I Was Proud of Our Classroom. Then I Had to Think Bigger.

Professional portrait of an early childhood consultant in a burgundy blazer seated at a desk with a laptop in a warm, thoughtfully designed learning environment.

#WhatRaCheSaid Journal

I remember when families started asking whether their children could be in our classroom.

That meant something to me.

My co-teacher and I had worked hard to create a classroom where children could learn, explore, feel comfortable, and build relationships. We wanted families to feel connected to what was happening, too.

We did our studies together. We looked for ways to extend the learning into children’s homes. We made space for families to participate and share their experiences.

We wanted children to feel comfortable coming to school, even on mornings when separating from family was difficult. They knew us. They knew the classroom. They knew they could go to the cozy corner and look at pictures of their family members when they needed that connection.

It wasn’t that every day was perfect. But we had built something meaningful together, and people were noticing.

I was proud of that.

And honestly, I wanted our classroom to be a model of what a strong early childhood experience could look like.

Then somebody shared something with me that I didn’t fully appreciate at the time.

They acknowledged the good things happening in our classroom, but they also reminded me that our classroom was only one part of the program.

If I was comfortable with what we were doing, there might be opportunities to support other educators who were trying to strengthen their classrooms, too.

I remember that bothering me a little.

Because in my mind, we were doing what we were supposed to do. We were working hard. Children were learning. Families were connected. People wanted to be part of what we had created.

Wasn’t that something worth recognizing?

It was. I still believe that.

But it took me some time to understand that the person was inviting me to consider something beyond what was happening inside my own classroom.

Sometimes the Message Makes More Sense Later

I didn’t immediately walk away from that conversation with a new understanding of teacher leadership. I had to grow into it.

Later in my career, another leader talked with me about seeing the bigger picture. Not just my classroom. Not just the work directly in front of me. But how what I was doing connected to the program as a whole.

That conversation helped me look back at the earlier one differently.

I started realizing that I had been measuring a lot of my success through the experience we were creating inside our room. And that wasn’t wrong. Our classroom deserved the attention and effort we were giving it.

But there was another question I hadn’t been thinking about as deeply.

What could I share from that experience that might be useful to somebody else?

And just as importantly, what could I learn from what was happening in their classrooms?

That was the part I began to understand differently.

The good work happening in my classroom didn’t become less important because I started looking beyond it.

I was beginning to see that my contribution could become something more.

I Was Sharing, but My Thinking Was Changing

I want to be clear about something. It wasn’t that my co-teacher and I never shared our ideas. We did.

If someone asked about something happening in our classroom, we talked about it. We shared materials, experiences, and ideas. We collaborated with other educators and learned from them, too.

But after those leadership conversations, I became more intentional about sharing what we were learning instead of only waiting for somebody to ask.

I wanted to share some of the excitement we had about the work.

Sometimes a fresh idea can help somebody look at a familiar practice differently. And sometimes another educator’s experience can do the same thing for me.

I wasn’t trying to make every classroom a copy of mine. Those educators had their own children, families, teaching partners, experiences, and strengths.

What worked for our group might need to look different somewhere else.

I was beginning to understand collaboration as more than explaining how we did something in our room.

It was an opportunity to exchange ideas, learn from one another, and continue growing.

Looking back, I can see how those experiences helped me become interested in work I hadn’t originally imagined myself doing.

Then Coaching Opened Another Door

I had worked in administration before returning to the classroom, so I already understood something about program expectations and accountability.

But when I later learned about an opportunity to support teachers through coaching, something clicked for me.

I liked the idea of working alongside educators. Helping them strengthen their practice. Sharing what I had learned. And continuing to learn from them.

Eventually, I moved into a coaching position supporting Head Start and Early Head Start work with childcare partner sites.

And that was another adjustment.

In a program where you have administrative responsibility, there are expectations you oversee and decisions you are responsible for making.

But coaching educators at partner sites was different.

I wasn’t their supervisor.

I was coming into their setting to support them with work connected to Head Start and Early Head Start requirements and expectations.

The standards still mattered. The work still needed to happen.

But I couldn’t approach every conversation as though I could simply tell someone what to do and expect that to be enough.

I had to understand the people I was supporting. Their experience. What they already knew. What they had tried. What felt unfamiliar. And what might be getting in the way.

That required a different approach from me.

Sometimes You Have to Open the Book Together

One thing coaching helped me understand is that I cannot assume someone has the same starting point I do.

Maybe I am familiar with a curriculum. I know how the materials are organized. I understand the terminology. I have used the resources before.

But what if the educator I’m supporting has never really had an opportunity to explore those materials?

Why would I begin by explaining all the things they should be doing with the curriculum when we haven’t even taken the time to open it together?

Sometimes that is where we have to start.

Let’s look at it. What is here? What looks familiar? What questions do you have? What have you had an opportunity to use? What part would you like to understand better?

Then we can begin exploring how the materials connect to the work happening in that classroom.

That approach doesn’t lower expectations. It helps me understand where the support needs to begin.

And the relationship matters.

I want to know the educator as a professional. I want to understand what they bring to the work. I want them to feel comfortable sharing what they know and what they are still learning.

Because I don’t believe I can support somebody well if I enter the relationship assuming I already know everything they need.

I had to learn that, too.

Supporting Someone Doesn’t Mean Having All the Answers

As I continued coaching, I began understanding that the value of my experience wasn’t in having an answer ready for every situation.

I might come into a conversation with an idea I believed could help. But the educator could have information I didn’t have.

Maybe they had already tried something similar. Maybe their classroom circumstances were different from what I expected. Maybe what I thought needed attention wasn’t where they felt they needed the most support.

I had to be willing to hear that.

Sometimes it meant reconsidering my original recommendation. Sometimes it meant slowing down enough to understand what the educator had already experienced. And sometimes it meant recognizing that the conversation itself was helping both of us understand the work differently.

That didn’t make the expectations less important. It helped me become more thoughtful about how I supported educators in meeting them.

I was learning that coaching wasn’t about walking into someone else’s classroom as though I had every answer.

It was about building a professional relationship where we could work toward stronger practice together.

I Still Believe Good Work Deserves Recognition

I want to come back to that classroom for a minute.

Because I don’t want the message to become that educators should stop being proud of the good work they are doing.

Absolutely not.

Early childhood educators work hard. They deserve to have their efforts noticed. They deserve opportunities to celebrate the relationships they have built with children and families.

And when an educator has created something meaningful, I don’t think we should immediately turn their success into another responsibility.

Being good at something doesn’t automatically mean you should have to carry everybody else’s work.

That is not what I took from those experiences.

What changed for me was how I understood the possibilities.

I could be proud of what my co-teacher and I had built and still recognize that there was more happening beyond our classroom. I could share something useful without expecting everyone to do it my way. I could learn from another educator without feeling that it somehow took away from what I already knew.

And I could begin seeing leadership as something that wasn’t limited to the position I held.

Sometimes it showed up in being willing to exchange ideas. In encouraging another educator. In learning alongside somebody. In recognizing a strength in another classroom. Or in helping someone become more confident in something they were already working to improve.

That’s a different kind of reward.

The Bigger Picture

When I think back to that first conversation, I can admit that I wasn’t ready to hear everything the person was encouraging me to consider.

I heard it through the pride I felt in our classroom. And that pride was earned.

But later, when another leader encouraged me to see the bigger picture, I began understanding the earlier message differently.

Our classroom mattered. And so did the educators, children, and families beyond it.

That understanding eventually helped me recognize coaching as a path I wanted to explore.

It also taught me something about receiving feedback.

Not every piece of feedback is right, and we don’t have to agree with everything someone tells us. But sometimes experience gives us context we didn’t have when we first heard something.

I’m glad I left room for those conversations to make more sense over time.

Because I went from wanting to build a classroom that others could learn from to discovering how much I enjoyed learning alongside educators and supporting them in becoming stronger in their own practice.

I was proud of what we built in our classroom.

I just hadn’t realized yet how much more I might be able to contribute by sharing what I knew—and staying open to what others could teach me.

That’s what RaChe’ said.

#WhatRaCheSaid