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Teaching and Teacher Education 26 (2010) 616–621

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Teaching and Teacher Education

journal homepage: www.elsevier .com/locate/ tate

Revisiting the teachers’ lounge: Reflections on emotional experienceand teacher identity

Shawna Shapiro*

Middlebury College, Center for Teaching, Learning, and Research, Library 224, Middlebury, VT 05753, USA

a r t i c l e i n f o

Article history:Received 16 July 2007Received in revised form8 October 2008Accepted 8 September 2009

Keywords:TeacherIdentityEmotionReflective teachingCritical

* Mobile: þ1 206 919 6060.E-mail addresses: shawnashapiro@gmail.com, sha

0742-051X/$ – see front matter � 2009 Elsevier Ltd.doi:10.1016/j.tate.2009.09.009

a b s t r a c t

This essay explores the relationship between emotion and teacher identity, using a framework ofpersonal experience and published research from a variety of disciplines. The author argues that anincreased awareness of emotional experience serves not only to increase rapport among educators, butalso to counteract the persistent dehumanization of the teaching profession in our current sociopoliticalcontext. She highlights the work of other educational scholars to suggest various means by which thisawareness can be cultivated in research and teaching practice.

� 2009 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.

When I chose to take a hiatus from public school teaching topursue graduate studies, my primary motivation was personal,rather than professional. I was concerned that my professionalidentity as a middle school teacher had begun to eclipse my personalidentity as a lifelong student. As I entered my third year of teaching, Ibegan to notice that my priorities had shifteddfrom pleasure readingand curiosity about current events, toward assignment grading andpedagogical workshops. My flow of mental energy had been diver-ted from the realm of ideas toward the world of pragmaticsdthewhat and how of instructional routines. I remember, for instance,consciously avoiding particular topics in my social studies class, if Isensed that they would lead us away from the district-mandatedcurriculum. And I decreased the amount of creative writing mystudents produced in language arts, since that stole time from othertasks that might have more academic ‘use value.’ I justified thesedecisions as being necessary for the practical needs of students andthe rigorous expectations of our school’s stakeholders. I felt a senseof loss, however, as I shifted priorities. My conversations with a fewveteran teachersdone of whom told me that his top 3 reasons forteaching are ‘‘June, July, and August’’dcontributed to my growingconcern that I the more I taught, the less I would want to learn.

I began to sense that the longer I was a teacher, the less I mightfeel like a full human being. My professional identity was eclipsingmy humanity.

pis@u.washington.edu.

All rights reserved.

My realization of these changes came in part from the inter-actions that occurred during lunch breaks in the staff lounge.Munching aimlessly on baby carrots, I noticed that our conversationrevolved around two main topicsdstudent misbehavior and realitytelevision. Listening to the chatter about these topics, I began to feelboth irritated and somehow isolated. The source of my broaderdiscontent, I later realized, was this: We were interacting on a verylimited basis. We had restricted the scope of our conversation totopics that were safe but shallow. I began to wonder if this limitedinteraction might be related somehow to our preconceived notionsof how educators should interactdwhat they should think and talkabout. I came to conclude that my colleagues and I were subject toa paradigm of constructed teacher identity, which was shapingour social exchanges. When elements outside this paradigmemergeddvulnerability, anger, eroticismdthey were treated asa potential threat to this constructed identity, and were eitherpassively ignored or actively (albeit diplomatically) hushed.

I believe that emotional identity is fundamental to our under-standing of professional identity and the interactions it maygenerate or preclude. This essay explores the role of emotion withina paradigm of constructed teacher identity and suggests ways inwhich interaction among teachers can be more fully developed tocultivate professional growthdnot just as educators, but ascomplex, multi-faceted human beings. To begin, I will define theconcepts of emotional and professional identity as they arediscussed in published scholarship. Then, I will offer examples ofhow these notions influence our identity as teachers. In essence,these first two sections of the paper seek to answer the following

S. Shapiro / Teaching and Teacher Education 26 (2010) 616–621 617

questions: Why is emotional identity an important aspect of our workas teachers? How have particular conceptions of the teaching profes-sion served to limit the expression of this identity? I will then makethe case for an alternative paradigm in which emotional identity iscentralized in our notion of professionalism. I will discuss the keypoints of such a paradigm, the reasons that it is necessary, and thebarriers that must be overcome in order to become an integralaspect of educational practice. The central question addressed inthis latter section is this: What would it mean for emotional identityto become a central aspect of the teaching profession?

1. Emotional identity and the teaching profession

Professional identity has always been a salient concept foreducators. We see ‘teacher’ as more than simply a category ofemployment: We have chosen this field and tend to feel that it haschosen us (e.g. Beijaard, Meijer, & Verloop, 2004). Much of whatdrives this notion of identity is our experience in the classroom,both positive and negative: We share collective memories ofeducational triumphs, classroom tensions, anddperhaps mostsignificantlyda secret dread of what we’re not doing ‘right.’ Sur-rounded by heated debate on standards, testing, values, literacy,culture, and other issues, we are often plagued by thoughts offailure and lack of support (cf. Lasky, 2005). While many discus-sions of teacher professionalism emphasize the cognitive aspects ofthese experiences, it could be argued that the more influentialfactor at work in our professional identity is emotion: It is ourexperience of affect which forms the basis for our sense of profes-sional self. As Andy Hargreaves (1998, p. 835) says, simply,‘‘Emotions are at the heart of teaching’’.

Only recently, however, has this idea been taken up in scholarlyresearch (Sutton & Wheatley, 2003). Two reviews of researchscholarship on the emotions of teachersdHargreaves (2001) andSutton and Wheatley (2003)dfound discussion of a wide range ofemotional experiences in recent decades. When asked about thepositive emotions that guide their work, teachers tend to mentioncare, affection, and even love (Acker, 1992; Emmer, 1994; Sutton,2000). These facets of caring are tied to the passion and excitementthey experience in relation to course content and student learning(Fried, 1995; Nias, 1989; and Sutton, 2000). When they feel thatthey are successful in their work, teachers also experience satis-faction and enjoyment, both in the short-term and in general(Emmer, 1994; Hargreaves, 1998; and Sutton, 2000). Over time, thissatisfaction produces a sense of pride, both professional andpersonal (Huberman, 1993; Lasky, 2000).

What these more affirmative emotions have in common is thatthey are largely responses to human relationshipsdwith students,colleagues, and parents. Ours is a human profession, and in humanrelationships do we find the affective rewards for our work. In herinterviews with teachers, Sue Lasky (2005) confirmed that humanconnection is a significant factor in teachers’ choice of professionand long-term job satisfaction, as her interview subjects frequentlymentioned such connection in their discussion of their work. KateEliza O’Connor (2008) found in her own research, similarly, that thenotion of human ‘‘care’’ is both prevalent and multi-faceted ineducators’ notions of professional identity.1 In other words, it isboth our job and our nature to care and to connect with otherhuman beings.

Negative emotions are also significant inteacher identitydperhapseven more so in a profession where caring is centralizedd

for the very act of caring leaves one open to the possibility ofhurt and disappointment (O’Connor, 2008). The most common

1 Also see Day & Leitch, 2001.

negative emotion discussed in recent research is anger, stemmingfrom students’ indifference or misbehavior, the absence of supportfrom one’s institution or community, and other obstacles to teacherefficacy (Emmer, 1994; Hargreaves, 2000; Lasky, 2000; Nias, 1989;Sutton, 2000). Central to this anger is a sense of powerlessness inaccomplishing educational goals. This powerlessness, in turn, is tiedin with a general anxiety about student achievement, the challengesof communication with various stakeholders, and ongoing self-evaluation.

Another negative emotion experienced by teachers is loneliness.The general isolation of teachers into individual classrooms meansthat they rarely interact with colleagues enough to receive feedbackon their work (cf. Flinders, 1988). Hence, although much of thesatisfaction teachers experience comes from human relationship,the extent of interaction that might foster such relationship withcolleagues is likely to be quite limited. Physically, teaching tends tobe isolating, even though psychologically, it is highly relational.

2. Emotional identity and teacher interactions

Although educational research has begun to give more attentionto emotional experiences in recent years, this does not necessarilytranslate into greater discussion of these topics among teachersthemselves. In their interviews with teachers and their tutors, Dayand Leitch (2001, p. 414) discovered narratives that were ‘‘repletewith feelings’’ but also reflected a ‘‘continuing inner debatebetween the personal and the professional, the emotional and thecognitive.’’ (p. 414). Rosemary Sutton (2007) found a strongtendency among some teachers to ‘‘regulate’’ their expression offeelings such as anger and frustration. Liljestrom, Roulston, anddeMarrais (2007), also noted high levels of restraint in teacherswho had come to feel that there was ‘‘no place’’ for certainemotions within school settings.

In my own interactions with colleagues, I often felt that therange of ‘‘express-able’’ emotions was quite narrow. I often senseda tacit expectation to suppress my more negative emotionsdandsome of the positive ones as well. One of my clearest memories ofthis suppression was a brief exchange I had with my colleague Beth,in response to my work with the district’s teacher’s union. As theunion representative, I was given the task of informing mycolleagues about local and state issues and eliciting their feedbackon more controversial upcoming decisions. The only time I couldhold these discussions was during the already-rushed 25-minutelunch period. At one of our ‘union update’ sessions, Beth said off-handedly that she ‘‘didn’t care much’’ about an upcoming votebecause she ‘‘didn’t know anything’’ about the issue. I felt myselfgrowing angry. I hesitated and then decided to tell Beth that hercomment frustrated me because I had indeed been trying to informthe teachers, but was not feeling successful. The comment wasmeant to reflect my own sense of failure in communicating effec-tively, rather than serving as a direct critique of Beth. But she tookmy words as a sign that I was offended: she quietly apologized, andthen sat in silence. Several other teachers stared uncomfortably.Beth sent me an email afterward, telling me how much sherespected my work as a union representative and apologizing forsounding disinterested. She was absent from lunch the next day,and two other colleagues commented that they hoped the ‘‘heated’’exchange from the day before had been ‘‘resolved.’’ I attempted toexplain further what I was feeling, but the teachers at my tablequickly changed the subject.

Although I was gratified that Beth had noticed and responded tomy frustration, I was saddened that our exchange had been inter-preted by the group as a narrowly-avoided argument, rather thanan opportunity for self-disclosure. Reflecting on the situation a fewweeks later, I realized that it was the first time I had faced even

S. Shapiro / Teaching and Teacher Education 26 (2010) 616–621618

a shadow of conflict with my colleagues. Occasionally, we woulddiffer in opinions about policies, parents, or administrators, but thesubject was usually dropped if any strong disagreement emerged.Those teachers who were particularly opinionated, in fact, oftenreceived our subtle (yet indirect) criticism, through quietcomments and disapproving gestures. Yet I had found it refreshingsomehow to admit openly that I was frustrated in my work. Iwondered if more such admissions might be beneficial to ourprofession: What other frustrations and fears were buried deep inour psyches? I began to suspect that ‘‘heated’’ conversation was, infact, exactly what we needed, both as colleagues and as humanbeings.

I gradually became aware that along with blatant conflict, other‘unhappy’ sentimentsddisappointment, anger, sadnessdwere allbut absent in the interactions I had with my colleagues. OneMonday, Beth received a bouquet of flowers during lunch, and hereyes filled with tears. Assuming the flowers were from herhusband, we all made dulcet ‘cooing’ noises upon their arrival. Red-faced, Beth hesitantly revealed that the flowers were actually fromher motherda gift of encouragement after a ‘‘rough weekend.’’ Oneor two of us gently asked Beth what had occurred over theweekend, but she refused to discuss it, insisting with a tense smilethat it was ‘‘all over now.’’ For the rest of the afternoon, I keptremembering those flowers and the impenetrable optimism withwhich Beth had responded to our concern. Although I certainlywanted to respect Beth’s privacy, I wondered if she had beenconditioned to believe that being a teacher carried with it theexpectation that the only permissible persona was a cheerful one,even if it was a façade.

Later that year, I faced a struggle of my own: stress-inducedinsomnia. In the way I addressed this issue with my colleagues, Isubmitted to the same unspoken expectations. I mentioned casu-ally that I was having difficulty sleeping, but downplayed theseverity of the situation. When my exhaustion and anxiety even-tually intensified to a point where I felt that I could not function inmy work, it was the school nurse in whom I chose to confide,though she hardly knew me. I was relieved at her directness andempathy, and wished I might have been able to find such supportamong my peers. I was too concerned, however, that they wouldreact to my troubles with discomfort. I wanted to avoid ‘burdening’my colleagues with my troubles.

I assumed that the social distance between myself and mycolleagues was just a typical workplace phenomenon: We allprobably had people outside school with whom we shared ourdeeper emotions. A few other occurrences, however, caused me toquestion this simplistic answer and to wonder about ourconstruction of ‘‘teacher identity’’: The occasional use of profanityby a highly-respected English teacher during staff meetingscontinued to cause many teachers to wince visibly. A few femalecolleagues teased me when I made a comment implying that Ienjoyed sex with my long-term partner. A male teacher was chidedfor drinking homemade ginger ale from a bottle that ‘‘looked likebeer,’’ and was gently warned about what ‘‘students might think.’’The fear that students might see us drinking alcohol was so severe,in fact, that some of my colleagues refused to order drinks when wegathered for Happy Hour at a local restaurant. When asked thereason for her abstention, one said, ‘‘What would the kids think ifthey saw me drinking a margarita?’’ I remember thinking, ‘‘Theywould think that you’re.human.’’ I began to wonder more andmore, ‘‘Aren’t we teachers allowed to be human?’’

I reluctantly came to the conclusion that my colleagues and I hadchosen to relate to one another as ‘‘educators’’ more than as fellowhuman beings. We were allowing an ideal of what teachers shouldbedcheerful, self-sacrificing, and vice-lessdto dominate ourinteractions. We sought to become what I now call the ‘‘model

teacher’’da pedagogical whiz who appears pleasant and calm in allsituations and is imminently able to exceed the expectations putupon her by state, school, parents, and students. The model teacherhas figured it all out: struggles, if they ever existed, are in the past.In our striving toward this ideal, we tend to disregard or evenhide our own complexities and imperfections; in essence, wede-humanize ourselves. Collectively, we may complain about theunrealistic expectations put on teachers by our legislators,administrators, and parents. Yet we reinforce those expectations byconcealing the parts of ourselves that exist in contradiction.Displays of anger, sadness, sexuality, or soda container mightdisrupt the façade of perfection; hence, we avoid such demon-strations and construct barriers amongst ourselves, instead ofvalidating our own humanity through more authentic interaction.

3. Origins of the ‘‘model teacher’’ myth

As early as 1932, Willard Waller was discussing the ‘‘modelteacher’’ in his Sociology of Teaching. Rather than critiquing thisnotion, Waller depicted what he saw as an inevitable distancebetween teacher and student, heightened by the perception eachhas of the other. Students, he says, can never truly ‘‘know’’ theirteacher, because they only ‘‘peer’’ at him or her ‘‘through institu-tional bars’’ (pp. 279, 280). This social distance between teacher andothers is necessary, he argued, for the maintenance of institutionalauthority, so that education can be effective. Waller admitted fullythat this distance extends beyond the classroom, creating a ‘‘thinbut impenetrable veil that comes between the teacher and all otherhuman beings’’ (p. 49). Hence, the ‘‘model teacher,’’ in Waller’sdepiction, is an almost mythical creaturedset apart, distinct withinsociety, and devoted solely to the cause of pedagogy. It is no wonderthat the expression persists that teachers have ‘eyes in the back oftheir heads,’ for teachers continue to be seen by many as somehowsuper-human.

While Waller saw social and emotional distance as inevitableand even necessary in the educational process, a more recenteducational scholardAndy Hargreavesdhas criticized what hesees as a Western, masculine ideal of ‘‘classical professionalism’’that ignores the need for ‘‘close emotional understanding betweenteachers, parents, and students’’ (2001, p. 1069). When teachersattempt to remain ‘‘clinical’’ and ‘‘detached’’ in a profession wherecaring is a core value, Hargreaves explains, this results in psycho-logical dissonance. Teachers begin to feel that they must choosebetween two identitiesdthe competent professional or the caringpal. Hargreaves argues that ‘‘professional autonomy and indepen-dence’’ along with ‘‘bureaucratic regulation,’’ often ‘‘help make thejob of masking and maintaining emotional distance easier’’(p. 1069). As a result, teachers deny or hide a large part of theiremotional identity from students. In many cases, they extend this totheir interactions with colleagues as well (Golby, 1996; Sutton &Wheatley, 2003). With the significant pressures put on teachers inmodern times to serve a variety of roles and meet ever-higherexpectations, it would seem all the more necessary for teachers toshare their emotional experiences. In most cases, however themodel teacher mythos remains firmly in place.

Feminist scholar Madeleine Grumet (1988) suggests that thesedynamics stem in part from the education profession’s attempts todefine itself in relation to other disciplines, such as law andmedicine, which are seen as higher in status and tend to de-emphasize emotional identity. To gain similar status, educationtends to imitate the attempts at de-personalization and objectivityput forth in other professions. This imitation has significantconsequences, however: ‘‘[W]hen we attempt to rectify ourhumiliating situation by emulating the protectionism and elitism ofthe other professions,’’ she explains, ‘‘we subscribe to patriarchy’s

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contempt for the familiar, for the personal . for us’’ (p. 58 inHargreaves, 2001, p. 1069). In a people-centered profession liketeaching, this sort of contempt threatens the very foundations ofour work. To reclaim itself as a uniquely humanist and relationship-oriented profession, then, education cannot ignore the emotionthat undergirds the human connection.

One of the main ways in which emotion plays out in education isthrough vulnerability. Martha Nussbaum’s (2003, p. 12) Upheavalsof Thought’’ describes a unique process of emotional interplay thathappens among ‘‘imperfect beings’’ who admit their imperfection.Vulnerability, according to Nussbaum, comes from admitting whatwe do not know and cannot control. At times, she says, ouremotions scare us, because we may not know how to predict orinterpret them; hence we seek to suppress those feelings so that weavoid the appearance of vulnerability. Nussbaum offers an examplewhom she names ‘‘B,’’ whose fear of his own imperfections led torelationships that were distant and/or conflict-laden. As teachers,we are not often encouraged to display imperfection; we prideourselves on exuding characteristics that are more its antitheses:strength, capability, and authority. In doing so, however, we createtwo mutually exclusive identities: one as human and the other asteacher. This dichotomy can create tremendous tensiondbothinside and among us. Like ‘‘B,’’ we can end up exhausted, confused,and unresponsive to each other as a result of our dichotomousidentities as infallible teacher and fallible human.

4. The need for alternatives

To confront the teacher-human dichotomy, we must emphasizeemotional experience amongst each other and with our students.Without the honest sharing of emotion within the schoolcommunity, bonds of solidarity are difficult to sustain. When welimit the extent to which we share about the affective aspect of ourexperience, we limit the potential for greater cohesiveness.Philosopher Martin Buber (2002) devoted much of his bookBetween Man and Man to describing the ways in which emotionforges the relationships that are central to the education process.Buber exhorts us to consider the power of dialogic communion,which involves our ‘‘being opened up and drawn in’’ to inter-rela-tionship (p. 91). Such interaction causes both personal and socialtransformation, since community allows the ‘‘world.to becomepresent to us as a person’’ (p. 88). Through genuine dialogue, hesays, educators can traverse their mental and emotional milieus toenjoy a heightened sense of empathy and freedom. This experiencethen extends into the classroom, as it grounds us further in realityand allows us to have more ‘‘complete presence’’ with one another(p. 97). Such presence is needed if learning is to become a trulytransformative process (Freire, 2000). As Buber (2002, p. 105)argues, the educator’s effectiveness lies the ability to ‘‘communi-cate . directly to [one’s] fellow beings’’. Teachers must first prac-tice these skills amongst themselves, however, so that they areprepared to implement them with students in the classroom topromote ‘‘dynamic unity’’ (p. 116).

A second reason that emotional identity is important in ourprofession is that emotions are a major component in under-standing the Why and How of the educational process. Notions likelearner motivation, performance anxiety, and moral developmentare intricately tied to emotional processes. If we ignore the role thatemotion plays in student learning, we limit the breadth of ourunderstanding of these processes. Only by centralizing emotionalidentity will we be able to address the complex set of factors thatimpact our work as educators. By maintaining the ‘‘model teacher’’mythos, in contrast, we threaten our professional identity, sup-planting open discourse with a confining and unachievable defi-nition of what we are supposed to be. The impossible ideal becomes

an obstacle to authentic relationships among educators and withstudents. Several steps have been taken to dismantle this ideal byfocusing on emotional identity in research and teaching practices.

5. Emotional identity as research focus

One of the most extensive efforts at prioritizing emotion as anarea of research was an issue of Teaching and Teacher Education(2005) devoted to ‘‘emotions, teacher identity, and change.’’ In thiscollection, scholars explored the idea that emotion plays a centralrole in educators’ processes of decision-making, professional devel-opment, and identity formation (2005). In his discussion of thevarious theoretical approaches taken by authors in that issue, T. G.Reio (2005) suggests one reason that emotion tends to be overlookedin most educational research: it is notoriously amorphous, anddifficult to ‘pin down.’ Researchers looking to isolate, categorize, andanalyze discrete phenomena may find that this complexity repre-sents a barrier to their work. Yet as as M. Zembylas (2003) explains,this complexity of emotion lends itself to richer scholarly conversa-tions, for emotional experience involves multiple intersectionsbetween mind and body, as well as between personal and socialworlds. The authors in the 2005 issue recognize this complexity, andinvoke various theoretical structuresdsociocultural, psychological,and discursivedto frame their discussion of emotion. The conclu-sions drawn from these analyses overlap on several key points: 1)Emotion is a significant factor in teachers’ perceptions, interactions,and identities in relation to students, colleagues, and other stake-holders. 2) Emotion and professional identity are both dynamic andinterrelated, and they represent a multidisciplinary point of entrytoward understanding teachers’ behaviors. 3) Tension betweenteachers’ intellectual concerns and their emotional responsescontributes to a sense of powerlessnessdan effect that is relativelyunexplored in research scholarship.

Focusing on emotion offers a means by which to understandhow teachers see themselves, their colleagues, their students, andthe decisions that impact these groups. Alexa Darby (2008)confirmed this in a recent article describing the tremendous fearand insecurity one group of teachers faced initially in response toreform efforts at their school. At first, these teachers found theprocess threatening, but with time, they came to feel that thereform efforts offered opportunities for new growth and learning.Before the teachers could truly come to appreciate these benefits,however, they needed an opportunity to express their morenegative emotional responses to the process. This eventual accep-tance was due in part to the opportunity teachers had to collaborateamongst themselves and with consultants. Ultimately, professionalidentity and self-understanding were re-structured for theseteachers, through an honest exchange of emotions and ideas.

Michalinos Zembylas (2005) looked at teachers’ emotionsthrough a Foucauldian lens, examining the role of institutionalpower in teachers’ emotional identities and the ways that social andcultural norms restrict the interpretation and expression ofemotional experience. Within academic institutions, he found,these norms can be enforced to an even greater degree, under theguise of professionalism: ‘‘The emotional rules developed in schoolsand legitimated through the exercise of power,’’ he explains, ‘‘areused to ‘govern’ teachers by putting limits on their emotionalexpressions in order to ‘normalize’ them..’’ (p. 123). This leads toteachers’ ‘‘resisting the forms of selfhood they are enjoined toadopt.to draw and extend boundaries around themselves.[inresponse to] institutional demands that they be docile and disci-plined.’’ (p. 123). As Zembylas demonstrates, the normalizing forcesoperating on teachers are by no means neutral: The ideal teachermyth comprises a disciplining mechanism, maintaining an impos-sible expectation that serves to prevent teacher resistance. Teachers

S. Shapiro / Teaching and Teacher Education 26 (2010) 616–621620

confront the myth as they explore their own emotional experienceswithin those institutional walls.

6. Emotional identity as teaching practice

For emotional identity to be recognized more saliently in schoolsettings, it must become an integral part of teaching practice. Themeans by which affect can become more prominent in the class-room has only recently become centralized in literature fromteacher educators.

In his recent book Teaching with Emotion: A Postmodern Enact-ment (2005), Zembylas describes several paths toward theemotional redefinition he advocates. He focuses on scienceeducation, which he names as an area in which emotion is rarelyacknowledged. In an ethnographic study with an early childhoodscience teacher named Catherine, Zembylas measured and cate-gorized the ‘‘emotional labor’’dboth positive and neg-ativedengaged in various situations. He calls this approacha ‘‘genealogy of emotions in teaching,’’ and recommends that otherteachers engage in a similar process of articulation. Zembylas alsoencourages teachers to utilize an ‘‘emotion diary,’’ in which theydescribe their emotional experiences and answer a number ofrelated prompts, paying particular attention to the causes for theemotion and their own bodily responses. Zembylas’s book includesa template for this diary, as well as the protocol for a ‘‘meta-emotion interview,’’ of the sort he has conducted in his research.

Andy Hargreaves (2001) describes another method by whichemotional identity can be explored, using what he calls ‘‘emotionalgeographies’’. By mapping their emotional experiences and socialrelationships, he explains, teachers come to understand boththemselves and their professional culture. Hargreaves exemplifiesthis sort of analysis using teacher commentary about the challengesof communicating with parents, and identifies emotional themesthat emerge from the data. McDermott (2002) uses a project called‘‘identity collage,’’ which gives teachers the opportunity to repre-sent their inner worlds in concrete and creative ways. To encourageauthentic dialogue, some schools have established Critical FriendsGroups, where teachers are encouraged to see themselves aslearners and to share openly about their classroom experiences (cf.Bambino, 2002).

In my own teacher training classes, I have found that the use ofin-class reflective writing can be an effective tool for accessingteachers’ emotional worlds. A silent time of in-class journalingoften yields more honest and detailed accounts than might begenerated from a spontaneous large-group discussion. Thesewritten reflections can receive an individualized response from thecourse instructor (via written feedback or in-person conferencing).They can also serve as anonymous starting points for groupdiscussion (assuming that the participants are told ahead of timethat their writing might be referred to in this way). I often initiatediscussion of a difficult topic by presenting a question that createsa space for possible negative emotions. Sample questions, at whichmy teachers-in-training sometimes laugh but eventually answer,are as follows:

1. How many of you hate taking tests? Why?2. How do you feel about yourself as a writer? What are your

strengths and weaknesses?3. What are you most afraid of in teaching (even if you think such

fears may be irrational)?

I usually open such discussion by sharing frankly about my ownfears, frustrations, and failures. In this way, I hope to demonstratethe sort of vulnerability I wish to see in my developing teachers. For

if I am not willing to share openly with my students, I may actuallyreinforce rather than dismantle the ‘‘model teacher’’ myth.

Another way emotional identity can be cultivated is throughthe integration of ‘‘emotional literacy’’ as a topic of study in schoolsettings. In recent decades, the number of programs, resources,and curricula devoted to this and related topics has increaseddramatically. However, two weaknesses seem to persist inprograms of this kind: First, they tend to be disconnected fromsubject area content, focusing on quotidian topics separate fromacademics. It is important, of course, that students discuss emotionin relation to their social relationships and personal interests.However, emotion must be an integral part of students’ otheracademic studies as well. The importance of this integrationbecame more clear to me in my conversations with a colleaguewhose seventh-grade son had begun to display symptoms ofdepression. She discovered upon talking with him that he wasfeeling tremendous sadness in reaction to the depictions of povertybeing presented in his social studies class. My colleague expressedfrustration that the school districtdone known to be quiteprogressive about social issuesdhad forgotten to consider theemotional impact of this academic content on its students. Shespent time working with her son to help him recognize and acceptthese emotions, as well as to find some consolation in learningabout the work of organizations dedicated to alleviating povertyboth locally and around the world. By ignoring the emotionalaspect of discussions of social issues, the district had misseda valuable opportunity to integrate emotions and intellect.

The second weakness of emotional literacy curricula is that, asZembylas points out, they often lack a ‘‘critical’’ approach. Con-flicting and/or discomforting emotions tend to be overlooked, asemotional identity is constructed as a static, monolithic landscape.Michalinos Zembylas has attempted to counteract these tendenciesand to highlight the dynamic nature of emotional identity. Hisultimate goal is the development of

‘‘a way of thinking that can help [teachers] to overcome theemotional rules that make them objects, to negotiate newpositions and new emotional rules in their professional lives.tothink and ‘author’ themselves differently, to ask not only howemotion discourses and performances have cut them off fromtheir desires but also how these have installed alternativedesires and habits. ’’ (2003, p. 119).

Zembylas calls for teacher training practices that emphasize themultiple facets of identity, reminding us that ‘‘emotion and the selfare inextricably bound’’ (p. 115). His practices also include explicitdiscussion of the ways that institutional power limits emotionalexpression and creates ‘‘values conflicts’’ for teachers (p. 125).Educators must be given the space and opportunity to vocalizetheir complex and even contradicting emotional responses toissues such as standardized testing, classroom management, andwork-life balance. By recognizing that multiple and conflictingemotions likely exist around these issues, we begin to normalizethe expression of emotional experience in and around the class-room (Zembylas, 2005). Zembylas describes this approach as one inwhich emotional identity is not essentialized but performed,through the act of expression. This performance is cyclical: Just asemotions emerge from our experiences, they also construct us asteachers and as human beings.

The benefits of highlighting emotional identity in educationalsettings extend beyond the immediacies of effective pedagogy.Through the expression of emotional identity, teachers can developgreater reflexivity, stronger solidarity, and heightened sensitivitytoward their colleagues and students. Recognizing emotionalidentity in the educational process may well be our most effectivetool of resistance to the persistent dehumanization of the teaching

S. Shapiro / Teaching and Teacher Education 26 (2010) 616–621 621

profession. Teacher identity must begin to encompass theemotional realities of human existence. For as John Dewey told us,‘‘Education is not a preparation for life; education is life itself.’’

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Shawna Shapiro is a Ph.D. candidate at the University of Washington, where she alsoreceived her MATESOL degree. She is an instructor in two Seattle-based teachertraining programs, and has contributed chapters on pedagogical practice for severalvolumes published by TESOL, Inc and Anker Publishing. She has also written otherpieces for several scholarly and professional publications.