When Zoom became our primary connection tool in 2020, I both loved and hated it. It allowed me to stay home and attend to business or communicate with others from the comfort of my home. I’m an introvert, and I don’t easily jump into large-group conversations, not because I don’t have anything to say, but because there are usually louder voices in the room, virtual or otherwise. It sometimes seems there’s not space for mine. My reticence to speak up in large groups was exacerbated by Zoom. Face-to-face, visual cues tell us when someone else is about to speak. Those cues are more difficult to see on Zoom. As a result, I often spend online meetings in a Brady Bunch square—smiling, but silent.
In 2007, long before I’d heard of Zoom, recognizing my introverted tendencies was an asset in the classroom. I appreciated extroverted students, who could fill awkward silences with sound, but I admit to an affinity for students who were introverted like me. I tried to give them the space to speak; I never assumed they had nothing to say. If a student didn’t participate in class discussions, I spent time one-on-one at their desk or before or after class. It was easier to gauge what students absorbed from a class session that way, but they could still resist. Even if they talked more freely one-on-one, they often didn’t share anything personal.
At our weekly campus staff meetings, we shared concerns about the girls or their babies that might impact their coursework or their well-being. I was sometimes amazed at the stories I heard from our counselor, Ms. Martin, or childcare teachers, things I’d never have heard from students themselves. More than once, I discovered a medical diagnosis that explained unwelcome behaviors from students forced to forgo medication during pregnancy. Family dynamic issues like job loss, divorce, or homelessness. Issues with a baby’s father, maybe. All of which affected how well they could focus on lessons.
These disclosures, made with the sincere intent to help us support our students better, taught me to never assume I knew what was going on in someone else’s life. Unfortunately, when we think we know all about someone, what we think we know is often a stereotype. What I witnessed or heard students say in class was rarely the whole story. I learned not to ask questions when a student was clearly troubled or withdrawn, aside from “Do you need to see Ms. Martin?” Creating a safe space to share is key to getting to know someone, and our counselor was uniquely qualified to provide that safe space. I learned to be satisfied with what students chose to reveal and to not make assumptions about what was best for them.
Assumptions aren’t all bad. It’s useful to recognize a student’s comfort with speaking up … or not; it helps a teacher interact more intentionally. During Covid, Zoom was a vital instructional tool for teachers, and thank goodness for that option. But one-on-one conversations were difficult or impossible. Interacting online required making assumptions about what was observed in each student’s window. It’s tempting to assume those limited observations are the whole picture when they’re not. I empathize with the novel challenges that presented for both teachers and students. As a Zoom participant, rather than a Zoom instructor, I can reveal or withhold my thoughts, depending on the setting. It provides a comfort zone in which I can choose to stay silent if I wish, as I presume many introverted students also appreciate. Most introverts desire to be known by others. We just prefer to control the circumstances around what we reveal and require space in which to reveal it. To be honest, I’m content to smile and nod in my Brady Bunch Zoom space unless I know you well. Just don’t make assumptions about me, based on an artificial smile
Janice Airhart 