The Heart of Every Thriving Classroom: Students and Teachers
One of the few common threads between the worlds of education and business is the abundance of buzzwords and phrases professionals use to sound as though they’re on the cutting edge of their field. But the best education systems aren't built on impressions; they are built on sustained, high-quality work in the classroom. This work is only possible when we focus on student and teacher well-being.
Terms like “data-driven,” “growth mindset,” and “authentic assessments” are endlessly explored and dissected in professional development sessions, written into teachers’ professional goals, form the basis of administrative feedback during observations, and proudly appear in school mission statements; often read aloud at the start of every staff meeting to remind teachers of their “why.” The latter part of those meetings, however, often brings a deep internal sigh or a few stifled eye rolls. For teachers, the "why" is not a bullet point or a mandate; it is the exhaustive, deeply personal commitment to the students in the room, a commitment that demands support far exceeding inspiring, yet empty, words.
One term particularly prevalent in the educator’s lexicon is “whole child education.” For a teacher, this means a bit more than what the dictionary might say.
Whole child education
According to the U.S. Department of Education, whole child education “incorporate(s) teaching methods that account for the ways that children grow and learn in their relationships, identity, emotional understanding, and overall well-being.” The goal is to help students become healthy, well-rounded, self-actualized members of society. Sounds wonderful, almost utopian. Most teachers, after all, want nothing more than to see their students thrive and become their best selves. Yet making this ideal a reality for every child who walks through our classroom doors is a challenge of the highest order.
When I think about the concept of whole child education, my mind inevitably drifts back to one of the first education classes I took in college, where we studied Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Often depicted as a pyramid, the hierarchy begins with basic physiological needs (air, shelter, food, and water) and rises through five levels, culminating in self-actualization. Maslow’s main idea is that you must generally satisfy the lower-level needs before you can focus attention and energy on the higher-level ones.
In a class of 22 students, each one might live at a different point on that pyramid. Every child brings a unique set of experiences, home lives, beliefs, and traumas that shape how they learn and perform, both in class and on standardized assessments.
When you look past the jargon, and a student enters your life who is clearly operating at the bottom tier of need (say, they don’t have enough food to eat at home), it becomes nearly impossible for them to focus solely on math skills or test scores. This is when the unseen, often unacknowledged, yet most essential work of teachers truly begins. Hungry children need food. Cold children need warm clothing. Many simply need an adult they can trust.
How teachers fill the gap
Over the years, I’ve kept a quiet stockpile of snacks and brought extra lunches to share with students who weren’t getting enough to eat. Yes, there are protocols and services designed to support students in need, but when a child is hungry now, and those systems take time to activate, what else can your humanity allow you to do? When a child has no jacket and must walk home in the cold to an uncertain environment, how can you do anything but quite literally give them the coat off your back?
All of these actions and more are readily and without question provided to students by teachers who sometimes have a hard time meeting their own needs.
Reflecting on my own experiences as a first-year teacher at a lower-income school, I remember being told to host a holiday party for my third-grade class before the December break. Why? Because for some of those students, it would be the only celebration they’d have that year. How does that not tug at your heartstrings?
At the time, I was barely earning more than $20,000 a year while paying for graduate school and living at home because I couldn’t afford anything else. Still, with the help of my coworkers, we managed to pull together a pancake-and-pajama party and provide each child with a small gift.
Teachers are constantly filling in the gaps for students (providing necessities, emotional support, and countless hours of unpaid labor) to keep our education system afloat.
Whole child education + whole teacher well-being
Looking back, I realize that what I gave to my students that year (a warm meal, a small gift, a moment of joy) wasn’t just about them. It was about believing that every child deserves to feel seen and cared for. That belief still drives me today. But as educators, we need that same care, too. Whole child education can only thrive when we also invest in whole teacher well-being, because both are at the heart of every thriving classroom.
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