (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) and whether I was enacting the culture of
niceness (DiAngelo, 2021; Roegman et al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022) when I failed to ask direct
enough questions. I met with my chair to assess the efficacy of my actions and to support my
own learning, and I considered the transcripts of these meetings during my data analysis. I was
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able to recognize ineffective implementation of adaptive leadership and andragogical strategies
through the questions she posed. For example, she provided critical feedback about my questions
during my third session and we brainstormed some together which I then employed in my fourth
session, eventually reaching the moment that came closest to provoking a constructive
disorientation out of all three cycles. Later, I used these memos and individual critical reflections
as additional forms of data when I left the field.
I began my final analysis during the Dissertation in Practice 3 course and continued it
into May on my own with the support of my chair. I analyzed and re-analyzed the documents,
field notes, transcripts, and artifacts to assess whether I successfully established a knowledge-of-
practice learning environment that promoted my own and upper elementary teachers’ ability to
turn toward practice. I chose to print all documents and do my initial coding by hand and enter
the codes and quotations into a spreadsheet that became my digital codebook. I used multiple
forms of coding to “‘fracture’ the data” and recognize “themes” (Maxwell, 2013, p. 195). I
looked for excerpts which I categorized and labeled thematically (Bowen, 2009) and then I used
systematic thematic coding to analyze my observations and documents (Bogdan & Biklen,
2007).
My predetermined (Maxwell, 2013) or a priori (Lochmiller & Lester, 2017) codes came
from my conceptual framework, and I kept my original conceptual framework nearby when
coding. Many of these a priori codes were separated into subcategories based on what occurred
within the sessions. Examples of these codes include “Adaptive Leadership: Quality of Holding
Space: Discussion Agreements,” “Constructive Developmental Theory: Assistance: Providing
Concrete Example, Feedback, or Directions” and “Facilitator: Emotional Response: Discomfort.”
I also engaged in open coding (Maxwell, 2013), including creating in vivo (Lochmiller & Lester,
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2017) codes that came from the language participants and I used, for example I referred in my
critical reflections to authenticity multiple times, which resulted in the code “Facilitator:
Goal/Outcome: Authenticity.” After noticing the use of passive voice, which can result in
obscuring who is responsible for something and reinforce hegemonic norms, I created the code
“language: passive voice.” As I went through each document, I frequently revisited my
codebook, combining and recategorizing based on the new themes that were appearing and
noting typicality when things, such as laughter, repeated over time. Revisiting my codebook was
also an important way for me to maintain my reflexivity (Lochmiller & Lester, 2017).
Overall, given my goal of constructive disorientation, I paid particular attention to the
questions teachers and I posed, the language we used, and signs of emotional and cognitive
response during the reflection process. For example, during particularly long pauses in
conversation, I counted the number of seconds the pause lasted for to see if it indicated an
emotional or cognitive response. I created codes for me and for participants within both parts of
Rodgers’s (2002) cycle that we were engaging in together, such as “Description: Sharer: Teacher
Language in the ‘moment,’” “Description: Participant Question: Analysis Q (too soon)” and
“Analysis: Facilitator Question: Teacher Action” to track the progress of our questions and
language.
At the end of each coding session, I wrote a methodological memo to document my
process and create an audit trail (Lochmiller & Lester, 2017). As I finished coding each cycle, I
also wrote a new analytic memo. Both my methodological and analytic memos served to
“chronicle how [my] understanding change[d]” (Lochmiller & Lester, 2017, p. 175). Initially, I
started off explicitly answering two questions for each analytic memo: “What am I thinking
about” and “current thinking on answering the RQ.” As it became clear my initial RQ was going
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to shift, I focused more on what was occurring to me as I analyzed the data. I often wrote about
where I had missed opportunities to provide feedback to teachers, or things I noticed about my
own language when I was in the field that seemed to not fully reflect what I was now combing
through—particularly my assumptions at the time about whether constructive disorientation had
or had not happened. Additionally, the process of writing itself served as analysis, and my
analysis continued through the final writing of my findings.
Limitations and Delimitations
In research design, limitations were factors I could not control as a researcher, such as a
participant getting COVID-19 and missing a session. However, research is also narrowed by
delimitations; choices I made to intentionally limit the scope of my study. For example, my
choice to use an existing meeting block limited the time available each session for group
reflection-on-action.
Limitations
Action research is fraught with politics (Herr & Anderson, 2015), and, as Coghlan (2009)
bluntly puts it: “Dual-role researchers may experience more problems than single-role
researchers” (p. 87). The challenges of action research created several limitations. First, while
there was no requirement to participate, it was possible that participants were not fully honest in
their participation due to my positional power or their own developmental level. Teachers chose
not to complete the learning audits or give much feedback, which limited the available data.
Additionally, some participants were not able to attend all sessions due to circumstances that
were outside of their control, which limited the available data for Ben (attended 5 of 6 sessions)
and Emma (attended 4 of 6 sessions).
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My own perception of my participants and prior knowledge about them, as well as my
own deficit mindsets and internalized hegemonic norms and assumptions impacted and limited
the ways I engaged with participants (Coughlan, 2009). Beginning with my proposal, my
individual work with and perspective on each teacher was clear and biased from the outset.
While I attempted to account for these biases through critical reflection, it was still a challenge
and may have exacerbated the way I failed to recognize my own replication of hegemonic
assumptions in the space until later in my work, as discussed in my third finding. However, I did
my best to be aware of it, hoping to improve trustworthiness. Additionally, Merriam and Tisdell
(2015) and Bowen (2009) note that document analysis has its own limitations, documents can be
unrepresentative, lack detail, and are inherently biased because the researcher selects them.
Ethically, I was unable to incorporate one-on-one sessions with teachers, which I believe
impacted the success of my research. Finally, as a novice researcher and facilitator I made many
mistakes along this journey!
Delimitations
One delimitation of this study was the type of data collected, in order to limit the scope of
my research and ensure I had adequate time to thoroughly analyze my data within the timeframe
allotted for my dissertation. I was able to triangulate between documents, observational data, and
field notes, I did not conduct interviews and only gave one survey. The choice not to conduct
interviews or and to only administer one survey was an intentional choice to bound my study to
respect the time of my participants and to keep the amount of data I had manageable for my own
analysis. Additionally, given my position of power, it was possible that participants would not
have been truthful, so omitting these other forms of data allowed for more meaningful analysis of
the observations, field notes, and other documents I did collect. Another delimitation of this
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study was time. This study covered six sessions with four adults; for the most part I did not
observe major changes, as described in my first finding. To ensure I stayed participant-centered
in my research design and did not ask my teachers to give up any additional time for this study, I
chose to use a small number of short sessions. I collected as much data from each session as
possible. The limited number of sessions and resulting documents allowed me to conduct more
robust analysis in the time allotted. I collected all the data on my own as a novice research,
which was a delimitation, but was core to the purpose of my action research
Credibility and Trustworthiness
Merriam and Tisdell (2015) suggest several ways to improve credibility—I used:
adequate engagement in data collection, triangulation, researchers’ reflectivity, and peer
examination or peer review (pp. 242–249), to which Lochmiller and Lester (2017) add audit
trails (p. 180). Engagement in data collection is almost assumed in action research, as the data
from each session informs the next action (Coughlan, 2009). Additionally, triangulation was
built into the design of this study. Triangulation, analyzing multiple methods and sources of data
(Merriam & Tisdell, 2015), was a key part of increasing the credibility of my study. I looked at
the field notes, observations, critical reflections, participant feedback, analytic memos, and
agendas to “corroborate findings across data sets and thus reduce the impact of potential biases”
(Bowen, 2009, p. 28). I corroborated my field notes for sessions 1–5 by looking at the transcripts
and recordings of the sessions and did not find any of the data to be contradictory in terms of
what participants said or did. However, at times it did reveal my own assumptions. I also
engaged in expert review to consider my progress and assumptions by consulting with my chair.
During my final analysis, I also wrote methodological memos for each day I coded, creating an
audit trail.
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I also practiced the researcher reflexivity suggested by Merriam and Tisdell (2015)
through individual critical reflection. Along with my data analysis at the end of each cycle, my
critical reflections helped me “understand how [my] values and views may shape and influence
findings add[ing] credibility to the research” (Atkins & Duckworth, 2019, p. 78). This also
helped me consider my insider knowledge; for my action research to be credible and trustworthy
I had to consider what I already knew about my participants and organization but had to also
recognize that I did not know everything and that what I did know, I needed to question
(Coughlan, 2009). My assumptions about my participants needed to be interrogated prior to the
first session, which I attempted to do through my first critical reflection to begin to discipline my
subjectivity from the outset, as well as throughout the study.
By analyzing my participants’ contributions and my own reflections throughout the
research process, as opposed to just at the end, I was able to track our movement toward
establishing a knowledge-of-practice learning environment that promoted my own and upper
elementary teachers’ ability to turn toward practice. This allowed me to note changes in “[my]
own and [my] participants’ understandings,” which was a key indicator of catalytic validity in
action research, as outlined by Herr and Anderson (2015, p. 69), and evident in my findings
below. One goal of this process was to see if I could shift the approach to adult learning, so this
catalytic validity was particularly important; some folks were interested in continuing this type
of conversation moving forward.
While I did not check my own conclusions with the teachers, I did solicit feedback on my
facilitation by asking teachers to provide their thoughts at the end of each class and at the end of
cycle 3. Although participants rarely chose to do so, I was able to use their feedback as well as
my recordings and transcriptions to also include direct quotations from my participants, rather
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than paraphrases, which also improves credibility and trustworthiness (Atkins & Duckworth,
2019). In addition to sharing feedback informally through the way they participated in group
reflection-on-action, participants provided some formal feedback on my facilitation and our
movement towards our goals, allowing me to critically reflect through different lenses
(Brookfield, 2017).
Ethics
Atkins and Duckworth (2019) write, “we research from a position of privilege” (p. 73).
My role as a scholar-practitioner and relationship with my participants had the possibility of
posing strong ethical challenges especially due to my positional authority at work. It was
critically important that teachers did not feel obligated to participate, rather that they were
invited to do so if they choose (Lochmiller & Lester, 2017). Informed consent is always an
important ethical consideration; participants were informed of the purpose of the study, activity,
and risks, and were given the opportunity to opt out or drop at any time (Lochmiller & Lester,
2017). Teachers were not required to give feedback, and only did so by choice. Through initial
one-on-one check-ins, I provided enough understanding of the purpose of the study to allow for
truly informed consent, while not providing so much information that I invalidated the data
because my participants know what outcomes I was looking for. I chose the fifth and sixth grade
team meetings as the setting for this research because they were never evaluative spaces, in the
hope that this would address any concerns teachers may have around their participation. My
research did not have an impact on teachers’ employment or my treatment of them at school, and
I hope that choosing the team meetings as a learning space reinforced this message.
An additional challenge was protecting the confidentiality of my participants (Lochmiller
& Lester, 2017). Most of the documents I used were digital (critical reflections, descriptive
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reflections, transcripts, jottings, etc.), which I saved in a Google Drive folder that only I had
access to. I secured hard copies off-site in a secured space as suggested by Bogdan and Biklen
(2007). I stored learner-created documents off-site in a secured filing cabinet and kept scanned
digitized copies in the same secure Google Drive folder. I replaced learner names with the
pseudonyms used above before uploading them and used pseudonyms throughout the entire
analysis process and in transcripts. I also gave my school site a pseudonym. All digital
recordings were uploaded to the secure Google Drive folder and printed transcripts were stored
off-site. I shared with my participants how I would store their data.
Disseminating research in an accessible way is also an important component of ethical
research that values the time and knowledge of your participants (Atkins & Duckworth, 2019). I
shared with teachers that I plan to publicly disseminate my research both in my dissertation and
in a modified way back to my school (Bogdan & Biklen, 2007). However, disseminating my
findings puts confidentiality at risk. Where I work is public information, our school site is
unique, and the number of faculty members is small, so it will be feasible for someone reading
my research to locate and identify the participants. As such, I made this possibility clear to my
participants when I provided informed consent documentation.
Finally, it was important for me to constantly stay as aware as possible of my own biases
through critical reflection and journaling (Atkins & Duckworth, 2019). Milner (2007) argues that
researchers can conduct research in communities that are not their own, however, they must
remain acutely aware of the possible conflicts that might arise as a result. As a neurotypical
school administrator who does not have a dis/ability, it was important to always stay conscious
of my own understanding, socialization, and biases around dis/ability. I needed to be aware of
my own power and positionality, especially in relation to students and adults with dis/abilities
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and BIPOC students and White participants. Through critical reflection, I worked to avoid falling
into the “unseen danger” of “[perpetuating] negative stereotypes about certain groups of students
and their situations” (Milner, 2007, p. 394). Critically reflecting on my own socialization and
biases to stay aware of them (Brookfield, 2017; Milner, 2007) helped me address this pitfall
during my action research process.
Findings
There are three findings in response to my research question, “How do I establish a
knowledge-of-practice learning environment that promotes my own and upper elementary
teachers’ ability to turn toward practice?” The first finding addresses how successfully I
supported participants’ learning and their ability to turn toward practice by considering the
progress each learner made. The second and third findings are both in relation to my progress as
a teacher-educator. My second finding considers my ability to enact andragogical and adaptive
strategies that supported participant learning. My third finding discusses my own critical
reflection and my enactment of hegemonic norms and structures within the learning
environment.
My first finding is that I successfully used Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle to
operationalize group reflection-on-action, which shifted the focus of our fifth and sixth grade
team meetings toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010), although this was not yet critical group
reflection-on-action. As our reflection-on-action was not critical we did not discuss identity
outright in the space. As a result, I do not have data to demonstrate how each participant’s
identity impacted their interactions in the space, and I believed it was important for me not to
project my assumptions upon each participant. Although our reflection was not critical, by taking
up a knowledge-of-practice approach (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) I created opportunities to
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push each participant’s learning toward constructive disorientation. However, I was unable to
approach constructive disorientation (Wergin, 2020) for three of the four participants, as I missed
multiple key requirements needed for this level of productive disorientation to occur, as
described in my conceptual framework and the next section “supporting participants’ learning.”
Ben moved the furthest towards a constructive disorientation, according to my conceptual
framework, as the first seven of the eight requirements were met and he was able to clarify a
“disconnect” within his practice and begin to reconsider his relationship to his practice.
The shift into a knowledge-of-practice approach (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 2010) for adult
learning required me to relinquish some control and take a more learner-centered approach to
facilitate a turn toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010). My second finding is that, over the course
of six sessions, I improved my ability to regulate my own distress (Northouse, 2019), which
allowed me to become more present (Rodgers, 2002) to participants. As a result, I was able to
choose forms of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) more intentionally and improve the
efficacy of my probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008). These shifts in my facilitation
supported participants’ turn toward practice.
Finally, my third finding is that outside of the immediate learning environment, I
improved my ability to critically reflect and recognize hegemonic assumptions (Brookfield,
2017) in my own practice. I was able to recognize the many ways I had internalized White
supremacy culture and sexism. These realizations will help me continue along the path towards
my long-term goal of deep learning that I outlined in my conceptual framework; understanding
and uncovering hegemonic assumptions (Brookfield, 2017) is required before a meaningful
change–such as embodying a deep learning mindset–can take place (Wergin, 2020).
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Finding 1: Supporting Participants’ Learning
Prior to the beginning of my study, I positioned myself as the “expert” in fifth and sixth
grade team meetings, embodying a knowledge-in-practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999)
approach where I conveyed knowledge of my craft through anecdotes and dispensed advice and
solutions (Rodgers, 2002). I set out to shift our team meetings toward a knowledge-of-practice
(Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) approach where teachers—regardless of years of experience or
position—collectively asked questions of their practice. Horn and Little (2010) describe this shift
toward a focus on teacher actions within the classroom as a turn toward practice. This turn
toward practice encourages teachers to reconsider their epistemology and pedagogy and can
allow teachers to approach constructive disorientation (Wergin, 2020), as defined in my
conceptual framework. With the addition of a critical lens, constructive disorientation can
provoke deeper reflections about the interplay between teacher and student identities
(Brookfield, 2017), allowing teachers to see (Rodgers, 2002) their classrooms in a new light and
take more informed and student-affirming actions moving forward (Brookfield, 2017; Rodgers,
2002; Wergin, 2020). To operationalize the knowledge-of-practice approach (Cochran-Smith &
Lytle, 1999) and support a turn toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010), I set out to enact the
“describe” and “analyze” components of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle in our fifth

and sixth
grade team meetings.
Group reflection-on-action can be operationalized using Rodgers’s (2002) reflective
cycle, as described in my conceptual framework. Ideally, engaging collectively in Rodgers’s
(2002) reflective cycle results in an increase in participants’ ability to “‘see’ the world, to be
present to it and all its complexities” (Rodgers, 2002, p. 230). The “moments” (Rodgers, 2002)
or “problems of practice” (Horn & Little, 2010) that provide the initial material for group
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reflection-on-action are small occurrences in the classroom that teachers work to describe in
detail and reflect upon to inform future practice (Rodgers, 2002). Participants must start by
working collectively to generate a thorough description of the moment, after which they can
move on to analysis and attempt to identify multiple perspectives or understandings of the
moment (Rodgers, 2002). Engaging in Rodgers’s (2002) cycle as a group is demonstrative of the
“systematic and intentional” (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 2010, p. 279) approach to collective
inquiry around practice that is the hallmark of the knowledge-of-practice approach to teacher
learning. Additionally, Rodgers’s (2002) cycle provides the “clear criteria for performance”
(Wergin, 2020, p. 71) needed to set the stage for constructive disorientation.
As stated in my conceptual framework, changing my approach to teacher learning
required adaptive leadership, which is focused on supporting followers through change
(Northouse, 2019). Adaptive leaders must manage the stress that change evokes, allowing
enough stress to propel change forward while also ensuring participants are not so stressed they
leave overwhelmed and paralyzed; Heifetz refers to this as “regulating distress” (Northouse,
2019, p. 265). Learning itself requires the same balance; to provoke a constructive disorientation
(Wergin, 2020) learners must be pushed within their ZPD (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) without
being pushed so far they become paralyzed (Wergin, 2020). As described in my conceptual
framework, the “ballast” (Wergin, 2020, p. 176) that allows participants to weather this
discomfort is a certain amount of psychological safety (Arao & Clemens, 2013). As documented
by Cochran-Smith and Lytle (1999), most teacher development takes a knowledge-for-practice
or knowledge-in-practice approach that does not create the conditions needed to investigate one’s
own practice. Changing to a knowledge-of-practice approach that centered teachers’ problems of
practice opened each learner up to the possibility of judgement from me or their peers.
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Therefore, I defined psychological safety in this setting as participants not fearing repercussions
or judgment from others in the space; after all, learning from a problem of practice requires
vulnerability, not shame (Brown, 2018). However, while I sought to create this level of
psychological safety, I did not seek to create a space where participants never experienced
distress—rather, I intended provoke distress that was not the result of shame, judgment, or fear,
but rather the result of approaching a constructive disorientation. Wergin (2020) suggests that for
a constructive disorientation to occur, learners must believe they are “socially connected [and]
cared for by others” (p. 71) within the holding environment (Northouse, 2019). To approach a
productive, rather than paralyzing, disorientation within a knowledge-of-practice space, I
believed it was vital that I strengthen the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) for each
participant. A strong holding environment (Northouse, 2019) would ensure that participants
could not only endure the shift towards a knowledge-of-practice space but could also engage in
meaningful learning together through group reflection-on-action without being concerned about
the judgment of others.
Adaptive leaders must consider what each participant needs to be psychologically safe—
as defined above—enough to participate (Northouse, 2019) and to persevere through moments of
distress; all learners are unique and need different forms of assistance (Mezirow, 2000; Tharp &
Gallimore, 1989). It is the adult educator’s role to meet each learner where they are and push
them appropriately (Belenky & Stanton, 2000; Mezirow, 2000). As I suggest in my conceptual
framework, the facilitator must consider which forms of assistance are appropriate for each
learner based on the learner’s ZPD (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) and ways of knowing (Drago-
Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017). To support each participant’s learning, I needed to consider
both the strength of the holding environment for each participant and each participant’s ZPD to
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calibrate how hard to push each learner. To support participants in approaching constructive
disorientation, I needed to do all the following at the appropriate level for each participant, which
I describe in my conceptual framework as the eight requirements for constructive disorientation.
For ease in reading, I have stated them again below:
1. Create a strong holding environment (Northouse, 2019) by demonstrating care
and co-constructing norms (Northouse, 2019, Rodgers, 2002), ensuring each
participant believed they were “socially connected [and] cared for by others”
(Wergin, 2020, p. 71) and were not concerned about judgment or repercussions.
2. “Empower” each participant’s “sense of efficacy” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) by
regulating distress (Northouse, 2019) and normalizing problems of practice (Horn
& Little, 2010), ensuring each participant believed they could meaningfully
engage in Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle and that doing so was worthwhile.
3. Engage each participant’s curiosity about their own practice and others’ practice
to foster “autonomous motivation” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) for each participant.
4. Hold participants accountable to “maintain[ing] disciplined attention” (Northouse,
2019, p. 268), creating “an environment free from distractions” (Wergin, 2020, p.
71) where participants were able to slow down (Rodgers, 2002) their thinking.
5. Provide “clear criteria for performance” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) through the
structure of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle which requires participation while
also giving participants agency over the “level of challenge” (Wergin, 2019, p.
71) they experienced.
6. Provide individualized forms of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989), such as
“concrete feedback” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71), modeling, praise, and instructing
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(Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) to create “a clear but manageable” (Wergin, 2020, p.
71) intellectual and emotional challenge for each participant, while also giving
each participant the “freedom to fail” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71).
7. Ask probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) as a form of assistance (Tharp &
Gallimore, 1989) in order to help participants see and clarify “disconnect[s]”
(Wergin, 2020, p. 70) within their own practice.
8. Approach reflection with a critical lens (Brookfield, 2017), so that disorientation
results in a meaningful shift in participants’ worldviews and has an impact on
participants’ actions moving forward (Wergin, 2020).
I used a variety of adaptive leadership strategies (Northouse, 2019) and forms of assistance
(Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) as described in the sections that follow to achieve the first seven of
the requirements listed above, with varying levels of success depending on the participant.
Without employing a critical lens, it was impossible to meet the eighth requirement. Below, I
will describe the specific supports I used to address each learner’s needs, and whether they
resulted in constructive disorientation.
Ben came the closest to experiencing a constructive disorientation; he recognized a
disconnect within his practice and began to reconsider his relationship to his practice. I will
spend the most time discussing Ben’s learning, as he was the only participant to reach this place
in his learning and the only participant for whom I successfully met the first seven conditions for
constructive disorientation. Ben was a White cisgender man in his mid-to-late 40s, who had been
teaching in independent schools in Los Angeles for over 20 years. To set the stage for a
constructive disorientation, I strengthened the holding environment for Ben, requirement 1. In
response to an invitation from me, Ben communicated that the establishment of norms
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(Northouse, 2019; Rodgers, 2002) would support his psychological safety as defined above, and
ensure he was “socially connected, cared for by others, and confident” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71).
Ben adjusted the level of challenge (Wergin, 2020) by bringing a substantive but older problem
of practice, which demonstrated the strength of the holding environment for him and met
requirement five. Ben’s problem of practice and his desire to understand it demonstrated the
“autonomous motivation” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) needed to meet requirement four. I gave Ben
control over the time we spent on his moment, which allowed us to slow down (Rodgers, 2002),
meeting requirement three. As a form of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) I asked probing
questions that clarified a disconnect (Wergin, 2020) in Ben’s practice, meeting requirement
seven. When Ben experienced distress during group reflection-on-action, I promoted his sense of
efficacy by normalizing the problem of practice (Horn & Little, 2010), meeting requirement two.
This individualized form of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989)—requirement 6—prevented
paralysis and allowed Ben to continuing to turn toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010). The first
seven of the eight requirements were satisfied and, as a result, Ben came the closest to
experiencing a constructive disorientation (Wergin, 2020)—he recognized a disconnect within
his practice and began to reconsider his relationship to his practice.
Steve did not experience a constructive disorientation, recognize a disconnect within his
practice, or reconsider his relationship to his practice. Steve was a White cisgender man in his
early-to-mid 30s, who was in his third year teaching at SWIW—his first independent school.
Requirements 1, 2, and 3 were met immediately, as Steve entered the learning environment with
a strong pre-existing holding environment (Northouse, 2019) as well as a clear sense of self-
efficacy and motivation (Wergin, 2020). Per requirement 6, I used instructing, modeling, praise
(Tharp & Gallimore, 1989), and feedback (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989; Wergin, 2020) as forms of
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assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) to support Steve’s learning. As a result, Steve began to
internalize the “clear criteria for performance” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) provided by Rodgers’s
(2002) reflective cycle, demonstrating the presence of requirement 5. However, my probing
questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) were not effective and did not support Steve in turning toward
practice (Horn & Little, 2010) or recognizing “disconnect[s]” (Wergin, 2020, p. 70) within his
own practice. I rushed forward and did not slow down (Rodgers, 2002) enough to support Steve
effectively. With requirements 4, 7, and 8 unmet, I was unable to provoke a constructive
disorientation for Steve, which limited the possibilities for his learning.
Emma displayed openness toward other perspectives about her student (Rodgers, 2002),
but was unable to turn fully toward practice or experience constructive disorientation because of
my failure to institute the majority of the eight requirements for constructive disorientation.
Emma was a White cisgender woman in her late 20s who was in her fifth year teaching at SWIW
and sixth year in the classroom. Emma missed two of our six sessions and spoke less, which
meant I had the least amount of data on her participation and therefore write the least about her
growth. When she joined during session 2, I failed to sufficiently explain the purpose of our
work, decreasing Emma’s motivation and self-efficacy, and ensuring requirements 2 and 3 went
unmet. I weakened the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) by not demonstrating enough
care (Wergin, 2020) for her questions about the process, leaving the first requirement unmet.
Emma multitasked during sessions 2, 4, and 5, indicating that I had failed to institute many of the
eight requirements—and particularly requirement 4. My inability to address my errors and meet
the challenge of building Emma’s self-efficacy and motivation meant that Emma did not
experience constructive disorientation.
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Johnny also did not approach constructive disorientation because I was unable to provide
the appropriate forms of assistance for his ZPD (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989). Johnny was a
multiracial (White/Asian American) man in his late 20s who was in his third year teaching and
all of his formal teaching experience was at SWIW. Johnny self-advocated for certain forms of
assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) that he knew he needed to engage in group reflection-on-
action, which indicated that he had a strong sense of efficacy and motivation (Wergin, 2020)—
Johnny believed that with the right support he could engage and that doing so was worthwhile,
meeting requirements 2 and 3. However, Johnny also demonstrated that he was a self-authoring
knower, farther along on the Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano (2017) typology than me and
the other participants. As a result of where I was as a learner, I was unable to push his ZPD
(Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) and increase the “level of challenge” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) for
Johnny, so he did not approach a constructive disorientation either.
All participants met the “clear criteria for performance” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) laid out by
Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle. Each participant brought forth a problem of practice and asked
questions their own practice, as well as others’ practice. Rodgers’s (2002) cycle allowed us to
operationalize the knowledge-of-practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) approach and shifted
the fifth and sixth grade team meetings for the duration of my action research project. Although I
did not effectively support each participant’s learning, as a group we were able to shift our
approach to learning together.
Ben’s Learning
For Ben, the first seven of the eight requirements for a constructive disorientation—as
outlined in my conceptual framework and above—were met. As a result, Ben came the closest to
experiencing constructive disorientation (Wergin, 2020) and recognized a disconnect within his
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practice. During session 1, Ben participated in the co-construction of norms, which strengthened
the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) for him before any distress or discomfort occurred,
meeting the first requirement for a constructive disorientation. Ben was the only participant to
suggest a guideline for group conversation, suggesting that he had a specific need that I had to
meet that was different from the other learners. As the facilitator, I had to address his unique
need to support his learning (Mezirow, 2000) and ensure he believed that he was “cared for”
(Wergin, 2020, p. 71) and would not face repercussions for sharing. I created a holding
environment (Northouse, 2019) where participants withheld their judgment. As a result, Ben
brought a substantive problem of practice that “[met] the criteria” to engage meaningfully in
Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle. I allowed Ben control over the timing of his share, allowing us
to slow down, which met requirement 4. Additionally, Ben adjusted the level of challenge for
himself (Wergin, 2020) by offering up a complex moment from a past classroom during sessions
3 and 4, which met requirement 5 and revealed the strength and weaknesses of the holding
environment I had created for Ben. During session 4, Ben asked questions of himself that
demonstrated his own motivation (Wergin, 2020) to learn, meeting requirement 3. Also, during
session 4, I asked probing questions that highlighted a disconnect in Ben’s practice, which met
requirement 7 but also caused Ben to experience distress. I “empower[ed] a sense of efficacy”
(Wergin, 2020) for Ben by normalizing the problem of practice (Horn & Little, 2010), thereby
turning Ben back toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010), which kept him on the path toward a
constructive disorientation rather than leaving him paralyzed (Wergin, 2020) and also met the
second requirement for a constructive disorientation. With seven of the eight requirements met,
Ben began to recognize a disconnect within his practice that continued to resonate with him after
the fact. Despite the distress he experienced, Ben later shared that he found the experience
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meaningful for his adult learning, which supported my goal of continuing this work forward at
SWIW. Additionally, his feedback confirmed that I had met seven of the necessary conditions
for Ben to experience constructive disorientation (Wergin, 2020)—we just lacked the critical
lens needed for him to reach a complete constructive disorientation. However, this was a step on
the path towards my goal of deep learning for both of us (Wergin, 2020).
Strengthening the Holding Environment by Co-Constructing Norms with Ben. My
conceptual framework argues that guidelines and expectations for conversation, or “productive
norms” (Northouse, 2019, p. 267), create psychological safety (Arao & Clemens, 2013)—in this
case, a reduced fear of judgement or repercussions—that allows participants to engage
vulnerably in group reflection-on-action. Within the first minute of my introductory session
(session 1), I explicitly stated that the approach we would be taking was new and would require
all of us to be more vulnerable with each other. I provided an opportunity for all participants to
suggest norms they believed would be helpful as we turned toward practice (Horn & Little,
2010) and shared moments from our classrooms. Ben suggested a norm of confidentiality. I
acknowledged and built upon Ben’s suggestion with my teacher-educator goals for group
reflection-on-action in mind, resulting in a norm that strengthened the holding environment for
Ben as a learner and supported his sense that there would not be judgment or repercussions based
on what he shared.
JB: Um. One thing that I wanted to name at the beginning is like this is a little bit
unique from how we’ve been running our meetings in the past–ideally like what
we’re moving toward, just sharing sort of what we’re seeing or experiencing in
our classrooms with each other and talking through them. And so, before we do
that, I’m wondering if there are any things—we’ve been meeting together
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obviously for 2 years now—But if there are any like specific guidelines that you
feel like would help in having that conversation with each other um, in terms of
like discussion agreements, or anything like that—So any like anything that you
would want to add to sort of. I mean, I think what I observe when we talk together
is that people laugh, and we like are pretty honest about our experience with kids
and whatever. But if there’s anything that you feel like in terms of sharing or
listening, that would be helpful to name, we can.
B: Maybe just uh, like we do with whatever we talk about. Just kind of stays in here.
JB: Yeah, absolutely. One of the um JEDI like norms that the parents added to the
affinity groups this year was “stories stay, and lessons leave.” (Ben says “mm”)
So the idea that, like the specificity of whatever we’re talking about, stays in the
space, but like your takeaways, because ideally, you’re learning from the
conversation is something that is okay to share. I don’t know. Does that feel
comfortable as a norm?
B: I like that.
In my statement, “One thing that I wanted to name at the beginning is like this is a little bit
unique from how we’ve been running our meetings in the past” I indicated that we would be
changing from “how we have been running our meetings in the past” to something “unique.” I
communicated a move away from the quality and type of interaction we had up until that time;
by emphasizing that I needed to “name” this shift at the “beginning” I signaled that this change
was a large one and had the potential to create distress. I implied that this was a moment of
change and disruption; the type of change that could provoke distress (Northouse, 2019). I also
implied that there was something we needed to consider or do as a group before we began. I
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explained the change as “moving toward, just sharing sort of what we’re seeing or experiencing
in our classrooms with each other and talking through them,” which implied a shift away from
our knowledge-in-practice approach (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) and toward practice (Horn
& Little, 2010). I implied that this shift carried can increased possibility of judgment,
repercussions, or distress.
When I wondered “if there are any things” “like specific guidelines that you feel like
would help in having that conversation” or “discussion agreements” in spite of the fact that we
had “been meeting together obviously for 2 years now,” I demonstrated a recognition that the
type of conditions we might need to have in place were different from those that had previously
existed because of the shift toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010) that opened up our actions to
judgement from others. I implied that, despite our pre-existing relationships (Northouse, 2019),
we might need to adopt new norms that alleviated concern about judgment and ensured
participants believed they were “cared for by others” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71), thereby
strengthening the holding environment (Northouse, 2019). I invited participants to contribute
“like anything that you would want to add,” as, to strengthen the holding environment for each
participant, I needed to meet each participant’s individual needs (Mezirow, 2000) rather than
guess what norms might support our shift toward knowledge-of-practice reflection-on-action.
Next, I offered my own assessment of the pre-existing holding environment (Northouse,
2019), “I think what I observe when we talk together is that people laugh,” which signaled that I
believed there were already valuable social connections in the space (Wergin, 2020). My
comment reemphasized that I wanted to create norms because of the impending change in our
meeting structure and because of the potential that focusing on practice increased vulnerability
and could increase distress as well. By focusing specifically on “laughter” as a positive aspect of
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our current holding environment, I sent the message that although our future conversations might
be serious, they need not be devoid of humor or fun. I continued with my assessment of the pre-
existing holding environment, “we like are pretty honest about our experience with kids” which
communicated that being “honest” was also something I expected us to continue in our
upcoming conversations. My modifier “pretty” indicated that although I thought we were already
displaying honesty in the holding environment, I was asking us to take the risk of speaking with
more emotional and psychological vulnerability moving forward, which group reflection-on-
action requires (Rodgers, 2002). I further explained the need for different conditions in the
holding environment by setting expectations for the topics we might be honest about: “our
experience with kids.” Both statements reinforced that discussing problems of practice together
opened us up to judgment and additional repercussions and therefore required a discussion about
norms that could alleviate these concerns and regulate distress.
Ben was the first and only participant to offer a guideline for discussion, which indicated
that he thought the “unique” form of conversation I was proposing required clear boundaries for
him to participate without experiencing concern about judgment or repercussions. Ben offered,
“Maybe just uh, like we do with whatever we talk about. Just kind of stays in here.” Ben’s
request for confidentiality—that “whatever we talk about just kind of stays in here”
demonstrated that he recognized discussing problems of practice opened him up to potential
judgment from others, including those outside of the space if his commentary or stories were
shared more widely. Ben said, “we do [protect confidentiality] with whatever we talk about,”
indicating that Ben had a sense our team meetings were already confidential. Ben’s request for
the norm when he already believed confidentiality was in place implied that he needed me to
explicitly restate the expectation of confidentiality due to the additional risk I was asking him
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and other participants to take by sharing problems of practice. Ben’s need for me to make
preexisting tacit agreements explicit (Loughran, 2006) for him to be “honest” about his
“experience with kids” was clear. Ben’s statement indicated that he recognized that there was the
potential for judgment and distress and his suggestion implied that he needed a level of
confidentiality to share vulnerably with others. When I replied “absolutely” I showed Ben that he
was cared for (Wergin, 2020), affirmed that Ben’s request was appropriate, explicitly supported
his contribution to the space, and tacitly affirmed Ben’s implication that the conversations we
would be engaging in could be risky, further strengthening the holding environment for Ben.
However, I also pushed Ben’s suggestion beyond confidentiality to ensure our norms
aligned with my goals as the adult educator in the space, simultaneously honoring his needs and
considering what I believed we needed as the facilitator (Mezirow, 2000). I offered, “One of the
um JEDI like norms that the parents added to the affinity groups this year was ‘stories stay, and
lessons leave.’” I credited the SWIW parent affinity groups with adding the norm “stories stay,
and lessons leave,” to our school JEDI norms for adult learning. When I highlighted that the
parent affinity groups added this norm “this year” I implied that they too had been seeking
confidentiality to promote a judgment-free space and were employing this norm successfully.
Citing the parents also both promoted buy-in and allowed Ben a way to disagree; Ben was also a
parent at SWIW and might have agreed with other parents’ approach. At the same time, because I
presented it as the parents’ idea, Ben could reject it without saying “no” to me as the facilitator.
Ben responded to my comment with “mm,” which suggested that he heard and was willing to
consider the norm these other parents had adopted. I continued, “So the idea that, like the
specificity of whatever we’re talking about, stays in the space,” which communicated that I
agreed with Ben’s request for confidentiality and recognized his needs for confidentiality, up to a
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point. This statement also communicated that I also did not expect our conversations to be
repeated in detail outside of the space, which strengthened the holding environment (Northouse,
2019) for Ben.
I then said, “but like your takeaways, because ideally, you’re learning from the
conversation is something that is okay to share.” I positioned “takeaways” as different from the
“specificity” I mentioned in the previous sentence, which served to suggest that perhaps a level
of anonymity—rather than complete confidentiality—could be sufficient to prevent the
possibility of judgment from others outside of the space. Additionally, I communicated my goals
for our group reflection-on-action: “learning from the conversation”—I expected that everyone
would have “takeaways” that were worth further conversation (Rogers, 2002), including with
others outside the space. By anchoring the revised norm in my teacher-educator goals for the
space, I created a rationale for not requiring total confidentiality: using and considering the
takeaways from our conversation.
Ben responded, “I like that.” His statement indicated that my suggestion resonated with
him and that he perceived “stories stay, lessons leave” to be an appropriate revision of his initial
suggestion. He did not follow up with any questions or additional thoughts, indicating that the
norm we had co-constructed—or arrived at together—was sufficient for him. “I like that”
implied that Ben believed that, with the observation of this norm, he could share a problem of
practice without concern about that problem leaving the room, thereby regulating some of his
distress (Northouse, 2019). Adopting this norm from the outset strengthened the holding
environment (Northouse, 2019) for Ben as it removed some of his concern about being judged
for what he shared, meeting the first requirement for a constructive disorientation, as described in
my conceptual framework. The holding environment created enough psychological safety for
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Ben that he chose to bring a complex—albeit old—problem of practice, as explored in the
following section.
Ben’s Problem of Practice. As described above, during session 1 I strengthened the
holding environment (Northouse, 2019) for Ben by demonstrating care (Wergin, 2020), valuing
his voice, validating his concerns, and co-constructing norms. I reinforced the holding
environment by demonstrating the same care (Wergin, 2020) during session 2. During session 3,
Ben met the “criteria for performance” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) by offering a particularly
substantive moment for group reflection-on-action. During the 5 weeks between sessions 1 and
3, Ben had time to consider which problem of practice he wanted to bring into the space. He
adjusted the level of challenge for himself (Wergin, 2020) by presenting a moment that was
complex, but also old, which met the fifth requirement for constructive disorientation, as
described in my conceptual framework. On one hand, Ben’s choice to bring a problem of
practice that spoke specifically to the complexities of teaching about race and African history as
a White person demonstrated his ability to be vulnerable in the space, especially because Ben
also admitted that made Black students deeply uncomfortable during a lesson he taught. Ben’s
choice to share a moment that resulted in a parent calling him “racist” in front of me—the
biracial Black Director of JEDI at SWIW—revealed that, to some extent, Ben was not worried
that he would be judged, and the holding environment had strength. At the same time, Ben’s
choice to offer a moment that occurred many years ago allowed Ben to put distance between
himself and his actions, a distance he reinforced by using language that diluted his responsibility
for what took place. The interval of time between the story and session 3, as well as Ben’s
language, indicated that Ben was still somewhat concerned about judgment or repercussions
from sharing––the quality of the holding environment for Ben only extended so far. This tension
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is clear in the excerpts that follow. Initially, I made space for us to slow down (Rodgers, 2002)
by acknowledging our limited time and giving Ben agency over whether to share, which met the
fourth requirement for a constructive disorientation as described in my conceptual framework.
Below, I share a portion of Ben’s initial recounting of his moment at the end of session 3:
JB: Ben, I know we don’t have a ton of time right now. Would you prefer that we
totally hold? Or would you––and start like––give you the whole session next
time? Do you want to share what you want to share?
B: Maybe I’ll share so you guys can uh ponder it?
JB: Ponder it, ok.
B: Yeah.
JB: Awesome.
B: Should I just start?
JB: If everyone feels like their, they’re ready to–their brains are ready to transition.
(Steve and Johnny nod) Yeah, okay, cool.
When I said, “I know we don’t have a ton of time right now,” I was recognizing the conditions
for Ben’s sharing and ensuring the requirements for constructive disorientation were met. The act
of sharing a problem of practice required time and deserved participants’ time and attention—I
did not want to put Ben in a position of not getting either. Rather, I wanted to hold participants
accountable to “maintain[ing] disciplined attention” (Northouse, 2019, p. 268) because
constructive disorientation requires “an environment free from distractions,” (Wergin, 2020, p.
71) including time pressure. My questions, “Would you prefer that we totally hold? Or would
you-and start like-give you the whole session next time?” demonstrated my awareness that
asking Ben to present without time to meaningfully discuss his problem of practice could
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potentially increase Ben’s distress. By asking if Ben preferred to hold, I decreased the potential
for distress and reinforced the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) by demonstrating care
(Wergin, 2020) and removing the pressure to share without time to sit with Ben’s moment.
Additionally, by giving Ben control over not only what he would share but some choice about
when he would share, I gave power back to Ben (Northouse, 2019), using adaptive leadership to
further strengthen the holding environment.
Ben chose to “share so you guys can uh ponder it.” Ben’s willingness to jump in and
offer his moment for the “ponder[ing]” of others indicated that he was open to the groups’
questions and reflections and, to an extent, trusted us to withhold judgment. Ben asked, “Should
I just start?” indicating he was secure enough to share without prompting or framing from me. I
asked the other participants, “If everyone feels like their, they’re ready to—their brains are ready
to transition” to ensure we could all be present (Rodgers, 2002; Wergin, 2020) to Ben and
engage meaningfully in the reflection process. When everyone indicated they were ready, I gave
the go-ahead and Ben began to share. The content of Ben’s moment demonstrated how he had
adjusted the level of challenge presented by the reflective cycle (Wergin, 2020), while the
language he used throughout revealed both the strength and weakness of the holding
environment for him:
B: All right. This was several years back. I was in my first year teaching humanities
at this school, at this grade level, I had never taught uh sixth grade before, or
history. I had previously taught Middle School English. Um, we were covering
ancient Egypt at the time and we’re also talking about its neighbor Kush and
Nubia to its south, which is current day Sudan. And we were looking at––I think I
think we were looking at Egyptian art and touching on the idea of this concept of
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it––some of it being whitewashed where uh the people from Egypt are made to
look whiter than they may have been. Um, and I was trying to get the sixth
graders to understand that––Oh––Sometimes we forget that Egypt is actually part
of Africa. And so, a lot of times you’ll hear like Africa is not taught at all in
ancient civ., but Egypt actually is part of North Africa. Um and I was oh––I was
saying that how when most people hear “Africa” they usually tend to think of like
sub-Saharan Africa where people’s skin tends to be a lot darker than in Egypt,
which is part of more of the North of Africa. Uh, I was trying to get the students
to understand that one theory as to why Egypt is so much more famous or more
studied than Kush or Nubia is that they had lighter skin in Egypt than they do in
Nubia. The theory states that since they’re whiter, we in the West can identify
with them more (Johnny says, “hmm”) ––and are more likely to study them than
their darker neighbors to the south. We at that time––we have several––I had
probably a handful of African American students in the class. And I kind of sense
that they were becoming uncomfortable. You know, squirming, looking at each
other. I said something about how we had talked about it: “History was written by
the winners, and that, like those who have the power to set the story or the
narrative.” I said, maybe it was because “Egypt looks more like us than Nubians.
We study them more.” And I could see that when I said that the students became
even more uncomfortable. Um, but instead of addressing it in the moment, I just
kind of moved on and let it slide, even though I kind of knew something was up.
Um, later that day I had a call from a parent from one of the students, telling me
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that their child felt very uncomfortable in class, and perceived what I said to be––
as racist.
Ben began with, “This was several years back.” To some extent, the holding environment
(Northouse, 2019) did not provide complete psychological safety—the sense that he would not
be judged by others—for Ben, as indicated by the fact that he chose to share a moment that was
so far in the past. By choosing a problem of practice that occurred a long time ago, Ben reduced
the chance that the rest of us would assume he would do the same thing today. He reinforced this
when, early on, Ben switched from “we were looking at” to “I think we were looking at” which
insinuated that Ben’s memory might be faulty and highlighted the years that had elapsed,
implying that he would no longer approach the content the same way today. Additionally, if the
room had reacted poorly, Ben could have claimed he was not sure he was remembering the
moment accurately. Ben’s choice to immediately communicate about the amount of time that had
elapsed indicated that Ben was still concerned about the reaction of others in the space and the
possibility of judgment or repercussions. Ben continued, “I was in my first year teaching
humanities at this school, at this grade level, I had never taught uh sixth grade before, or history.
I had previously taught Middle School English” which caveated his actions by highlighting his
lack of experience at the school, in the content area, and at his grade level. These statements also
implied that Ben now knew better than he did when the lesson took place, putting further
distance between Ben and his actions and suggesting that Ben was concerned about the reactions
of others in the space.
Ben continued to create distance between himself and his actions through the language he
used to describe what occurred in the classroom. At the beginning, Ben used “we” repeatedly
such as “we were covering ancient Egypt” and “we were looking at Egyptian art.” The use of
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“we” shifted responsibility away from Ben alone and put it on the group, shifting any potential
blame from Ben’s shoulders to the classes’ and reducing the ability to judge Ben alone. Ben also
noted that he was “touching on the idea of this concept”—his use of the word “touching” implied
that he briefly introduced the content and had not thought about it too deeply prior to bringing in
the concept. Language like “I wrote a lesson about…” would have taken more accountability for
the outcome. Instead, Ben implied he had not thought too deeply about the content and that it
was not very robust; Ben twice mentioned that he had presented a “theory” as opposed to a fact.
Combined with the use of the word “touching,” Ben’s focus on the content as theoretical implied
that the discussion was a brief and intellectual tangent and created distance between the outcome
and Ben’s actions. Ben began his share with caveats that created distance between him and the
outcome of his pedagogical choices, demonstrating that the holding space (Northouse, 2019)
only extended so far; Ben was still somewhat concerned about judgment or repercussions
because of his share. His caveats and language served to place the blame on the lack of
preparation or experience, rather than on Ben’s assumptions, which demonstrated where Ben was
in his own understanding of the event.
Although Ben distanced himself from his actions, he did not remind us of the expectation
of privacy; the norm “stories stay, lessons leave” strengthened the holding environment
(Northouse, 2019) enough for Ben that he believed he could take the reputational risk of sharing
this moment with me and his colleagues. Ben explained “we were covering ancient Egypt at the
time and we’re also talking about its neighbor Kush and Nubia to its south, which is current day
Sudan,” which immediately signaled that Ben would be speaking about race, and an experience
he had had teaching about ancient African nations as a White teacher. It soon became clear that
the moment was more than a moment where Ben was conflicted about his teaching—Ben offered
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a problem of practice where he, as a White person, had potentially harmed Black students in his
class. During his class Ben recognized the Black students were “becoming uncomfortable” with
his delivery of the content because the students’ body language changed: they were “squirming,
looking at each other.” Ben admitted that he had caused African American students so much
discomfort that they “squirm[ed]” in their seats and a parent called and told him his language
was “racist,” two uncomfortable admissions that demonstrated Ben believed he could share
without too much judgment or repercussions. Any of us could have easily left horrified that Ben
had not only caused Black students to “squirm” but then “let it slide.” The moment Ben chose to
share and the willingness with which he did so (as described previously in this section) indicated
that Ben believed he was “safe tackling difficult problems” (Northouse, 2019, p. 265)—such as
what it meant to be a White teacher teaching African history to a class that included Black
American students—with us. Rather than choose a moment where the impact of identity was
unclear, Ben chose one where racial identity was front and center, which both met the “clear
criteria” (Wergin, 2020) and demonstrated that the holding space was relatively strong for Ben—
he was not prohibitively worried about judgment or repercussions. Ben invited us all to “ponder”
his actions for an extended period; when I provided Ben the choice to spend to sit in his
vulnerability for only one session, rather than one and a half, he declined. Ben was able to adjust
the level of challenge for himself (Wergin, 2020) and believed that, to some extent, that we all
cared for (Wergin, 2020) him and would be able to withhold judgment and engage in meaningful
conversation about this moment, demonstrating that the fifth requirement for a constructive
disorientation—as described in my conceptual framework—had been met.
While Ben’s problem of practice took place multiple years before, it was clear that Ben
was still conflicted about the moment, which indicated the holding environment was strong
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enough Ben also believed he could share something emotionally weighty without repercussions.
Ben began a sentence, “I was trying to get the sixth graders to understand that—” but then
immediately turned away from what happened in the classroom and took a tangent about
critiques that “Africa is not taught at all in ancient civ.” and what he perceived to be common
assumptions around African skin tones. Shortly thereafter it appeared that Ben was going to
reveal what happened in the classroom—“I was trying to get the sixth graders to understand
that—Oh—sometimes”—before he again cut himself off, shifted away from the classroom, and
went back into detail about the theory. Ben twice started to turn toward practice (Horn & Little,
2010) and then veered quickly away, indicating that he was still struggling with his role in what
transpired. There was still something about the moment that Ben did not fully understand or
needed to return to—signs that this moment still held emotional weight and had the potential to
lead to disorientation (Wergin, 2020). Ben’s choice to share something that was still carrying an
emotional weight indicated that Ben had still chosen something challenging (Wergin, 2020) for
him, even if it was old. Apparently, the holding environment was strong enough for Ben that he
believed we could listen without adding judgment to an already difficult emotional situation.
The strength of the holding environment appeared to increase for Ben over the course of
his share, potentially because a lack of negative response from participants was a clear
demonstration that participants were not judging Ben. When Ben finally moved away from the
theory and content and into the classroom, he moved away from “we” described above. He
shifted to “I” in this sentence: “We at that time—we have several—I had probably a handful of
African American students in the class.” From this sentence on Ben only used “I,” and talked
clearly about his actions and students’ reactions without taking any tangents or attempting to
shift responsibility from himself back to “we”—the class. Additionally, Ben also began to
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acknowledge the impact of his choices more fully over the course of his share. Initially, Ben put
some distance between his language and the Black students’ reaction, saying he “sense[d]” they
were “becoming uncomfortable.” Students were not “becoming” uncomfortable—their body
language as described by Ben indicated that in fact Black students were uncomfortable, which
Ben did not explicitly state. However, Ben went on to explain that he had exacerbated the
situation by telling his students, “‘Egypt looks more like us than Nubians. We study them
more.’” Ben’s use of “we” assumed a certain identity for his students and class—in this case a
White or light-skinned identity; the Black students in his class likely resembled Nubians more.
Ben explained, “I could see that when I said that the students became even more uncomfortable.”
As opposed to his previous remark that he could “sense” students “becoming uncomfortable,”
Ben now “[saw]” that students had become “even more uncomfortable”—here Ben
acknowledged that his language directly led to students’ discomfort. Shortly thereafter, Ben
noted “I kind of knew something was up.” Ben went from “sense[ing]” to “see[ing]” to
“kn[owing]” that students were uncomfortable, indicating an increased accountability for Ben’s
role in their discomfort. The shift in Ben’s language indicated that he was taking more
accountability for his actions toward the end of his share than he did at the beginning. As he
continued to share and no one interjected or visibly expressed disappointment in him or
judgment about his actions the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) was strengthened further.
As a result, Ben was better able to turn toward practice and be more vulnerable.
Overall, the holding environment I created allowed Ben to choose to share an emotionally
weighty–if old–moment from his classroom. The lack of judgment in the space allowed Ben to
share without too much distress, indicating a strong–if not perfect–holding space, which meant
the first requirement for constructive disorientation was maintained past the initial session.
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Additionally, Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle created a “clear criteria for performance”
(Wergin, 2020, p. 71) or “clear set of rules and processes’’ (Northouse, 2019, p. 265) that
allowed Ben to adjust the level of challenge (Wergin, 2020) for himself as a learner by choosing
something emotionally weighty but in the past, meeting the fifth requirement. In the end, this
moderation of challenge resulted in Ben’s ability to “continue the process” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71)
of group reflection-on-action. During Ben’s initial description of the moment—excerpted
above—Ben was unable to fully describe what had happened in the moment. Ben gave us the
time we needed to slow down (Rodgers, 2002), meeting the fourth requirement for constructive
disorientation. Between the remainder of session 3 and the beginning of session 4, we spent 29
minutes asking questions and listening to Ben’s answers, which encouraged Ben to slow down
and more clearly describe (Rodgers, 2002) what transpired. This time commitment also
demonstrated participants’ interest in Ben’s story and their lack of judgment. During the 20
minutes of analysis questions that followed the descriptive phase of Rodgers’s (2002) cycle, I
presented Ben with a “disconnect” (Wergin, 2020, p. 70) and he began to experience
disorientation because of my probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008), as detailed in the section
below.
Normalizing Ben’s Problem of Practice. Ben’s choice to share a substantive moment
created an opportunity for the group to ask strong probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008). As
described in my conceptual framework, my probing questions served as a form of assistance
(Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) intended to help Ben unearth his assumptions and reflect on them
(Rodgers, 2002)—one of my goals for our group reflection-on-action. As described in the section
“Ben’s Problem of Practice,” I strengthened the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) for Ben
during the descriptive portion of Rodgers’s (2002) cycle. While Ben’s problem of practice
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presented a “disconnect” (Wergin, 2020, p. 70) that could lead to a constructive disorientation, I
needed to ask the right probing questions to clearly reveal this disconnect for Ben and meet the
seventh requirement for a constructive disorientation. I also needed to provide the individualized
forms of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) he needed to progress and to meet the sixth
requirement for a constructive disorientation. About halfway through session 4 we began to
discuss Ben’s intentions and goals for his lesson during the “analysis” phase of Roger’s
reflective cycle (2002). I asked a probing question that resulted in Ben sharing that he had
expected his Black students to be interested in the theory he presented, not offended. I continued
to ask probing questions about the “disconnect” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) between Ben’s intentions
and what he enacted, intending to approach a constructive disorientation. Ben demonstrated
curiosity and motivation (Wergin, 2020) to understand what had occurred, meeting the third
requirement for a constructive disorientation. However, Ben also began to show signs of distress
and reduced self-efficacy; he returned to his inexperience in as an explanation for the disconnect
my probing questions revealed. His turn away from practice (Horn & Little, 2010) indicated that
Ben was distressed and did not feel the “sense of efficacy” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) needed to
persevere and meet the second requirement for a constructive disorientation. After two probing
questions from me, Ben’s body language and incomplete answers indicated he was teetering on a
paralyzing, rather than constructive, disorientation:
JB: And when you planned that lesson, how did you expect that they would feel given
what you were talking about? Or hope that they would feel?
B: Um, I didn’t—I thought I mean I thought they would find it like interesting, and I
didn’t really anticipate—um—it to be perceived as like a a racist thing.
(8 second pause)
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JB: Do you think the disconnect between how you expected them to receive it, and
then how they did receive it affected either like— (Ben says, “Yeah”)— like
whether you chose to pause in the moment and like, whether you followed up on
it?
B: Yeah, I think that affected it. And then also my having like never taught—um—
history or anything even um—super similar to this area before? And my like
being new at it? And not very confident—probably if I did like, why, I would I
just want to like, move on, and avoid it. (Ben looks down, then at his laptop).
(11 second pause. Emma swivels back to her laptop.)
S: Did they have specialized classes at that time, or were you the teacher for them
for the whole day?
B: No, they had uh specialized. Yeah.
(Steve nods. 8 second pause. Ben is looking down, one arm crossed tightly across mid-
body. Ben puts his hand on his face a bit—when I start to speak, Ben looks up.)
I asked Ben the probing question, “And when you planned that lesson, how did you expect that
they would feel given what you were talking about? Or hope that they would feel?” Here “what
you were talking about” referred to race and African history, while “they” referred to his Black
students. Previously, Ben had explained that the Black students in his class were “squirm[ing]”
in their seats with discomfort as he taught; and I assumed it had not been Ben’s intention to make
his students deeply uncomfortable. I asked the probing questions “how did you expect they
would feel” or “hope” that they would feel about “what you were talking about” with the goal of
“guid[ing Ben as he] constructed knowledge” (Sahin & Kulm, 2008, p. 222). In particular, I
wanted to call Ben’s attention to the difference between what he intended and what he enacted.
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Wergin (2020) argues that noticing “disconnects between the current and a desired state” (p. 57)
can provoke constructive disorientation; the intention behind my probing question (Sahin &
Kulm, 2008) was to help Ben see this disconnect.
Ben responded, “Um, I didn’t—I thought I mean I thought they would find it like
interesting, and I didn’t really anticipate—um—it to be perceived as like a a racist thing.” In one
sentence, Ben used “um” twice and rephrased his thoughts three times: (1) “I didn’t–I thought”
(2) “I thought I mean I thought” (3) “I didn’t really anticipate-um-it to be perceived.” While
“um” was not necessarily unusual for Ben, Ben did not frequently stumble over his words. This
shift in Ben’s language was my first indication that Ben was experiencing some distress and
potentially disorientation. After a brief pause to assess the feelings in the space I asked another
probing question (Sahin & Kulm, 2008), “Do you think the disconnect between how you
expected them to receive it, and then how they did receive it affected either like…like whether
you chose to pause in the moment and like, whether you followed up on it?” My use of the word
“disconnect” indicated that I was thinking about the difference between Ben’s actual and
“desired” (p. 22) state in the classroom as described by Wergin (2020). I explicitly used the word
“disconnect” as an individualized form of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) with the goal of
both provoking further disorientation for Ben and preventing paralysis. I also implied that the
“disconnect” may have surprised Ben much that he did not “pause in the moment” or “[follow]
up on it,” which provided an out regarding Ben’s choice not to follow up with students during his
moment thereby reducing any fear Ben might have had about judgment from me or his
colleagues. Ben responded “yeah” immediately, grabbing onto my suggestion in a way that
indicated the way I phrased my question had reduced some of Ben’s concern and regulated some
distress.
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However, Ben’s answer to the question revealed that his distress was not completely
alleviated. Ben answered, “And then also my having like never taught—um—history or anything
even um—super similar to this area before? And my like being new at it?” As in the previous
section, Ben cited his inexperience as a potential explanation for his actions in the classroom.
While Rodgers (2002) does argue that deeply knowing the content is required for teachers to be
fully present, it was clear that Ben was still grappling with what exactly was driving his decision
to both introduce the content and then not address obvious student concern and discomfort. Ben
wondered aloud, “why, I would like just want to like, move on, and avoid it?” suggesting that
Ben himself was not sure about what drove him to ignore students’ discomfort in the moment;
here too Ben appeared to be considering the difference between what he had hoped he would do
as a teacher—intervene—and what he actually did—avoid. Ben’s self-questioning and theorizing
indicated that he was curious to understand why he made the choices he did. He had the “innate
human need to explore” (p. 71) that Wergin (2020) describes as motivation, thereby meeting the
third requirement for constructive disorientation. Ben’s motivation to understand his own actions
created an opening for further questions about his expectations for students and his surprise at
their reaction.
However, Steve’s follow up question about the student class schedule—“Did they have
specialized classes at that time or were you the teacher for them for the whole day?”— turned us
away from practice (Horn & Little, 2010). Ben’s answer to Steve’s straightforward question—
“No, they had uh specialized. Yeah.”— may have indicated that Ben was confused by the switch
in the type of questioning. However, in combination with Ben’s body language, I believed that
Ben’s less coherent answer indicated that he was experiencing distress. Prior to Steve’s question,
I noted that Ben looked down at his laptop, whereas he had previously been looking at the group
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and engaging with us. After Steve’s question I wrote that Ben was “looking down, one arm
tightly across mid-body. Puts his hand on his face a bit,” which indicated Ben was physically
closing himself off. In my descriptive reflection following the session, I also described Ben’s
face as getting red indicating he was having an emotional response, possibly embarrassment.
Throughout, Ben had been one of the most frequent participants; the combination of his
incomplete answers to Steve’s and my questions along with his body language indicated that Ben
was experiencing significant discomfort and that Ben potentially lacked the “sense of efficacy”
(Wergin, 2020, p. 71) for the disorientation to be constructive, not paralyzing (Wergin, 2020)—
the second requirement for a successful constructive disorientation.
Rodgers (2002) notes that the reflective cycle “often uncovers dissonance…and at this
point the need for a community with strong leadership and shared norms is especially critical” (p.
247). To regulate Ben’s distress and support his sense of efficacy, I decided to use a strategy that
Horn and Little (2010) call “normalizing a problem of practice” (p. 193)—I deliberately chose to
share a moment where I too had assumed about how to teach historical content based on my own
background rather than the identities and lived experiences of my students. My story served to
reassure Ben that others—myself included—had made similar errors and learned meaningful
lessons by reflecting on those errors. This reassurance increased Ben’s “sense of efficacy”
(Wergin, 2020)—his belief that he could reflect in a similar way. Additionally, my story
reinforced that I was not positioning myself in a place of judgment, which further maintained and
reinforced the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) for Ben. Through sharing a similar
situation of my own, I also modeled—another form of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989)—
how to reflect on the impact of my own assumptions on my approach to teaching, which was one
of my main goals for group reflection-on-action (Rogers, 2002) and seemed to be where Ben was
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getting stuck. Finally, as Horn and Little (2010) suggest, by intentionally normalizing Ben’s
problem of practice through sharing my own experience, I regulated Ben’s distress: Ben went
from partially covering his face to laughing. The level of distress was reduced and Ben was
brought back to a productive level of discomfort, which allowed me to turn the discussion back
toward Ben and his pedagogy and get as close as possible to provoking a constructive
disorientation given the lack of criticality within our group reflection-on-action.
JB: You’re uh—I—This is making me think of a time when I was teaching sixth
grade history for the first time, and I was teaching about Christianity, and I wrote
this whole lesson about how Jesus is from the Middle East (Johnny says “hm”)
and that, like we, we see him pictured most frequently as White.
B: Right. Yeah.
JB: But I was teaching at a school that was 100% Black (Ben says “mm”) and brown
and the kids are like, “Well, of course he’s not White, he’s Black.” (Ben says
“Woah”) And I had, like I had written this whole lesson based on my experience
(Johnny says “hm”) And I thought it was going to go one way, and then they’re
like, “Well, yeah, duh. He’s not White, he’s Black.” But he’s not…like
historically he’s obviously not African American either. (Emma says “mm”) But
there was like this huge disconnect between what I thought the kid–like what I
thought was going to be like an interesting lesson that would provide something
interesting to sort of—conceptualize, and how I see the world, and then like the
way that they saw it was so different than the way that I saw it like (Audible
sounds of agreement from Emma, Ben, and Steve) thought that, like I, I still
remember at the end of the class, like one of my students, was like “Ms. Blount,
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we’re just gonna have to agree to disagree.” (Ben laughs) like, “he was born in
America.” I was like “that makes no historical sense. There was no America,” but,
like—It was just like so different from what I expected him to say and so the
lesson it didn’t quite go as I anticipated. Um—so I was just thinking of that.
B: Yeah
I began hesitatingly, “You’re uh—I—.” During session 3, I had shared a story of my own and
turned us away from practice, which my chair and I had just discussed prior to session 4. Here, I
paused to consider whether sharing my story would effectively normalize the problem of practice
and turn us toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010). I decided yes and began, “This is making me
think of a time when I was teaching sixth grade history for the first time.” In Ben’s moment, he
too was teaching sixth grade history for the first time. Highlighting the parallel in our stories
helped me “supply reassurance…and establish solidarity” (Horn & Little, 2010, p. 192) before
turning toward my practice and modeling (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) reflectivity. While this
story was the first that came to mind due to the clear parallels in grade level and content (I only
taught sixth grade ancient history for 2 years), it also meant that I was, like Ben, choosing a
moment from my distant past and thereby distancing myself from my actions, perhaps
inadvertently reproducing hegemonic norms and demonstrating my own internalization of White
supremacy culture, a challenge explored in my third finding.
I continued, “and I was teaching about Christianity, and I wrote this whole lesson about
how Jesus is from the Middle East and that, like we, we see him pictured most frequently as
White.” I explained that “I wrote this whole lesson” with the idea that “we” see Jesus most
frequently depicted as White. Similarly, Ben had written his lesson from the perspective that
“Maybe because Egyptians look more like us. We study them more” [emphasis added]. By using
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“we” like Ben, I demonstrated that I too had assumed a collective understanding or shared
experience for me and my students—in my case that “we” all saw Jesus “pictured most
frequently as White.” Ben replied, “Right. Yeah.” While “yeah” indicated that Ben was
following the conversation, “right” indicated that he identified with what I was teaching and the
perspective I was coming from—he understood the choice I had made and did not audibly
question my pedagogical choice.
I continued, “But I was teaching at a school that was 100% Black and Brown.” Here, a
few things go unsaid. First, SWIW is not 100% Black and Brown, so I was naming a difference
in the setting and student body. Second, although I did not explicitly state it, everybody in the
space knew that I am biracial and Black and therefore shared a racial identity with many students
in this situation, unlike Ben and his students. Third, and potentially most importantly, I did not
explicitly state that I never attended school that was 100% Black and Brown. However, Ben
knew that we had both attended predominantly White private schools growing up, which I
revisited later. I went on to explain how all these unsaid things resulted in a disconnect between
me and my students—when I introduced the lesson, “the kids are like, ‘Well, of course he’s not
White, he’s Black.’” Ben’s immediate reaction of “woah” demonstrated how much my
perspective at the time of my moment and Ben’s perspective during our conversation were
aligned—he was as surprised as I was when this problem of practice had originally occurred
about 9 years prior. I continued, “And I had, like I had written this whole lesson based on my
experience. And I thought it was going to go one way…’” I emphasized the word “my,”
modeling how my own experience and perspective was driving “this whole lesson.” I was
modeling (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) reflecting on my assumptions and the impact my
assumptions had had on the way I planned my lesson. I stated, “And I thought it was going to go
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one way,” which implied that, like Ben, I too had intended or expected one outcome and got
something different; Horn and Little (2010) describe this as “assuring [him] that the disconnect
between vision and reality is an enduring dilemma in teaching” (p. 194), and an effective way to
normalize his experience.
I then shared that students did not find the lesson “interesting,” rather, they looked at me
and said, “Well, yeah, duh. He’s not White, he’s Black.” The way I approached planning the
lesson did not match my students’ lived experiences: most of the images of Jesus that they saw
portrayed him as Black. I caveated “But he’s not—like historically he’s obviously not African
American either” which indicated that I did not necessarily agree with my students either. I also
revealed the lost opportunity to teach the same concept—that common portrayals of Jesus are
historically inaccurate—in a way that resonated for my students. I explained,
But there was like this huge disconnect between what I thought the kid—like what I
thought was going to be like an interesting lesson that would provide something
interesting to sort of—conceptualize, and how I see the world, and then like the way that
they saw it was so different than the way that I saw it.
I again used the word “disconnect” to connect back to Wergin’s “disconnect” (p. 71); my
intention and the outcomes had not aligned. Like Ben, I too had hoped to create “an interesting
lesson that would provide something to sort of—conceptualize.” I said, “the way that they saw it
was so different than the way that I saw it” which explicitly named the source of my disconnect,
something Ben had been struggling to do. My modeling (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) provided
Ben with a possible explanation for why he was so surprised during his moment that had nothing
to do with his experience in teaching the content, but rather the impact of his own worldview and
lived experience on his pedagogy. In addition to serving as a form of assistance (Tharp &
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Gallimore, 1989), my modeling also demonstrated that my own reflections had “a tangible result
of value” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) for me as a teacher and implied that reflecting could also have a
meaningful value for Ben, thereby encouraging his “sense of efficacy” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71).
Ben, along with Emma and Steve, all audibly responded—but with no clear words—to my
statement, indicating that my reflection provided something interesting for them to consider.
Emma, Steve, and Johnny’s continued nonverbals provided the “group support that is necessary
when learners become threatened because comfortably established beliefs and values have been
challenged” (Mezirow, 2000, p. 2016) which strengthened the holding environment for Ben.
I continued, “I still remember at the end of the class, like one of my students, was like
‘Ms. Blount, we’re just gonna have to agree to disagree’ like, ‘he was born in America.’ I was
like ‘that makes no historical sense. There was no America.’” My student saying “we’re just
gonna have to agree to disagree” indicated that my students felt able to voice their concerns
about my lesson directly to me, while Ben’s students had not. However, my response at that
time— “that makes no historical sense. There was no America.”—indicated that, at that time, I
too had been unable to adapt in real time and adjust my lesson mid-stream when I uncovered that
students’ perspectives were different from my own. I stated, “It was just like so different from
what I expected him to say and so the lesson it didn’t quite go as I anticipated,” which returned
to the idea of a disconnect (Wergin, 2020) between what I “expected” and “anticipated” and
what ended up being “so different” from what happened. During this final part of my explanation
Ben laughed. To me, this indicated that Ben was no longer experiencing as much distress. As a
result, I wrapped up and used the moment to turn back toward (Horn & Little, 2010) Ben’s
practice with a different probing question (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) that prompted a reconsideration
of Ben’s own assumptions. At this point, the first six requirements for constructive disorientation
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outlined in my conceptual framework had been met, and my questions triggered Ben to
recognize a disconnect in his practice, meeting the seventh requirement.
JB: In terms of what you said that, like I am, I don’t know—Did it for you when you
first heard about that theory? Was it like illuminating to you about like why
maybe you had only heard about Egypt (Ben says “mm”) growing up? Kind of
like to Steve’s point—but like if you’re in a school that’s a majority White private
school, also—I assume you learned about Egypt, and probably not about Nubia
and Kush.
B: Yeah.
JB: So, for your experience like how your experience would have informed your?
B: Yeah, yeah I think so. I mean, although I don’t even remember learning that that
much about it to be honest.
JB: About Egypt?
B: Yeah, but I’m sure my own experience definitely I’m sure clouded it.
I began “In terms of what you said that, like I am, I don’t know” and then I took a pause as I
struggled to use my story to ask the right question. I gathered myself and attempted to ask the
question again, rephrasing three times as I went. First, I asked, “Did it for you when you first
heard about that theory?” which was very unclear, but my emphasis on the word “you” indicated
that I was trying to ask something about Ben’s relationship to “that theory.” I tried again by
asking, “Was it like illuminating to you about like why maybe you had only heard about Egypt
growing up?” here I used the word “illuminating” indicating that I believed the theory about
Whiteness and Egypt had been eye-opening for Ben due to his own experience, which I assumed
included “only [hearing] about Egypt growing up” and not Kush or Nubia. I then stated, “Kind of
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like to Steve’s point—but like if you’re in a school that’s a majority White private school,”
referring to an earlier point Steve had made about the racial make-up of the student body. My
comment also made explicit the implication within my own problem of practice—that Ben’s and
my attendance at “majority White private schools’’ had influenced what we found “illuminating”
or “interesting,” which implied that many educated at PWIs might have “only heard about Egypt
growing up” and not Kush or Nubia. I cut myself off and said “also—I assume you learned about
Egypt, and probably not about Nubia and Kush” which acknowledged that I was making an
assumption about Ben’s school and gave him the opportunity to correct me, but Ben answered,
“Yeah.” I finally tried to complete my question with, “So for your experience like how your
experience would have informed your?” While again an incomplete thought, I was able to
convey that I was wondering how Ben’s “experience” in a “majority White private school”
“informed” his pedagogical choices or approach to the content, including thinking the theory he
taught was “illuminating.” My question prompted reflection and encouraged Ben to consider the
impact of his own history education in a predominately White private school on his teaching and
turned us all back toward Ben’s practice (Horn & Little, 2010).
Ben responded, “Yeah, yeah I think so” and did not push back. Rather than bringing the
conversation back to his inexperience with the content as he had done previously, Ben continued
to reflect on his own schooling and added “I mean, although I don’t even remember learning that
that much about [Egypt] to be honest.” Ben is not saying “um” or second-guessing his word
choice here—rather he is now “be[ing] honest” about the fact that he did not learn any African
history in school. The result, according to Ben, was that “my own experience definitely I’m sure
clouded” his approach. This statement revealed a large shift from his original theory—that his
inexperience caused the disconnect between his expectations for the lessons and students’ actual
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discomfort—a shift that indicated Ben had recognized a disconnect and begun to reconsider
himself in relation to his practice. My choice to normalize Ben’s problem of practice (Horn &
Little, 2010) by telling my own story had been effective: it regulated Ben’s distress,
“empower[ed]” his “sense of efficacy” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71), and allowed me to ask more
probing questions (Horn & Little, 2010). I created space for Ben to engage in a “reformulation”
(Horn & Little, p. 196) of his problem of practice at hand and to more deeply consider the impact
of his own education—and, hopefully (as it was implied, not explicitly stated) his race—on how
he chose to teach African history.
Additional Evidence of Ben’s Learning. Ben’s new understanding of his “moment” as
described above, is one of the clearest examples of participant learning throughout all six
sessions, which is why I have focused extensively on his learning. Additionally, Ben was the
only participant to reflect on the value of this experience for him in two informal spaces over the
course of our six sessions, which demonstrated that he thought group reflection-on-action had
value (Wergin, 2020) for him as a learner and practitioner. His reflections were unprompted and,
therefore, were likely more authentic. Rodgers (2002) notes that “teachers’ own accounts
suggested that [the reflective cycle] does affect the ways they think about their teaching” (p.
251). While Ben was not yet reflecting upon the impact of the cycle on his teaching, the fact that
he shared perceived benefits of group reflection-on-action unprompted demonstrated that this
new approach to adult learning had an impact on Ben. Ben provided his first unsolicited
feedback between sessions 3 and 4. At that point he had shared his moment but had not yet
experienced significant distress. After a faculty meeting that was a mid-year reflection on school
goals, I found Ben had added a note on a large sticky note (see Figure 2) in support of the claim
“teachers at SWIW have a strong culture of thinking.”
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Ben wrote that “5th/6th team meetings & reflections from important moments w/
feedback from peers” was evidence of a strong “culture of thinking” at our school site. The
“culture” described by the prompt evokes the “community” Rodgers (2002) argues is both
necessary for and reinforced by reflection. Unless Ben was sharing his thoughts for social
recognition, he was putting forward, of his own volition, the fact that he found the process
meaningful. His word choice tells us that Ben found the act of engaging in meeting and
reflecting on important moments valuable because it provoked “thinking” for him.
Figure 2
Large sticky note used during a mid-year reflection faculty meeting

Even before Ben recognized a disconnect in his practice during session 4 he clearly felt the
process had value; on some level, he was motivated to engage in this type of group reflection-on-
action moving forward (Wergin, 2020).
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Two weeks later, Ben’s own reflection on session 4 at the end of session 5 confirmed that
Ben had gained some new insight from discussing his problem of practice during session 4.
Again unsolicited, Ben spoke positively about the outcomes of persevering through difficult
probing questions. The excerpt below comes from the very end of session 5, when the group had
officially wrapped up and participants were standing up to leave. Johnny had just shared his
moment. While congratulating Johnny, Ben shared his own reflection on what he learned from
sharing his moment during the previous weeks:
B: You survived it!
J: I did it! (inaudible) survived.
laughter from Johnny, Ben, Steve
B: It’s like therapy—it’s painful but it makes you feel better after.
laughter from Johnny, Ben, Steve
S: I don’t think anyone had the hot seat like you did, Ben.
laughter from Johnny, Ben, Steve
[unknown speaker]: You had like a 3-day grilling!
laughter, more inaudible commentary
S: Ben was pulling his hair out.
B: That’s ok it builds character!
laughter from Johnny, Ben, Steve, Julia
Ben exclaimed, “You survived it!” to congratulate Johnny. Ben’s word “survived” indicated that
he found his experience sharing and discussing his moment difficult or tough to get through.
Johnny replied, “I did it! (inaudible) survived,” which echoed Ben’s language that the experience
was difficult and communicated a shared experience. Johnny, Ben, and Steve, all of whom had
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shared at this point, laughed. Ben offered, “It’s like therapy—it’s painful but it makes you feel
better after.” Ben used “therapy” as an analogy, suggesting that group reflection-on-action was a
window into himself and a self-reflective act; like therapy, it gave him an opportunity to reflect
on himself. His statement was consistent with reflection and “reconception” (Horn & Little,
2010) of a problem of practice that are goals of group reflection-on-action (Rodgers, 2002). Ben
felt his reflection was “painful” which validated my read of the room during session 4. Yet, Ben
offered, “it makes you feel better after.” Potentially, when Ben left with a better understanding of
what influenced his action and inaction in the moment rather than the uneasy “why” that he
entered with, he felt “better” even if the experience or realization was “painful.” The challenge
of reflecting had been “clear but manageable” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71). Steve responded, “I don’t
think anyone had the hot seat like you did, Ben,” which implied that I asked more difficult
questions of Ben than other participants, which was true. An observer believed Ben had been
subjected to “a 3-day grilling” again implying I had given Ben a potentially unnecessarily hard
time. Ben responded, “that’s ok, it builds character”—Ben did not enthusiastically agree with the
others’ assessment or critique me or the process, which indicated that he did not necessarily
experience it as a “grilling.” Rather, while Ben’s response “it builds character” displayed some
humor—along with all the laughter—Ben’s response that it was in fact “ok” because it “built”
something for him indicated that “the effort [had] a tangible result of value” (Wergin, 2020, p.
71) for him as the learner. Ben had only shared one problem of practice but had clearly found it
meaningful. Ben continued to think about what he had learned (Rodgers, 2002) and therefore,
Ben came the closest to experiencing constructive disorientation.
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Steve’s Learning
Consistent with my conceptual framework, Steve would have needed all eight
requirements to experience a constructive disorientation. However, some of the requirements
were absent and Steve did not experience a constructive disorientation, recognize a disconnect in
his practice, or reconsider his relationship to his practice. Steve entered the holding environment
feeling “socially connected” and “confident” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) and did not appear concerned
about any judgment from me or his colleagues, which met the first requirement for a constructive
disorientation. From the outset Steve demonstrated strong self-efficacy and motivation (Wergin,
2020) and interest in the “clear criteria for performance” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) created by
Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle, which met requirements 2, 3, and 5. I provided Steve with
individualized forms of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) including instructing, praise
(Tharp & Gallimore, 1989), and feedback (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989; Wergin, 2020) to increase
the level of challenge for Steve while still giving him the “freedom to fail” (Wergin, 2020, p.
71), meeting requirements 5 and 6. As a result, Steve began to internalize aspects of Rodgers’s
(2002) reflective cycle and improved at slowing down (Rodgers, 2002) over the course of the six
sessions. However, my probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) failed to help Steve see and
clarify a “disconnect” (Wergin, 2020, p. 70) within his own practice. Additionally, I rushed him
in his journey rather than slowing down (Rodgers, 2002). With requirements 5 and 7 unmet,
Steve did not recognize a disconnect within his practice or reconsider his relationship to his
practice. Instead, he turned away from practice (Horn & Little, 2010).
Steve’s Motivation, Self-Efficacy, and Belief in the Holding Environment. As
described at the beginning of this finding, I entered the first session hoping to strengthen the
holding environment (Northouse, 2019) for each participant based on their individual needs
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(Mezirow, 2000). However, as demonstrated in the excerpt below, Steve quickly revealed that he
already felt social connected and confident (Wergin, 2020) and was not concerned about being
judged by his peers; the first requirement for a constructive disorientation had been met. At the
beginning of session 1, I introduced Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle. The “clear criteria”
(Wergin, 2020, p. 71) resonated immediately with Steve, who offered to try it right away, which
demonstrated his own motivation and self-efficacy as a learner (Wergin, 2020), as well as the
strength of the pre-existing holding environment for Steve, indicating that the fifth and third
requirements had also been met.
JB: Yeah! So, I would love your thoughts on how we want to do that. I brought one
for today. I thought I would be the guinea pig, so you can ask me (laughs)
questions. Um! And then what um we could do is like randomly—We won’t meet
again for—until after Thanksgiving, so it could be everyone sort of on the
lookout, and whoever feels like they have a good thing can email the group and be
like, “I got something for next week, like don’t stress about finding one.” Or we
could preassign like, say, okay, we’ve got these five sessions or four sessions—
um, and then a closing session—like you each have one, and like us assign you a
week, or you could choose a week. Do you have a preference on that?
S: I feel like I could have examples just like on call.
JB: Ok (laughs)
S: You could ask me right now—and I’d give this a try
B: I’m okay with you either to try it either could work well, because so—one
organically pops up. That’s easier. But then also I don’t think it’s going to be a
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problem if we get assigned like in two weeks, then it kind of helps me because I
have to be—Well, I’ll be on the lookout anyway—But if I know it’s my turn—
JB: Right
B: So I think either to work um—I mean the only time we would do the random, I
guess, would be for the first one, right?
JB: Yeah. For the the one after Thanksgiving.
B: Yeah. I’m. I’m. Okay with either.
I explained, “I brought [a moment] for today. I thought I would be the guinea pig, so you can ask
me questions.” My statement, “I brought one for today” communicated that I did not expect
participants to be ready to share their own problem of practice immediately, rather, I would “be
the guinea pig” and model (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) for them, so they could practice and
become familiar with Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle. I then offered three options for choosing
the order in which participants would share their own problems of practice. First, “everyone sort
of [be] on the lookout, and whoever feels like they have a good thing can email the group and be
like, ‘I got something for next week, like don’t stress about finding one’” which would enable
participants to choose a moment that was particularly timely and salient in their practice. Second,
I offered, “we could preassign like, say, okay, we’ve got these five sessions or four
sessions…um, and then a closing session–like you each have one, and like us assign you a
week,” which would allow participants to plan for their share but removed the responsibility of
volunteering themselves. Third, I offered, “you could choose a week” which gave participants
the most agency. All three options served to regulate distress and strengthen the holding
environment by giving power back to the participants (Northouse, 2019)—each option gave
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participants more control over when they shared and allowed participants to adjust the level of
challenge (Wergin, 2020) for themselves.
I then asked, “Do you have a preference on that?” which reinforced the power of the
participants and strengthened my shift from a facilitator-centered knowledge-in-practice
approach to an adult-learner-centered knowledge-of-practice approach. Ben engaged in
conversation with me, which indicated that he needed the holding space to be strengthened to
participate, as explored in the section “Ben’s Learning.” Steve immediately offered, “I feel like I
could have examples just like on call.” Steve’s belief that he could provide strong examples
without watching the modeling (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) I had planned indicated that he
already believed he was “competent to engage in [the] learning task,” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71), an
important component of the self-efficacy (Wergin, 2020) required for a constructive
disorientation. Steve’s eagerness caused me to laugh, but he doubled down.
Steve stated, “You could ask me right now—and I’d give this a try.” “You could ask me
right now” indicated that Steve did not believe he needed me to “be the guinea pig” or
“preassign” weeks; rather, he believed he could meet the learning task without any forms of
assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989). His phrase, “you could ask me right now” demonstrated a
willingness to jump in and was emblematic of his own motivation to learn (Wergin, 2020) and
his self-efficacy (Wergin, 2020)—his sense that the challenge I was putting forth was one he
could meet. Steve’s statement that “you could ask me right now” in combination with his
previous statement that he could “have examples just like on call” indicated he was ready to
jump in and believed the experience would be valuable, an additional component of the “sense of
efficacy” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) as defined by Wergin that is required for a constructive
disorientation. Steve’s use of the word “try” indicated that believed he had the “freedom to fail”
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(Wergin, 2020, p. 71)—despite his sense of efficacy, he did not imply he would get it right from
the outset. Steve’s willingness to try something new and potentially fail also demonstrated that
Steve was not concerned about judgment in the space; rather, he believed the pre-existing
holding environment (Northouse, 2019) was strong enough to take the risk to share.
Steve went on to explain what he perceived the value of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle
to be and his desire to get meaningful feedback from his colleagues. Steve explained how he
believed the cycle (which he describes as looking like the “recycling” arrows) could support his
own practice. His openness to the perspectives of his peers reinforced his strong sense of
motivation (Wergin, 2020). In his excitement about Rodgers’s (2002) cycle, Steve critiqued my
prior knowledge-in-practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 2010) approach for not providing enough
meaningful feedback without any outward concern that there would be repercussions for doing
so, again indicating the strength of the holding environment.
S: Would it be helpful like what comes to my mind for me when I look at this is like
themes of experiences. So, if I were to come in and say like, “this is a struggle I
had this week,” it would actually be really helpful to get all of your input. For me
to give you my scenario, and we go through this cycle together right? (I say
“mm”) So like having a little theme like that, I feel like we do a lot of positive and
all that. But I personally look for areas that I can grow, and ways that I can get
better. And I like when I have a moment that’s like, “Oh, shit! That was hard.”
What you know—sometimes in this job we don’t have anyone to turn to for a
while. Uh, it would be nice to be able to bring in. Be like, “Hey? How can we all
like? How can you all help me go through this recycling process that this looks
like, and reflect uh?” So, having something of like what was something that didn’t
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go well (I say “mm”) Or what was something that like? Just didn’t land the way
you wanted it to like. Those are like just being uh a little bit selfish about it, (I say
“mm”) like those are the ways that would be really helpful for me if, like this felt
like it’s screwed up. What do you guys hear when I tell you this of what happened
in class, (I say “yeah”) Even though it’s you know it’s not like a highlight, but in
terms of personal growth and (I say “yeah”) utilizing the expertise of everyone
and bringing everyone’s skills and uh different perspectives into it, I would find
that really helpful.
Steve stated that he wanted to use Rodgers’s (2002) cycle to look at “a struggle I had this week,”
which he repeated four more times, stating that he would like to discuss moments that made him
say, “Oh, shit! That was hard” or “something that didn’t go well,” or the class was “not like a
highlight” or “it screwed up.” Steve’s desire to discuss difficult moments with others in the space
indicated that he felt ready and safe to bring his own problems of practice into the preexisting
holding environment (Northouse, 2019) and was not concerned about being judged by others.
Steve used the phrases “Oh, shit!” and “screwed up” freely, indicating that he was not concerned
I would judge him, even though in some spaces this type of language is viewed as
unprofessional. I reinforced the strength of the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) by
encouraging Steve’s share through non-verbal responses such as “mm,” suggesting that I cared
(Wergin, 2020) for him and was listening to him, not judging him. While Steve’s language
indicated he felt connected in the preexisting holding space (Northouse, 2019), he also critiqued
our previous knowledge-in-practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) meeting format as “a lot of
positives” without enough room to consider “ways that I can get better.” According to Steve, the
preexisting knowledge-in-practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) approach did not provide
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adequate opportunities for him to reflect with others about his practice. His ability to share this
constructive criticism for me in front of the group also indicated that he believed I could hear his
feedback without there being negative repercussions for sharing it. Overall, Steve’s enthusiasm
for moving into a more reflective and critical space demonstrated support for my approach as the
facilitator.
Steve said, “it would actually be really helpful to get all of your input” and then said he
was curious to know “what do you guys hear when I tell you this of what happened in class?”
According to Steve, a major benefit of engaging in Rodgers’s (2002) cycle would be getting
input from his colleagues; both statements demonstrated that Steve was not only willing to share
difficult moments but felt that doing so would be “really helpful” if he received feedback from
others. The “input” Steve was looking for contrasted with his statement that our prior meetings
were mostly “a lot of positives,” implying that Steve was not seeking just any feedback, but
specifically critical or constructive feedback from his colleagues. His statement further implied
that Steve was not particularly concerned that his colleagues might judge him or that sharing his
difficult moments would have unforeseen repercussions. Steve said that Rodgers’s (2002) cycle
was a way to “[utilize] the expertise of everyone and [bring] in everyone’s skills and uh different
perspectives into it.” Steve’s focus on the “expertise of everyone” and “everyone’s skills and uh
different perspectives” demonstrated that he valued the perspectives and knowledge of others in
the space. Additionally, Steve’s enthusiasm about the “clear criteria for performance” (Wergin,
2020, p. 71) provided by the cycle and his belief that the cycle would be “really helpful” and
contribute to his personal growth indicated that Steve was motivated to engage in group
reflection-on-action, believed in the potential benefits of group reflection-on-action, believed he
was capable of engaging in that reflection, and felt “socially connected [and] cared for” (Wergin,
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2020, p. 71) enough to be vulnerable, meeting requirements one, two, three, and five for
constructive disorientation from the outset.
Using Forms of Assistance to Support Steve’s Learning. For learning to happen, adult
educators must push their learners (Mezirow, 2000; Tharp & Gallimore, 1989). This push is
required to eventually provoke a constructive disorientation (Wergin, 2020) that will allow a
learner to see (Rodgers, 2002) their classroom and students in new ways. However, as described
in my conceptual framework, the facilitator must not cause so much discomfort to cause
paralysis (Wergin, 2020). In session 1, I began to prepare Steve for more difficult questions in
the future by praising (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) and then building on his ideas, providing a
slight “push” (Mezirow, 2000) that was well within his ZPD (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) and did
not cause any discomfort. This small push supported Steve as I shifted my approach to adult
learning while maintaining the strength of the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) for Steve.
As outlined above, Steve had offered to bring a moment that was “not a highlight.” However, my
goal as the facilitator was for the group to reach a more critical (Brookfield, 2017) level of
analysis, so rather than thank Steve for his offer and move on, I increased the level of challenge
(Wergin, 2020) and asked that he—and other participants—take a more specific approach that
increased the possibility participants and I could later apply a critical (Brookfield, 2017) lens
during our group reflection-on-action.
S: Even though it’s you know it’s not like a highlight, but in terms of personal
growth and (I say “yeah”) utilizing the expertise of everyone and bringing
everyone’s skills and uh different perspectives into it, I would find that really
helpful.
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JB: Um, I’m glad! That is kind of what I’m hoping. Is that we’ll feel comfortable to
be in a space to share like this with something that was hard. Because my—I’m—
focused on our students with disabilities, whether that’s our DHH students or our
neurodivergent students—I would love for us to practice initially like thinking
about—it could be a whole class situation—but where you notice, like that group
of students, for whatever reason or a specific student was having a hard time. Um,
or you were like, “I tried all these things, and like I didn’t get the results that I
thought” like, maybe, “what was going on there.” And if we love it like if we’re
into this process we can keep going!
I began, “I’m glad! That is kind of what I’m hoping. Is that we’ll feel comfortable to be in a
space to share like this with something that was hard.” I referred to Steve’s request that we bring
“a struggle” and reinforced Steve’s desire to bring a difficult moment, demonstrating that I
believed he was on the right track toward understanding the purpose of Rodgers’s (2002)
reflective cycle. As a form of assistance, I praised (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) his understanding
of the concept and its purpose. I then said,
I would love for us to practice initially like thinking about—it could be a whole class
situation—but where you notice, like that group of students, for whatever reason or a
specific student was having a hard time. Um, or you were like, “I tried all these things,
and like I didn’t get the results that I thought” like, maybe, “what was going on there.”
I repeated Steve’s request in my own words, which demonstrated that I was listening and cared
(Wergin, 2020) about Steve as a learner, strengthening the holding environment (Northouse,
2019). My repetition also implied that he was on the right track—an implicit recognition or
praise of Steve’s understanding thus far. I deployed praise as a form of assistance (Tharp &
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Gallimore, 1989) to create “ballast” (Wergin, 2020) for Steve as I prepared to push his learning
and approach constructive disorientation in future sessions.
I then asked that participants focus their moments on “our students with disabilities,
whether that’s our DHH students or our neurodivergent students” as that was the initial focus of
my action research. My request served to “provide direction,” another key aspect of adaptive
leadership (Northouse, 2019, p. 266) and a form of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) for
adult learners. I created “a clear but manageable” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) challenge by pushing
beyond Steve’s initial offering that participants bring any difficult moment and requesting that
moments focus on dis/ability. Additionally, I believed my request would result in a more critical
group reflection-on-action where hegemonic assumptions and power dynamics in the space
would be uncovered (Brookfield, 2017), a long-term goal of my research. I offered two questions
participants might consider when choosing a moment— “I didn’t get the results that I thought”
or “what was going on here”—which provided assistance through modeling (Tharp & Gallimore,
1989). My choice to provide forms of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) while
simultaneously increasing the challenge (Wergin, 2020) helped set the expectation that I would
push learners without causing undue distress, which strengthened the holding environment
(Northouse, 2019) for Steve and during this initial session.
As our work together progressed, I used feeding back (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989; Wergin,
2020) to hold Steve accountable to slowing down (Rodgers, 2002) and to the “clear criteria”
(Wergin, 2020, p. 71) that Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle provides. During session 4, the
group was asking Ben questions to help flesh out the details of the problem of practice described
in the previous section “Ben’s Problem of Practice.” Steve demonstrated the common “struggle
to distinguish between description and interpretation” (Rodgers, 2002, p. 241) that Rodgers
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describes. We had not yet moved into interpretation or analysis and were still seeking to fully see
and describe the moment at hand when Steve started interpreting Ben’s moment. I provided
immediate feedback (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989; Wergin, 2020) to Steve about moving to analysis
before we had finished adequately describing the moment.
JB: Actually—speaking of that. Were you thinking about Egypt like at the time when
they are interacting with Europe like were you talking about like um Cleopatra,
and like that era where there is so much European influence, because they’re
literally like in communication with Europe when you’re looking at the art or and
Nubian stuff? Or was it more like Egypt when we think about the history of Egypt
as a whole, like the way it’s been documented like?
B: I think more as a whole. Yeah. And like why, it’s studied so much more now.
S: Two-part question. The first part: at that point in time were you aware of any
racial conflict in the group prior to your class, or that being a subject of any
tension within that group? and two, had you covered explicit race topics like that
at any point prior in the year?
JB: I’m going to pause you on the first question, because I think that’s the analysis
part of the process!
S: Sorry. First question.
JB: No, it’s okay. That’s what I—it’s really hard.
Between sessions 3 and 4, my chair and I had discussed asking Ben what his objective was in his
lesson, so my first question about what era of Egyptian history he had hoped to cover was
intended to start this conversation. Ben replied, “I think more as a whole. Yeah. And like why,
it’s studied so much more now.” Ben’s brief answer could have been investigated with a strong
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probing question (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) that allowed the group to see (Rodgers, 2002) how he
had introduced the content to his students. Instead, Steve asked, “Two-part question. The first
part: at that point in time were you aware of any racial conflict in the group prior to your class, or
that being a subject of any tension within that group?” The fact that it was a “two-part question”
immediately indicated that the question might be going broader, rather than narrower to
strengthen Ben’s description of his moment, which was the goal of this portion of our discussion.
Steve’s question focused broadly on “racial conflict in the group prior to your class,” moving us
away from what happened during the class to something that happened “prior.” Rather than
“limit[ing] the scope of what teachers describe,” (Rodgers, 2002, p. 240), the goal of questions
during description, Steve’s question turned us away from practice (Horn & Little, 2010). Steve’s
focus on “racial conflict” or “[racial] tension” indicated he was concluding that previous tensions
around race were influencing student behavior and invited a specific interpretation of the event
(Rodgers, 2002), which is not the goal of the descriptive component of Rodgers’s (2002) cycle.
Steve’s second question was “and two, had you covered explicit race topics like that at
any point prior in the year?” The language “had you covered” referred to Ben’s practice, but
Steve asked about “any point prior in the year,” which still took us outside that moment. Before
Ben could answer, I said, “I’m going to pause you on the first question, because I think that’s the
analysis part of the process!” My comment served as an “instantaneous teacher response” (Tharp
& Gallimore, 1989, p. 54) that provided feedback to Steve about his question. I asked Steve to
“pause” not because interpretation is never relevant, but because he was moving us too far too
quickly rather than engaging in the slowing down (Rodgers, 2002) that is critical for the
description phase of the reflective cycle. I said, “that’s the analysis part of the process!” which
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served as explicit feedback about why I was asking Steve to hold his question, an additional form
of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989).
Additionally, I said “I think,” which reinforced my own position as a learner, thereby
decreasing the likelihood that Steve would feel judged by me. I said “I’m going to pause you on
the first question” because I recognized that question as clearly moving towards interpretation
but was not sure enough about the second to label it analysis in the moment. Steve replied to my
feedback with “Sorry. First question,” which indicated he was able to hear my feedback. I said,
“No, it’s okay. That’s what I—it’s really hard.” When I said “No, it’s okay,” I did not accept or
validate Steve’s apology—instead I noted that engaging in Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle is
“really hard.” At the same time, my response that it was “ok” reinforced that Steve had the
“freedom to fail” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) and would get to a place where he could differentiate
between analysis and description himself, meeting the sixth requirement for a constructive
disorientation. My acknowledgment that the process was difficult served as a “buttresses that
strengthen[ed]” Steve as he “advanced through the ZPD” (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, p. 53). I
provided reassurance to Steve that all of us—including him—would be able to distinguish
between interpretation and description (Rodgers, 2002) before the end of our sessions.
Steve’s Internalization of the Reflective Cycle. In the exchange above Steve needed
explicit feedback from me (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) to distinguish between the interpretive
analysis phase and the description phase of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle. Tharp and
Gallimore (1989) assert that “feedback frequently is enough to guide a student to substantial
improvement in performance on the next try” (p. 54). Indeed, just a few minutes later, Steve self-
corrected and looked to me for reassurance, suggesting that he was beginning to be able to
differentiate between analysis and description and reflect on his own questions:
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S: I think I may have asked part of this question last time. But how did the amount of
Black people or students in this class reflect on other classes you had taught? (To
Julia) If I ask classes that he attended as a student will that count as analysis?
JB: (pause) Probably
S: So. (I laugh) How does this compare to other classes you had taught in terms of
the population or amount of Black students?
Steve initially asked, “how did the amount of Black people or students in this class reflect on
other classes you had taught?” He then asked me, “If I ask classes that [Ben] attended as a
student will that count as analysis?” Although he was seeking confirmation from me, Steve
appeared to understand that asking about “this class” versus “classes that [Ben] attended as a
student” was relevant to whether the question was appropriate. Steve appeared to be recognizing
that a question about “this class” was more likely to fit into descriptive, while a question about
Ben’s background was interpretive as it was not directly grounded in Ben’s moment. The
difference between the two questions indicated that Steve was beginning to differentiate between
description and analysis and that he was “com[ing]” to understand the way in which the parts of
[the] activity relate to one another” (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, p. 33). Tharp and Gallimore
(1989) cite Rogoff (1986) to explain that asking questions supports the learner in “gradually
[taking] over the actual structuring of the task and thereby [acquiring] not only the performance
but also the process of transfer of the performance” (p. 36)—Steve’s question to me (“will that
count as analysis?”) demonstrated that he was progressing towards internalizing the cycle. While
Steve had not become automatic in his ability to differentiate between analysis and description,
which would indicate complete internalization (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989), his ability to ask
himself if it was description or analysis in the moment indicated that he was assisting in his own
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performance and therefore moving towards stage 2 of his learning (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989).
My feedback and forms of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) detailed in the previous section
had supported Steve’s progression towards internalizing the reflective cycle. Steve demonstrated
further internalization of Rodgers’s (2002) cycle during the session that followed.
During session 5, Steve demonstrated an ability to slow down and ask questions that
helped “shed light on the description being shared” (Rodgers, 2002, p. 241) by Johnny, rather
than accelerate into interpretation and analysis as he had with Ben in session 4. Steve no longer
had to ask me if he was taking us away from the moment, rather, his questions became more and
more focused, indicating that Steve had moved towards the developmental stage (Tharp &
Gallimore, 1989) of his learning and further internalization of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle:
S: Can I ask just a clarifying question? (Johnny says “mm”). Would you say there
were two different responses? One response to the topic of GMOs and your
position, and then the topic of GMs linked with vaccination? And her—being
linked to genetic modification? (Johnny says “yeah”). Were those two different
responses?
J: I—I mean, I think—uh—she would’ve reacted similarly no matter the order of
when I said them. If I said one or the other.
S: But did she? Were they two different responses, or was it like—an escalation?
Like— (Johnny says “mm!”) —Like, did she respond on one way to that top to
the first topic (Johnny says, “mm”) and then was the response heightened at the
second one?
J: Yeah! I would say so because she ripped her [cochlear] implants off.
S: After it was linked to—
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J: (cuts off) “I’m a GMO,” yeah.
S: The GM—vaccines.
J: Vaccines, yes. It almost seemed like, “oh that was the last straw” (Steve says
“mm”) Cause I felt like I still had her, and she was still kind of, you
know, intrigued at what was going on, even though her head was down, but as
soon as the vaccines came up she—yeah—uh.
Julia starts to say something, but Steve hops in.
S: How spaced apart were those two?
J: Good question. I would say (makes thinking sounds) There is probably around
five or so questions between me saying that, and then we bring up vaccines.
Steve asked, “Would you say there were two different responses? One response to the topic of
GMOs and your position, and then the topic of GMs linked with vaccination? And her…being
linked to genetic modification?” Steve was trying to understand if the students’ two strong
reactions to Johnny appeared to be related or separate, which would help him see (Rodgers,
2002) the student’s reaction in Johnny’s classroom more clearly. Johnny replied “yeah” but Steve
reiterated, “Were those two different responses?” indicating that Johnny’s response had not given
Steve enough information to better see (Rodgers, 2002) Johnny’s moment. Johnny replied, “I—I
mean, I think—uh—she would’ve reacted similarly no matter the order of when I said them. If I
said one or the other.” Johnny was speculating about how the student “would’ve reacted” rather
than what happened, the goal of description (Rodgers, 2002). Steve said, “But did she?”
suggesting that Steve understood that what the student “did” was more relevant for the purpose
of seeing the moment (Rodgers, 2002) than what she “would’ve” done. Steve was beginning to
slow down (Rodgers, 2002) and listen; Steve realized right away that Johnny’s response—“she
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would’ve reacted similarly no matter the order”—indicated that Johnny did not understand his
question.
Steve rephrased, “Were they two different responses, or was it like—an escalation?
Like—Like, did she respond on one way to that top to the first topic and then was the response
heightened at the second one?” Steve’s focus on the student’s “response” and whether or not it
was “heightened” indicated a desire to hear the student’s voice within the moment, a key
component of slowing down and seeing the moment through description (Rodgers, 2002).
Johnny twice said “mm!” during Steve’s rephrase, indicating that Johnny now understood what
Steve was trying to ask. As a result, Johnny turned back to the student’s action: “Yeah! I would
say so because she ripped her [cochlear] implants off.” Despite Johnny’s confusion during this
exchange, Steve did not stray from the “moment” at hand at all, resulting in a description of
student action from Johnny that allowed all listeners to better see (Rodgers, 2002) the moment.
Steve continued, “After it was linked to—” indicating he wanted to better see (Rodgers,
2002) what transpired before the student removing her cochlear implants. Johnny clarified,
“Vaccines, yes. It almost seemed like, ‘oh that was the last straw’ Cause I felt like I still had her,
and she was still kind of, you know, intrigued at what was going on, even though her head was
down, but as soon as the vaccines came up she—yeah—uh.” Steve’s additional question allowed
us all to better understand the progression of the student’s engagement in class. As listeners, we
could now see (Rodgers, 2002) that the student’s head was down prior to her “[ripping] her
[cochlear] implants off.” Steve cut me off with an additional question, which indicated he was
motivated (Wergin, 2020) to see the moment in more detail. Steve asked, “How spaced apart
were those two?” allowing us to better understand the progression of the “escalation” Johnny
was now describing because of Steve’s questions. Steve’s questions provoked Johnny to tell us
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more about how the students’ reaction to him changed over the course of the class and the timing
between Johnny’s comments and the students’ reactions.
Steve’s questions allowed the group to see (Rodgers, 2002) more meaningfully what had
happened in Johnny’s classroom rather than turning us into Johnny’s past or the make-up of the
class, as Steve’s questions for Ben had done in session 4. The efficacy of Steve’s questions
indicated that he had a stronger understanding of what differentiated the description and analysis
components of Rodgers’ (2002) reflective cycle. Moreover, Steve did not ask for my feedback or
look to me to discern if his questions were on the right track, suggesting that he had moved
towards internalization and a developmental stage (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) of differentiating
between analysis and description, which Rodgers’ (2002) says is a prerequisite for meaningful
learning through the reflective cycle.
An Unclear Disconnect. As discussed in the previous sections, Steve demonstrated
motivation and a sense of efficacy (Wergin, 2020). The holding environment was strong, and he
felt able to try and fail (Wergin, 2020). Steve was receptive to the criteria (Wergin, 2020) laid out
by Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle, as well as my feedback (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989; Wergin,
2020). However, although Steve began to internalize Rodgers’s (2002) cycle because of the
forms of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) I provided, I did not ask effective probing
questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008). As the facilitator, I lowered the challenge (Wergin, 2020) for
Steve too much due to my own discomfort, which meant he was unable to see the “disconnect”
(Wergin, 2020, p. 70) in his own practice and the seventh requirement for constructive
disorientation went unmet. As a result, he did not reconsider himself in relation to his learners or
recognize a disconnect in his practice.
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During session 2, Ben asked Steve surface-level reflective questions to better see
(Rodgers, 2002) Steve’s moment. When Steve interpreted a student’s reaction in class as anger, I
attempted to reveal a disconnect (Wergin, 2020) by asking Steve how he knew the student was
angry. Steve paused to consider my question, so I initially believed I had successfully
approached constructive disorientation. However, when he asked me follow-up question, I
backed off and let him off the hook rather than reinforcing the “disconnect” (Wergin, 2020, p.
70) in his practice, thereby lowering the challenge (Wergin, 2020). Combined with my failure to
slow down (Rodgers, 2002), my facilitation prevented Steve from recognizing the disconnect
within his practice and/or reconsidering his relationship to his practice.
B: How did he respond the next day? Did you tell him that he still had to do the
assignment? Or—when he came without it?
S: His response was, he was—he was very angry as soon as uh—
B: (cuts off) As soon as you wanted to check?
S: As soon as I wanted to check. Uh.
JB: (low volume) What told you he was angry?
S: What’s that?
JB: What told you he was angry? As opposed to like embarrassed or ashamed, or
something?
S: His face scrunches up, and he has verbal responses that are of distraught and
disappointment and frustration. Again like, (imitating a frustrated child voice)
“Ughhh” “I—I didn’t have time.” “God! Why do I have to do this?”
JB: Could that be something other than anger?
18 second pause
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S: Absolutely I? I am searching for naming what else it could be?
JB: That’s ok. You don’t have to have an answer. It’s just a wondering.
B: Maybe like shame or frustration?
JB: Yeah, like being—
S: (cuts off) Embarrassment
B & JB: Embarrassed!
Although “How did [the student] respond the next day?” was focused on the following day,
Ben’s question did prompt Steve to share more about the student’s response—the student’s action
and language. Ben’s second question, “Did you tell him that he still had to do the assignment?,”
asked Steve to share more about his action and language as the teacher. Both questions were
focused on surface-level description, but also did not turn us completely away from practice
(Horn & Little, 2010). Steve replied, “His response was, he was—he was very angry.” Steve’s
description of the student as “angry” did not allow me to “see” the moment (Rodgers, 2002). It
was unclear what the student said, did, or sounded like that led Steve to interpret the students as
angry.
I asked, “What told you he was angry?” with the hope I could elicit from Steve what
language, body language, or actions from the student “told” or communicated to Steve that the
student was angry. I hoped to “probe his understanding” (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) of the moment
with my question and help Steve consider or construct an alternate interpretation of the event.
Steve asked, “what’s that?” which indicated he had turned toward me and my turn toward
practice (Horn & Little, 2010) and was ready to take up the question I had posed but needed to
hear it again. I asked again, “What told you he was angry? As opposed to like embarrassed or
ashamed, or something?” “What told you he was angry” was a repetition of my initial probing
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question, and I provided a form of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) by suggesting some
alternate interpretations (Rodgers, 2002) such as “embarrassed or ashamed, or something.” Steve
replied, “His face scrunches up, and he has verbal responses that are of distraught and
disappointment and frustration. Again like, imitating a frustrated child voice ‘Ughhh’ ‘I—I
didn’t have time.’ ‘God! Why do I have to do this?’” “Ughh” and “I didn’t have time” and “God!
Why do I have to do this?” Steve’s answer allowed us to hear the student’s voice more clearly.
Steve noted that “His face scrunches up,” which allowed us to better see the student’s body
language. As a result of my probing question (Sahin & Kulm, 2008), the group was now able to
“see” (Rodgers, 2002) the moment in more detail.
I replied, “Could that be something other than anger?” By asking this question, I subtly
invoked the “disconnect” (Wergin, 2020) I had noticed within Steve’s language as a result of my
previous probing question (Sahin & Kulm, 2008). Steve himself had just offered two alternate
interpretations (Rodgers, 2002) of his student’s actions—that the student was “distraught” or
experiencing “disappointment” or “frustration”—but Steve still appeared to be landing on
“angry.” I had believed my question would help Steve more clearly recognize there were
alternate interpretations (Rodgers, 2002) of the student’s actions. Steve replied to my question,
“Absolutely I? I am searching for naming what else it could be?” Steve was willing to entertain
my question but was unsure where to go. I replied, “That’s ok. You don’t have to have an answer.
It’s just a wondering.” Rather than ask an additional probing question or provide an alternate
form of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) that would help Steve name alternative
interpretations (Rodgers, 2002), I lowered the challenge (Wergin, 2020) and let him off the hook
by telling him he did not need to “have an answer.”
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Ben took up my question and offered “maybe like shame or frustration?” thereby
providing Steve with the assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) that I had been unable to provide.
I had previously offered “ashamed,” and Steve had offered “frustration,” both of which Ben took
up to assist Steve in entertaining alternate interpretations (Rodgers, 2002) of the event. Ben’s
offering allowed us to continue despite me letting Steve off the hook. After Ben’s suggestion,
Steve offered his own interpretation–“embarrassed”—which Ben and I enthusiastically echoed
with “embarrassed!” Our enthusiasm was praise—a form of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore,
1989)—for Steve’s movement towards considering an alternative perspective. However, we had
now come to the end of our session, and rather than slow down (Rodgers, 2002) I rushed ahead,
asking Steve to summarize his takeaways. His summary question turned away from practice
(Horn & Little, 2010) which made it clear that although Steve had considered our alternative
perspectives, he had not approached a constructive disorientation.
JB: No, ok. Okay. Any final thoughts—we’re getting low on time? Um, not to put
you on the spot, Steve. But are there any additional things that you’re thinking
about now, or that you would want us to leave thinking about to bring back next
time?
S: Yeah, um—
JB: (cuts off) And okay if you don’t have to [have question or takeaway].
S: No, I just want to shape it right—Is there a space to try to unpack the experiences
of a student like this to explore? —Since we named things like embarrassment—
what their history has been in scenarios where students could feel shame or
humiliation? Are these responses that he’s showing responses of anger? Or is
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there a root cause where all of these emotionally triggered responses are tying
back to?
When I asked “Any final thoughts—we’re low on time” I requested that Steve wrap up his final
thoughts immediately after he only just began to consider an alternate approach. I brought in a
distraction (Wergin, 2020)—time—and caused us to rush (Rodgers, 2002) due to logistics, rather
than pausing where we were and slowing down (Rodgers, 2002), also an indication of my own
internalization of White supremacy norms (Okun & Jones, 2001), as explored in my third
finding. I followed up, “Um, not to put you on the spot, Steve” which indicated that I realized I
might be asking Steve to do something unfair or unreasonable. Yet I continued, “But are there
any additional things that you’re thinking about now, or that you would want us to leave thinking
about to bring back next time?” My offer for him to share something we should “leaving
thinking about to bring back next time” indicated some understanding that the conversation was
potentially unfinished and required more time. However, my prioritization of “additional things
you’re thinking about now” demonstrated that I was more focused on leaving with evidence that
I had gotten Steve to consider an alternate perspective; I was more focused on my research than
on Steve’s learning. Steve began to answer, but I then interjected “And ok if you don’t have to
[have a question or takeaway],” indicating that I was aware I was asking something potentially
inappropriate based on where Steve was in his learning.
Steve began, “No, I just want to shape it right,” suggesting that he felt some pressure to
ensure his language was correct and perhaps that the strength of the holding environment
(Northouse, 2019) had now diminished, and he was more concerned about my judgement or the
judgment of other participants. He continued,
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Is there a space to try to unpack the experiences of a student like this to explore? —Since
we named things like embarrassment—what their history has been in scenarios where
students could feel shame or humiliation? Are these responses that he’s showing
responses of anger? Or is there a root cause where all of these emotionally triggered
responses are tying back to?
Steve asked, “is there a space to try to unpack the experiences of a student like this to explore”—
which was the intention of our group reflection-on-action; his statement implied that Steve did
not see his own student-teacher interaction as part of the child’s “experiences.” Additionally,
Steve’s description of the student as “a student like this” depersonalized the student and indicated
that Steve was still holding a deficit mindset about “these students” (Ladson-Billings, 2007).
Steve then said, “since we named things like embarrassment,” which acknowledged the
alternative interpretations Ben and I had put forth. However, Steve continued, “what their history
has been in scenarios where students could feel shame or humiliation?” Again, Steve’s question
turned away from practice (Horn & Little, 2010) as it indicated that he did not see his problem of
practice as a scenario where the student “could feel shame or humiliation”—it appeared not to
occur to Steve at all that he could be doing something to cause his student to feel this way. Steve
then asked, “Are these responses that he’s showing responses of anger?” indicating that he had
heard the alternate suggestions, but still considered anger to be the most likely interpretation of
the student’s actions and language. Steve then asked, “is there a root cause where all of these
emotionally triggered responses are tying back to?” Again, the idea of a “root cause,” implied a
turning away from his own practice (Horn & Little, 2010) and searching for an outside
explanation—potentially a deficit with the student or the household (Ladson-Billings, 2007)—
rather than a “disconnect” (Wergin, 2020, p. 70) within his own practice.
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As a result of rushing Steve and not slowing down (Rodgers, 2002) to further reflect upon
his interaction with his student, I allowed Steve to turn far from practice (Horn & Little, 2010)
and prevented him from recognizing the disconnect within his practice. Although his problem of
practice was ripe for questions about race and emotions given Steve’s identity as a White male
teacher and the student’s identity as Black male, I did not turn into these questions, an indication
of my own distress and internalization of White supremacy culture (Okun & Jones, 2001), as
explored in my second and third findings. Instead of turning into these questions, I quickly
lowered the challenge (Wergin, 2020), rushed Steve’s learning based on my researcher needs
rather than his ZPD (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989), and failed to help him clarify the “disconnect”
(Wergin, 2020, p. 70) in his practice, thereby preventing him from approaching a constructive
disorientation. Both the fourth, seventh, and eighth requirements for constructive disorientation,
as explored in my conceptual framework, went unmet. As a result, Steve did not reconsider
himself or his identity in relation to his learner and his practice.
Emma’s Learning
My inability to shift and implement the necessary changes to build Emma’s self-efficacy
and motivation (Wergin, 2020) meant that although Emma displayed openness toward other
interpretations (Rodgers, 2002) of her students’ actions she did not approach a constructive
disorientation. Emma missed one-third of our sessions, including the first session where I made
the strongest case for the purpose of our time together. When Emma joined during session 2, I
failed to provide adequate justification for group reflection-on-action and our use of Rodgers’s
(2002) cycle. As a result, Emma had decreased motivation and self-efficacy (Wergin, 2020) and
I weakened the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) for her. Unlike other participants, Emma
engaged in other tasks, such as grading, during sessions. I did not hold her accountable to “an
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environment free from distractions” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71), and her lack of focus indicated that I
had failed to achieve many of the eight requirements for a constructive disorientation. As a
result, she did not experience a constructive disorientation or recognize a disconnect within her
practice.
The Holding Environment and Emma’s Self-Efficacy and Motivation. Emma missed
session 1 when I set the stage for Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle and modeled (Tharp &
Gallimore, 1989) with my own problem of practice. At the beginning of session 2, I revisited the
norms and Rodgers’s (2002) cycle using the same visual I showed during session 1 in the hopes
of bringing Emma into the conversation. However, at the end of session 2, Emma came up to me
to clarify what the purpose of group reflection-on-action was, which indicated that I had been
unsuccessful in communicating the purpose of our time together and my shift in approach to
adult learning. Emma waited until the end of our session to clarify the purpose of the cycle
although I had introduced it at the beginning; her unwillingness to ask in the moment indicated a
weak holding environment (Northouse, 2019) for her, where she was concerned about being
judged. I failed to register and acknowledge Emma’s vulnerability, further weakening the
holding environment (Northouse, 2019) for her and decreasing her motivation (Wergin, 2020),
all of which made it unlikely she would approach constructive disorientation later. I did not catch
our conversation at the end of session 2 on my recording, but I described the interaction in the
notes I took shortly after the end of the session:
After, Emma comes up and asks more about what the outcome is “supposed” to be—that
she had trouble contributing because one she’s “one of those slower processors” but also
because she wasn’t sure what the “right” answer was. I explained that it was to take more
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informed action per the cycle and to get/consider different perspectives, but also told her
I would email her the explanation I gave in the previous session when she was on Zoom.
Emma asked, “about what the outcome is ‘supposed’ to be” and “outcome” implied that Emma
wanted there to be a tangible result of our group reflection-on-action. “Supposed” indicated that
she believed there was a correct or incorrect way to reflect or a correct or incorrect outcome of
that reflection; this was reinforced when she then asked what the “right answer was.” While I
had addressed that I hoped we would have takeaways about our practice during session 1, as
described in the section “Strengthening the Holding Environment by Co-Constructing Norms
with Ben” Emma’s language indicated that I had not made this clear for her during session 2.
Emma’s question also implied a discomfort with not knowing the “right answer” or what she was
“supposed” to get out of the experience, indicating a low sense of self-efficacy (Wergin, 2020).
Emma then shared that “she’s ‘one of those slower processors’” in reference to a
discussion of the norm “take space, make space” that we added at the beginning of session 2.
Emma’s reference to her own processing time both indicated a lack of self-efficacy and
demonstrated some vulnerability; the implication was that the norm was not being implemented
in a way that had effectively strengthened the holding environment for her (Northouse, 2019).
However, I missed the opportunity to recognize her vulnerability and demonstrate care (Wergin,
2020) and did not ask how I could better meet her needs as a “slow processor.” Instead, I went
straight into explaining that my goal was for teachers to “take more informed action” as
described by Rodgers (2002) and “get/consider different perspectives” on what happened in their
classroom. I did not make space for any follow-up questions, which meant that I did not
“empower” Emma’s “sense of efficacy” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) or demonstrate care (Wergin,
2020), weakening the holding environment and the opportunity for her to later approach a
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constructive disorientation. I “told her I would email her the explanation I gave in the previous
session” but then I did not do so, further weakening the holding environment (Northouse, 2019)
and her overall motivation (Wergin, 2020) to engage in group reflection-on-action. By the end of
the second session, I had ensured the first, second, and third requirements for constructive
disorientation would likely go unmet, in addition to the eighth.
Emma’s Engagement. Emma’s lack of motivation and self-efficacy, which I reinforced,
were evident in the way she engaged during the sessions. Emma was absent for session 1 and 3
and shared during session 6. Emma engaged in other work during sessions 2, 4, and 5, indicating
a lack of buy-in, possibly due to my ineffective facilitation as described above. During sessions
2, 4, and 5, Emma spent part or all the sessions on her laptop or grading, as indicated in my
transcribed jottings below. Her multi-tasking indicated that multiple requirements for
constructive disorientation were not met, especially number four—an “environment free from
distractions” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71).
Session 2 Jottings:
Johnny appears to be listening, Ben appears to be listening, Emma is
writing/grading.
Session 4 Jottings:
Emma is typing. Johnny is typing but stopped.
Session 5 Jottings:
J: Day after the debate discussing “What were your takeaways” and “has
your stance changed”
Emma comes in [late] and is doing work on her laptop.
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During session 2, I scanned the room and noted Johnny “appears to be listening” and Ben
“appears to be listening” while Emma was “writing/grading.” While the participants who had
been there on the first day had their laptops closed, Emma was grading or writing on paper
assignments. She had not yet attempted to clarify the purpose of our work together, as described
above, and I did not hold her accountable to “maintain[ing] disciplined attention” (Northouse,
2019, p. 268). Although I noted her multitasking, I did not say anything about her lack of
attention.
During the next session Emma attended (session 4) I wrote down “Emma is typing” in
contrast to Johnny who “stopped” typing. However, this appeared to shift somewhat over the
course of the session. In my descriptive reflection that evening, I wrote: “Emma participated a lot
more and even got engrossed enough in the conversation that she seemed to stop looking at her
laptop.” My comment that she “seemed to stop looking at her laptop” indicated that this was
different from her previous behavior or her behavior earlier in the session. However, my word
“seemed” implied that it was unclear to me if she had truly stopped and was fully “free from
distractions” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71)—she did not close her laptop—even if she had become more
“engrossed” in the conversation. Again, I did not hold her accountable for giving her full
attention, nor did I provide assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) by praising her for becoming
more “engrossed” later in the session. My reflection implies that, generally, what we were doing
did not seem “engross[ing]” to Emma most of the time, which indicated that she was not bought-
in and wanted to use the time for alternate purposes. My interpretation was reinforced when,
during session 5, Emma entered after Johnny had begun sharing and began “doing work on her
laptop.” “Doing work on her laptop” was my interpretation of Emma’s typing, however, no other
participants spent significant time on their laptops or phones, unless they were reading their own
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moment to share. The weak holding environment (Northouse, 2019) I had created and my
inability to improve Emma’s self-efficacy and motivation as described in the section above, most
likely contributed to Emma’s lack of buy-in. Although Emma did ask questions, it was unlikely
that she would experience constructive disorientation as she was never completely “free from
distractions” during our group reflection-on-action and I did not hold her accountable to slowing
down (Rodgers, 2002).
Emma’s Learning. Although Emma appeared distracted during discussions of others’
problems of practice, she engaged more fully during session 6 when she shared her own. At the
end of session 5, Emma offered to give up her share to make time for a group debrief. However,
I encouraged her to share if she was up to it, and she chose to do so during session 6. Her
willingness to share indicated that she had regained some self-efficacy in that she thought it
would be worthwhile (Wergin, 2020). At the end of session 6, Emma reflected on what she had
learned from a probing question (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) that I asked about the student she was
working with during her problem of practice. Her response indicated that she was willing and
able to consider alternate interpretations (Rodgers, 2002) of her students’ actions. However, it
was also clear she had not approached a constructive disorientation.
JB: Thanks again Emma. I’m still surprised it took me so long to figure out what
student we were talking about!
E: Me too! Who did you think it was?
JB: [I named two other students and why I thought it could be them.] But then once
you said well-traveled only child I figured out who you were talking about.
E: Yeah. I’m thinking about your question on whether he could feel isolated I hadn’t
thought about it that way before
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JB: I’m glad it was a helpful question - that’s the hope is that we get at least one
question in these conversations that makes us go hmm I hadn’t thought about it
that way before so I’m glad that was helpful
While we were packing up, I said “Thanks again Emma” expressing gratitude for her willingness
to share after she had initially offered to skip. My comment demonstrated care (Wergin, 2020),
belatedly working to reinforce the holding environment. I said, “I’m still surprised it took me so
long to figure out what student we were talking about!” I chose to reveal a misunderstanding I
had experienced during her share—I had been unable to identify the student although both Emma
and I had both been working with this student for multiple years. My willingness to admit this
served to model (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) vulnerability. Emma replied, “Me too! Who did you
think it was?” showing she was surprised I had been unable to discern who the student was. I
offered up two student names, answering her question, and demonstrating how far off my guess
had been. I added, “But then once you said well-traveled only child, I figured out who you were
talking about.” “You said” demonstrated that I had listened carefully to Emma. My inability to
quickly identify a student I had worked with for 3 years revealed my own fallibility.
In response, Emma reflected on her learning, “Yeah I’m thinking about your question on
whether he could feel isolated I hadn’t thought about it that way before.” Emma’s shift into
reflecting about her learning indicated some level of vulnerability on her part in response to
mine. Her language revealed that my probing question (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) had provided
Emma with a new perspective on her student (Rodgers, 2002). Additionally, she was still
thinking about this alternative perspective after the session had ended, which indicated that my
question had some impact. However, Emma’s reflection did not include a reconsideration of her
practice or her relationship to her student—she had not experienced a constructive disorientation.
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This one-on-one informal conversation was too little, too late on my part. For all the reasons
detailed above, Emma’s learning was limited to this small reconsideration.
Johnny’s Learning
Like Emma and Steve, Johnny did not approach a constructive disorientation. Johnny
demonstrated self-efficacy and motivation—the second and third requirements for a constructive
disorientation as explored in my conceptual framework—by advocating for the forms of
assistance (Tharp & Gallimore) he needed to engage in group reflection-on-action. Johnny
believed that with the right support he could engage and that doing so was worthwhile. I was
able to provide “technical solutions” (Northouse, 2019, p. 261) to meet Johnny’s needs as a
learner, but I was unable to meet the adaptive challenge posed by his strength as a learner.
Johnny demonstrated that he was a self-authoring knower on the Drago-Severson and Blum-
DeStefano (2017) typology, unlike all other participants, including myself. Johnny’s ZPD (Tharp
& Gallimore, 1989) was beyond my own and, as such I was unable to increase the level of
challenge (Wergin, 2020) enough for him to approach a constructive disorientation.
Johnny’s Self-Advocacy. Throughout our sessions, Johnny asked me questions about my
facilitation and provided feedback about what he needed to engage effectively in group
reflection-on-action. His willingness to advocated for his needs as a learner indicated that he
believed the task was worthwhile and that he believed he could achieve the task with the proper
support; the two components of self-efficacy as defined by Wergin (2020). At the end of session
2 while I was engaged in conversation with Ben, Johnny stretched, turned his attention toward
the visual of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle that I had displayed on the classroom smartboard,
pointed, and asked “What’s the next step?” Johnny appeared to be considering our conversations
over the past two sessions and how they aligned with the visual of the reflective cycle that was
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posted. Johnny’s ability to slow down (Rodgers, 2002) and sit with what he didn’t understand
and ask a clarifying question was the first indication of his strength has a learner and indicated
that he was invested in engaging wholeheartedly in group reflection-on-action, even as I failed in
my facilitation by trying to speed us up and rush us out of the space.
Ben is standing up and stretching, Johnny is stretching, we’ve ended at this point sort of.
B: (to me, while handing out learning audits) Do you have? Do you have two of
those?
J: (spinning in chair, pointing at the smartboard) What’s the next step?
JB: (to Ben) Do I have two? Yeah, there’s more. There’s as many—there’s a few of
these. (to Johnny) What’s the next step for?
J: This (pointing at reflective cycle on the board)
JB: In terms of following up on? (gestures at the board, Johnny comes up and
approaches me) Or like, in the cycle?
Johnny says something inaudible is standing hands on his hips, looking at the board
JB: So, like, in theory, in the so—I do like—in theory, what’s happening is once
you’re like thinking about—so like—now, maybe Steve is thinking about: “Is this
person actually angry?” Yeah. So, like, “is this kid actually angry?” So maybe
next time [Steve]’s in class he is thinking about like being present to the kids’
reactions in a different way to try and test out like, “is it anger?”
J: Right.
When Johnny asked, “What’s the next step?” I responded, “What’s the next step for?” which
indicated that I was still engaged in my conversation with Ben and did not fully comprehend
Johnny’s question. Johnny had not waited for my attention or assistance to look at the cycle or to
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pose a question; although I did come and attempt to answer his question, Johnny’s investigation
and questioning was less directed at me and more at the cycle itself. Rather than hustling out of
the classroom at the end, Johnny was slowing down (Rodgers, 2002), engaging with the cycle,
comparing it to his experience, and asking questions. His questions served to promote his
“[understanding] the way in which the parts of an activity relate to one another or to understand
the meaning of the performance” (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989, p. 33) and provoked me to provide
assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) to build his understanding.
I responded, “So like, in theory, in the so—I do like—in theory, what’s happening is once
you’re like thinking about—so like—now, maybe Steve is thinking about: “Is this person
actually angry?” Yeah. So, like, “is this kid actually angry?” So maybe next time [Steve]’s in
class he is thinking about like being present to the kids’ reactions in a different way to try and
test out like, “is it anger?” Here, I attempted to connect the cycle to the conversation we had just
had about Steve’s moment (as described in the section “An Unclear Disconnect”) to the cycle
displayed on the board. While Johnny had “slowed down” (Rodgers, 2002) and was sitting with
his questions, I quickly provided a technical answer (Northouse, 2019) and move us all along as
because I was focused on the fact that the session was over and we needed to go to carpool.
Johnny’s awareness of what he did not understand and ability to articulate it first to himself and
then to me was representative of Johnny’s self-advocacy and self-awareness of what he needed
as a learner, but I did not recognize it as the facilitator in this moment and take full advantage of
the opportunity to further build Johnny’s motivation and self-efficacy (Wergin, 2020).
Johnny’s knowledge of himself as a learner was also apparent in the feedback he
provided to me about my facilitation. Again, his willingness to self-identify and ask for the forms
of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) he needed to engage in group reflection-on-action
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indicated his self-efficacy and motivation. During Cycle 2, I asked participants to instead write
down feedback on a sticky note. At the end of session 4, I asked:
JB: Anything that you want me to know about how I could facilitate our conversation
more effectively or something that is or isn’t working for you that would be great
to know. And like last time, if there was just anything that you’re thinking about
that you want us to talk about next time that would be great to know, um and
that’s it.
When I said, “Anything that you want me to know about how I could facilitate our conversation
more effectively or something that is or isn’t working for you that would be great to know” I
invited participants to share specific feedback about my facilitation and what they needed as
learners. While I received feedback from all participants based on the previous week’s question
“if there was just anything that you’re thinking about,” only Johnny responded at the end of
session 4 and provided feedback about “something that [was or wasn’t] working for” him as a
learner.
I described Johnny’s feedback in my descriptive reflection shortly after session 4 ended:
“At the end [Johnny’s] sticky note suggestion asked if I could track questions on the board, so he
knew what had been asked.” Johnny had asked if I could “track questions’’ referring to the
questions we were asking during group reflection-on-action visually “on the board,” which
indicated that although Johnny knew that he was not necessarily fully taking in all the
information being shared. Johnny’s statement demonstrated that he believed it was important for
his own learning to know “what had been asked” as we worked our way through Rodgers’s
(2002) reflective cycle. Johnny’s request also indicated that he was likely more focused on
listening than on tracking the questions themselves—he was slowing down (Rodgers, 2002)
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while our questions were accelerating. Johnny’s request indicated that he was self-aware of his
own needs as a learner and was willing to advocate for them if I invited feedback. His request
also indicated that he believed with the right support from me, he could engage meaningfully in
the task of group-reflection-on-action. Johnny was the only person of all four participants to
advocate for something specific to help them better access our group reflection-on-action,
demonstrating not only self-awareness, but also self-efficacy as defined by Wergin (2020) and
explored in my conceptual framework.
Johnny as the Most Advanced Participant. As I explored in my participants section, I
entered the first session believing that Johnny was a socializing knower moving towards being a
self-authoring knower as defined by Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano (2017). However, I
ended the sessions believing that Johnny was a self-authoring knower, and that, as a result, I had
failed to provide the appropriate level of challenge (Wergin, 2020) to approach a constructive
disorientation for him. I did not intervene or provide the right supports to push Johnny’s ZPD, as
demonstrated by my absence once there was conflict in the interaction analyzed below, which
was indicative of my own status as a socializing knower (Drago-Severson & Blum DeStefano,
2017) and my internalization of White supremacy culture (Okun & Jones, 2001). Johnny’s place
as a self-authoring knower on the Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano (2017) typology became
clear during session 3, when we revisited a question Steve had posed at the end of session 2
about the relationship between students and what he referred to as “accommodation,” but which
may be more accurately described as different expectations. After I reintroduced Steve’s
question, Steve began to critique the expectations other teachers—including Johnny—have for
this student’s behavior in their classes:
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JB: So, the second question Steve asked, if we feel ready (Steve says “mm”)—It is—
so like what you asked, “To what degree do you think the student’s relationship
with accommodation impacts his expectation or response when he doesn’t get it?”
So, this idea that, like he’s often been given the opportunity to—Well, I don’t
know you speak to that. What do you mean by accommodation in this case?
Because I have heard it one way, but I don’t know that’s necessarily how you
meant it right.
S: And and I think now, looking back at it too, it would be interesting to see. I know
we have our official on paper accommodations (I say, “yeah”) but I think it’s an
interesting topic to discuss in terms of how we all accommodate for students in
our classes. (I say “mm”). So, let’s say someone like [student] in my class. It’s
strictly you know no device, and you shouldn’t have a book out while we’re in the
middle of an activity, and maybe in another class he does have an accommodation
that’s not on paper. But we are accommodating the desire or need that he says that
he has in terms of—or preference “I want to read right now,” and if he goes from
one class that says yes, you can read right now and then he comes to mine where I
say “No,” he’s not going to be very regulated throughout the day, and that’s kind
of potentially feeding into that emotional roller coaster that he might be
experiencing or frustration, and he might not be able to name that right. That
that’s kind of me just piecing together a hypothetical explanation. But (pause) a
student may struggle with regulating themselves when each teacher has different
expectations or accommodation in uh in their class culture.
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JB: (pause) I’m wondering how our—our own—I—like experiences of school—
expectations of school—our own identities, impact the culture, both the
accommodations we choose to give or not. Like in the example that I shared the
first week right is exactly what you’re talking about, where I made an
accommodation for that kid like, “Oh, well, you can do this work this other way”
which didn’t serve him. Right? Like a so. Yeah, I’m sure. And and my experience
going to school was one of very like very “woo, we’ll learn” very progressive
hippie vibes for a lot of the time. Which doesn’t necessarily work for everyone
right? In addition to the fact that I talked about how like I think I viewed him as
like an older kid, a capable kid, and like right, he’s excited. I’m just gonna let it
go like. What are the triggers for us (Steve says “mmm”) where we’re like? Oh,
but they’re doing this thing so like, I’m okay like letting this other thing slide or
like okay, making this accommodation, because whatever I personally feel like I
need to see from them has been accomplished, even if it’s like, not the expectation
for everyone.
I repeated Steve’s question from the end of session 2, slowing myself down (Rodgers, 2002) so
as not to jump to conclusions based on my interpretation of Steve’s question. I asked Steve,
“what do you mean by accommodation in this case? Because I have heard it one way, but I don’t
know how you meant it right.” Implicitly, I acknowledged that Steve and I might be coming
from different places or have different understandings, an indication of my shift towards a
knowledge-of-practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) approach. Steve offered, “I know we have
our official on paper accommodations, but I think it’s an interesting topic to discuss in terms of
how we all accommodate for students in our classes.” Steve differentiated between “on paper
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accommodations” and what he was talking about—the way “we all” or teachers—”
accommodate for students in our classes.” Steve implied that teachers were making their own
adjustments “in [their] classes” that were “for students” and that Steve did not believe students
should have an “expectation” regarding these adjustments, which were different from the
required “official on paper accommodations.” Steve privileged the “official on paper
accommodations” over teachers’ understandings of their student’s individual needs.
Steve then reintroduced the student who was involved in his problem of practice. Steve
said, “It’s strictly you know no device, and you shouldn’t have a book out while we’re in the
middle of an activity,” laying out Steve’s expectations for this student in his classroom. Steve
continued, “...and maybe in another class he does have an accommodation that’s not on paper,”
drawing a contrast between Steve’s expectations and what he believed was happening in other
teachers’ classrooms—teachers having different “accommodations” for the same student. Steve’s
use of “accommodation” aligned more with the word “expectation”—Steve had an expectation
for student behavior and was implying that other teachers had different expectations that he did
not like; Steve was not discussing an accommodation as defined as requirements for access
within a student’s accessibility plan, 504, or IEP.
Steve continued, “But we are accommodating the desire or need that he says that he has
in terms of-or preference ‘I want to read right now.” Although Steve used “we” he was referring
to other teachers—the only other teachers who were teaching this student were Emma and
Johnny. Emma was absent during this session and is known for being strict—the underlying
implication of Steve’s comment was that Johnny was “accommodating the need or desire” of the
student in a way that Steve disapproved of. Steve’s phrase “need he says that he has” indicated
that Steve did not believe the student was self-advocating or knew what was best for himself, but
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rather that Johnny’s different expectations might be enabling the student in some way. Steve
continued, “if he goes from one class that says yes, you can read right now and then he comes to
mine where I say ‘No,’ he’s not going to be very regulated throughout the day, and that’s kind of
potentially feeding into that emotional roller coaster that he might be experiencing or frustration,
and he might not be able to name that right.” Rather than consider his own pedagogy, Steve was
theorizing that the student was “not going to be very regulated throughout the day” because he
was “experiencing frustration” based on different expectations in different classrooms. The
implication was that Steve was experiencing difficult interactions with the student in his class
because of Johnny’s different expectations in his classroom.
Steve said, “That that’s kind of me just piecing together a hypothetical explanation”
caveating his answer and potentially reducing the feeling that he was blaming Johnny for their
student’s actions. However, Steve then reiterated, “a student may struggle with regulating
themselves when each teacher has different expectations or accommodation in uh their class
culture,” again placing the blame for the student’s behavior back on Johnny. I attempted to use
the moment I shared during session 1 to shift Steve back towards practice (Horn & Little, 2010)
and away from criticizing Johnny, but I was unsuccessful. Immediately after, Steve doubled
down on his critique of Johnny, pointedly bringing up the fact that Johnny allowed the student in
question to wear headphones in class, while Steve was trying to get this student to stop:
S: Mhmm. I think also being explicit about how we find ourselves accommodating
and linking that in with the struggle they may be having. So, for example, I’ll be
explicit, and I will direct one example again back to [student]. One
accommodation that I’ve noticed that he has. And again, this may not be an on-
paper school-recognized accommodation is his relationship with headphones and
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technology. He struggles with monitoring himself and regulating—not bringing
that into class. Right? So, I would directly say something to Johnny potentially
on. “Hey? He’s been struggling with bringing his headphones into class. He
actually puts them on every chance he gets to. So, I have to negotiate or give him
the opportunity to make the choice to put it away when he brings those
headphones out. What do you do when he brings his headphones out slash does he
do that?” And then I’m also gonna share an email that I got from his mom about
it. So, in your class “Does [student] ever bring out his headphones and if he does,
what’s your response to it?”
Steve believed he was being “explicit” by calling attention back to a specific student, but he
continued to be vague about the “we” Steve believed was “accommodating” the student and
exacerbating the student’s “struggle.” Steve continued, “One accommodation that I’ve noticed
that he has. And again, this may not be an on-paper school-recognized accommodation is his
relationship with headphones and technology. He struggles with monitoring himself and
regulating—not bringing that into class.” Steve again specified that the “accommodation” he was
referring to was not “an on-paper school-recognized accommodation” but rather, something that
exacerbated the students’ “struggles with monitoring and regulating.” Steve continued,
Right? So, I would say something to Johnny potentially on “Hey? He’s been struggling
with bringing his headphones into class. He actually puts them on every chance he gets
to. So, I have to negotiate or give him the opportunity to make the choice to put it away
when he brings those headphones out.
Steve finally addressed Johnny by name, more clearly revealing who Steve believed was at fault.
The phrases “He actually puts them on every chance he gets to” and “I have to negotiate or give
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him the opportunity to make the choice to put it away” both revealed Steve’s frustration. His
second comment also implied that Steve did not feel “negotiation” or “opportunity” were
appropriate parts of his roles as a classroom teacher.
Steve then directly asked Johnny, “What do you do when he brings his headphones out
slash does he do that?” The phrase “slash does he do that” made room for the possibility that
Johnny did not see this behavior in his class, but also directly asked Johnny to explain his actions
and, therefore, the expectations he was setting for the student around technology. Steve followed
up “And then I’m also gonna share an email that I got from his mom about it,” which revealed he
had spoken to the student’s parent, and implied he believed that, in doing so, he had been
working to set stronger expectations than Johnny. Then, Steve directly asked Johnny, “Does
[student] ever bring out his headphones and if does, what’s your response to it?” At this point,
Steve had spent a significant chunk of time explaining his frustration about this student’s
“accommodations” in Johnny’s class and the negative impact he believed those accommodations
were having in Steve’s class. Although Steve’s tone remained mostly the same and even, I still
experienced his question as confrontational. Rather than back away from conflict, Johnny
engaged calmly in the conversation. At this point I also become absent from the conversation,
indicating my own discomfort with the conflict, related both to my internalization of White
supremacy culture (Okun & Jones, 2001) as described in my third finding and the reality that I
was more of a socializing knower (Drago-Severson & Blum DeStefano, 2017). In the
conversation that followed, Johnny revealed he was a self-authoring knower by refusing to
compromise his own “values and standards” (Drago-Severson & Blum DeStefano, 2017, p. 475)
and leaning into conflict with Steve.
J: Do you want me to answer that?
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S: (surprised & enthusiastic) Yeah! (Johnny & I laugh)
J: Yeah, he wears his headphones. I’ve found that it—like he’s literally listening
to—certain like clips on loop (Steve says “mm”). Like, music clips. And I’m okay
with it as long as he’s getting the work done (Steve says “mm”). Um, and again
like it’s for him and technology, I mean, it’s something that he is learning and
overcoming. You know and he’s getting better at it (Steve says “mm). But like
I—My approach is kind of like. You know, like the learning process in it, like
how you learn and the responsibility for learning is up to you. And I’m going to
help you, you know, progress. And like progress reports, I wrote like, something,
something you can improve on, and he very clearly aware of what he needs and
what he gets distracted on, and then, like I, I’ve been using it as a reminder for
him whenever he’s off task. Instead of like oh, I’m the reason that you got here—
it’s like no you’ve got to be the reason why you progress in that way. So, it’s just
like yes, he’s using headphones. Is it productive? A lot of the times. Is he working
on making it more productive? Yes. Am I helping him, like, you know be
reminded of what he should be doing? But yeah, I mean.
B: What about when other kids say: “Why can’t I use headphones?” Do they?
J: No one’s really, no one’s really brought it up in fifth. Not yet, I mean.
S: But it, it sounds like kind of an answer, like it’s kind of sometimes.
J: Yeah, yeah.
S: And he’s got to earn to be able to keep it right? Right? And has there ever been
times where it is not in his benefit? And it is actually contributed to his struggles.
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J: Yeah. And, and like, during those times like obviously, there’s a little more
intervention from my end of just like, you know taking a few steps back but like
ultimately, I know that he can. “Do you know XYZ” and I know, like he is aware
of his—what you know he needs to do to get there. Um, and like if it becomes too
much for him, then I give a little more of my end. But that’s how, I mean that’s
how I treat a lot of the students, you know. I mean explore science in the way that
you see fit and challenge yourself to accept feedback from me, to accept feedback
from your peers.
Johnny caught Steve off-guard by leaning into the conflict when he said, “do you want me to
answer that?” which surprised Steve. Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano (2017) write that
self-authoring knowers, “view conflict as a natural part of advocacy, work, and leadership” (p.
475). My absence from the conversation indicated that I was not yet a self-authoring knower
(Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017), as I did not engage once the conversation became
tense. Even though Steve had been expressing his frustration at Johnny and even placing the
blame for a student’s behavior in his class on Johnny, Johnny turned toward the conflict and
conversation without getting defensive, which indicated he was a self-authoring knower (Drago-
Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017). Johnny continued, “Yeah, he wears his headphones.”
Johnny was straightforward and did not appear to be concerned about revealing that the
expectations were different in his class, despite Steve’s obvious frustration.
Johnny continued, “I’ve found that like–like he’s literally listening to—certain like clips
on loop. Like, music clips.” Johnny made it clear that he had gone through the effort of
discerning what the student was listening to and had concluded that the repetitive nature of the
song indicated that it might serve some purpose for the student. Johnny continued, “And I’m ok
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with it as long as he’s getting the work done.” Johnny clearly articulated his “own values and
standards for teaching” (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017, p. 475)—another trait of
self-authoring knowers. Johnny continued “It’s for him and technology, I mean, it’s something he
is learning and overcoming. You know and he’s getting better at it.” Johnny agreed with Steve
that “him and technology” presented a challenge, but rather than find the student’s behavior
frustrating, Johnny saw that the student was “learning and overcoming.” Johnny took an asset-
based approach and focused on the fact that the student was “getting better at” their self-
regulation.
Johnny continued, “My approach is kind of like. You know, like the learning process in it,
like how you learn and the responsibility for learning is up to you.” Johnny put the
“responsibility for learning” on the student and highlighted the “learning process” of
understanding “how you learn.” Johnny’s statement stood in direct contrast to Steve’s earlier
statement that the student was being “accommodated” because of “desire or need that that he
says that he has.” Steve was concerned about if the student had a real “need” or just a “desire”
that the student “says that he has,” but did not really need. In contrast, Johnny trusted the student
to understand what they needed. Even though Johnny’s values and approach were, in this case, in
direct conflict with Steve, Johnny did not adjust his argument or beliefs. Johnny continued to
articulate his beliefs about teaching when he said, “I’m going to help you, you know,
progress…Instead of like oh, I’m the reason you got here—it’s like no you’ve got to be the
reason why you progress in that way” Johnny did not appear frustrated that he was having to
“give him the opportunity to make the choice to put it away” as Steve had put it, rather, Johnny
believed it was his role to “help you, you know, [the student] progress” and provide feedback on
that progress.
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Johnny reiterated,
So, it’s just like yes, he’s using headphones. Is it productive? A lot of the times. Is he
working on making it more productive? Yes. Am I helping him, like, you know be
reminded of what he should be doing? But yeah, I mean.
Johnny offered that in fact, the student’s “desire” was “productive” “a lot of the times,” again in
direct contrast with Steve’s earlier comments. In Johnny’s experience, there appeared to be no
fighting or arguing with the student, Johnny simply “reminded him of what he should be doing.”
Johnny was not engaged in a power struggle with the student in class or with Steve during our
conversation. By sharing and repeating his asset-based understanding of the student in question
Johnny was calmly “tak[ing] a firm stand for others, themselves, and [his] ideas about social
justice, diversity, and equity” (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017, p. 475)—another trait
of a self-authoring knower (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017). Johnny leaned into the
conflict with Steve and presented an alternative view of the student and of the use of headphones
without defensiveness. Johnny did not appear concerned about others’ reactions, which indicated
that he could “share [his] honest thoughts and feelings with others without feeling like their
relationships will suffer” (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017, p. 471) another sign he
was a self-authoring knower.
While Steve remained silent, Ben wanted to know how this worked: “What about when
other kids say: ‘Why can’t I use headphones?’ Do they?” Johnny explained that it had not been
an issue. Then, Steve said, “But it sounds like kind of an answer, like it’s kind of sometimes.”
Steve heard Johnny’s explanation as “kind of an answer” to his original question, indicating that
Steve had not been able to fully integrate Johnny’s offering. Steve continued “like, it’s kind of
sometimes,” indicating that Steve had heard Johnny’s statement as an admission of guilt—that
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Johnny had allowed headphones and that doing so was negative. Steve continued, “And he’s got
to earn to be able to keep it right? Right? And has there ever been a time where it is not to his
benefit? And it is actually contributed to his struggles?” Steve was looking for validation that his
initial perspective was correct, and that Johnny was, in fact, doing something wrong that
“contributed to” the student’s “struggles,” although that was not what Johnny had stated. Steve
appeared to be unable to hear Johnny’s asset-based perspective on the student’s learning; Steve
was showing that he was a concrete instrumental knower (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano,
2017), while Johnny continued to maintain his beliefs about the student, demonstrating that he
was a self-authoring knower (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017).
Johnny then offered, “Yeah. And like, during those times obviously, there’s a little more
intervention from my end of just like, you know taking a few steps back.” Johnny acknowledged
for Steve that there were times the student was off task, but unlike Steve, Johnny did not appear
particularly concerned about “those times” when the student was using technology
inappropriately. Johnny believed those moments just required “a little more intervention from my
end,” which Johnny did not appear frustrated by and seemed to believe were part of his job as a
classroom teacher. Then Johnny said,
Ultimately, I know that he can. ‘Do you know XYZ’ and I know, like he is aware of his–
what you know he needs to do there. Um, and if it becomes too much for him, then I give
a little more of my end. But that’s how, I mean that’s how I treat a lot of these students,
you know. I mean explore science in the way that you see fit and challenge yourself to
accept feedback from me, to accept feedback from your peers.
Johnny returned to his asset-based belief about the student— “Ultimately, I know that he can”—
and then generalized to his larger belief about “a lot of these students.” Johnny explained that he
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saw his students as capable of “explor[ing] science in the way that you see fit” and of accepting
feedback from the teacher and from their classmates—a clear articulation of Johnny’s “values
and standards” (Drago-Severson & Blum DeStefano, 2017, p. 475). Additionally, Johnny’s
perspective was indicative of a self-authoring perspective—he believed “individuals from all
backgrounds author their own understanding of who they are and their intrinsic value and worth”
(Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017, p. 471).
As a self-authoring knower Johnny did not sway from his values at any time, as a self-
transforming knower might have (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017). However, Johnny
also was not openly critical of Steve’s perspective at any time, which indicated that Johnny found
some worth in Steve’s “competing values” (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017, p. 471)
even though they did not align with his own. Johnny was able to “take a perspective on” Steve’s
critique and “not be run by them” (p. 464) another indication that he was a self-authoring knower
(Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017). Johnny’s asset-based beliefs about his students’
capacity was clear, and often in direct contrast to Steve’s deficit-based perspective; in fact, if I
had been able to shift into Steve’s practice here and call attention to the difference in language, I
may have been able to approach a constructive disorientation for Steve. However, I chose to try
to get Johnny to model (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) reflectivity about his own approach for Steve.
My question did not cause any distress for Johnny, who was instead able to clearly name where
his values came from, another indication that he was a self-authoring knower (Drago-Severson &
Blum-DeStefano, 2017).
JB: Do—do you—why do you think that’s your approach?
J: I think that’s because that’s how I learn. Is being left to my own accord
sometimes, you know, and it’s like hitting like failures and hitting walls it’s like,
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oh, man, maybe I should have been paying more attention, or maybe I shouldn’t
have my headphones, you know, and just like—I—I—I mean maybe that’s maybe
he’s at the age where that might be way too much, and he can’t kind of think like
that. But I mean, I think they are all very capable little humans and a lot of the
challenges, if they have the space to do so (pause) and I wasn’t trained as a
teacher (laughs) I was trained as someone who’s gone through life and hit walls
and done it that way. And put my headphones in every now and then.
Johnny’s articulation of his beliefs could provide a model (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) for Steve
about how our own beliefs influence our interactions with students, so I asked, “why do you
think that’s your approach?” Johnny replied,
I think that’s because that’s how I learn. Is being left to my own accord sometimes, you
know, and it’s like hitting like failures and hitting walls it’s like, oh, man, maybe I should
have been paying more attention, or maybe I shouldn’t have my headphones, you know.
Johnny demonstrated that he understood that his own identity as a learner was influencing his
approach as a teacher, a level of reflexivity that was one of my goals of group reflection-on-
action, but that he clearly already possessed prior to sharing his own moment during session 5.
Johnny also communicated that “hitting failures” and realizing “maybe I should have been
paying more attention” allowed him to grow and learn, which is why he is allowing his student to
struggle and learn from his use of technology.
Johnny then said, “I—I—I mean maybe that’s maybe he’s at the age where that might be
way too much, and he can’t kind of think like that” which was an acknowledgement that his
approach might not be the only way, and that he could at least hear Steve’s critique. Johnny
continued, “But I mean, I think they are all very capable little humans and a lot of the challenges,
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if they have the space to do so.” This sentence indicated that although Johnny had heard Steve’s
critique, Johnny had “assessed [Steve’s ideas] in relation to [his] own bench of judgement” (p.
465) as a self-authoring knower (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017) and found Steve’s
ideas lacking. Instead, Johnny was reiterating his asset-based perspective that “they are all very
capable little humans” who can take on “a lot of the challenges” of learning “if they have the
space to do so.” Here, Johnny did finally imply that Steve’s approach was perhaps unproductive
and did not give students “the space” to take on “the challenges” of learning, his first clear
critique of Steve and a sign that Johnny was not yet a self-transforming knower (Drago-Severson
& Blum-DeStefano, 2017).
Johnny communicated that he believed people who were “trained as [teachers]” like
Steve and me, have a limited and potentially deficit-focused perspective when he stated, “I
wasn’t trained as a teacher (laughs) I was trained as someone who’s gone through life and hit
walls and done it that way.” Johnny’s implication that teacher training can result in deficit
mindsets about students demonstrated Johnny’s ability to “think systemically and reflect on
social, organizational, and societal challenges and [his role] within them” (p. 475) another
indication that he was a self-authoring knower (Drago-Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017).
Johnny ended with, “And put my headphones in every now and then” which served to reinforce,
once again, the difference between his own beliefs about students and Steve’s.
Johnny was also fair to draw attention to the disconnect between our perspectives. I was
one of the other people in the space who had been “trained as a teacher.” Throughout this
exchange, Johnny continually demonstrated that he was a self-authoring knower (Drago-
Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017), while I had been struggling throughout our sessions to ask
probing questions that did not upset anyone—a sign I was still a socializing knower (Drago-
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Severson & Blum-DeStefano, 2017) and struggling with the culture of niceness (DiAngelo,
2021; Roegman et al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022) as explored in my third finding. My own place on
the Drago-Severson and Blum-DeStefano (2017) typology meant that I was unable to adjust the
level of challenge (Wergin, 2020) for Johnny appropriately. I was unable to recognize where he
needed to be pushed as a learner (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) because it was beyond where I was
as a learner and, as a result, he did not approach a constructive disorientation during our time
together.
Our Collective Learning
All participants supported our collective learning by each sharing a problem of practice
over the course of our six sessions, which supported a collective turn toward practice (Horn &
Little, 2010). All participants contributed a moment, and we were able move through the
reflection and analysis aspects of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle for each problem of practice.
As described as the sections above, some group reflection-on-action sessions were deeper and
more thoughtful than others based on my facilitation. As explored throughout this first finding
each participant’s individual learning varied, but—regardless of years of experience or
position—all participants collectively asked questions about what was occurring in their
classrooms, demonstrating that the group did make progress towards embodying a knowledge-of-
practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) approach. I had changed the approach to adult learning
through my action research, achieving one of my goals as a researcher and teacher-educator.
Finding 2: My Improved Facilitation
Over the course of my action research, I improved my ability to regulate my own distress
(Northouse, 2019). As a result, I was able to be more present for my participants (Rodgers,
2002), which allowed me to be more intentional in choosing individualized forms of assistance
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(Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) to support their turn toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010). Prior to
engaging in my action research, I ran team meetings with a knowledge-in-practice (Cochran-
Smith & Lytle, 2010) approach; I set the agenda and dispensed knowledge and suggestions to
resolve problems. I had a great deal of control over the topics of conversation, which meant I
rarely experienced distress; I seldom had to work to control my reactions to others within this
space. My knowledge-in-practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 2010) approach also allowed me to
stay a few steps ahead and demonstrate my knowledge, both of which I believed communicated
to others that I deserved my role despite my age, race, and gender (Aaron, 2020). I knew from
the outset that moving to a knowledge-of-practice approach to adult learning (Cochran-Smith &
Lytle, 2010) would challenge my comfort zone. The format of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle
put me at risk of hearing triggering things from my colleagues, but to maintain the holding
environment (Northouse, 2019) I needed to resist my desire to judge or argue and instead
encourage a turn toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010), as described in my conceptual
framework. The night before the first session, I reflected on my participants’ enthusiasm for the
work and why I believed my shift in approach would challenge me in these areas. I began by
describing my surprise at participants’ interest in the study when I met with them individually:
I think the last piece is just everyone was really open-minded and excited and so in my
proposal there’s more apprehensiveness and because of who I am in terms of my race,
age and gender….knowing that I have a tendency to struggle when people say things that
I disagree with.…I really have to go in myself working to be present like Rodgers says so
that we can actually accomplish conversation.
My proposal, prior to reaching out to participants, had painted my participants as likely being
resistant to engaging in this work. However, when I approached my participants to ask about
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joining the study, I learned they were “open-minded and excited.” My incorrect assumptions
about my participants indicated that I had a lot of growth to do to understand each of them as a
learner and support their turn toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010) and, ideally, constructive
disorientation (Wergin, 2020). Additionally, the mismatch between what I expected and the
response I received indicated that my own feelings of apprehension were influencing the way I
was interacting with participants.
I continued, “because of who I am in terms of my race, age and gender,” parts of my
identity that I expected to create a challenge for me as I worked to shift towards a knowledge-of-
practice approach (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 2010). I knew that “My race, age and gender” meant
that I was often trying to stay a few steps ahead and consider how others would perceive me
(Aaron, 2020). This strategy for preempting stereotypes (Aaron, 2020) also prevented me from
being “present” (Rodgers, 2002)—I was constantly thinking ahead. If I maintained a future
orientation I would be unable to support a turn toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010) for the
group; turning toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010) required participants to slow down
(Rodgers, 2002), a pace that I would need to work to model and honor.
Additionally, I knew that “I [had] a tendency to struggle when people say things that I
disagree with.” I understood that if I had an emotional or angry reaction to others’ shares, I
would disrupt the judgment-free holding environment (Northouse, 2019) needed for participants
to be able to turn toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010) according to my conceptual framework.
It would make it nearly impossible for anyone to approach a constructive, rather than paralyzing,
disorientation (Wergin, 2020). I set a goal for myself: “I really have to go in myself working to
be present like Rodgers says so that we can actually accomplish conversation.” I understood that
my own concerns related to how others perceived my identity (Aaron, 2020) and my tendency to
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react negatively or emotionally when I believed adults were not where they “should be”
(Rodgers, 2002, p. 237) were at odds with being present (Rodgers, 2002) and would prevent us
from engaging in ways that would support participants’ turn toward practice (Horn & Little,
2010), as described in my conceptual framework. As explored in the sections that follow, I
improved my ability to regulate my own distress (Northouse, 2019) and became more present
(Rodgers, 2002). Being more present allowed me to intentionally choose forms of assistance
(Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) that supported each learner’s individual turn toward practice (Horn &
Little, 2010). However, my inability to slow down (Rodgers, 2002) sufficiently meant that I was
never entirely present.
Regulating My Own Distress, Improving My Presence
As outlined in my conceptual framework, Northouse (2019) argues that, to maintain the
holding environment, facilitators must not only regulate the distress of participants, but also their
own: “regulating her own stress is essential in order to make herself fully available to students”
(p. 268). If the facilitator themselves is dysregulated, they cannot manage the difficult feelings
that may be coming up for others during this moment of vulnerability and change; regulating my
own personal distress was vital for maintaining the holding environment (Northouse, 2019). I
needed to regulate both my distress related to letting go of how I believed others did or would
perceive me as a young biracial Black female leader admitting her faults (Aaron, 2020) and
regulate my distress when participants shared stories that triggered me. During session 1, I
modeled bringing a problem of practice for reflection, which supported me in moving beyond
others’ perceptions of me and my leadership. Throughout, I worked on recognizing and
controlling my own emotional reaction to participants’ shares with the support of my chair,
which eventually allowed me to better regulate my distress (Northouse, 2019) when I heard
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triggering stories from participants and improved my ability to be present (Rodgers, 2002) for
them.
Modeling Vulnerability. When I modeled vulnerability during session 1, I experienced
distress. However, I did not experience any of the ramifications I thought I might experience as a
young, biracial Black female administrator admitting her mistakes publicly. As a result, I
experienced less distress when I brought forth my own mistakes in later sessions. In session 4,
because I was experiencing less distress, I was able to be present to Ben and regulate his distress.
Although challenging, modeling vulnerability in session 1 not only provided a model for
Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle for participants, but also allowed me to improve in my
presence and better support participants in their turn toward practice.
When I decided to model (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) vulnerability by sharing my own
problem of practice in session 1, it was not only challenging because I was doing something new,
but because it directly challenged the “forethought” (Aaron, 2020) I usually employed as a
young, biracial Black female administrator. While I had control over the story I shared, I did not
know what questions participants might ask. I did not know if the process of sharing a moment I
failed would diminish their belief in my competence as a teacher and leader, which increased my
distress. Throughout the initial session, I said “um” and laughed at moments that were not funny,
demonstrating my deep discomfort with modeling (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) vulnerability. The
excerpt below is representative of my filler words, pauses, and nervous laughter throughout
session 1. In this excerpt, I was shifting our focus from descriptive questions towards analytical
questions and sharing some of the assumptions I had been operating under as a teacher during the
moment I shared.
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JB: Um. So, this is actually an area where I’m really looking forward to your
questions, because, as I was writing, reflecting on this moment, I was like, I think
there’s something—other things here that I haven’t figured out yet. So, when I
was thinking about—kind of to your question, Ben, like was I worried about what
he was searching for? —I think I made the assumption that because he was so
outraged and like so intently focused on his research that his emotional like
investment in the topic meant that he understood the topic. Right? or that he was
like, understood what he was supposed to be doing? Um, because I was like, “Oh,
this kids like super into it. He’s not always super into.” like “Great. Like, I’ve got
him.” Um, and so I—I actively like made the choice to be like. “I’m going to give
you correction about the fact that you’re not citing these” because then (I laugh)
you will never be able to find them again. And looking at these numbers. And this
data is like getting this get really invested in this topic like maybe I have more
time to sort of like redirect (pause) him. Um. And as a kid who struggled to be
focused. And still the fact that he was focused and still made me think like, “Oh,
he must know what we’re doing right now.”
I invited participants to ask questions that helped me interrogate my own assumptions, but also
revealed that I was not entirely sure what had driven my own response in the moment when I
began,
Um. So, this is actually an area where I’m really looking forward to your questions,
because, as I was writing, reflecting on this moment, I was like, I think there’s something
other things here that I haven’t figured out yet.
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Admitting “there’s something—other things here I haven’t figured out yet” meant that I did not
have all the answers about my own practice or the moment I had brought for discussion. I shared
that when working with my student, I had “made the assumption that he was so outraged and like
so intently focused on his topic that his emotional like investment in the topic meant that he
understood the topic” when in fact the student did not understand the assignment and was
unsuccessful. Admitting this ran directly counter to my approach of “anticipating issues directly
related to [my] race and gender” (Aaron, 2020, p. 160), which included apologizing if I made
mistakes, but not highlighting when I made a mistake either.
In the short excerpt above, I said “um” four times. I paused or hesitated four times. I also
laughed at a moment that did not make sense. Modeling (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) vulnerability
in this way created distress for me; my own anxiety is present in filler words, pauses, and
nervous laughter. Over the course of all six cycle, I laughed nervously significantly more during
this initial session than in any that followed, as shown in Table 4.
Table 4
Julia’s Nervous Laughter, Sessions 1-5

Session 1 Session 2 Session 3 Session 4 Session 5 Total
Moments of nervous laughter 10 0 0 1 1 12

Note Session 6 is omitted because it was not recorded

As demonstrated in Table 4, 10 of 12 incidents of nervous laughter occurred during
session 1, indicating that I was more distressed during session 1 than any session that followed.
My nervous laughter decreased after the initial session when I realized that sharing my own
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fallibility had not have any obvious impact on my teachers’ perception of me despite my race,
age, and/or gender—positive or negative. Moving forward, I experienced less distress (as
represented by the decreased amount of nervous laughter), because I was no longer as concerned
with the potential ramifications of sharing. As described in the earlier section “Normalizing
Ben’s Problem of Practice” I chose to share another moment when I made an incorrect
assumption about my students. By session 4 I was able to display vulnerability without copious
“ums” or nervous laughter, as shown in the excerpt below:
JB: But I was teaching at a school that was 100% Black (Ben says “mm”) and brown
and the kids are like, “Well, of course he’s not White, he’s Black.” (Ben says
“Woah”) And I had, like I had written this whole lesson based on my experience
(Johnny says “hm”) And I thought it was going to go one way, and then they’re
like, “Well, yeah, duh. He’s not White, he’s Black.” But he’s not—like
historically he’s obviously not African American either. (Emma says “mm”) But
there was like this huge disconnect between what I thought the kid—like what I
thought was going to be like an interesting lesson that would provide something
interesting to sort of—conceptualize, and how I see the world, and then like the
way that they saw it was so different than the way that I saw it like (Audible
sounds of agreement from Emma, Ben, and Steve) thought that, like I, I still
remember at the end of the class, like one of my students, was like Ms. Blount
“We’re just gonna have to agree to disagree.” (Ben laughs) like, “he was born in
America.” I was like “that makes no historical sense. There was no America,” but,
like—It was just like so different from what I expected him to say and so the
lesson it didn’t quite go as I anticipated. Um—so I was just thinking of that.
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In the excerpt above, I had not planned (as I had in session 1) to share a challenging moment
from my own practice—sharing one off the cuff could have potentially increased my distress.
However, I used fewer filler words, paused less, and did not laugh nervously at all, unlike
session 1. I said “Um” once at the end, as I tried to figure out how to wrap up and connect my
problem of practice back to Ben’s but did not use it anywhere else. While Ben laughed, I did not
laugh at all although I was sharing a moment in which I made an incorrect assumption. I did not
appear to be in any distress at all when I shared that “the lesson it didn’t quite go as I
anticipated.” This excerpt is emblematic of my decreased distress after session 1, not only
because of the clarity of my language, but also my choice to share the story at all. Due to my
decreased distress, I was present (Rodgers, 2002) enough to recognize Ben’s distress and identify
the correct form of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989)—normalizing the problem of practice
(Horn & Little, 2010) as described previously.
Responding to Triggers with Gratitude. Prior to beginning session 1, I named
“knowing that I have a tendency to struggle when people say things that I disagree with” as a
potential area of challenge that might impede my ability to support the holding environment
(Northouse, 2019) and be present (Rodgers, 2002). Northouse (2019) argues that adaptive
leaders must “be careful to listen and be open to the ideas of people who may be at the fringe,
marginalized, or even deviant within the group or organization” (p. 270) to ensure all ideas are
heard and valued and participants are bought-in, as described in my conceptual framework. To
“protect leadership voices from below” (Northouse, 2019) by listening, rather than responding, I
had to improve my regulation of my own distress (Northouse, 2019) when triggered. I had to
improve my ability to not only stay calm, but to listen rather than respond.
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Rodgers (2002) explains that if facilitators or teachers are focused on “listening for the
right answer instead of listening to students’ thinking” (p. 237) they cannot be fully present. As
my chair noted twice in our one-on-one meeting between sessions 1 and 2, “You’re getting
caught in the reaction rather than asking yourself, what do I think this person is really saying,
and what would be a helpful, potentially helpful way to engage with this person, so that it’s not a
flight or fight you know?” Although I knew this was a growth area, Dr. Slayton’s ability to
reflect this back for me helped me recognize that I was not “there yet.” Over time, I was able to
improve my ability to listen by rooting myself in gratitude for my participants’ vulnerability. My
ability to listen better and react less also improved my ability to be present (Rodgers, 2002) and
support participants in their turn toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010).
My first attempt at bringing in a moment of my own to normalize a problem of practice
(Horn & Little, 2010) in session 3 was wildly ineffective because it was a reaction to what Steve
offered, rather than a form of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989). During session 3 sharing my
own experience served a defensive purpose and did not regulate anyone’s distress (Northouse,
2019), normalize a problem of practice (Horn & Little, 2010), or model (Tharp & Gallimore,
1989) vulnerability. When Steve shared the importance of teachers informally passing along
information about students to other teachers, I immediately reacted based on the perceived
critique of my practice as well as my own experience and the ways I had seen teachers spread
deficit mindsets about students in casual spaces.
S: Oh, shit I put this person next to this person, and you know we’re up to a bumpy
start because of it you kind of, you know it can be prepared. And I did that with
[last year’s 4th grade teacher] also. Last year. I was like, hey, just come in here
and help me with the seating chart and that’s not something that happens in this
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space (I say, “mm”). So, I guess little like informal kind of casual ways of hey,
let’s just connect and just tell me what’s on your mind. And yeah, that that was
helpful. And then some of these conversations I’ve been having recently been
really really eye-opening.
(pause)
JB: (quietly/hesitantly) What do you think the dangers of some of those conversations
can
S: (quickly) Bias. Subjective experience?
JB: Yeah
Steve believed that a “bumpy start” to the school year could be addressed by “be[ing] prepared”
and that connecting with the previous year’s teacher to learn about student relationships was one
way to do so. Steve argued that more valuable information would come from more “informal
kind of casual ways” of connecting with other teachers that could be “eye-opening.” He implied
that SWIW’s current system for transitioning students from grade-to-grade, which I led, was too
structured and did not provide adequate information about peer relationships. Rather, he found
more recent conversations with previous teachers were “eye-opening” in a way the formal space
was not. Steve was providing a valuable critique of the way I led our transition meetings—a
formal space where the previous years’ teachers share information with the upcoming year’s
teachers. But rather than “protecting leadership voices from below” (Northouse, 2019, p. 270)
and turning toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010) I reacted negatively to his response, as
indicated by my choice to ask Steve about the impact of these conversations on his practice.
I asked, “What do you think the dangers of some of those conversations can be?” While
asking a question may have been the right response, my use of the word “dangers” signaled right
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away that I did not like what Steve had just said and meant that he had few options in how to
respond—it was a leading question. Steve offered “Bias. Subjective experience?” to which I
immediately responded “Yeah” as that was my concern. I invited a specific response and
validated it, rather than asking probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) that would have
encouraged Steve to consider his own practice. I was more concerned about whether Steve’s
answer was “the right answer” (Rodgers, 2002, p. 237) according to my worldview, which meant
I was not present to him as a learner (Rodgers, 2002).
My reaction was also informed by Steve as a White male teacher talking about a Black
male student, who was refusing to engage in questions about race and gender, which was
frustrating me as a biracial Black woman with a biracial Black brother, which I tried to bring up
indirectly by sharing some of my brother’s story. However, I was so indirect due to my own
internalization of the culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021; Roegman et al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022)
as explored in my third finding, that it did not serve as an entry point for this conversation at all.
Moreover, I lost the opportunity to engage Steve in conversation about how his informal network
was playing out and focus on where he was as a learner (Rodgers, 2002). As the rest of our
conversation reveals, I judged his comment and proposed a solution—something antithetical
both to Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle and adaptive leadership (Northouse, 2019)—in a matter
of minutes. Because I was reacting to Steve, I was unable to hear the validity in his point, and by
making him feel incorrect, I shifted the whole conversation away from practice (Horn & Little,
2010), rather than toward it.
S: But at the same time that is a part of the story. (I say, “mm”) And I guess those
are the biggest dangers that come to mind for me is that they may be incomplete
stories without all participants present and it is one subjective bias voice. So
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maybe all factors aren’t considered, and all voices aren’t represented. (pause) And
the teacher can shape the identity of the group before they actually work with
them.
JB: Yeah.
S: So that would have a big caution—
JB: (pause) I think that’s often what I worry about and try and strike that balance in
our transition meetings? Um and that’s probably rooted in like my own
experience. Well, my brother’s experience that I bore witness to, which was that
he got very quickly, like cast by his teachers, as like a disruptive, like
argumentative child, which I mean he is [argumentative]. But he’s super smart,
and a lot of the reason that was also happening was because of the social context
of his grade, and (Steve says “mm”). Like he was a queer Black boy who didn’t
fit in the expectations of what people had for him, and people made fun of him a
lot, and he wasn’t having a good experience in school, and so, being like snarky
and witty, was his way to sort of like, have some sort of like--
B: (cuts off) Defense.
JB: Defense, right. But instead, the narrative that got passed down was like, oh, like
he is not like he’s not really worth your time. And so when there were teachers
who were like. “Oh, wait, I see, like the whole picture here.” It made a huge
difference—like those are the teachers that he still talks about, that he still talks
to. And so, for me, I wonder. And maybe that speaks to this idea of how our own
identities are like the way we’re able to see kids or get feedback from kids is
like— (Ben says “hmm”). How do we like—and I’m acknowledging that’s my
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history that’s making me worried like how I talk about kids and get what
information I give or don’t give—which may not always be the right choice! —
like that’s just that how I’m informed based on my own experience. So, I wonder
um, with that said, like, how—how we get the more full picture you’re talking
about? Right? Is it like I talked to last year’s teacher, but then I also went to the
kid. It was like: “Why do you think this is happening?”
B: I think specialists could really help cause a lot of times my old school a kid who
was really struggling in English or history was like doing really well in theater or
in art.
Steve said, “But at the same time that is a part of the story,” which indicated the holding
environment (Northouse, 2019) was strong enough for him to disagree with me to some extent.
Steve continued, “And I guess those are the biggest dangers that come to mind for me is that they
may be incomplete stories without all participants present and it is one subjective bias voice. So
maybe all factors aren’t considered, and all voices aren’t represented. And the teacher can shape
the identity of the group before they actually work with them.” This statement demonstrated that
Steve was fully aware of potential pitfalls of talking informally with other teachers about
students. Given Steve’s awareness, I could have returned to his initial comment and asked some
questions to better understand the differences between the less helpful formal space and more
helpful informal one and get a better understanding of his thinking (Rodgers, 2002). Instead, I
replied, “I think that’s often what I worry about and try and strike that balance in our transition
meetings?” I responded to my perception that Steve believed the transition meetings were
ineffective compared to casual conversation with teachers. Rather than turn toward Steve’s
practice, I focused on justifying my own. Rather than hear that Steve understood my concern and
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still felt informal methods had merits, I did not “protect the voices from below” (Northouse,
2019), I doubled down.
I continued, “Um and that’s probably rooted in like my own experience,” acknowledging
that I had my own reason for preferring a more formal space and indicated that Steve’s
statements had triggered me. I went on to describe my brother’s experience, which I summarized
by saying,
Instead, the narrative that got passed down was like, “Oh, like he is not like he’s not
really worth your time.” And so when there were teachers who were like. “Oh, wait, I
see, like the whole picture here.” It made a huge difference—like those are the teachers
that he still talks about, that he still talks to.
I described my brothers’ teachers as passing down deficit-focused information that “he’s not
really worth your time” to other teachers. I believed that only the teachers who explored outside
that narrative and saw “the whole picture” were able to connect with him. What was missing
from my retelling was that those teachers likely still got informal information about my brother
and chose to seek additional information and context. Steve could have been doing the same
thing, but I was triggered and trying to defend myself and my brother so I was not present to him
as a learner (Rodgers, 2002) and did not support a turn toward (Horn & Little, 2010) his practice.
I continued,
So I wonder um, with that said, like, how—how we get the more full picture you’re
talking about? Right? Is it like I talked to last year’s teacher, but then I also went to the
kid. It was like: “Why do you think this is happening?”
Here, I am offering a solution—speaking to the child directly—which is against Rodgers’s
(2002) rules for not giving advice during the Reflective Cycle, as well as the tenets of adaptive
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leadership (Northouse, 2019), which call for a deeper understanding of the problem before
proposing solutions. My choice to share about my brother shut down the conversation by making
the discussion about me—it was not in response to the learner but rather in response to being
triggered by what Steve had offered. As a result, Ben responded by offering his thoughts on the
possibility of looping in our specialist teachers, which turned the group even further away from
practice (Horn & Little, 2010).
Similarly, when I was triggered by Ben’s problem of practice that he shared once at the
end of session 3 and again at the beginning of session 4, my focus on what I perceived as the
“right answer” (Rodgers, 2002, p. 237)—or at least an accountable answer—meant that I was not
present to Ben. Rather than turning toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010) after Ben shared, my
first question took us away from the moment.
B: I said something about how we had talked about it: “History was written by the
winners, and that, like those who have the power to set the story or the narrative.”
I said, maybe it was because “Egypt looks more like us than Nubians. We study
them more.” And I could see that when I said that the students became even more
uncomfortable. Um, but instead of addressing it in the moment, I just kind of
moved on and let it slide, even though I kind of knew something was up. Um,
later that day I had a call from a parent from one of the students, telling me that
their child felt very uncomfortable in class, and perceived what I said to be - as
racist. I tried to explain the context of my remarks to the parent, and we kind of
left it at that. Uh, the next day I attempted to address what happened with the
student of that parent, the child, but I could tell the student really didn’t want to
have anything to do with the conversation. It was kind of just looking for a way to
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end it…and—and like…did not want to engage. So that was kind of um, the
scenario.
JB: (pause) I’m wondering if you could share more about the follow up conversation
you had with the parent and the student.
As explored in the earlier section “Ben’s Problem of Practice,” Ben had admitted that his Black
students were “even more uncomfortable” and that he had not “[addressed] it in the moment,”
upsetting me. In response, I asked, “I’m wondering if you could share more about the follow up
conversation you had with the parent and the student.” This response turned away (Horn &
Little, 2010) from the moment itself, preventing the thorough description (Rodgers, 2002)
needed to engage in group reflection-on-action and potentially create a constructive
disorientation (Wergin, 2020) for Ben. I was more focused on knowing if Ben had acknowledged
to the parent and student what he had done wrong, or if he knew what he had done wrong, than
on investigating the moment itself and creating an opportunity for him to reflect. It was more
comfortable for me if he knew and understood why this comment and approach had been hurtful
to his student, so I went there first.
However, session 4 posed a unique opportunity for me to try again, as Ben repeated his
moment for Emma, who was absent during session 3. Here, I found something positive to
acknowledge about Ben’s share to regulate my own distress and diffuse my frustration with
Ben’s actions—gratitude that he would share it at all. Moving forward, I continued to use
gratitude to regulate my own distress (Northouse, 2019) when triggered and maintain the holding
environment (Northouse, 2019).
B: Yeah. So, I’ll just read…I said something about how we had talked as a class
about how history was written by either the winners or those who get to set the
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narrative. Maybe because Egyptians, I said, “Maybe because Egyptians look more
like us. We study them more.” I could see that this made several of the African
American students uncomfortable. And they were kinda like squirming or
whispering to each other. But instead of like addressing it at that moment, I just
kind of moved on. Later that day I got a call from a parent from one of the
students who told me that their child felt really uncomfortable in the class and
perceived what I said to be somewhat racist…The next day I attempted to address
what had happened with one of the students or with the student of that parent. but
I could tell he really didn’t want anything to do with the conversation, and kind of
was like just shut down. That’s kind of where we left off.
JB: Thanks for repeating yourself.
E: Yeah, thank you.
Ben repeated that his comment in class “made several of the African American students
uncomfortable” and that although he saw their discomfort, he “just kind of moved on.” Although
I was still uncomfortable during the retelling of Ben’s moment, I responded “thanks for repeating
yourself,” showing appreciation for Ben’s vulnerability and his willingness to share a difficult
moment again. Because I knew Ben’s story from the previous session, I was able to prepare
myself to hear it. I was more present (Rodgers, 2002) and responded with appreciation for his
vulnerability. By focusing on something I appreciated about Ben in the moment, I not only
reinforced that our space was a safe one to be vulnerable, but I also regulated my own personal
distress (Northouse, 2019). Because I remained calm and grounded in gratitude, the group was
able to continue with Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle and engage in group reflection-on-action.
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After re-capping the questions that had been asked in Emma’s absence, I again returned to
gratitude and also back toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010), also in session 4:
JB: Thank you. So, I’m trying to hold ourselves from moving to the next spot. If you
are trying to envision this situation like in your head as a movie. What else would
you need/want or need to know? To like, really be in that space with Ben?
I began with “thank you”—again rooting myself in gratitude for participants’ vulnerability and
willingness to engage. I continued, “If you are trying to envision this situation like in your head
as a movie. What else would you need/want or need to know?” This reminded participants of the
“clear criteria” (Wergin, 2020, p. 71) in place for us to engage meaningfully in Rodgers’s (2002)
reflective cycle. This explicit criterion was not only a form of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore,
1989) for participants, but also for me. I asked what we needed “To like, really be in that space
with Ben?” rather than get focused on the situation with Ben and the parent and whether Ben had
admitted fault, as I did in the previous session. My own reminder helped me stay in the moment
rather than taking us afield as I had done previously. My words “with Ben” also aligned me with
Ben, rather than with the parent or child as I had in session 3. I found that returning to the
directions was an effective strategy for regulating my distress (Northouse, 2019) and keeping us
all directed, and I used again during session 5. After Johnny shared his moment I replied,
“Thanks, Johnny. (to other participants) Try and stick with the other things you wanted to know
about this moment.” “Thanks, Johnny” grounded me in gratitude again. “Try and stick with the
other things you wanted to know about this moment” refocused me and the participants to help
us turn toward practice (Horn & Little, 2010).
As explored previously, I was able to become present to Ben and recognize distress in his
body language and tone, because my own distress was regulated. As a result, I recognized I
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needed to regulate his distress (Northouse, 2019) and intentionally normalized a problem of
practice (Horn & Little, 2010) as described in the section “Normalizing Ben’s Problem of
Practice.” I would not have been able to recognize Ben’s own distress if I was focused on
regulating my own. And, by the end of session 4, I was genuinely appreciative of the way Ben
had gone all-in:
JB: Thank you, Ben.
B: Thank you!
JB: You let us really, (Johnny says, “yeah”) really grapple!
B: Really grapple!
JB: I appreciate it.
B: Really grapple deeply!
JB: Yeah, thank you for being open to that. We asked some hard questions.
I ended with “thank you for being open” an expression of care (Wergin, 2020), praise (Tharp &
Gallimore, 1989) that strengthened the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) and
acknowledged the difficulty of what I had asked Ben to do. “We asked some hard questions”
acknowledged that he had been vulnerable and asked to do some intense thinking, as explored in
the section “Additional Evidence of Ben’s Learning.” I acknowledged that our conversation was
something he “let us” do due to his openness—it was not something I could have orchestrated
alone. By coming back to gratitude throughout session 4, I left it feeling grateful to Ben rather
than frustrated or hurt by his actions. The fact that I was able to maintain this gratitude over the
course of session 4 indicated my growth in regulating my own distress (Northouse, 2019).
Session 4 was the only session where a constructive disorientation was approached; my ability to
regulate my own distress (Northouse, 2019) allowed me to facilitate more meaningful learning.
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Intentional Forms of Assistance
Once I was able to regulate my own distress (Northouse, 2019) more effectively I was
more present (Rodgers, 2002). Once I was no longer listening for the “the right answer”
(Rodgers, 2002, p. 237) I was able to focus on each learner. This allowed me to be more
intentional about the forms of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) I chose to support each
person. One example was my intentional choice to normalize a problem of practice (Horn &
Little, 2010) as described in the section “Normalizing Ben’s Problem of Practice.” Another
example of my increased intentionality was the improvement in my probing questions (Sahin &
Kulm, 2008), particularly in the later sessions.
As described in my conceptual framework, the goals of using probing questions (Sahin &
Kulm, 2008) were to (1) improve the detail needed to “see” (Rodgers, 2002) the moment and (2)
approach constructive disorientation (Wergin, 2020). Rodgers (2002) “strive[s] to limit the scope
of what teachers describe and get them to look at individuals and details rather than painting the
whole group and scene with broad strokes” (p. 240) to ensure that the group can truly “see”
(Rodgers, 2002) the moment at hand. Probing questions that turned our attention to student and
teacher actions and language were more likely to improve the description and shift us toward
practice. As demonstrated in Table 5, overall, the number of probing questions (Sahin & Kulm,
2008) I asked that elucidated additional information about student or teacher action or language
increased significantly over the course of sessions 2–6 as I became more present.

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Table 5
My Questions about Student and Teacher Actions, Sessions 2–6

Session 2 Session 3 Session 4 Session 5 Session 6
Questions on student action or language 3 3 1 6 7
Questions on teacher action or language 1 0 10 4 3
Total 4 4 11 10 10

Note Session 1 is omitted because I was sharing my problem of practice.

In sessions 2 and 3, I asked four questions focused on student or teacher actions and
language, which resulted in an incomplete description of Steve’s moment and limited the
potential outcomes, as explored in the section “Steve’s Learning.” However, in session 4—the
same session where I grounded myself in gratitude and more successfully regulated my
distress—the questions increased to 11 questions focused on student or teacher actions and
language. They remained high at 10 questions each during the two sessions that followed. By
regulating my own distress and remaining focused on whether I could “see” the moment, I was
able to ask probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) that strengthened our description (Rodgers,
2002) of the problem of practice. My improvement becomes even clearer when you compare the
four questions I asked about student and teacher language and behavior during session 2 to the
questions I asked during session 6. During session 2, these were the three questions I asked that
specifically elicited more information about the student language and behavior in the space:
• In this interaction? Was he…Was he silent at any point? Or he cried, and…was like loud?
Was he loud? But what was his tone when he was telling you that he was overwhelmed?
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• Meaning…he has the biggest reaction? When you say “strongest?”
• When he wrote down the homework…Was he like? Did he do it willingly? Did he act
like…he had like? What was his mannerisms as you were giving him that direction?
My questions about whether the student was “silent” if he “cried” was “loud” or his “tone” all
elicited additional information about the student’s tone and body language, presenting us with a
clearer understanding of the student’s emotional state. When Steve described the student’s
reaction as “[strong],” I clarified to try and really hear the student’s voice and tone. I asked if the
student “wrote down the homework…willingly” and what the student’s mannerisms were to try
and continue to understand how their body language and tone shifted over the course of the
interaction. While I did ask other questions of Steve during session 2, they were strongly focused
on interpretation, which, per Rodgers (2002), we should not have been engaging in without a
much more thorough understanding of the event itself. Of the 11 total questions I asked during
the session, only 4 elicited more information about the student and teacher language action.
In contrast, the probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) I asked during session 6 were far
more focused on understanding who the student was and how the teacher was interacting with
the student in the classroom and less focused on interpreting the actions of either. Emma brought
in a moment where a student had told his classmate it was “September 11, 2001” when they
asked for the date. The questions I asked over the course of the session are below, with an S
denoting questions I coded as focused on student language or actions and T marking the
questions I coded as focused on teacher language or actions:
• Who is this student?
• Who did he say it to? (S)
• When in the lesson was this? Was the student comfortable with the content? (S)
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• What type of learner is the student? Does he have a diagnosis?
• Does he have official school accommodations? Or one you got through partnering with
the family?
• What does it look like when students get printed slides? (T)
• When was this?
• Do other students get printed slides at the table?
• How long have students been in these table groups?
• What was the student’s reaction to being called out? (S)
• What was the order of class? [how was the class structured] (T)
• Did he have notes? (S)
• Relationship to classmates?
• What was your tone? (T)
• Was he surprised by that? (S)
• Was he serious back? (S)
• Did he go back to working for the rest of class? Was he successful and the rest of that
work? (S)
• Are impulsivity & attention related to his accommodations?
I coded seven of these as being focused on student action or language, and two as being focused
on the teacher action or language. Fifty percent of my total questions were focused on the action
or language of the teacher or student, as opposed to the 36% in session 2. From reading these
questions, it is possible to “see” some of the story forming just through the questions: The
student had a diagnosed learning disability, received printed slides, and was at a table where not
everyone did, and the teacher responded to the student’s comment in a serious tone. More
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information, of course, can be gleaned from the answers. However, these questions demonstrate
that I was focused on asking probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) that supported everyone’s
ability to see (Rodgers, 2002) what happened in the space, rather than shifting towards
interpretation (Rodgers, 2002) without a thorough description. My improved presence and focus
allowed me to better use forms of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore, 1989) like probing questions
(Sahin & Kulm, 2008).
While my probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) improved and allowed us to reach a
deeper understanding of the moment, I asked a large volume of questions in sessions 4–6. A
growth area for me continued to be working on slowing down (Rodgers, 2002). I struggled with
my internalized White supremacy culture norms (Okun & Jones, 2001), as explored in my third
finding, which included focusing on outcome and time. This tendency to focus on time was
exacerbated by the pressure to complete this dissertation within the time allotted by the
University and my own self-imposed deadlines. Still, I became more present to the participants
as described in the section “Regulating My Own Distress, Improving my Presence” which
improved my intentionality and effectiveness of the forms of assistance (Tharp & Gallimore,
1989) I used, such as normalizing the problem of practice (Horn & Little, 2010) and asking
probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008). However, I was unable to slow down (Rodgers, 2002)
in the way that I would have needed to for constructive disorientation to take place, as explored
in my conceptual framework and first finding. It is not surprising that Ben was the only
participant to approach a constructive disorientation (Wergin, 2020) when we spent more total
time on his problem of practice than anyone else’s. I consistently wanted to finish my research,
which meant that although I improved, I could never become fully present (Rodgers, 2002), and
neither could most participants.
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Finding 3: Improved Individual Critical Reflection
Over the course of my action research, I improved my ability to critically reflect and
recognize hegemonic assumptions (Brookfield, 2017) in my own practice. While I failed to
consistently root my critical reflections in the four theories outlined in my conceptual
framework, I did improve in my ability to consider how power and identity were operating
within the learning environment. As described in more detail in the following sections, I was
able to recognize my own internalization of White supremacy culture (Okun & Jones, 2001) and
sexism. This self-knowledge will help me continue the path towards my long-term goal of deep
learning. After all, understanding and uncovering hegemonic assumptions (Brookfield, 2017) is
required before a meaningful change—such as embodying a deep learning mindset—can take
place (Wergin, 2020).
I wrote reflections that were intended to be critical before beginning session 1 and at the
end of each of the three cycles. As outlined in my conceptual framework, to be critical, my
individual reflections needed to actively take up my own power, investigate the power dynamics
at play in the conversation, and the assumptions that I was making based on my own
socialization. When I coded my critical reflections, it became clear that I became more aware of
or able to consider my own power and my own socialization over time, as demonstrated by the
number of times I referenced each, displayed in Table 6.

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Table 6
Self-Reflection on my Power and/or My Socialization on the Learning Environment

Before
Cycle 1
After Cycle
1
After Cycle
2
After Cycle
3
Self-Reflection on my power 4 10 13 8
Self-Reflection on my socialization 0 5 0 4
Total 4 15 13 12

Before cycle 1, I alluded to my power as the researcher only four times, and explicitly
mentioned it only once, with no connection at all to my own or the participants’ identity or
socialization. Once I began working with participants, the number of times I considered my own
power and socialization increased, from four total times prior to session 1 to 15, 13, and 12 times
after each cycle, respectively. Looking at my own explicit mentioning of power in my reflection
prior to session 1 reveals an incomplete reflection where my own assumptions were not fully
explored or understood:
I think I need to be careful because I sometimes feel like [Steve] can have a bit of an ego
and make sure that I recognize that he actually was the fastest one to say yes so he might
actually be wanting this type of conversation with colleagues and maybe doesn’t just
doesn’t know or hasn’t had the opportunity to engage in conversations around this with
colleagues which would make sense based on what I said in my proposal that he hasn’t
really had many opportunities to engage in DEI. So, this is a space where I need to be
really aware of myself, not like thinking I’m correct or trying to steer him in a certain
direction and misuse my power or the space in that way.
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I did not explain why I felt Steve “[could] have a bit of an ego,” although it was related to our
gender and racial identities, as insinuated when I stated, “he hasn’t really had many opportunities
to engage in DEI.” I wrote “I think I need to be careful” but did not specify what kind of care I
needed to take or why. I continued, “he might actually be wanting this type of conversation with
colleagues and maybe just doesn’t know or hasn’t had the opportunity to engage in conversations
around this with colleagues” which indicated I might be concerned by my own beliefs about
Steve. I wrote “he actually was the fastest one to say yes”—my use of the word “actually”
indicated that I was surprised by Steve’s engagement. I had a deficit-mindset about Steve, which
was likely why I thought I “need[ed] to be careful,” but I was unable to explicitly name and
recognize this.
I ended the paragraph, “I need to be really aware of myself, like not thinking I’m correct
or trying to steer him in a certain direction and misuse my power or space in that way.” I used
the word “power” and “aware,” which in combination with the prior sentence indicated that I
was aware I was going to be holding power in the space and that it could be “misuse[d].” I was
aware that I would hold power in the space and could “misuse” it, but again was unable to
recognize my own deficit-mindset even as I tried to bring forth the issue of power. While I had
an understanding that I should not be listening for what I thought was “correct” (Rodgers, 2002),
I also was not considering my role as the teacher-educator who must “steer” their learners in a
certain direction (Mezirow, 2000). I could not quite articulate the tensions between my roles and
the deficit mindset I held about Steve.
The fact that I did not elaborate further in the excerpt above demonstrates that while I
knew I had power, I did not have a clear understanding of what assumptions it might connect to
and could not clearly articulate the relationship to Steve’s and my identities. By my cycle 2
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critical reflection, I had improved my ability to consider the interplay between power and
identities in the space. Over the course of my end-of-cycle 2 reflection, I discussed my own
power 13 times as shown in Table 6. An excerpt from my cycle 2 critical reflection demonstrates
where I considered my power as the researcher and teacher-leader after returning from an EDUE
784A workshop class. While there were still places I could have elaborated and dug further, the
interplay between my identity and the participants,’ as well as my power in the space, were
articulated more clearly. I began by referring to our 784A conversation that evening about how
and when researchers should push their own agenda versus let the participants lead and the fact
that the first two participants to share had not brought moments about students with dis/abilities,
which is what I had originally asked them to do:
One question from class tonight I am thinking about is about whose agenda and goals are
being prioritized, and how that relates to my power as the researcher. I feel like I have
been prioritizing my own agenda but also allowing the participants to let us deviate from
my research question. My choice of the word allowing makes me think I must think I
have control over this—
I wrote, “I feel like I have been prioritizing my own agenda” which indicated that I knew I was
using my power to direct the format of the conversation—we were using Rodgers’ (2002)
reflective cycle because I said so. I continued, “but also allowing the participants to let us deviate
from my research question”—I had allowed participants to bring in problems of practice that did
not align with my original purpose—adopting asset-based mindsets by discussing moments that
involved “students with dis/abilities.” I continued, “my choice of the word allowing makes me
think I must think I have control over this.” I was self-aware enough to notice that the word
“allowing” implied that I had enough power in the space that I could have prevented them from
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sharing about a different topic. My examination of my own word choice in the moment was not
present in the previous excerpt from my first critical reflection, as explored above. In my cycle 2
critical reflection I continued,
In some ways I do as I could have asked them to switch “moments” in the moment, but
that would have felt like a wild abuse of my power to put them on the spot with
something they had not prepared and about something that has the potential to be so
sensitive. An example of how the participants are driving some of our work together is
that both of the two people who have shared so far have brought in “moments’’ that did
not involve students with dis/abilities.
“I could have asked them” not to “deviate” but believed that doing so would have been “a wild
abuse of my power,” suggesting that I was aware that “prioritizing my own agenda” could easily
result in an “abuse of my power,” especially given the “sensitive” nature of what I was asking
them to share. In other words, forcing them to switch on the spot would have both hurt the
quality of the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) and shifted us back toward a knowledge-
in-practice approach (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) driven by me. I clarified, “An example of
how the participants are driving some of our work together is that both of the two people who
have shared so far have brought in ‘moments’’ that did not involve students with dis/abilities.”
Although I had both in writing and verbally asked us to focus on students with dis/abilities, the
first two participants did not do so, but I also did not stop them or ask them to switch, which is
what I would have considered “a wild abuse of my power” as the facilitator and researcher. By
letting them continue with the moments they brought, I valued where they were as individual
learners (Mezirow, 2000) and maintained the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) and
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knowledge-of-practice approach (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999) that I was seeking to cultivate,
but I did not explicitly make this connection in my critical reflection. I continued,
Interestingly, they both involved Black boys and both were brought in by the two White
male teachers. I am curious about their choice to bring these two moments and wonder if
it indicates that these teachers are experiencing a disconnect with their Black male
students (which is an assumption I am making, because as we discussed both scenarios it
was clear the teacher was coming with a posture that the student was doing something
“wrong,” for lack of better term - or at least something the White teachers definitely
didn’t understand). However, in terms of giving some power back to the participants, I
did not ask them to switch their “moments” and we did not really talk about dis/ability at
all (except when I remembered I should ask about it in this last session, and did), even
though that was my purpose/RQ. This choice not to force dis/ability back in was giving
the participants some power because although these weren’t the “moments” I was hoping
to discuss, it was more important that the “moments” felt important to the teachers and
that they were invested in sharing.
“Giving some power back to the participants” referred back to the adaptive leadership tenet:
“giving work back to the people requires a leader to be attentive to when he or she should drop
back and let the people do the work that they need to do” (Northouse, 2019, p. 269). Here, I
believed I needed to “drop back” (Northouse, 2019) and go with the moments “they were
invested in sharing” as that was the work the participants “need[ed] to do” (Northouse, 2019). I
recognized that while “I was hoping to discuss” dis/ability, forcing it would not move us
forward. Again, absent from my reflection are discussions of the presumably negative impact
forcing participants to switch would have had on the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) and
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on participant learning (Wergin, 2020). I was unable, at the time, to directly connect back to the
theories I had hoped to root myself in while critically reflecting.
However, I was able in this reflection to consider the interplay of the racial and gender
identities of the students and teachers more explicitly than in my previous reflection. I wrote,
“Interestingly, they both involved Black boys and both were brought in by the two White male
teachers.” My use of the word “interestingly” did not specify why I found this fact interesting. I
did note that both moments involved “Black boys” and were brought by “two White male
teachers”—Steve and Ben. I did not explicitly speak to the potential connection between “Black
boys” and overidentification with misbehavior as a sign of dis/ability, which would have been a
valuable place to connect to DisCrit (Annamma et al, 2013). However, in my first critical
reflection, much of the racial and gender conversation was implicit and unclear even to me as the
writer, while in this reflection I explicitly named the racial and gender identities of both the
teachers and the students, which demonstrates my growth. I continued,
I am curious about their choice to bring these two moments and wonder if it indicates that
these teachers are experiencing a disconnect with their Black male students (which is an
assumption I am making, because as we discussed both scenarios it was clear the teacher
was coming with a posture that the student was doing something “wrong,” for lack of
better term—or at least something the White teachers definitely didn’t understand).
My first theory about why the teachers brought these moments was a “disconnect with their
Black male students.” I quickly caught myself and noted that this was “an assumption I am
making.” Like earlier in this excerpt when I considered my use of the word “allowing” in this
moment I again reconsidered my own language immediately, something I had been unable to do
in my first critical reflection.
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I wrote, “as we discussed both scenarios it was clear the teacher was coming with a
posture that the student was doing something ‘wrong,’ for lack of better term—or at least
something the White teachers definitely didn’t understand.” The way I heard Ben and Steve talk
about their moments is what led me to make an “assumption” that there was a “disconnect.” At
this point in my reflection, I believed “the White teachers definitely didn’t understand” the
students’ behaviors, which is why they were classifying the behavior as undesirable or, at the
minimum, confusing. As I continued my reflection along this line, I started to consider the
interplay of my own identity in the space and in relationship to the problems of practice that Ben
and Steve had chosen to bring:
The fact that these two moments with Black boys were on the minds of these two White
male teachers could potentially indicate some discomfort on their part with how these
moments occurred, which shows some awareness. If the teachers were not aware at all of
a possible disconnect or fully believing stereotypes about the behaviors of Black students,
they likely would have shrugged off these moments entirely. Or I suppose another more
cynical explanation is they were hoping I would imply these moments were not “big
deals” and provide some sort of absolution (right word?) as a BIPOC leader.
I arrived at the conclusion that there may have been “some discomfort” on the part of the
teachers because these “two moments with Black boys were on the minds of these two White
male teachers,” which also demonstrated some awareness on the part of the teachers. I was trying
to understand why these two moments were important or more relevant to the teachers—why
they had chosen these moments to bring. I repeated the identities of the students and teachers
again, which indicates that I understood, on some level, that the gender and racial identities of
the people involved were relevant and needed to be explicitly stated. Previously, in my first
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critical reflection, I left this information unsaid, which meant it was less likely I could truly dig
into the relevance of that information. In this reflection, I was able to theorize about the
relevance because I made everyone’s identities explicit; this demonstrates growth in my ability
to critically reflect.
I theorized that if the teachers were uncomfortable then they had “some awareness.” I
was trying to understand where my learners were coming from, as it was clearly different from
me. I continued, “If the teachers were not aware at all of a possible disconnect or fully believing
stereotypes about the behaviors of Black students, they likely would have shrugged off these
moments entirely.” I finally referenced the “stereotypes about the behaviors of Black students”
although I still did not explicitly name the stereotypes about race and dis/ability that may have
been at play in this scenario; this was an area for continued growth. I went back to my idea that
Ben and Steve must be “aware” to some extent, because otherwise “they likely would have
shrugged off these moments entirely.”
Then, I pivoted, “I suppose another more cynical explanation is they were hoping I would
imply these moments were not ‘big deals’ and provide some sort of absolution (right word?) as a
BIPOC leader.” I had now explicitly named my identity as a “BIPOC leader” in contrast to the
“White” teachers; I am now involving my own identity in the conversation, trying to understand
the interplay between my identity and Ben and Steve’s. This too, is progress in my critical
reflection. My statement implied I felt the moments they had brought were “big deals” and that I
hoped the teachers were not looking to me to make the moments seem not-so-bad. The fact that I
considered this a “more cynical explanation” indicates that I wanted to believe the teachers
would not use me for this purpose. I preferred the previous explanation that something about
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these interactions was not sitting right with them, likely because that was more comfortable for
me.
While there was much more to explore here, my ability to explicitly name my own racial
identity, the racial and gender identity of the teachers and students, and my power in the space as
a facilitator and researcher are a vast improvement over the excerpt from the critical reflection
that I wrote before cycle 1. Over the course of my action research, I improved my ability to
critically reflect (Brookfield, 2017). While there were still areas for additional exploration within
the excerpts above, I demonstrated that I was able to explicitly consider both power and identity
and how they operated within the learning environment in a way I had been unable to before. As
described in following section, I also learned to better evaluate and consider my own hegemonic
assumptions and how they were operating in the space, another important component of critical
reflection.
Internalization of White Supremacy Culture and Sexism
My improved critical reflection (Brookfield, 2017) allowed me to better understand the
ways I had internalized and was reinforcing both White supremacy culture (Okun & Jones, 2001)
and sexism. As explored in my conceptual framework, Okun and Jones (2001) outline the
following aspects of White supremacy culture: perfectionism, sense of urgency, defensiveness,
quantity over quality, worship of the written word, only one right way, paternalism, either/or
thinking, power hoarding, fear of open conflict, individualism, I’m the only one, progress is
bigger/more, objectivity, and right to comfort, to which I added the “culture of niceness” as
described by DiAngelo (2021), Roegman et al. (2019), and Wiborg, 2022. In the remainder of
this section, I will explore how I enacted many of these aspects of White supremacy culture in
my facilitation. Additionally, while I did not have a specific gender theory to root my
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observations in, I was able to recognize sexism from others and within myself. Although I knew
that I was socialized in specific ways around race and gender as explored in the first section of
this dissertation, I did not have as strong of an understanding of how much my socialization was
affecting the learning environment.
The first time I began to clearly grapple with the way my own socialization was affecting
my facilitation was in my cycle 1 critical reflection, where I wrote three “takeaways” at the very
end of my reflection. I began by attempting to answer the question “through whose eyes do I see
myself in this research process?” a question that was inspired by a question from a conference I
had just attended, where one presenter encouraged us to consider the prompt “through whose
eyes do you see yourself at work?” In this excerpt of my cycle 1 critical reflection, I recognize
for the first time the way I am prioritizing the two White men in the space above the White
woman and BIPOC man, an indication of both my internalization of White supremacy culture
and sexism:
Through whose eyes do I see myself in this research process? I think, reflecting on the
above, probably Steve and Ben, which is giving them more power in the space and they
are also two White men, and I am therefore inadvertently devaluing what Emma and
Johnny bring to the table because I am less “concerned” they’ll say something that I
disagree with – of course, the idea that I am the authority holding what they should or
shouldn’t disagree with is also a problem. So much more to keep thinking about here.
I was reflecting on the content of my critical reflection thus far and noting that I had spent a lot
of it considering Steve and Ben—“two White men,” which indicated that I was seeing my
research process through their eyes—I was spending more time thinking about how they were
learning and experiencing the space than anyone else and prioritizing their comfort and learning,
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a sign of White supremacy culture (DiAngelo, 2021). I recognized that my focus on their
learning and experience was “giving them more power in the space” in addition to the power
they held through their identities as the “two White men” in the space.
I continued, “and I am therefore inadvertently devaluing what Emma and Johnny bring to
the table.” I was beginning to recognize that if I was facilitating specifically with Steve and
Ben’s learning in mind, I was then not facilitating with “Emma and Johnny” in mind and was
“therefore inadvertently devaluing” their perspectives and epistemologies, and, therefore,
reinforcing the power of the White men in the space over a BIPOC man and a White woman. I
reasoned that this was “because I am less ‘concerned’ they’ll say something that I disagree with.”
I believed that because I did not feel it was likely that Emma and Johnny would trigger me, I was
not thinking about how to teach them, whereas I knew from previous experience that Steve and
Ben had the potential to trigger me and, as described in my second finding, I was focused on
regulating my distress. I continued, “of course, the idea that I am the authority holding what they
should or shouldn’t disagree with is also a problem.” I knew that focusing on whether my
learners “should or shouldn’t disagree” with my ideas was problematic, both from a power
standpoint—as evidenced by my use of the phrase “authority holding”—and because it was the
opposite of Rodgers’s (2002) call that we do not look for a “right answer” (p. 237). I stated, “So
much more to keep thinking about here” and initially went on to wrap up the document, finishing
at around 9:50 according to my time stamp. However, I was not done. I returned three more
times over the next hour to add on to my “takeaway.” As I tried to reconcile with the fact that I
was prioritizing White male voices in the space, I experienced a constructive disorientation
(Wergin, 2020) of my own, prompted by my critical reflection (Brookfield, 2017)—a sign that
my reflections were improving and that I was moving toward my research goals for myself.
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(Additional note: 9:58—I AM REINFORCING HEGEMONIC NORMS &
ASSUMPTIONS HERE!). (Additional note 10:19—Do I not want to “side” with Emma
& Johnny, so I don’t look biased, although I clearly am?). (Additional note 10:40pm Also
- fear of conflict—White supremacy culture!) (Additional note 10:57pm—interesting that
I was less focused on Steve and Ben—in some ways—or at least more judgmental of
them, in my proposal, but am now giving them more attention and thinking about their
comfort so much. This is what BEING in the space as opposed to THINKING about the
space is like. I chose not to do circle of voices because it felt so prescriptive, but maybe I
was right to consider a more forced equity of voice. Why did I allow others (not just
Julie!) to dissuade me on this one? More to reflect on there.
About 8 minutes after I had declared my reflection complete at 8:50 pm, as marked by
“Additional note: 9:58,” I returned to the document. I was still considering my realization that I
had been focused on Ben and Steve at the expense of Emma and Johnny. I added the note, “I AM
REINFORCING HEGEMONIC NORMS & ASSUMPTIONS HERE!” [caps included].
Although I did not specify what the “hegemonic norms & assumptions” were, both racism and
sexism were at play given the identities of my learners. The fact that I returned to my critical
reflection to note that by focusing on Steve and Ben, I was prioritizing my White learners
indicates that I had not previously recognized this to be true. My unusual use of all capital letters
reinforces that this information about myself was surprising to me. The fact that I returned with
additional notes at 10:19, 10:40, and 10:57pm, indicated that I was experiencing my own
disorientation (Wergin, 2020) because of my critically reflective (Brookfield, 2017) practice: a
recognition that I was socialized to privilege the White males in the space and was actively
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continuing to do so, a racist and sexist act. My other additions to my takeaway demonstrated that
I was still trying to come to terms with this realization more than 20 minutes later.
My second note at 10:19 pm reads “Additional note 10:19—Do I not want to ‘side’ with
Emma & Johnny, so I don’t look biased, although I clearly am?” In my proposal, I had
concluded that I held some deficit mindsets about Steve and Ben and that I felt some allegiance
with Emma and Johnny. This was at odds with what I now realized was playing out in the space.
I theorized that I was paying more attention to Steve and Ben because I didn’t want to “look
biased” by “side[ing] with Emma and Johnny.” In other words, I was theorizing that I may have
overcorrected—because I entered the space knowing I had deficit-mindsets about Ben and Steve
and had felt triggered by them before, perhaps I was overfocused on valuing what they had to
say.
My third note at 10:40 pm reads “Also—fear of conflict—White supremacy culture.” I
was referring to a previous section of my reflection in which I theorized about why I had not
asked more explicit probing questions (Sahin & Kulm, 2008) about race and gender to Steve in
particular. I was now theorizing that rather than avoiding the questions to prevent paralyzing
disorientation (Wergin, 2020). I was avoiding because I held a “fear of conflict”—one of the
White supremacy culture norms outlined by Okun and Jones (2001) that is deeply related to the
culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021; Roegman et al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022), as explored in my
conceptual framework. My third note revealed that I had now recognized that my own
internalized “fear of conflict” was coming out in the way I was facilitating.
My fourth note at 10:57 pm began, “interesting that I was less focused on Steve and
Ben—in some ways—or at least more judgmental of them, in my proposal.” I returned to how I
entered the space—“judgmental” of “Steve and Ben” and how that seemed disconnected from
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what was happening: I was “giving them more attention and thinking about their comfort so
much.” Although I did not explicitly name it, I was trying to reconcile a “disconnect” (Wergin,
2020, p. 71) in my practice and what I thought I was doing. Through critical reflection
(Brookfield, 2017) I was now realizing “a gap between what [I] valued and the reality that what
[I] valued [was] not being realized in the current environment” (Wergin, 2020, p. 70). I
acknowledged that I was “giving” Ben and Steve, the two White men “more attention and
thinking about their comfort” in a way that, by default, prioritized them over Emma and Johnny,
therefore “reinforcing hegemonic norms and assumptions.” I continued, “This is what BEING in
the space as opposed to THINKING about the space is like.” I contrasted what I expected going
into the space—that I would be focused on Emma and Johnny as the two people I felt more
aligned with—with what actually happened, which was that I was spending almost all my energy
thinking about Steve and Ben’s learning and how to create a constructive but not paralyzing
disorientation for each of them, rather than thinking much about the other two participants
besides that they had been relatively quiet. I was clearly disoriented upon recognizing the
disconnect between my enacted and intended facilitation.
Finally, I ended, “I chose not to do circle of voices because it felt so prescriptive, but
maybe I was right to consider a more forced equity of voice. Why did I allow others (not just
Julie!) to dissuade me on this one? More to reflect on there.” I referred to my initial proposal,
which was to use Brookfield’s (2017) Circle of Voices protocol to ensure all participants spoke.
However, I had not actually used Circle of Voices after receiving feedback from my chair and
peers that it might be “prescriptive,” which I interpreted as also carrying an element of “forced
equity.” Yet, Johnny and Emma had not been speaking as much as Steve and Ben, one of the
pieces of information that told me I had not created a truly equitable learning environment. I
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asked why I “allow[ed] others to dissuade me,” implying that I knew there was a reason for
including Circle of Voices in the plan initially—my understanding of the participants and the
space told me before we began that there was the potential for unequal voices and power in the
space. Yet, I had failed at ensuring this equity due to my focus on Steve and Ben. When I asked,
“Why did I allow others (not just Julie!) to dissuade me on this one? More to reflect on there,” I
was also wondering about the influence of others and why I did not stick with my gut. However,
in some ways this comment was an out for my own discomfort at recognizing the ways I was
treating participants unequally based on their identities—I could blame it on someone else—a
sign of the defensiveness that is another component of White supremacy culture (Okun & Jones,
2001).
I did not mention that I had been socialized in PWIs where White male voices were
prioritized and heard first, so it was unsurprising that I had internalized this orientation myself. I
was likely not at the place to name this, given my surprise at my own assumptions. However, I
began to explore this concept more in my cycle 3 critical reflection, where I revisited the idea of
Emma and Johnny’s absence from the conversation and the idea that I had been socialized to
hear certain types of contributions over others. In my cycle 3 reflection, excerpted below, I tried
to understand what it meant that I had heard Steve and Ben’s verbal statements and questions,
but had missed participation from Emma and Johnny—participation that was now revealing itself
as I was cleaning up my transcripts of our earlier sessions.
But back to Johnny & Emma, interestingly, though, I also found Johnny and Emma were
more present than I initially remembered in doing my transcripts. They participated with
at least one or two questions each session but also offered a lot of nonverbals like “hmm”
(particularly Johnny)—and actually the whole group did that a lot. So, I think those
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nonverbals also indicate listening to each other and hopefully a good holding space. The
fact that I didn’t see this participation or remember it also tells me that I “hear” or am
attuned to certain kinds of participation more than other—some of that is because I was
writing so I wasn’t observing body language—but some of it is that I think I am more
likely to “hear” or be aware of verbal communication in the form of complete sentences,
rather than sort of affirmational sounds. I also noted their comments were picked up less
on the microphone, so that was curious if it was their volume level, the software, or what.
I added in some comments and affirmations from both of them in editing transcripts over
the past couple of days.
When I began “doing my transcripts” I noticed that Johnny and Emma were “more present” than
I had “initially remembered”—as early as immediately after each session, when I wrote in field
notes that they were quiet. My use of italics for “more” indicates that this information was
particularly surprising to me—it meant I had missed something. I explained, “they participated
with at least one or two questions each session but also offered a lot of nonverbals like ‘hmm’
(particularly Johnny)—and actually the whole group did that a lot. So, I think those nonverbals
also indicate listening to each other and hopefully a good holding space.” In listening to the
recordings of our sessions, I had heard a lot of “hmm” and other “nonverbals” from the “whole
group” that I did not recognize while facilitating. I took this to “indicate listening to each other
and hopefully a good holding space,” referring back to my initial goal of creating a strong
holding environment (Northouse, 2019, as explored in my conceptual framework and first
finding.
I continued, “The fact that I didn’t see this participation or remember it also tells me that
I ‘hear’ or am attuned to certain kinds of participation more than other.” I acknowledged that I
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clearly was not “hear[ing]” or “attuned” to the types of participation that Johnny and Emma were
putting forth, therefore I was privileging the communication used by Steve and Ben. I continued,
“—some of that is because I was writing so I wasn’t observing body language—but some of it is
that I think I am more likely to ‘hear’ or be aware of verbal communication in the form of
complete sentences, rather than sort of affirmational sounds.” I attempted to justify the fact that I
didn’t recognize Johnny and Emma’s participation without interrogating the roles of race or
gender in the space, instead blaming it on the fact that I wasn’t watching. I state that I was “more
likely to ‘hear’ or be aware of verbal communication in the form of complete sentences” which
implicitly goes back to what types of communication I was socialized to prioritize.
I went on, “I also noted their comments were picked up less on the microphone, so that
was curious if it was their volume level, the software, or what.” I continued to imply that race
and gender may have a role without explicitly stating it—“or what” could have included the fact
that the software itself wasn’t picking up certain pitch voices as well or that these two
participants felt the need to be quieter in the space, both of which could have been related to their
identities. I finished my thought with, “I added in some comments and affirmations from both of
them in editing transcripts over the past couple of days” which suggested that I consider Johnny
and Emma’s other forms of communication in the coding that I did when I was out of the field.
Clearly, unlike the previous reflection, race and gender go unspoken. Yet, I was still reckoning
with and trying to understand my realization that I was hearing White male voices more clearly.
Although I was not explicit about the interplay of gender and race in this section of my
cycle 3 critical reflection, I was in other places within the same document, so this information
was clearly on my mind. As shown in the section below, I was continuing to try and understand
my own socialization and internalization of White supremacy culture (Okun & Jones, 2001). I
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was trying to distinguish between good facilitation and preventing paralysis (Wergin, 2020) and
my enactment of the culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021; Roegman et al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022).
I began by noting that, in my cycle 2 critical reflection I had anticipated that the race of the
student—the first White student we had discussed since I shared during session 1—would not be
mentioned.:
In my previous critical reflection [cycle 2], I spoke about naming the race of the White
student I knew we would be discussing in session 5. Her race did not come up, but
Johnny did name her gender (female) and that she was a DHH student. We did get into
her dis/ability and how that may have impacted her reaction to a moment in the
classroom, but did not address her gender, which in retrospect could have been relevant
given that it was a science [c]lass and statistically we know gender impacts girls in
STEAM. Although I had named it/wanted to make that point about race and anticipated
that her race wouldn’t come up—and wanted to make the point about the parents being
brought into the two conversations about the two Black boys—I did not bring it up in
either session. I even had it on my agenda for both sessions 5 & 6. So, one question is—
why didn’t I ask this.
I had intended to “[name] the race of the White student” if it did not come up. The implication
was that I had not (I didn’t), indicating the presence of the culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021;
Roegman et al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022). I continued, “Although I had named it/wanted to make
that point about race and anticipated that her race wouldn’t come up—and also wanted to make
the point about the parents being brought into the two conversations about the two Black boys—I
did not bring it up in either session.” I had “anticipated that” the White female student’s race
“wouldn’t come up” and it did not. I had also wanted to address “the parents begin brought into
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the two conversations about the two Black boys” in sessions 2–6, but, as I note “I did not bring it
up in either session.” I continued, “I even had it on my agenda for both sessions 5 & 6” which
demonstrated that I knew I should bring it up and had planned to bring it up but did not. I
continued, “so one question is—why didn’t I ask this.” I was continuing to interrogate my own
actions or choice not to bring in race and knew that there was something to explain why I had not
done so. I went on to propose several things that were not about my own internalization of White
supremacy culture (Okun & Jones, 2001), as demonstrated in the excerpt below. I used respect
for participants, concerns about the holding environment, and time constraints to justify my
inaction—all forms of defensiveness (Okun & Jones, 2001).
I think one reason may have been that I didn’t want to take up any more of Johnny’s
time—I had already pushed back his share essentially twice and I didn’t want to talk too
much. And I really wanted to value his voice as the other BIPOC voice in the room. I
think also, looking back, my one opportunity I built in for me to share out my reflection
was at the beginning, and I was worried that making that statement at the beginning
would raise everyone’s affective filters, so I didn’t, but then at the end we were rushed,
and I didn’t have time to wrap it up. And I also am not sure about how to bring it up in a
way that’s not confrontational that doesn’t ruin the positivity of the space/vulnerability of
the space and continuing to cultivate that space felt more important. And I also didn’t
want to put Johnny in the spot by making my point poorly, especially given what I
perceived as his lower participation rate (more on that later). For session 6 I left it on the
agenda, so clearly, I realized I hadn’t brought it up again, but then it felt so long ago that
it wasn’t worth bringing in and I also think I forgot to print my agenda for session 6. But
potentially this is all me rationalizing my own internalized culture of niceness and/or
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White supremacy culture that I didn’t call out/in Steve and Ben as White men (I also did
learn on our field trip that Ben’s religious background is more complicated than I
thought—he has at least one Jewish grandparent but was not raised practicing, so that’s
interesting when I go back and consider how I described his religious identity before) or
call out Johnny (who is multiracial White/Asian American male) for not mentioning the
students’ race.
After running through my three alternate explanations, I finally go on to identify, “potentially
this is all me rationalizing my own internalized culture of niceness and/or White supremacy
culture that I didn’t call out/in Steve and Ben as White men.” The time it took to get to this place
indicated that I was still uncomfortable with the idea that I was enacting White supremacy
culture (Okun & Jones, 2001) within the space. At the same time, I was now able to get to this
realization without using capital letters or returning to the document repeatedly over the course
of 40 minutes—I was clearly less disoriented (Wergin, 2020) than in my cycle 1 critical
reflection and more able to consider how my own assumptions and hegemonic norms
(Brookfield, 2017) might be at play. After noting new information about Ben’s religious identity,
I continued, “or call out Johnny (who is multiracial White/Asian male) for not mentioning the
students’ race.” I recognized that in addition to not holding up a mirror for Steve and Ben about
the fact that they brought parents into the conversation about the behavior of two Black boys, I
also let Johnny, a BIPOC participant, off the hook when I did not bring up the White female
student’s race. In addition to prioritizing the comfort of White males, I may also have been
prioritizing male comfort and/or simply engaging in the culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021;
Roegman et al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022) consistently with at least the three male participants. I was
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beginning to recognize the extent to which these internalized hegemonic norms were affecting
my facilitation of the space.
I had anticipated White supremacy culture (Okun & Jones, 2001) would play a role in my
original conceptual framework. However, I had not included gender or sexism in that framework.
In the end, sexism was clearer in the space than the ableism I had anticipated. Later in my cycle
3 critical reflection, I attempted to understand how gender and sexism played out during session
6 when Emma had shared. Ben was absent and Steve was the only White male in the space.
Steve had questioned Emma with a more pointed tone, which I worked to understand in the
excerpt below:
Looking at session 6, of course it’s not as accurate as all the previous sessions because I
don’t have a recording to transcribe, but Ben was absent in session 6, Johnny asked the
first question and then the rest were just all me and Steve (Emma was sharing). A couple
of times Steve’s (White cis Christian male, my age) questions got a little pointed in their
tone. I noticed it once in session 5 with Johnny and recall feeling that a little when I
shared in session 1, but in session 6 I noticed three times in my jottings he seemed
stern/accusatory. I wonder if this was due to his talking to a slightly younger woman—
Emma (White cis, Jewish), if it was the day, if it was the student we were talking about
(White cis male). I noted that “Emma and I jump in at the same time, my intention is to
deflect/redirect some of Steve’s tone she sounds defensive. Space feels intense”—and
then Steve was less stern after I did that. So, I wonder about Emma and me as the
women, and my choice to deflect his tone/ “take it on for myself” for lack of a better term
rather than directly call it out. Emma told me that I could go, so I don’t know if she was
hoping I would call him out or correct his tone, which I didn’t. So perhaps this is an
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example of culture of niceness or internalized misogyny. I think I also spend a lot of time
placating people (parents) in my job, and maybe I’ve started to internalize that in a bad
way.
I began, “Johnny asked the first question and then the rest were all just me and Steve,” which
revealed that I—in my facilitator role—and Steve—the only White male in the space—had
occupied most of the most airtime, even with Ben absent. I continued, “A couple of time Steve’s
(White cis Christian male, my age) questions got a little pointed in their tone.” I explicitly named
the identities of the participants throughout my cycle 3 reflection in a way I had not previously
done, which indicated that I was trying to understand more how everyone’s identities were
playing out in relation to each other and my own within each interaction. I described Steve’s
questions as “pointed in their tone” which implied they were somewhat harsh or judgmental. I
continued, “I noticed it”—referring to Steve’s tone— “once in session 5 with Johnny and recall
feeling that a little when I shared in session 1, but in session 6 I noticed three times in my
jottings he seemed stern/accusatory.” In both of the aforementioned mentioned sessions either a
BIPOC person or a woman was sharing their problem of practice and although I recalled hearing
a “pointed” tone during those sessions, it had not been enough for me to write it down. This
implied that the frequency during session 6— “three times”—was different than in previous
sessions.
I continued by theorizing about Steve’s tone and offered three possible explanations.
First, that his tone was due to sexism or potentially anti-Semitism (since I note Steve and
Emma’s religious differences) and that Steve was talking down to Emma because she was a
“slightly younger woman.” My second explanation was that Steve was defensive about the
student we were discussing, who shared his “Whit cis male” identities. Third, I allow that it
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could just be “the day” and that perhaps Steve was just in a bad mood. I then go on to cite my
jottings, “Emma and I jump in at the same time, my intention is to deflect/redirect some of
Steve’s tone she sounds defensive. Space feels intense.” Steve had asked a question and Emma
and I both went in to answer, “at the same time.” I intended to “deflect/redirect some of Steve’s
tone” as the facilitator. This reveals that perhaps his tone was more aggressive than “pointed” if I
believed I needed to intervene and “deflect” on Emma’s behalf. I noted that Emma “sounds
defensive,” indicating that Steve’s tone was also obvious to her, the other woman in the space. I
continued my reflection— “and then Steve was less stern after I did that”—in other words, I had
“deflect[ed]” or “redirect[ed]” Steve successfully by jumping in.
I “wonder about Emma and me as the women,” perhaps wondering if we had noticed the
tone more than Johnny, the other man in the space. I “wonder[ed]” or asked questions about “my
choice to deflect his tone/’take it on myself’” rather than just “directly [calling his tone] out.”
“Take on myself” referred to the concept that women are often socialized to take on others’
emotions or care-take. I was recognizing, too, that perhaps it might have had more of an impact
for Emma, myself, and Steve’s learning to “directly call it out.” I explained, “Emma told me that
I could go, so I don’t know if she was hoping I would call him out or correct his tone, which I
didn’t.” I was reflecting on what Emma might have been hoping I would do as the facilitator,
which indicated that I was consciously trying to reflect more on Emma’s comfort in the space
and not just on Steve and Ben’s—perhaps I was integrating what I had realized through my
earlier reflection. However, in the moment under discussion, I clearly had still prioritized Steve,
because I had not “directly call[ed out]” his tone.
I then theorized, “So perhaps this is an example of culture of niceness or internalized
misogyny.” I realized that by not saying the difficult thing or giving clear feedback to Steve, I
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was playing into the culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021; Roegman et al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022)
and therefore White supremacy culture (Okun & Jones, 2001), as outlined in my conceptual
framework. However, I add “internalized misogyny” which was new. I recognized that I may
also have internalized and was enacting gender expectations or sexist norms that prioritized
Steve’s comfort over Emma’s, despite being a woman myself. This recognition marked
meaningful progress in my critical reflection (Brookfield, 2017) journey. When I wrote my
original conceptual framework, I had not included gender at all—except for my hair—because I
did not think it would be particularly relevant to the space, even though I had discussed the
impact of my gender (Aaron, 2020) on my approach to my job. Somehow, I had assumed that
although gender was relevant to my lived experience, it would not be relevant within the space.
My critical reflection made it clear that my assumption had been incorrect; identifying incorrect
assumptions is one of the main goals of critical reflection (Brookfield, 2017) and this realization
was a sign that my critical reflection had improved.
I continued, “I think I also spend a lot of time placating people (parents) in my job, and
maybe I’ve started to internalize that in a bad way.” As I had previously, I made an excuse when
forced to confront this truth, indicating defensiveness—a White supremacy culture norm (Okun
& Jones, 2001). This sentence served, in some way, to excuse my early socialization and instead
blame my current job. Although it was true that my work at SWIW involved me actively
choosing not to be confrontational, especially with “parents” who were our paying clients, this
was an out to make me more comfortable. However, I pressed forward. In the remainder of this
paragraph of my cycle 3 reflection, excerpted below, I tried to untangle my role as the facilitator,
the racial and gender identities of the participants, and my own socialization:
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So perhaps this overall is a place where I’m not wielding my power effectively when
facilitating—calling people out—in order to try and maintain the calm holding space I’m
not making folks uncomfortable—but if I don’t make folks uncomfortable, there’s the
potential they don’t grow, and I don’t create a disorienting dilemma. I think we also
moved faster in that session and I didn’t totally slow us down, which is probably
connected to the same fear of conflict and also my own sense of this being our last
session and not having enough time/feeling pressure to cover the content. This is also the
only time in my notes I think where I say the space felt intense—I wonder if/how the
shift of not having Ben in the room had an impact, as now Steve was the only White male
in the space which was unique from all other sessions. Or again if it had to do with the
student under discussion as a White cis Christian athletic male, who I know Steve had a
lot of concern and empathy for when he taught him last year (and also frustration with
too, but really worried about this kid). An aside that, overall, I see a big downside in not
having one-on-one meetings as part of this process, as I think this might also have been
feedback I would give after, privately, but didn’t.
The implication of the first sentence was that “calling people out” would, in fact, be a way to
“[wield] my power effectively.” However, although I had argued in my conceptual framework
that discomfort would be a part of learning, I was actively working to “not [make] folks
uncomfortable.” I was, in fact, “wielding my power” ineffectively and not balancing the
“essential tensions” (Wergin, 2020, p. 140) well. I continued, “but if I don’t make folks
uncomfortable, there’s the potential they don’t grow and I don’t create a disorienting dilemma.” I
recognized that discomfort was necessary to create a “disorienting dilemma” (Mezirow, 2000)
and that it was my role as the facilitator to support participants in approaching constructive
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disorientation (Wergin, 2020). I was struggling to balance the “essential tension” (Wergin, 2020,
p. 140) between provoking disorientation and “maintain[ing] the calm holding space.”
Effectively, I was wondering if by not calling Steve out I had prevented him from experiencing a
constructive disorientation (Wergin, 2020) with the outcome instead being that I had maintained
the holding environment (Northouse, 2019). However, this question left out Emma. I may have
weakened the holding environment for Emma if she had expected me to call Steve out, as
explored in the paragraphs above. The fact that I did not recognize this is another sign of my own
internalized sexism—I was prioritizing Steve’s comfort over Emma.
I continued, “I think we also moved faster in that session and I didn’t totally slow us
down, which is probably connected to the same fear of conflict and also my own sense of this
being our last session and not having enough time/feeling pressure to cover the content.” I
referred to the “fear of conflict” White supremacy culture norm (Okun & Jones, 2001) that I had
wrestled with in my cycle 1 critical reflection. I noted that I was “feeling pressure to cover the
content” which was an indication that I also was enacting the “sense of urgency” White
supremacy culture norm (Okun & Jones, 2001) which was also preventing me from being fully
present (Rodgers, 2002) to my participants, as explored in the section “Intentional Forms of
Assistance.” In these two sentences of my critical reflection, I quickly mentioned and
acknowledged my own internalization of White supremacy norms (Okun & Jones, 2001) without
much elaboration, indicating that I was, at this point, less shocked to recognize them within my
own action.
Then, I returned to session 6: “this is also the only time in my notes I think where I say the space
felt intense—I wonder if/how the shift of not having Ben in the room had an impact, as now
Steve was the only White male in the space which was unique from all other sessions.” I implied
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that Steve may have felt threatened in the space without Ben—the other White male—which
triggered his “pointed tone.” I continued, “Or again if it had to do with the student under
discussion as a White cis Christian athletic male, who I know Steve had a lot of concern and
empathy for when he taught him last year (and also frustration with too, but really worried about
this kid).” I implied that another explanation for Steve’s tone was that he felt threatened or
particularly upset that this student had come up because they had many identifiers in common
and a previous relationship. I did not go so far as to suggest that Steve was defensive or using a
negative tone because of his race and/or gender in relation to the others in the space during
session 6 (all BIPOC and/or women)—but it is implied. Rather than say this explicitly, I pivoted,
“An aside that, overall, I see a big downside in not having one-on-one meetings as part of this
process, as I think this might also have been feedback I would give after, privately, but didn’t.”
My desire to give “feedback” about Steve’s tone privately indicates still a prioritization of his
comfort in the space over Emma’s, another sign of my internalized sexism and culture of
niceness (DiAngelo, 2021; Roegman et al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022). Clearly, while there were
certain ways I was able to recognize my own internalization of White supremacy culture and
sexism, in other ways they were still manifesting themselves. Continually working to recognize
these hegemonic assumptions (Northouse, 2017) is the work of deep thinking (Wergin, 2020).
However, as I noted in my cycle 3 analytic memo, there were signs of progress too. I began by
listing examples of the ways my own internalization of White supremacy culture (Okun & Jones,
2001) had affected my own facilitation:
I certainly find multiple evidences of White supremacy culture as outlined by Okun and
Jones (2001): perfectionism/sense of urgency (trying to give everyone enough time),
defensiveness (Steve’s tone in session 6), quantity over quality (trying to give everyone
241

enough time), only one right way (asking questions from my perspective), fear of open
conflict (not asking the right questions), and right to comfort (not asking the right
questions). However/and, by not recognizing any of the progress made, I continue to play
into perfectionism as well as “progress is bigger/more,”—when I do think turning
towards practice more as a group still had positive outcomes. We were also able to
engage in conversation without the aim of winning, if not full discourse, ask probing
questions that cause us to question our practice, and continue to engage with even if we
are uncomfortable, we just did not do so critically. There was certainly evidence of my
own participation in the culture of niceness because there were still certain pieces of
feedback (e.g., parents/race that I did not share)—a culture where legitimate feedback
and critiques are not given to protect the comfort and status quo of Whites in power
(DiAngelo, 2021). I did not hold myself accountable to disrupting cultures of niceness by
sharing my thoughts, asking questions, and/or providing feedback if a teacher or I say
something that reinforces hegemonic assumptions. One thing that I believe was present
particularly in session 6 was patriarchy (in Emma/Steve’s interactions), which is not
something I named initially but I think should be included in later analysis.
I recognized, upon looking at all six sessions in full, that throughout I was still enabling and
participating in “cultures of niceness” by not “sharing my thoughts, asking questions, and/or
providing feedback if a teacher or I say something that reinforces hegemonic assumptions.” In
my conceptual framework, I had named how important it was to call out problematic language
and hegemonic assumptions, yet I failed to consistently do so. This failure was an indicator of
how deeply I had internalized the culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021; Roegman et al., 2019;
Wiborg, 2022) and how difficult it was to combat it. I also noted how that I had not included
242

“patriarchy” or gender in my initial conceptual framework, as explored above, which was also a
sign that I lacked self-awareness of how I had internalized gender-based hegemonic norms and
assumptions in addition to racial ones.
At the same time, I also noted, “However/and, by not recognizing any of the progress
made, I continue to play into perfectionism as well as “progress is bigger/more,”—when I do
think turning towards practice more as a group still had positive outcomes.” Both
“perfectionism” and “progress is bigger/more” are additional norms of White supremacy culture
(Okun & Jones, 2001), that I recognized I would be enacting if I chose not to “recogniz[e] any of
the progress made.” My ability to hold both truths—as symbolized by “However/and”—
indicated my own movement toward deep thinking (Wergin, 2020). I chose in this reflection and
continue to choose to acknowledge the “positive outcome[e]” of my research—that we were able
to “[turn toward] practice more as a group.” Although it is not my ultimate goal for my learners
or myself, our shift toward a knowledge-of-practice space did create new opportunities for
reflection and adult learning.
Epilogue
My greatest takeaway from my action research was recognizing the extent of my own
internalization of and complicity with the culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021; Roegman et al.,
2019; Wiborg, 2022) and White supremacy culture (Okun & Jones, 2001). My own fears about
the way others perceive my leadership (Aaron, 2002) based on my own experiences of these
systems as a biracial Black woman, my focus on product and perfection, and my struggle to find
the right way to address hegemonic norms and assumptions in my participants’ language and
stories all hampered my ability to be present (Rodgers, 2002) to my learners. The way I
privileged certain voices meant there were unequal opportunities to learn within the space. Both
243

participants’ learning and my own was limited because of the way I have internalized these
hegemonic structures. For example, because I was not direct and because we were not yet ready
for critical reflection as a group, our identities were not clearly named as part of our reflection-
on-action. As a result, we did not explicitly discuss the impact of our identities on our practice
and in the space and I was unable to come to any conclusions about the impact of my
participants’ identities in either area—I did not want to project my own understandings or
experiences onto my participants—although I did have my own guesses about how they were
playing out. Being more direct and combating the culture of niceness more intentionally moving
forward will allow me to better understand how the teachers I work with see themselves in
relation to their practice and in relation to their work with me. My own ever-improving ability to
recognize the ways I enact and reinforce the culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021; Roegman et
al., 2019; Wiborg, 2022), White supremacy culture (Okun & Jones, 2001), and sexism, will
greatly inform my practice moving forward. This self-knowledge will make me a better and
more equitable facilitator and allow me to move towards deep thinking (Wergin, 2020), my
ultimate end goal for myself.
As I began to recognize these truths, I worked to improve my directness and my presence
in conversation with others at SWIW, including my participants. Shortly after my action research
ended, I had a conversation with Steve where I tried to give more direct feedback and push back
against my internalization of the culture of niceness (DiAngelo, 2021; Roegman et al., 2019;
Wiborg, 2022). Steve came to me with a concern about student behavior—in fact concerns about
the same student he had brought forth in his problem of practice. Although I still chose not to
name the racial aspects at play, I gave specific feedback about his engagement with the student’s
parents. I called Steve’s attention to the fact that he was only finding negative things to say about
244

the student when he had begun the school year believing they had a good rapport. Steve came to
me a few days later and gave me a hug to thank me for the feedback and told me that he
appreciated I was willing to push him to do better. This validated for me that I need to continue
to work on being able to be direct—after all, “clear is kind” (Brown, 2018, p. 211).
In a conversation with Ben, I was able to practice being present (Rodgers, 2002). By
listening to listen, and not respond, I was able to discern that the problem Ben was bringing to
me could be addressed by turning toward his practice (Horn & Little, 2010) instead of defending
a student, which was my other option. Ben had come to me about a different student, whose
work he felt was not up to par unless the student had been “helped” by me or another adult. I did
not get defensive about my work supporting the student with her writing. Instead, I was present
to Ben and heard that his real concern was that he was not sure she could complete the work by
herself. I knew from my work with her that she found his directions confusing, and that once I
clarified them for her, she was able to complete the work on her own. Rather than tell Ben he
was wrong, I asked what he needed to see to know she could do the work. We ended up
engaging in conversation about the value of adding a clear rubric and exemplar to scaffold the
work for all students, including the one under discussion, and we co-created a rubric for Ben’s
next major assignment. At the end of the year, he remarked on how much better she was doing.
I have not had similar moments with Emma and Johnny. Although I entered the space
with stronger allegiances to each of them, I worry that perhaps the fact that I did not support their
learning and even marginalized them in the space may have had a negative impact on our
relationships. I ran out of school year, so this is an assumption rather than something I can say
for certain. I chose to include both Emma and Johnny in my first finding even though I had the
least data on their learning. I had the least data because of my own biased focus, as explored in
245

my third finding. However, the choice to include them was deliberate because I wanted to ensure
their voices and my failure to create as many learning opportunities as possible for them were
present and not hidden; this is part of addressing my own internalization of White supremacy
culture (Okun & Jones, 2001) and sexism. I will work next school year to ensure that Emma and
Johnny feel heard, empowered, and cared for by me and at SWIW.
While I still have more to do to improve my directness and presence, I believe that I am
already beginning to change my practice in the way I support teachers in their growth and
development because of my action research. My interactions with Ben and Steve both took place
in one-on-one conversations. As I noted in my cycle 3 critical reflection, the lack of these spaces
had an impact on the outcome of my action research—I was unable set one-on-one meetings for
ethical reasons. I plan on incorporating Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle into my individual
work with teachers next school year, as I believe that reflecting in this way will give me a better
understanding of how to strengthen the holding environment (Northouse, 2019) for everyone. It
will also help me understand where each teacher falls on the Drago-Severson and Blum-
DeStefano (2017) typology. This additional information will allow me to support the group in
more meaningful group reflection-on-action, which I plan on bringing back again next year in a
revised form that I am still working through.
In addition to understanding the value of Rodgers’s (2002) reflective cycle both
individually and collectively, I now more clearly recognize the value of critical reflection
(Brookfield, 2017) and its role in progressing toward my goal for myself—deep thinking
(Wergin, 2020). As I explored in my third finding, critical reflection allowed me to more fully
recognize how I was enacting White supremacy norms (Okun & Jones, 2001) and sexism. Even
though I knew—as indicated by my proposal—that I had been socialized into both hegemonic
246

structures, I had not been able to fully appreciate how frequently I enacted them myself. Even in
writing my findings, I was able to see other ways I was enacting White supremacy norms and
sexism that I did not see when I was writing my critical reflections, which speaks to the
importance of returning to reflection constantly. My work throughout this program helped me
realize how much I ask of adults when I engage them in conversation about their practice or
about justice, equity, diversity, and inclusion (JEDI) topics—the vulnerability I am asking for is
not small. This realization has encouraged me to be more vulnerable both in my personal and
professional life—not only through using my voice more carefully and to push back more
effectively—but also to do the same work I expect of others more frequently myself. Critical
reflection is part of this, and I will work to incorporate it in my practice more consistently
moving forward.
As a result of my action research, I will be able to better support teachers and families in
my role both as the Director of Upper Elementary (4–6) and JEDI. I often plan learning
opportunities for teachers and families. As early as last summer, I began to incorporate more and
more group reflection time into our JEDI faculty/staff professional developments, rather than
taking a solely knowledge-in-practice (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 2010) approach. I can continue
to design better-structured adult learning opportunities that allow for more reflection,
conversation, and discussion based on what I learned through facilitating group reflection-on-
action. We are already planning for a small discussion cohorts of faculty/staff rooted in a
knowledge-of-practice approach for next year, which pushes back against the one-off
professional development paradigm (Elmore, 2002) and our previous knowledge-in-practice
(Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 2010) approach. Of course, without someone who has experienced the
amazing opportunity to be a part of the Leading Instructional Change program within each
247

faculty/staff cohort the conversations will differ, but I know that I will be looking to not only
provoke but capitalize upon the learning opportunities presented by possible constructive
disorientation (Wergin, 2020) within my group.
I am now constantly on the lookout for constructive disorientations (Wergin, 2020)
within my own life and interactions, professionally and personally. I plan to seize the
opportunities they present to continue to grow as a leader, adult-educator, and most
importantly—human on this Earth.

248

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Abstract (if available)

Abstract This action research study focuses on my teacher-educator skills as an administrator in a small independent and nonpublic elementary school in the Los Angeles area. My research question was: How do I establish a knowledge-of-practice learning environment that promotes my own and upper elementary teachers’ ability to turn toward practice? I engaged a group of four upper elementary educators in reflective practice with a focus on problems of practice involving BIPOC students and students with dis/abilities. I examined how effectively I used adaptive leadership and andragogical strategies to establish a knowledge-of-practice learning environment. I considered how effectively I supported adult learners in turning toward practice and the steps needed to move towards a critical lens in the future. I examined the role my own identity and socialization played in my practice. To answer my research question, I collected field notes, transcripts, reflections, and documents that I developed as a teacher-educator and researcher. I found that I was able to move the group into a knowledge-of-practice space and that the progress each learner made was dependent on my ability to push each learner appropriately based on their zone of proximal development.

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Asset Metadata

Creator Blount, Julia Meserve (author)

Core Title Turning toward practice: establishing group reflective practice among upper elementary educators

School Rossier School of Education

Degree Doctor of Education

Degree Program Educational Leadership

Degree Conferral Date 2023-08

Publication Date 07/24/2024

Defense Date 07/17/2023

Publisher University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag action research,adaptive leadership,andragogy,OAI-PMH Harvest,problem of practice,reflective cycle,teacher-educator

Language English

Contributor Electronically uploaded by the author (provenance)

Advisor Slayton, Julie (committee chair), Lyons-Moore, Akilah (committee member), Pascarella, John (committee member)

Creator Email jblount@usc.edu,julia.blount@gmail.com

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-oUC113289505

Unique identifier UC113289505

Identifier etd-BlountJuli-12147.pdf (filename)

Legacy Identifier etd-BlountJuli-12147

Document Type Dissertation

Rights Blount, Julia Meserve

Internet Media Type application/pdf

Type texts

Source 20230726-usctheses-batch-1074 (batch), University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Access Conditions The author retains rights to his/her dissertation, thesis or other graduate work according to U.S. copyright law. Electronic access is being provided by the USC Libraries in agreement with the author, as the original true and official version of the work, but does not grant the reader permission to use the work if the desired use is covered by copyright. It is the author, as rights holder, who must provide use permission if such use is covered by copyright.

Repository Name University of Southern California Digital Library

Repository Location USC Digital Library, University of Southern California, University Park Campus, Los Angeles, California 90089, USA

Repository Email cisadmin@lib.usc.edu