“I’ve never done this work alone,” I thought as I looked around the high school gymnasium at the other instructional coaches and school leaders. We had been given a critical, quick-write prompt to begin the professional learning session that asked: Who helped you grow the most in your profession? How did they help you grow? And how does that impact your work today?
As I leaned toward my Chromebook to respond, the thought sharpened. I’ve never done this work alone, and the people beside me have shaped every step I’ve taken.
I’ve had mentors and coaches who did more than hand me tips or point me toward resources. Some were my practicum and student teaching supervisors who trusted me to figure things out, but never let me feel like I had to figure them out alone.
I remember being told, “Your students don’t need you to be perfect; they need you to be present.” One reminded me often, “Take the risk. The worst thing that happens is you learn something new.” Their guidance gave me permission to show up as my whole self and take risks as I shaped my evolving teacher identity. As a high school English teacher, former instructional coach, and now as a district instructional support leader, I’ve come to understand that the mentoring I once relied on is the same coaching I try to give others.
Adjusting to a New Environment
When I stepped into the role of instructional coach last year, I brought the habits I’d relied on as a teacher: listening before advising, learning alongside others and remembering what it felt like to be supported well.
Unfortunately, that approach wasn’t instantly recognized in my new school setting.
No one told me I didn’t belong, but in those first weeks, I could feel the distance between myself and my new colleagues. Conversations quieted when I walked by. Some teachers kept their distance. The glances might have lasted just a little too long. One afternoon, a teacher finally asked, “So what exactly is it you’re here to do?”
The question stayed with me. I know that it wasn’t meant to be hostile. My experience stepping into instructional coaching was part of a larger story that was playing out in schools. Nearly 60 percent of public schools have at least one instructional coach, though in many places, the role is underfunded, temporary or narrowly defined. In Rhode Island where I’m from, that’s beginning to shift.
Last year, the state invested $5 million to expand coaching across districts, with the goal of making it a permanent, embedded part of school life. This year, the Rhode Island Department of Education followed with nearly $40 million more over five years, as part of the Comprehensive Literacy State Development grant, building partnerships between schools and teacher preparation programs to strengthen literacy instruction and improve student outcomes.
Still, in that moment, being asked what it is I’m here to do stung. I felt the heat of my own insecurities rising. Was I stepping on toes? Was I doing enough? More than once, I wondered if I was in over my head or if my colleagues realized I wasn’t the professional they expected. I’d been a teacher for nearly 20 years, yet in those early days of coaching, I felt like an imposter.
Part of the distance, I realized, was rooted in a common assumption: If I need a coach, that must mean I don’t know what I’m doing.
No one said it outright, but I recognized it in the reluctance to invite me into their classes, or when teachers would come to me for immediate solutions rather than a full coaching cycle. It’s a belief born from a profession that too often equates needing help with being less capable, when in truth, the opposite is almost always true.
Some also saw coaches as the ears and eyes of the central office. Others thought I was there to evaluate. I wasn’t an administrator, though I worked closely with school leaders. I was a union member, though my proximity to administrators made teachers cautious. I lived in the middle: in classrooms but not a teacher, in leadership meetings but not a decision-maker.
As a coach, you see everything from two vantage points, and you’re constantly translating. You hear the teacher’s frustrations and see the administrator’s challenges. You try to bridge the two without losing the trust of either. No one really trains you for that; I had to figure it out in real time.
Finding the Rhythm
In time, I began to ask myself a question that became my compass as an instructional coach: What would I need if I were being coached?
That question grounded me when the role felt murky. If I were a teacher looking for support, I wouldn’t need another checklist or a curriculum pacing reminder because that kind of guidance already came from administration. I would need a thought partner who offered reassurance and helped me untangle the knot of implementing high-quality instructional materials, district goals and the unique needs of my students.
As the year progressed, I slowly bridged the gap and found teachers willing to move through coaching cycles. We planned lessons together. Sometimes we co-taught and something didn’t land, so we regrouped and tried again. None of it fit neatly into a script. And none of it was about compliance.
The most meaningful moments as a coach rarely happened on a schedule. They often came in the hall or between classes when a teacher stopped me to say, “Can I show you something I’m trying? Can you stop by next period?”
One teacher I partnered with taught science electives, including a forensics course. Her students were deep into analyzing blood splatter patterns in mock crime scenes. I still remember the excitement on the day she invited me to visit. She handed me goggles and an apron, and I entered a room buzzing with collaboration. I was hooked.
The real magic happened after the lab, when we sat down with student work and asked, “What could this be next time?” She took risks, tried new tools, and centered student voice. When she doubted herself, I reminded her of what the students already knew: she was an incredible educator. Over the year, her teaching became even more responsive and inventive, building on what worked and letting go of what didn’t.
Over time, I began to see that the real power of coaching wasn’t in providing fixes but in creating the space for teachers to think aloud about their own questions and choose the next steps that felt right to them. I was never supposed to fix it all.
Enjoying the Journey Together
I believe that learning to teach is a career-long journey. It is never something you do alone; it is something you grow into alongside others, while still figuring out what kind of teacher you are and what type you want to be.
Coaching, like teaching, is rarely neat. Early on, I thought my role was to smooth things out or provide solutions. While I still catch myself slipping into that impulse, I’ve realized that what matters most is sitting alongside teachers and learning through the uncertainty, however uncomfortable. That is the improvisational, human work of coaching.
If I were back in the classroom tomorrow, I’d want a coach who saw my potential and pushed me, even on days I doubted myself. That’s the coach I try to be now: encouraging and willing to step in when the work gets messy.
