Perception, Permission and Purpose:

Portraits of Vulnerability and Resilience in Teaching ______

A dissertation submitted to the

Graduate School of the

University of Cincinnati

In partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

In the department of Educational Studies

College of Education, Criminal Justice, & Human Services

by

Ann L. Straka

March 2018

MA, University of Cincinnati, 2010

BA, University of Kentucky, 2008

______

Miriam B. Raider-Roth, EdD, Chair

Mary Boat, PhD

Mary Brydon-Miller, PhD

Sarah Hellmann, PhD

Lisa Vaughn, PhD

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Abstract

This dissertation is a qualitative portraiture study that explores vulnerability and resilience in teaching, using poetry and visual art as integrated elements of the portraiture process. This study is approached from a feminist, relational stance that views relationships and connection as central to human development, drawing from relational cultural theory (Gilligan;

1979; 2014; Miller & Stiver, 1997; Jordan et al., 2004; Jordan, 2017) and communicative resilience theory (Buzzanell, 2010, 2017) to explore how teachers make sense of vulnerability and construct resilience in their teaching lives. Findings of this study reveal the following three dimensions of vulnerability in teaching: vulnerability as courageous disconnection, vulnerability as authentic emotional expression, and vulnerability as paradox. Through the lenses of perception, permission and purpose, the participants in this study simultaneously make sense of vulnerability in their teaching lives and discursively construct resilience.

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Copyright 2018

Ann L. Straka

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For Eleanor

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Acknowledgements

I am beyond blessed to be surrounded by a loving community of family, friends and colleagues who supported me throughout my journey as a doctoral student. I extend my deepest gratitude:

To my participants, Meredith Hogan, Dr. Steve Kroeger and Dr. Kimberly Mack. Your stories are the heart of this dissertation and it is my privilege to share them with the world. Thank you for your willingness to be vulnerable and invite me into the fabric of your lives.

To my advisor—Dr. Miriam Raider-Roth. I am so thankful that I stumbled into your class as a naïve master’s student back in 2009! Thank you for your consistent compassion and your diligent feedback. You have a keen ability to stretch your students as scholars while simultaneously holding space for us as human beings. Learning from you and with you has been such a gift.

To my committee members—Dr. Lisa Vaughn, Dr. Sarah Hellmann, Dr. Mary Brydon-Miller and Dr. Mary Boat. Thank you for your guidance, your feedback and your encouragement. I feel so lucky to have each of you as a role model and to be able to learn from such brilliant, bold and creative women.

To my family. Thank you to my parents, Barb and Pete, for always encouraging me and loving me unconditionally. To my sisters, for tolerating my sometimes-annoying, incomprehensible love of school. To my in-laws, Jackie and Bob, for your generosity and consistent support of our family. To all of my elders, who paved the way for me to pursue higher education. A special thank you to my late grandfather, Bob Louis, who passed away this year. Thanks, Poppop, for always being genuinely interested in my life. I know you were with me the whole way.

To my ECAR friends. Thanks to each of you for the unique space you hold in our circle. I could not have completed this journey without your compassion and friendship.

To my daughter, Eleanor Louise. Thank you for giving me so much joy and an unshakable sense of purpose to my life. You are my greatest teacher, my proudest accomplishment and my sunshine.

To my husband, Bobby. Thank you for your patience, your grace and your endless, steady and selfless support. I know the journey was long and you never once complained. I am so grateful for every moment I share with you in this life. I love you always. v

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Introduction ...... 1 Background and Statement of the Problem ...... 2 Research Questions ...... 3 Purpose of the Study ...... 3 My Positionality and Personal Interest ...... 5 About this Dissertation ...... 6

Chapter 2: Theoretical Framework and Review of Literature ...... 8 Broadening Teacher Identity ...... 10 Emotion in Teaching ...... 12 Conceptualizing Vulnerability ...... 18 Relational Cultural Theory ...... 23 Relational Competence ...... 25 Relational Resilience ...... 26 Relational Awareness ...... 28 Conceptualizing Resilience ...... 30 Communicative Resilience Theory ...... 33 Conclusion ...... 35

Chapter 3: Methodology ...... 37 Research Design ...... 37 Participant Selection and Recruitment...... 39 Data Collection ...... 40 Data Analysis ...... 41 Ethics, Trustworthiness and Rigor ...... 48 Limitations ...... 52

Chapter 4: Mer—A Portrait of Perception...... 54 An Opening ...... 57 Early Lessons in Vulnerability ...... 57 Resilience Follows Vulnerability ...... 60 The Medicine Wheel: A Perceptual Map for Navigating Vulnerability ...... 63 vi

The Medicine Wheel ...... 64 Serpent ...... 65 Jaguar ...... 67 Hummingbird ...... 70 Eagle ...... 72 A Shift ...... 74

Chapter 5: Steve—A Portrait of Permission ...... 75 Beginnings ...... 76 Service to Others ...... 77 Permission to Let Go ...... 79 Rising Tide ...... 84 Authentic Vulnerability ...... 85 Trust ...... 92

Chapter 6: Kim—A Portrait of Purpose ...... 93 Finding Her Voice ...... 94 My Voice ...... 98 Learning to Persevere ...... 98 Dig Another Well ...... 101 Leading with Respect and Responsibility ...... 104 Inspiring Hope ...... 109 Little Suitcase ...... 110

Chapter 7: Portraits in Conversation ...... 112 Revisiting Vulnerability ...... 113 Vulnerability as Courageous Disconnection ...... 113 Vulnerability as Authentic Emotional Expression ...... 118 Vulnerability as Paradox ...... 122 Revisiting Resilience ...... 124 Vulnerability and Resilience in Cyclical, Ongoing Relationship ...... 127

Chapter 8: Implications and Future Directions ...... 131 Implications for the Lives of Teachers ...... 131 vii

Implications for Theoretical Understandings of Vulnerability and Resilience...... 134 Implications for Qualitative Methodology...... 136 Considerations for Future Research ...... 138 Final Thoughts...... 139

References ...... 141

APPENDIX A: Researcher and Participant Mutual Agreement...... 152

APPENDIX B: Interview Guide ...... 155

APPENDIX C: Dissertation Artifact Information Sheet ...... 156

APPENDIX D: Analysis Memos ...... 157

APPENDIX E: Structured Ethical Reflection ...... 159

APPENDIX F: Poem Transcripts...... 161 Poem Transcript—An Opening ...... 161 Poem Transcript—The Medicine Wheel, Serpent, Jaguar, Hummingbird, Eagle ...... 163 Poem Transcript—A Shift ...... 167 Poem Transcript—Beginnings ...... 170 Poem Transcript—Rising Tide...... 172 Poem Transcript—Trust ...... 174 Poem Transcript—My Voice ...... 175 Poem Transcript—Dig Another Well ...... 177 Poem Transcript—Little Suitcase ...... 180

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Chapter 1: Introduction

The concept of vulnerability has entered public consciousness in the last decade through the work of Brené Brown. Brown (2010) became interested in vulnerability through her research in social work on experiences of disconnection and shame. In her viral 2010 Ted Talk, The

Power of Vulnerability (that has garnered over 25 million views to date), Brown summarizes one of the transformative findings of her research, saying that “people who have a strong sense of love and belonging believe they are worthy of love and belonging.” Brown cites believing in one’s own sense of worthiness coupled with embracing vulnerability as keys to “wholehearted” living. She also speaks about our tendencies as human beings to numb our own vulnerability—to avoid being seen and feeling our discomfort. My interest in vulnerability peaked during the spring of 2016, when I returned to my full-time job after four months of maternity leave. I have always been an open person who embraces vulnerability in my professional life. But balancing my roles as new mother, employee, teacher, wife, and friend made me feel vulnerable on a deeper, less comfortable level. Especially in my role as “teacher,” I felt that I was not living up to the expectations my students had for me or the expectations I had for myself. I was sleep deprived and doing all I could to keep my head above water. The practice of teaching exposes us to others in a unique and often personal way, and I found it emotionally challenging to navigate my vulnerability as a teacher while adjusting to my new responsibility to care for my first child.

The visceral memory of those first few months back to work inspired me to dig deeper into what vulnerability looks like within the teaching identity and to listen closely to teachers’ stories about their own vulnerability.

Since I began this dissertation journey, I have experienced countless other moments of intense vulnerability in my life as a teacher. I have had to admit when I made a mistake and felt 2 the discomfort of revealing my imperfections. I have judged other people unfairly based on my own implicit biases and had to ask for forgiveness and grace. I have snapped impatiently at a student and had to repair our compromised relationship in order to move forward. These moments continue to solidify my commitment to understanding the experience of vulnerability and its relationship to resilience as I evolve as a teacher and human being. This dissertation comes from a personal place, but it is my hope that those who read it will feel connected to my questions.

Background and Statement of the Problem

The term “vulnerability” generally conjures up images of deficit. A quick search for vulnerability in any academic database returns hundreds of studies that use the term vulnerability to identify those who are susceptible to a high number of negative risk factors, particularly in the health literature where various factors render individuals or groups vulnerable to illness or injury.

Experiences of vulnerability are characterized by passivity, sensitivity and fragility—qualities that have historically and culturally been assigned to women and therefore are typically labeled as feminine. In the Western culture of the United States that reinforces gender binaries and privileges the masculine, signs of vulnerability are often considered weak, undesirable and even unprofessional in dominant discourse. Independence and invulnerability are synonymous with power and success and those who create impenetrable boundaries are celebrated in our culture.

Jordan (2017) writes, “The so-called strong and successful build fortressed and gated communities to manage their vulnerabilities; they see those who do not gain admittance as failures and as having brought about their own downfall,” (p. 242). In this study, I follow the lineage of Gilligan’s (2013, 2014) work on girls and Way’s (2011) work on boys, both of which argue that false gender binaries limit our capacity to connect, which is especially harmful in the 3 teaching and learning relationship. Building on this central premise, vulnerability is not limited to femininity or the female gender and is neither good nor bad. It is a fundamental component of the human experience. My study aims to return to our common humanity through an exploration of experiences of vulnerability in teaching and the ways these experiences might contribute to teachers’ construction of resilience.

Research Questions

In this study, I am not so much interested in determining to what degree teachers experience vulnerability in their teaching. Instead, my inquiry rests on the assumption that vulnerability is an inevitable aspect of the teaching identity and experience (Kelchtermans,

2009). I approach this study from a feminist, relational stance (Gilligan, 2014; Jordan, 1991,

2017; Jordan, Hartling, & Walker, 2004; Miller & Stiver, 1997), using portraiture methodology

(Lawrence-Lightfoot & Davis, 1997) to draw attention to the importance of vulnerability as a critical aspect of teachers’ lived experiences that would not receive adequate attention from a more individualistic view of development. The research questions guiding this inquiry are as follows:

1. How do teachers describe and make sense of vulnerability in their teaching practices

and everyday lives?

2. How is resilience constructed in stories about vulnerability in teaching?

3. What is the relationship between vulnerability and resilience in teaching?

Purpose of the Study

It is my hope that this study will accomplish several related goals. First, I believe that as human beings, our vulnerability is our strength and when we are equipped to navigate vulnerable moments, those experiences can lead to deep, meaningful connection with self and others. As I 4 argue extensively in Chapter 2, connection is central to our development as human beings and is especially critical in teaching and learning contexts. My aim in this study is to use portraiture to examine vulnerability from a “goodness” stance, rather than from a pathological or deficit stance

(Lawrence-Lightfoot & Davis, 1997). Portraitists do not impose their personal view of “good” on the data or assume that one representation of “goodness” will be shared by all participants.

Rather, portraiture requires the researcher to express goodness in multifaceted ways, resisting a

“tradition-laden effort to document failure” (Lawrence-Lightfoot & Davis, 1997, p. 9). Second, I believe that there is an underexplored connection between our experiences of vulnerability and our ability to construct resilience. The findings of this study uncover three critical dimensions of vulnerability: vulnerability as courageous disconnection, vulnerability as authentic emotional expression and vulnerability as paradox. The three portraits included in this dissertation illustrate the ways in which the participants make sense of and navigate vulnerability through the lenses of perception, permission and purpose. These lenses enable the participants to construct resilience in their teaching lives. The data presented in this dissertation study are complex and personal, revealing important aspects of teaching that have not been previously explored from a feminist, relational, and communicative vantage point. The findings offer generative space for the development of strategies to support teachers in navigating vulnerability and becoming more resilient in their teaching lives. If teachers are not empowered to view vulnerability as an opportunity to construct resilience, they may experience vulnerability as a shameful, painful experience and run the risk of disconnection and dissatisfaction in their professional lives that could ultimately lead to burn out. Teaching professionals must balance their personal struggles with their responsibilities to their students, colleagues and communities on a daily basis. Thus, being able to construct resilience as teachers navigate the tensions of personal and professional 5 life is essential to their well-being. In this dissertation, I aim to uncover the multilayered dimensions of vulnerability in teaching and more deeply understand the relationship between vulnerability and resilience in an effort to improve teachers’ lives.

My Positionality and Personal Interest

First and foremost, I identify as a feminist, qualitative, action researcher with a social constructionist lens, and I am committed to the translation of my scholarly work to practical applications. I want to engage in research that makes a difference and I want my research to be accessible to those in and outside of the academy. I enter this research as a White, middle-class, heterosexual female and humbly acknowledge my intersectional privilege. My questions are born out of my own experiences as a teacher at the higher education level and are particularly influenced by my identity as a woman. Additionally, I can trace these questions about vulnerability back to some of my earliest memories when I was often labeled as “too sensitive” by my teachers and peers. I have always been deeply connected to my inner experience and acutely aware of my emotions. From an early age, I was taught that emotions were things to be managed and hidden, not so much in private spaces like my home with my family, but most definitely in public spaces like the classroom or the playground where I would risk being made fun of for being more deeply affected than other kids. The inherent risk of feeling ashamed of one’s vulnerability that comes with this heightened sensitivity continues to play out in my professional life and is what has brought me to these questions today as a doctoral student. Day and Harris (2016) caution researchers that exploring emotions in education is “sensitive work” and that researchers must be aware of their own emotional experiences and assumptions. My interest in these topics comes from my personal experiences as a teacher in higher education; thus, I approached this research with vigilant reflexivity and aimed to be continually mindful of 6 how my interpretations have been shaped (and limited) by my own experiences. When our vulnerability is ignored, silenced or numbed, it can lead to pain and isolation (Jordan, 2017); thus, it is my hope that this study serves as a vehicle for teachers to voice their experiences of vulnerability and encourages a view of vulnerability as an opportunity to build resilience.

About this Dissertation

This dissertation comes from my heart. I am humbled by the beauty of my participants’ stories and honored to be able to share their voices with the world. Engaging in this work brought my own vulnerability as researcher, writer and artist to bear in ways I did not anticipate.

This dissertation study required me to think deeply about the purpose of my research and critically examine how the intent of my study is reflected in my theoretical commitments and methodological choices. I came face to face with my insecurities and my blind spots. It is my hope that in this dissertation, I have adequately articulated my purpose in engaging in this work and made clear the steps I took to ensure that this study is ethical, rigorous, and theoretically- informed without compromising my creative and intuitive aspirations. As a doctoral student balancing a full-time job and a full-time toddler, it is easy to slip into cynicism and fatigue when it comes to scholarly work in the context of everyday stress. Yet, as I live out my own identity as a teacher, I am frequently reminded of my responsibility to care for my students, remaining mindful of the significant impact teachers can have on the lives of others. The gravity of this work often leads to embracing and resisting my own vulnerability in ways that can feel intensely uncomfortable, yet life-giving and inspiring. It is my hope that the stories shared within this dissertation not only contribute to a deeper understanding of vulnerability and resilience but also invite readers to locate themselves within those stories and share stories of their own vulnerability with the world. This study is my response to Jordan’s (2017) call for relational 7 scholars to “embrace the power of connection, and to practice mutual empathy for the good of all,” (p. 242). 8

Chapter 2: Theoretical Framework and Review of Literature

My intention in this study is draw attention to our deeply rooted relational, emotional nature as human beings and to appreciate alternative ways of knowing through feeling, moving, creating, and connecting. The context for my work at this juncture is within the identity of the teacher because I believe that as educators, we have access to a powerful sphere of influence through our students. As a foundational premise for this study, I view relationships and connection as central to the experience of being human. Specifically, I approach this work from a feminist stance that aligns with the evolving perspective of Carol Gilligan (1979; 1982; 2013;

2014), who draws our attention to the implications of our limited historical and cultural constructions of gender. I approach this study with a feminist lens, so as to focus my inquiry on our universal need for relationship and connection in a way that challenges dominant understandings of our experiences that are limited by constructed and imposed gender identities.

In her earlier work, Gilligan (1979) traces the history of male and female sex differences in psychological developmental theory, critiquing the masculine bias of the dominant scholars in the field including Freud, Piaget and Erikson. She points out the assumed sex neutrality of their work and reminds us that “the presumed neutrality of science, like that of language itself, gives way to the recognition that the categories of knowledge are human constructions,” (p. 6). In her foundational text In a Different Voice, Gilligan (1982) initially focuses on sex differences but explains her treatment of these constructed terms, stating that “the contrasts between male and female voices are presented [here] to highlight a distinction between two modes of thought and to focus a problem of interpretation rather than to represent a generalization about either sex” (p.

2). In her more recent writings, Gilligan (2014) describes how this perspective has evolved over time. She explains, 9

The paradigm shift began with the recognition that empathy and caring are human

strengths. The “different voice” had been heard as “feminine” because emotions and

relationships were associated with women and seen as limiting their capacity for

rationality and autonomy. But the voice itself sounded different because it joined thought

with emotion and the self with relationships, because it was embodied rather than

disembodied, located in time and place (p. 89).

In other words, Gilligan (2014) shifts our focus from voices that are exclusively feminine to voices that are deeply, universally human. The spirit of Gilligan’s later work can also be seen in related scholarship on boys and men (Way, 2011; Reichert & Hawley, 2010, 2011, 2013), which argues that the need for connection and relationship is central to male development and learning, further illustrating that these shared needs are common to all humanity, regardless of sex or gender. This study rests on the feminist assumption that emotions and relationships are central to the human experience. Gilligan (2014) boldly states, “released from the gender binary and hierarchy, feminism is neither a women’s issue nor a battle between women and men. It is the movement to free democracy from patriarchy,” (p. 101). This study explores the ways in which teachers understand vulnerability in their teaching lives and in turn, how they construct resilience. As I will argue more fully in this chapter, vulnerability and resilience are relational, emotional, and discursive phenomena. This study is an effort to transcend cultural and historical gender binaries and to refocus on the innate humanness of vulnerability and resilience, specifically in the context of teaching.

In this chapter, I provide an overview of the theoretical framework for this study and explore the major areas of relevant literature that inform my work. I begin with a discussion of teacher identity, arguing for the use of a broadened conception of what it means to be a teacher 10 in order to expand conversations about vulnerability and resilience in teaching. I also review the existing literature on emotion in teaching to ground this inquiry in an understanding of emotions as socially, collectively produced experiences that are centrally linked to vulnerability in teaching. I then explore conceptualizations of vulnerability in teaching, followed by a discussion of relational cultural theory to provide a deeper understanding of vulnerability through a relational lens. Next, I review existing literature on resilience in teaching, followed by an overview of communicative resilience theory. In doing so, I argue for the utility of considering relational cultural theory and communicative resilience theory in conversation with one another, blending theoretical perspectives from the fields of psychology, education and communication.

The combination of these cross-disciplinary theories as a framework for analysis is a unique contribution of this study. Finally, I draw these perspectives together, exploring the ways in which relational cultural theory and communicative resilience theory might enhance our understanding of what it means to engage in teaching relationships with others.

Broadening Teacher Identity

Much of what has been written about vulnerability and resilience in teaching is situated in traditional educational contexts—primarily in the K-12 realm. This study addresses a gap in the teaching literature by exploring vulnerability and resilience in teaching with a broadened definition of “teacher.” From a postmodern, discursive view of identity, “teacher” can be expanded beyond the K-12 world to include those who embody and enact a teaching stance/teacher identity in diverse contexts because our notion of what it means to be a teacher is socially constructed through discourse (Holstein & Gubrium, 2000; Nicholson & Seidman,

1995). This study contributes to scholarship about postmodern, discursive views of identity that are rooted in a Foucauldian view of discourse, power and resistance (Foucault, 1972, 1983). 11

Foucault (1972) views discourse as a set of statements surrounding the formation and articulation of ideas in a historically situated time. From a discursive point of view, power and knowledge are reciprocally connected, because what is viewed as “true” is determined by how it is enacted through discourse (talk). It follows, then, that those with access to discursive knowledge and tools hold more power in social interactions. Foucault (1983) also describes power and resistance as interrelated phenomena. He points to resistance as a signifier of power, describing instances of resistance as opportunities to identify the location where power is at play and the methods used to enforce that power. In this way, Foucault focuses on local, relational manifestations of power and resistance, rather than overarching institutional structures. Power and resistance are enacted through local technologies that are discursively produced and reproduced. The question then becomes not who is in power, but rather, how is power produced through various local technologies? Foucault’s view of power, therefore, is relational rather than essential in that power manifests itself through specific discursive practices that occur in relationship.

Postmodern, discursive identity theories acknowledge that identity is constructed through discourse, constituting “a self subjected to and by (D)iscourses of power in an increasingly complex, destabilized, and multivocal world” (Tracy & Trethewey, 2005, p. 171). Following this perspective, competing discourses attempt to “fix” subjects’ identities. However, this does not mean that human subjects are without agency; each subject is capable of resistance, which manifests in the ways individuals challenge the discourses that have shaped their identities

(Tracy & Trethewey, 2005).

For this particular study, I intentionally view “teacher” as a constitutive identity category that transcends different settings in order to focus on the relational practice of teaching rather than viewing teacher identity as “fixed” by specific notions of what it means to be a teacher. 12

Thus, my participants represent three diverse teaching identities including a yoga/healing practitioner, a higher education professor, and a K-12 principal. Viewing teacher identity through a discursive lens means that no single, “true” teacher identity exists. In other words, approaching this study with a discursive view of teacher identity shifts the focus from a specific image of

“teacher” and allows for a multidimensional exploration of shared experiences of teaching as a relational, contextual practice rather than an individualistic identity. This study contributes to a postmodern, discursive understanding of the teacher identity as it relates to experiences of vulnerability and the ways those experiences contribute to teachers’ construction of resilience vis-à-vis their teaching identity. As a result, I imagine that the findings of this study will resonate with teachers from diverse teaching contexts.

Emotion in Teaching

Emotions are inextricably tied to experiences of vulnerability in teaching; thus, a theoretical understanding of emotion provides a critical backdrop for this study. Zembylas

(2003) suggests that emotion plays a central role in teachers’ identity formation and that the intersection of teacher identity and emotion is a ripe opportunity for analysis of how teachers navigate existing discourses and resist normative discourses in the process of finding their individual voices. Zembylas (2003, 2005) links a poststructuralist view of teacher identity with teachers’ emotional experiences, defining teacher identity formation as “a dynamic process of intersubjective discourses, experiences and emotions” that “change over time as discourses change, constantly providing new configurations” (Zembylas, 2003, p. 221). The most powerful contribution of a poststructuralist view of identity, according to Zembylas (2003), is the emphasis on the social and political context in which identities are constructed and performed.

He follows Foucauldian thought and suggests that teacher identity is formed within the confines 13 of particular school environments and as a result, teachers are expected to conform to the expectations and emotional rules within that context. He argues that when we examine the role of emotion in teaching, we must “explore the use and meaning of emotional rules against the backdrop of school structures and norms,” (Zembylas, 2005, p. 945). According to Zembylas

(2003), the centrality of emotion in teachers’ identity formation creates possibility for enhanced teacher self-care, self-knowledge and transformation related to their emotional experiences. This study investigates the intersection of teacher identity and emotion that Zembylas (2003) points us to by exploring vulnerability in teaching and how it relates to the discursive construction of resilience.

The role of emotion in education has received considerable attention within the last half century (Beatty, 2000; Boler & Zembylas, 2003; Day & Leitch, 2001; Hargreaves, 2000, 2001;

Hochschild, 1983; Nias, 1996; Zembylas & Schutz, 2016). However, in the typical educational environment, emotions are usually dismissed and the political roots of emotional experiences are not addressed (Zembylas, 2003). Following psychological and cognitive traditions, emotion has been historically and dominantly viewed as an individual, internalized experience where displays of emotion are characterized as “feminized weakness” (Zorn & Boler, 2007). In the following section, I briefly trace the literature on emotion in education to justify a view of emotion in teaching as a relational, communicative process rather than solely a psychological, individualistic experience.

Emotional Labor Theory. Emotional labor theory focuses on the act of emotional work

(Hochschild, 1983). In her study of employees in the service industry (namely flight attendants),

Hochschild (1983) argues that expectations in the workplace create specific feeling or emotional rules—what she terms display rules—that individuals have to publicly follow. The act of 14 displaying the appropriate emotions is referred to as emotional labor or emotional work. For instance, flight attendants are expected to be friendly, cheerful, etc. when they are in the workplace setting. Hochschild (1983) posits that service workers perform this emotional work in one of two ways: first, the actor may comply with the display rules by “surface acting” or simulating emotions that are not genuinely felt. Second, the actor may comply with the display rules by “deep acting” or attempting to actually feel the emotions prescribed by the display rules.

Hochschild’s work focuses on the act of performing emotional labor and the ways in which this

“work” can lead to employee burnout.

The concept of emotional labor in service-oriented vocations such as teaching are historically gendered, as they draw on characteristics of caring and domesticity that have been culturally assigned to women (Braun, 2012). Teachers are expected to suppress emotions in order to produce desired responses in others (i.e. students, parents). Braun (2012) argues that this notion of caring in teaching is more associated with emotional self-regulation and control than with genuine emotional expression. Women’s emotional experiences are then “commodified” within the industry (Boler, 1997). Ashforth and Humphrey (1993) critique the “deliberateness” of Hochschild’s (1983) definition of emotional labor, pointing to instances of spontaneity and genuine emotional response in service-oriented professions. They do, however, support the underpinning claim of emotional labor theory that emotional work can prove exhausting for service workers, often leading to burnout.

Emotional Geographies. Hargreaves’s (2000, 2001) work on emotions is grounded in two foundational concepts: emotional understanding and emotional geographies. Hargreaves’s concepts focus on understanding the importance of spatial patterns of closeness or distance in 15 human relationships and how those patterns impact one’s emotional experiences. Emotional understanding is defined by Denzin (1984) as

an intersubjective process requiring that one person enter into the field of experience of

another and experience for herself the same or similar experiences experienced by

another. The subjective interpretation of another’s emotional experience from one’s own

standpoint is central to emotional understanding. Shared and shareable emotionality lie at

the core of what it means to understand and meaningfully enter into the emotional

experience of another (p. 137 as cited in Hargreaves, 2001, p. 1059).

Following Denzin’s (1984) view of emotional understanding, people reflect on and draw from their past emotional experiences to empathize with the emotional experiences of others.

Hargreaves (2001) argues that emotional understanding is critical in contexts of teaching and learning in that instances of emotional misunderstanding can negatively impact the quality of learning because the teacher may misinterpret the students’ responses. He then locates these processes of emotional understanding in social, shared spaces which he terms emotional geographies. Hargreaves (2001) defines emotional geographies as “the spatial and experiential patterns of closeness and/or distance in human interactions and relationships that help create, configure and color the feelings and emotions we experience about ourselves, our world and each other” (p. 1061). He uses this concept as a lens to identify potential threats to positive emotional connection in educational contexts—namely schools—where instances of distance in particular can negatively impact the student-teacher interaction from an emotional point of view.

Zorn and Boler (2007) critique Hargeaves (2001) for constructing a view of emotions in teaching that is overly dualistic in nature and views emotions and social/political forces as two distinct phenomena that act upon one another, rather than interact. Boler (1997) describes the 16 concept of emotional understanding that is advocated by Hargreaves as a form of “passive empathy” or “emotional tourism.” Instead, Zorn and Boler (2007) urge us to avoid terminology that forces us to separate emotional experience from public spaces in order to better understand the relationship between emotion and education. This critique speaks to my stance on teachers and emotion that I will argue more fully later in this chapter by drawing from concepts of relational cultural theory. I believe that the wholeness of teachers’ emotional experiences must be acknowledged and processed through supported vulnerability for the sake of teachers’ well- being and growth. Thus, this study will contribute to the lineage of scholarship following Boler’s

(1999) work on the feminist politics of emotion described in more detail below, which represents a shift from the individualized, psychological framing of emotions in education to a view that emotions are socially and collectively produced. Following this perspective, this study uniquely applies a lens that combines relational theory and communication theory to provide deeper understanding of emotion in teaching and how emotion plays a role in teachers’ understandings of their own vulnerability and constructions of resilience.

Feminist Politics of Emotion. A feminist view of emotions resists the construction of gendered binary dualism that positions emotions, feelings and bodies in opposition to cognition, rationality and the mind. Megan Boler’s (1999) book, Feeling Power, reflects dual meaning in its title. In one sense, she refers to feeling power in that our feelings (our emotions) reflect the power relations that define our lives and interactions with the material world. In another sense, feeling power refers to the strength and potential of one’s emotional experience, one that is dismissed in much of Western culture and discourse. She is referring precisely to the opportunities for transformation and connection that lie within alternative ways of knowing that 17 drive my work in this area. This sense of possibility and liberation is evident in Boler’s (1999) definition of the feminist politics of emotion as

a theory and practice that invites women to articulate and publicly name their emotions,

and to critically and collectively analyze these emotions not as “natural,” “private”

occurrences but rather as reflecting learned hierarchies and gendered roles. The feminist

practices of consciousness-raising and feminist pedagogy powerfully reclaim emotions

out of the (patriarchally enforced) private sphere and put emotions on the political and

public map. Feminist politics of emotions recognize emotions not only as a site of social

control, but of political resistance (p. 113).

Boler’s (1999) work is grounded in two central premises regarding the study of emotion in education. First, she views emotions as a site of social control. She argues that “the social control of emotions is a central and underexplored aspect of education in relation to hegemony” and this social control is most visible through a study of the dominant discourses of emotion in education which she categorizes as the moral/religious, scientific/medical and rational discourses of emotion. The second underlying premise of her work is the idea that emotions are also a powerful source of resistance in education. She roots her argument in feminist, critical theory, tracing the “present-absence” of emotion in educational theory, policy and practice.

Boler (1999) ascribes to a Foucauldian view of power and discourse, and offers the concept of “economies of mind” as a grounding piece of a feminist politics of emotion.

Economies of mind describes the process of exchange involved in emotions, where emotions become a currency of power that is negotiated in relationships. In other words, emotions are ripe sites for analysis of underlying, pervasive—and often hidden— systems of power. What Boler

(1999) urges us to do is to resist the dominant notion that emotions are simply individual 18 experiences and instead to become critically minded in our analyses of emotions so as to unpack the ways our emotional experiences reflect the dominant discourses that constrain and enable us in everyday life. In analyses of emotion, it is important to look to teachers’ performances of emotion (i.e. frustration, shame, etc.) in particular instances as a first step in identifying opportunities for resistance and transformation (Zembylas, 2003b). In this study, I dig deeper into teachers’ experiences of vulnerability in their teaching lives in order to further our understanding of how teachers’ emotions are shaped and constrained by structural aspects of teaching.

Taken together, a broadened view of teacher identity and a socially constructed view of emotion in teaching allows for a more nuanced understanding of vulnerability and resilience in teaching. Rather than viewing teachers’ understanding of their identities and emotional experiences as individualistic, we are able to focus on the ways in which identity and emotions intersect with vulnerability and resilience in teaching from a relational, discursive perspective.

Moving from a contextual, discursive understanding of teacher identity and emotion, I now turn specifically to the concept of vulnerability.

Conceptualizing Vulnerability

There is much discrepancy in how vulnerability is conceptualized in the teaching literature. For some, vulnerability is seen as an emotion (Lasky, 2005) or a mood (Bullough,

2005). Lasky (2005) conceptualizes teacher professional vulnerability as “a multidimensional, multifaceted emotional experience that individuals can feel in an array of contexts” (p. 901). She refers to teachers’ willingness to be “openly vulnerable” with their students. In a sense, Lasky

(2005) positions vulnerability as a chosen behavior for teachers—one can choose whether or not to be vulnerable. In a similar vein, vulnerability is often discussed as a mode of behavior or an 19 emotional option for teachers that can be used to increase connection and build trust with one’s students (Huddy, 2015; Bair et al., 2007). These scholars view vulnerability in a positive way and emphasize teachers’ agency and ability to embody vulnerability to improve their teaching. In studying connection in diverse contexts including education, Brené Brown explores the concept of vulnerability, which she defines as “uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure” (2015, p. 34).

According to Brown (2015), vulnerability is based on mutuality and requires boundaries and trust. Vulnerability does not mean “letting it all hang out,” Brown (2015) argues. Rather, vulnerability means “sharing with people with whom we’ve developed relationships that can bear the weight of our story,” (p. 46). Brown’s (2015) definition of vulnerability closely mirrors the central tenets of relational cultural theory that I will discuss later in this chapter.

Geert Kelchtermans (1993, 1996, 2005 and 2009) takes a bit of a different approach, conceptualizing vulnerability in teaching from a constructionist perspective. Kelchtermans

(2009) argues that vulnerability is not an emotion, a mood or an experiential category in and of itself; rather, vulnerability is defined as a structural, inherent condition of the teaching profession. Viewing vulnerability in this way allows for a more critical analysis of the multilayered emotional experiences that construct the teacher identity while resisting the tendency to characterize vulnerability in teaching as an individualized state that is to be avoided or remedied. Structural vulnerability is directly related to issues of power in educational settings and relationships in that vulnerability is constructed through interaction. From this perspective, power dynamics become visible through everyday talk that is reflective of the larger forces at play. For instance, teachers may describe feeling vulnerable when they are subject to criticism from parents, administrators or students. This construction of vulnerability through language might point to larger, systemic power structures embedded in teacher performance evaluation 20 practices in that teachers are often subject to imposed assessments of their teaching effectiveness through national or local policy that use measures for success that teachers themselves may or may not agree with.

Kelchtermans (1996) argues that vulnerability in teaching is always rooted in political and moral issues that often reflect competing or conflicting values and interests. Zembylas

(2003) echoes Kelchtermans’s view of vulnerability as a structural condition of the teaching profession. He argues that teachers have little choice but to take major personal and professional risks in their everyday practice with their students and that it is important for teachers to be able to self-affirm their teaching identities. He warns that “feeling inadequate may color a teacher’s entire emotional life,” (Zembylas, 2003, p. 228). Zembylas (2003) draws our attention to the inseparable link between the structural vulnerability of the practice of teaching and the emotional experiences of the teacher. Zembylas (2003) and other poststructuralist, feminist scholars (Boler,

1999) view emotion in a way that calls for the deconstruction of the dichotomies of public/private and reason/emotion. Zembylas (2003) argues that emotions are socially constructed and therefore, not only “matters of personal (private) dispositions or psychological qualities, but also as social and political experiences that are constructed by how one’s work (in this case, the teaching) is organized and led” (p. 216). A structural view of vulnerability suggests that socially constructed emotional norms for teachers are also rooted in political, moral and cultural issues of power that render teachers vulnerable in their teaching lives.

Kelchtermans (2009) points to three sources of structural vulnerability in the teaching profession. His analyses are in the teacher education realm; thus, these sources are specific to traditional educational settings and institutions, primarily in a K-12 setting. First, he argues that vulnerability results from teachers’ lack of control over the conditions in which they work . 21

Teachers are often vulnerable to the decisions of leaders, particularly when decisions are not supportive of teachers’ career goals. Uncertainty in teaching often results from a lack of clear reasons for such decisions, and this has an effect on teachers’ identity (i.e. if a teacher is not promoted when they expected to be, this could lead to self-doubt). Vulnerability often results from lack of voice and participation and can follow the loss of something professionally valuable

(i.e. in a school merger). Modern-day school teaching is also characterized by an emphasis on performance and “what works”; thus, teachers’ experiences of vulnerability are intensified by constant evaluation and strict standards.

Second, teachers are vulnerable because of their limited ability to “prove” their effectiveness as teachers. Kelchtermans (2009) ties this source of vulnerability to teachers’ sense of locus of control and to what extent they attribute student outcomes to external factors. This form of vulnerability can result in a sense of apathy or discouragement for teachers who feel they cannot ever really know if they are making a difference in their students’ lives. In other words, teachers are especially vulnerable when their professional efficacy feels limited. For example, when teaching activities do not lead to intended outcomes, student failures might lead to teachers’ feelings of failure and guilt. Kelchtermans (1996) argues that “the basic structure in vulnerability is always one of feeling that one’s professional identity and moral integrity, as part of being ‘a proper teacher’, are questioned and that valued workplace conditions are thereby threatened or lost,” (p. 13).

Finally, what Kelchtermans (2009) argues is the most fundamental contributing factor to teachers’ vulnerability, is the fact that “teachers cannot but make dozens of decisions about when and how to act in order to support students’ development and learning, but they don’t have firm ground to base their decisions on,” (p. 266). Kelchtermans argues that teachers’ judgment and 22 decision-making is always open to question or criticism, even when teachers can firmly justify their choices. This “inevitable element of passivity, of exposure” is fundamental to the act of teaching and the role of the teacher. From this view, it is of no surprise that attacks related to one’s teaching abilities closely connect to one’s personal and professional identity; thus, leading to intense emotional reactions. Kelchtermans views teaching as a highly personal endeavor. He cites Russell’s (1997) claim that “how I teach is the message” and characterizes teaching as “a relational, social and public act,” meaning that the way someone teaches is actually central to the content they are sharing with their students. Kelchtermans takes this personal view of teaching even further and locates teacher identity at the center, adapting Russell’s claim, and argues that

“who I am in how I teach is the message” (emphasis added).

It is important to note that this structural vulnerability described by Kelchtermans it is not all negative—quite the contrary. Kelchtermans (2009) points to the inherent vulnerability of the teaching relationship as necessary in order to create an intimate “educational space” for learning.

Teachers are caught in a paradox of carefully planning for intentional action while also navigating what may arise in the moment. This paradox is further complicated by teachers’ implied option to choose whether or not to be vulnerable in the teaching relationship, which stands in conflict with Kelcherman’s (2009) view that vulnerability is a structurally unavoidable condition of the teaching identity. Kelchtermans (2009) urges scholars and practitioners to consider the vulnerability of teaching more explicitly and carefully in our reflective practices to move toward action and empowerment for teachers. My study answers his call to study vulnerability in teaching more deeply and aims to explore the tensions surrounding experiences of vulnerability that may lead to the construction of resilience. When teachers are resilient, they 23 are better equipped to be in connection with themselves and their students, creating the necessary conditions for meaningful learning to take place.

In addition to Kelchtermans’s work, there is a body of literature in the field of adult development and teacher professional development that is relevant to this study; though the term

“vulnerability” is not always explicitly used. When considering relational concepts in adult development theory, Raider-Roth, Stieha, Kohan and Turpin (2014) draw a connection between

Kegan’s (1982, 1995) concept of disequilibrium and Dewey’s (1933, 1989) concept of “felt difficulty.” Kegan (1982) argues that in order for transformative learning to occur, one may have to “lose balance” or experience disequilibrium. Raider-Roth and colleagues (2014) point out the similarity between this line of thinking and Dewey’s (1933, 1989) notion that transformative learning may follow a feeling of confusion or perplexity experienced by the learner (a “felt difficulty”). In his work on reflective processes in adult learning, Mezirow (2000) offers the similar concept of “disorienting dilemma” as a departure point for transformation. To build a fuller picture of vulnerability in my study, I draw from these concepts of disequilibrium/destabilization (Kegan, 1982, 1995), disorienting dilemma (Mezirow, 2000), and felt difficulty (Dewey, 1933, 1989) and argue that they are closely related to experiences of vulnerability in teaching and learning contexts. Considering the concept of vulnerability in this way adds a new dimension to existing theory in adult development. To further conceptualize vulnerability in teaching, I turn to relational cultural theory as a foundational component of the theoretical framework that guides this study.

Relational Cultural Theory

Relational cultural theory (RCT) initially emerged through the work of Jean Baker Miller

(1976) and Carol Gilligan (1982) on the psychological development of women and girls. RCT 24 provides an alternative to historically androcentric views of human development and opposes the idea that the final stage of human development is characterized by isolation, independence, and self-sufficiency. Instead, RCT suggests that people grow through their connections and relationships with others (Jordan, 2014, 2017). From a RCT perspective, human beings are hard- wired for connection. Modern neuroscience supports this foundational tenet of RCT and studies of the brain show that the pain of disconnection (social pain) is recorded in the same way as physical pain (Jordan, 2014). Brown’s (2010, 2015) work on vulnerability rests on this concept.

She doesn’t explicitly name RCT but argues that “connection is why we are here,” and that connection is what gives us purpose in our lives—both claims that align with RCT. Placing connection at the center of human development starkly contrasts the dominant Western values of masculinity and power-over others. RCT argues that human beings need mutually empathic relationships to heal, adapt and grow. Culture is also centrally involved in a RCT model in that culture shapes what is valued and strived for versus what is devalued, shamed or silenced (Jordan et al., 2004). Thus, RCT argues that in a Western culture like that of the United States that most often equates success with independence and control, those who show that they need connection or are vulnerable in any way can be rendered weak, unprofessional or unsuccessful (Jordan et al.,

2004).

RCT explores the patterns of connection and disconnection in human relationships, a cycle also referred to as one of rupture (disconnection) and repair (connection) (Miller & Stiver,

1997; Jordan et al., 2004; Raider-Roth, Stieha, & Hensley, 2012). Jordan et al. (2004) and Miller and Stiver (1997) write about the paradox of connection/disconnection, describing disconnection as something that happens frequently in relationships that has the potential to damage or strengthen the relationship. People experience disconnection (rupture) all the time in 25 relationships, and when disconnection is met with mutual empathy and mutual desire for growth, it can actually strengthen a relationship (repair). When disconnection results in hurt and isolation and the relationship is not renegotiated, the relationship will suffer and become less authentic.

This is especially true in hierarchical relationships where one has more power than the other

(such as teacher-student). When disconnection happens repeatedly without repair, individuals can develop strategies for remaining isolated while still existing in relationship, so as to make themselves less vulnerable. Gilligan (1982) describes this as keeping yourself out of relationship so as to stay in relationship—otherwise known as the central relational paradox in RCT (Miller

& Stiver, 1997). In order to more fully understand the interplay of patterns of connection and disconnection within the RCT framework and how these patterns are relevant to this study of vulnerability in teaching, we can explore the concepts of relational competence, relational resilience and relational awareness.

Relational Competence

Relational competence is defined as “the capacity to move another person, to affect a change in a relationship, or affect the well-being of all participants in the relationship” (Jordan et al., 2004, p. 15). This definition is not intended to describe a power-over relationship; rather, relational competence is characterized by mutuality and mutual empathy and requires openness, curiosity, and vulnerability. The concept of relational competence is evident in Raider-Roth’s

(2005) assertion that learners develop through trusting relationships in the classroom. It follows, then, that relational competence is critically important for the teacher-student relationship, because teachers must be relationally competent in order to create trusting and growth-fostering relationships with their students. 26

Vulnerability is explicitly mentioned in Jordan’s (2004) description of relational competence in the therapeutic relationship. She states that relational competence involves

“experiencing vulnerability as inevitable and a place of potential growth rather than danger” (p.

15). Jordan (2004) goes on to identify potential obstacles to relational competence and not surprisingly, vulnerability is at the center. Specifically, she argues that relational competence is dependent on one’s willingness to be interpersonally influenced, which could also be described as one’s willingness to be relationally vulnerable. Jordan (2004) points to the experiences of boys in the Western European system as an example of how this obstacle plays out through cultural norms and values. She cites “denial of vulnerability” as “one of the greatest costs of male socialization” (Jordan, 2004, p. 16). It follows then, that embracing vulnerability in a relational sense means that one must be receptive and open to change. The question then becomes, how does one shift from viewing vulnerability as a dangerous experience to be avoided to a potential source of empowerment and growth? Jordan et al. (2004) use the term relational resilience to explore that very question.

Relational Resilience

The word “resilience” comes from the Latin roots -re, meaning “back” and –salire, meaning to jump or leap; quite literally, resilience means to jump back. Interestingly, the term

“relationship” comes from the Latin root –relationem, which means “a bringing back or restoring.” It is no accident that the roots of each word are connected—both refer to a form of movement or growth, even if that growth may appear to be “backward” at times. Jordan, Kaplan,

Miller, Stiver, and Surrey (1991) provides us with the following working definition for relationship, describing relationship as “an experience of emotional and cognitive intersubjectivity: the ongoing, intrinsic inner awareness and responsiveness to the continuous 27 existence of other or others and the expectation of mutuality in this regard” (p. 61). The term intersubjectivity alludes to the sense of vulnerability that comes with being in relationship. When this “expectation of mutuality” is not reciprocated by another, we experience disconnection and often isolation.

As Brené Brown (2012, 2015) reminds us, there is a significant relationship between experiences of shame and experiences of vulnerability. Jordan (1989) defines shame as “a felt sense of unworthiness to be in connection, a deep sense of unlovability, with the ongoing awareness of how very much one wants to connect with others,” (as cited in Hartling, Rosen,

Walker & Jordan, 2000). A relational perspective suggests that shame is not simply an intense, internal experience but an enduring characteristic of being in relationship with others. Given this understanding of shame, humiliation can be understood as the feeling that arises when one is made to feel unworthy (Hartling et al., 2000). Gilligan (1982) explains the gendered quality of experiences of shame and humiliation. She states, “since masculinity is defined through separation while femininity is defined through attachment, male gender identity is threatened by intimacy while female gender identity is threatened by separation,” (Gilligan, 1982, p. 8).

Gilligan is, of course, referring to the cultural, historical constructions of what it means to be masculine or feminine rather than natural or essential qualities of a particular gender.

Within the RCT framework, it is critical to examine not only what protects individuals from stressful experiences of shame, humiliation and other forms of disconnection but also what contributes to positive growth and transformation—in other words, what is necessary to develop relational resilience? Jordan et al. (2004) poses the question directly: “What makes for relational resilience and mutuality and ultimately encourages the transformation from isolation and pain to relatedness and growth?” Jordan et al. (2004) calls for a reframing, suggesting that a move from 28 an individual “control-over” model in the therapeutic relationship to one of “supported vulnerability” is critical for a relational understanding of resilience. Jordan et al. (2004) warns of the dangers of unsupported, disowned vulnerability that results in inauthentic relationships where people relate by “adopting roles and coming from distanced and protected places,” (p. 33).

Jordan et al. (2004) once again argues for the need to debunk the myth of self-sufficiency and the tendency to deny vulnerability.

Relational Awareness

The final concept within RCT that is particularly relevant to experiences of vulnerability in teaching is relational awareness. Jordan (2004) defines relational awareness as:

The development of clarity about the movement of relationship; this importantly includes

an awareness of our patterns and ways of connecting and disconnecting, and transforming

the flow from the direction of disconnection to connection. It includes personal

awareness, awareness of the other, awareness of the impact of oneself on the other, the

effect of other on oneself, and the quality of energy and flow in the relationship itself. (p.

54)

She goes on to clarify that relational awareness is not about analyzing relationships, but rather it centers on an attitude of openness about our relational patterns. Jordan (2004) argues that therapists must look at how they disconnect or keep people at a distance in order to create some sense of personal safety in their work. Again, this concept translates beautifully to the lives and practices of teachers, as teachers must be aware of their own relational patterns of connection and disconnection with their students and the impact of those patterns on students’ learning. Jordan’s (2004) conception of relational awareness also points to the importance of professional community and support. She writes of the shift from standing over/against to 29 standing with – which is the essence of supported vulnerability. In a teaching context, this aligns with Raider-Roth’s (2017) argument that teachers are most capable of thriving when they are a part of a supported group of peers such as a professional learning community.

Relational awareness might translate in practice to what Rodgers and Raider-Roth (2006) describe as presence in teaching. Teaching with presence means taking a relational approach to teaching that is characterized by trust, empathy, authenticity, intersubjectivity, and mutuality.

Rodgers and Raider-Roth (2006) write about the moral quality of teaching with presence, arguing that “like love, presence offers us a moral imperative, a psychological stance and an intellectual trajectory that can root the world of teaching and learning in its essential purpose, the creation of a just and democratic society,” (p. 284). Rodgers and Raider-Roth (2006) turn our attention to the powerful potential for learning that can occur in moments of disconnection in the teaching relationship and encourage teachers to reflect on what causes them to lose connection with their students. In one example provided by Rodgers and Raider-Roth (2006), Kayla, a first- year high school Spanish teacher, shares her experience of disconnection with her students and recounts a familiar classroom scene: “Students were misbehaving, a few had not completed their homework, the disengaged few were distracting the rest,” (p. 276). Kayla’s emotional response is described as “furious” and signaled disconnection with her students that motivated her to make changes in her teaching approach and revisit her relationship with her students. Throughout other examples provided by Rodgers and Raider-Roth (2006), teachers describe their experiences of disconnection using affective terms that suggest experiences of vulnerability—each of them recalls feeling disconnected. These descriptions suggest that teachers’ emotional responses are signals of disconnection and that these experiences of vulnerability can function as portals for 30 deep reflection and investigation of the relational patterns of the teacher, and as it follows, the teacher identity.

In summary, teachers have the agency to embrace and resist vulnerability in teaching; however, because vulnerability is a structural aspect of the teaching identity, it can only be numbed or ignored rather than avoided completely. The conceptualization of vulnerability that I employ in this study is paradoxical in nature in that teachers experience vulnerability in contradictory ways in their teaching lives. Teachers can consciously choose to be vulnerable in an effort to build relationships, but experiences of vulnerability are also an inevitable part of teaching that cannot be avoided. The paradox of vulnerability in teaching that exists in the literature serves as fruitful ground for this in-depth, qualitative study of how teachers understand and make sense of vulnerability in their teaching lives and how they construct resilience in their stories about vulnerability. In the following sections, I building on the concept of relational resilience within the RCT framework by further exploring resilience in the teaching literature, followed by an overview of communicative resilience theory. In this study, I am advocating for the need for a newly conceptualized understanding of resilience in teaching that adequately addresses the socially constructed, relational aspects of resilience. When taken together, relational theory and communication theory provide a theoretical perspective that allows for a clearer understanding of what it means to become resilient in relationship with others.

Conceptualizing Resilience

There is much conversation in the teacher education literature about teachers’ development of resilience, particularly in the K-12 setting during teachers’ early careers. These studies are largely in response to high rates of attrition and burnout for early career teachers and many call for teacher education programs to include resilience-related skill building in their 31 curricula. However, as Mansfield, Beltman, Broadley, & Weatherby-Fell (2016) point out, there are few existing examples of what this looks like in practice. One challenge to developing teacher education programs that incorporate resilience building practices is that resilience is a commonly used term that is not often defined in a consistent or clear way. Resilience has received scholarly attention in many fields outside of the teaching literature, which aids our understanding but also muddies the waters in attempts to define the term. In this study, I advocate for a need to conceptualize resilience as a communicative process (Buzzanell, 2010) rather than an individualized state.

Howard and Johnson (2004) describe resilient teachers as those who have the capacity to thrive in difficult circumstances, possess behavior management skills, are able to empathize with difficult students, are able to restrain negative emotions and focus on the positive, and experience a sense of pride and fulfillment and increased commitment to their school and profession.

However, Gu and Day (2013) remind us that resilience should not be understood as simply a personal trait but as a complex process that involves both personal and contextual factors; their structural stance aligns with Kelchtermans’ (1993, 1996, 2005 and 2009) structural view of vulnerability in teaching. Mansfield et al. (2016) conducted a review of the teacher education literature with the goal of proposing a framework for building resilience. The framework they propose calls our attention to structural and contextual factors that impact one’s ability to engage in resilience processes and has four overarching themes (relationships, wellbeing, motivation and emotions). Their study suggests that in order to build resilience, teachers must first build a conceptual understanding of teacher resilience. In practice, this requires an acceptance that resilience is a complex and multifaceted concept, and that understanding resilience “means not only appreciating personal strengths and limitations, but developing awareness of the contextual 32 resources and coping strategies that can promote resilience,” (Mansfield et al., 2016, p. 83).

Moving from the theoretical to the practical, Mansfield et al. (2016) developed online learning modules based on their proposed framework that could be implemented into existing teacher education programs.

In his work studying youth, Ungar (2004) turns to postmodernism to define resilience.

His definition stands in contrast to an ecological view of resilience that is heavily influenced by systems theory, which views resilience through a lens of predictable, transactional relationships.

Instead, a postmodern approach suggests that resilience is constructed “from negotiations between individuals and their environments for the resources to define themselves as healthy amidst conditions collectively viewed as adverse,” (p. 342). As Mansfield et al. (2016) and

Ungar (2004) suggest, a view of resilience that focuses only on capacities of the individual is problematic. I support this argument and extend it further by taking issue with the notion that in order to be resilient, teachers must “restrain negative emotion” as suggested by Howard and

Johnson (2004). As Gilligan (2014) reminds us, when we separate our thoughts from emotions, we are able to solve problems with logic but we lose the capacity to register experience and navigate the social world. This of course does not mean that it is productive or appropriate for teachers to openly express all emotions in any context; rather, my intention is to point out that there are implicit expectations for how and when teachers express emotions that are rooted in historical and cultural norms that can limit growth and cause stress or damage over time. There is room for further research in this area from a feminist perspective, especially with explicit focus on resilience as a complex, constructive process that occurs within experiences of vulnerability in teaching. Considering the variance in existing understandings of resilience in the teaching literature, I argue that the communicative, emotional aspects of vulnerability serve as a fruitful 33 area for exploration of how resilience is constructed. To do so, I turn to communicative resilience theory to further clarify the need for an additional perspective on resilience in teaching.

Communicative Resilience Theory

According to Buzzanell’s (2010) communicative resilience theory, resilience does not reside in the individual; rather, it is grounded in messages, d/Discourse, and narrative (i.e. in relationship). This speaks directly to Jordan’s (2004) model of relational resilience discussed earlier in this chapter, which centers on the idea that resilience is developed through interpersonal connection and “supported vulnerability.” A communicative theory of resilience specifically points us to how resilience is constructed through language. According to the communicative theory of resilience, resilience construction is activated by a “trigger event” or disruption (Buzzanell, 2017). According to Buzzanell (2017), trigger events might include changes or loss in relationships (i.e. childbirth, miscarriage, divorce, death), recognition of enduring challenges or obstacles (i.e. dysfunctional family patterns, disability), or other major life events (i.e. job loss, disease diagnosis). In this study, I expand Buzzanell’s initial conceptualization of trigger events to include events that are significantly related to vulnerability but not necessarily negative or traumatic. This contribution allows for a more complete view of how teachers engage in resilience processes following significant events of all kinds that have an impact on their teaching lives. Communicative resilience theory adds a layer of practicality to

Jordan’s (2004) concept of relational resilience and answers the question of how resilience is constructed in relationship and connection with others through the process of meaning making in everyday lives that allows for reintegration from life’s disruptions (Buzzanell, 2010; Buzzanell,

2017; Lucas & Buzzanell, 2012). 34

Once resilience is triggered, Buzzanell (2010) specifically highlights the communicative processes of resilience that surface through talk, identifying the following five ways resilience is constructed through narrative: (1) crafting normalcy, (2) affirming identity anchors, (3) maintaining and using communication networks, (4) putting alternative logics to work, and (5) legitimizing negative feelings while foregrounding productive action. This theory has been developed from studies of how human beings are resilient during adverse circumstances including families’ experiences of financial crisis and job loss during economic downturn (Lucas

& Buzzanell, 2012), couples’ experiences of deployment (Villagran, Canzona, & Ledford, 2013), disaster-relief workers’ experiences of emotional and physical hardship (Agarwal, & Buzzanell,

2015) and others. However, this study is the first to apply the framework to the study of teachers’ resilience, particularly through a feminist, relational lens.

As I explain in the methodology chapter (Chapter 3) of this dissertation, I did not use the resilience processes put forth by Buzzanell (2010) as a standalone a priori theory for data analysis. Rather, I focused on the notion that resilience is constructed through relational, communicative processes as a starting point to closely examine teachers’ descriptions of their lived experiences of vulnerability and how those experiences might contribute to their construction of resilience. More specifically, the use of communicative resilience theory in this study serves two purposes. First, the theory provides an even clearer definition of resilience that builds on the definition of relational resilience put forth in RCT and existing definitions of resilience in the teaching literature (Mansfield et al., 2016). RCT offers a feminist, relational conception of resilience, arguing that resilience is constructed in relationship and in connection with others (Jordan, 2004). Communicative resilience theory offers a framework for identifying how resilience is constructed in relationship through language and meaning making (Buzzanell, 35

2010; Buzzanell, 2017; Lucas & Buzzanell, 2012). Second, this communicative view emphasizes constructive processes rather than destructive processes that focus on individuals’ inability to cope or recover from difficulty. As I explain in the methodology section of this dissertation, I utilize portraiture in combination with relational, communication theory to frame this study in a way that emphasizes goodness (a hallmark of portraiture) within a constructionist view of vulnerability and resilience.

Conclusion

In this chapter, I have provided an overview of the theoretical framework that guides this study, arguing for the utility of considering relational cultural theory and communicative resilience theory in conversation with one another as a way to more deeply understand how teachers experience vulnerability and construct resilience in their teaching lives. Additionally, I have traced lines of relevant scholarship related to teacher identity and emotion to build an understanding of identity and emotion as socially produced experiences that intersect with vulnerability and resilience in significant ways through teaching relationships. Using relational cultural theory and communicative resilience theory as an interdisciplinary framework for studying experiences of vulnerability in teaching allows for consideration of what teachers need to feel supported and to build resilience as they navigate the vulnerable, emotional aspects of their practice. Within bureaucratic and politicized teaching institutions, teachers often struggle to find their authentic teaching voice due to expectations and pressures of the teaching environment. Rodgers and Raider-Roth (2006) extend Dewey’s notion that teachers who view their identity as “teacher” as separate from their identity as a person are at risk. This split of self is particularly common for pre-service teachers who worry that their personal selves are not appropriate for the teaching setting. Rodgers and Raider-Roth (2006) note that this divided 36 identity can cause teachers to be especially tentative in their teaching approach, which can negatively impact their ability to build trusting relationships with their students. This notion of the “divided identity” is just one example of how the construction of teachers’ identities is often linked to challenges in teaching that are emotionally difficult. The emotional challenges that teachers face, especially early in their teaching careers, are closely tied to the concepts of RCT.

Specifically, these challenges relate to Jordan’s (2004) description of the client-therapist relationship in which the need for supported vulnerability for clients increases as they progress in their therapeutic treatment. She states, “the mutual need to give support, to empathize, also grows as clients move beyond the initial heightened self-concern and painful vulnerability that accompanies the beginning of treatment” (p. 39). To illustrate the utility of this concept in education, I would replace “clients” with “teachers” and “treatment” with “their teaching lives.”

Jordan’s statement would then read as follows: the mutual need to give support, to empathize, also grows as teachers move beyond the initial heightened self-concern and painful vulnerability that accompanies the beginning of their teaching lives. In practice, the findings of this study offer teachers in diverse settings potential strategies to increase their capacity for building resilience in their teaching lives. This study can provide educational mentors and leaders with knowledge regarding what teachers need to feel supported in their work. In particular, the explicit focus of this study on how resilience is constructed within stories of vulnerability and the incorporation of stories from teachers from diverse contexts extends beyond existing perspectives on vulnerability and resilience in teaching. In the following chapter, I explain the methodology employed in this study to explore experiences of vulnerability in teachers’ lives and how those experiences create potential opportunities for the construction of resilience.

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Chapter 3: Methodology

“Art washes away from the soul, the dust of everyday life.” – Pablo Picasso

In a recently released volume on methodological issues related to studying emotion in education, Zembylas and Schutz (2016) end the collection with a list of questions to be considered in future studies. One of the questions they ask is “how do we ensure our methodological choices reflect our theoretical commitments?” In designing this dissertation study, I sought to utilize methods that align with the epistemological foundations of the feminist, relational theories discussed at length in the previous chapter. Using portraiture methodology developed by Sara Lawrence-Lightfoot (Lawrence-Lightfoot & Davis, 1997), I composed the portraits included in this study using prose, poetry and creative expression. Throughout the data analysis process, I relied on my intuition as the portraitist, moving from an integrated space of intellect, body and soul. I used varied forms of expression to “be with” the data in ways that felt authentic, with the goal of creating vivid portraits that connect with my participants, my audience and my research questions. Jacobs (2009) describes authentic dissertations as “spiritual undertakings and reflections that honor the centrality of the researcher’s voice, experience, creativity and authority,” (p. 1). I aimed to conduct this dissertation with authenticity, honoring the voices of my participants and listening closely to my inner voice throughout the process.

Research Design

The research design for this study is portraiture, approached with a constructionist lens.

Portraiture is a qualitative, feminist, artistic methodology that draws from ethnography and phenomenology in that the portraitist seeks to describe, understand and interpret complex human experiences (Lawrence-Lightfoot and Davis, 1997). In a social constructionist view, the construction and negotiation of meaning is central to the study of human interaction, thus 38 communication processes are viewed as constitutive of reality (Pearce, 1995). In contrast, a constructivist perspective views communication as a more cognitive way of knowing the world, rather than a social process (Pearce, 1995). Because I bring a constructionist lens to this methodology, the intention of my study is not to essentialize a common experience across all participants. Instead, I use portraiture methodology to construct complex, unique narratives of each individual participant, paying particular attention to how the participants’ constructions of vulnerability and resilience surface in their stories.

Portraiture methodology views relationship as central to the inquiry and seeks to reveal origins, expressions, and definitions of goodness. In this way, this approach embodies the assumptions and central tenets of feminist theory, relational cultural theory and communicative resilience theory. All perspectives are valued and important; the researcher is democratic and open when seeking to understand the experiences of others. In portraiture, the role of the researcher is made visible. Lawrence-Lightfoot and Davis (1997) explain that in portraiture, the researcher’s standard is one of authenticity, “capturing the essence and resonance of actors’ experiences” (p. 12). The relational focus on this approach lends itself to the study of teachers’ experiences of vulnerability and their construction of resilience. The study was carried out with an explicitly constructionist frame because I sought to understand how teachers’ understanding of vulnerability surfaced in the stories they shared about their professional lives. Portraiture can be used to more deeply understand and create portraits of individual people or settings (more akin to a narrative study) or of a specific phenomenon or concept (as in a phenomenological study). I conducted this study with the same phenomenological spirit of Lawrence-Lightfoot’s

(2009) book, Respect, in which she uses portraiture to construct portraits of respect as a concept while still maintaining the integrity of each individual’s narrative. 39

Participant Selection and Recruitment

Because of the in-depth nature of a portraiture research design, I limited this study to three participants using purposeful sampling. Purposeful sampling is often used in qualitative and mixed-methods studies in order to select participants who are especially experienced with the phenomenon of interest, with the goal of identifying information-rich sources of data

(Creswell & Plano-Clark, 2011). Additionally, I chose three individuals with whom I had a personal relationship with prior to the study. This was an intentional methodological choice that aligns with the relational stance of portraiture rather than a limitation of this study. In fact, I believe the existing relationship I had with each participant enhanced the data collection process because we were able to establish trust and respect more quickly because of our shared experiences and networks.

As I explained in Chapter 2, I view vulnerability as a structural aspect of the act of teaching, so it was not my intention to necessarily identify those who are more vulnerable than others. I also aimed to select participants that varied from the traditional teacher archetype (K-

12) in order to focus on the relational practice of teaching through a constructed view of teacher identity. Given these theoretical commitments, the primary selection criteria for my study were that participants self-report that they 1) identify with the role of “teacher,” 2) that as teachers, they relate to the broad concept of vulnerability in their teaching lives, and 3) that they were willing to commit to the time required to participate in this study. Using my personal network, I selected and recruited three participants who represent diverse teaching roles and contexts. I tried to recruit teachers who represented diverse identities (as much as possible with only three participants) with the goal of including uniquely different voices that would yield rich data for constructing portraits of vulnerability and exploring resilience construction processes. 40

Data Collection

In portraiture research design, data can be gathered using a variety of methods including direct observation, interviews, and other methods that allow the researcher to interact with and understand the research participants’ experiences. The data in this study was primarily gathered through individual interviews using a sequenced interview structure, loosely adapted from

Seidman’s (2006) guide for phenomenological interviewing (see Appendix B). Seidman (2006) recommends a three-interview series, with the first interview focused on life history, the second on the details of the experience, and the third on reflection on the meaning. I interviewed each participant on three separate occasions, with each interview lasting from 50 to 70 minutes. I structured the interviews with the intention of listening for a story, rather than listening to a story

(Lawrence-Lightfoot & Davis, 1997). In other words, I approached this research from a relational stance, structuring each interview to move from more general questions to more in depth, and tracking my interpretations and associations throughout the process. In the first interview, I focused on participants’ life history and daily practice. The second interview focused primarily on a significant event related to vulnerability in the teacher’s life, and the final interview focused on reflection on the meaning of the narratives shared in the first and second interviews. All interviews were recorded and fully transcribed by a hired transcriptionist.

Keeping in mind that portraiture is an arts-based, aesthetic methodology that allows for creativity in the portrait-construction process, I also used artistic expression as an elicitation tool for participants to represent and express experiences of vulnerability in their teaching lives. At the end of the first interview, I invited participants to create an “artifact” in preparation for our next conversation. I provided an information sheet to all participants that offered prompts and suggested mediums as I discussed this element of my study with them in person (see Appendix 41

C). The invitation to create an artifact prior to the second interview was meant to represent a significant event related to vulnerability in the participant’s life. I made this methodological choice because I felt that creative artifacts might generate discussion during the interviewing process and serve as a supplemental source of data that I would use when creating the portraits.

To me, the most powerful aspect of an arts-based approach to research is that the methodology creates space for multiple meanings through alternative forms of expression. This quality democratizes knowledge and meaning because there is no one, “right” way to interpret a piece of art (Leavy, 2009). The role of “academic researcher as expert” is challenged and the research is more accessible to non-academic audiences. Arts-based methods also promote dialogue which can lead to deeper understanding and enhanced relationships (Leavy, 2009). In this way, arts- based inquiry is relationally centered and reflects the central tenets of relational-cultural theory.

In addition to the three-interview series with each participant, I also observed each of the participants in their teaching context for between 60 and 90 minutes. During observation, I took extensive notes, documenting what I saw and heard as well as my thoughts and reflections. As a part of the portraiture process, I wrote “impressionistic records” (Lawrence-Lightfoot and Davis,

1997) that are similar to what Miles and Huberman (1994) refer to as memoing—daily journaling by the researcher throughout the research process. I created an adaptable template for my pre- and post-interview memos that I used throughout the research process (see Appendix D).

The other memos were free form; some were typed and some were hand-written in my dissertation journal.

Data Analysis

Throughout the research cycle, portraiture requires the researcher to shift back and forth between the process of the method to the process of constructing the final portrait. Thus, the 42 analysis process in this study was ongoing, iterative and creative (Miles, Huberman & Saldana,

2014). When the formal data collection process was complete, I sat with paper copies of all of the interview transcripts, field notes, and research memos. Taking one participant at a time, I read through all of the text, completing a “first listening” (Gilligan, Spencer, Weinberg, &

Bertsch, 2006) to map the landscape of the participants’ stories. The practice of a “first listening” comes from the Listening Guide methodology, and asks the researcher to track the overall plot of the interview, describing significant landmarks to begin to construct the narrative (Gilligan et al.,

2006). I then went through the transcripts a second time, searching for emergent themes in the form of repetitive refrains, resonant metaphors, institutional/cultural rituals, and other discursive patterns (Lawrence-Lightfoot & Davis, 1997). As I went along, I noted preliminary codes in the margins and highlighted passages I deemed significant to the research questions, combining the elements of portraiture analysis with the constant comparison method of Glaser and Straus

(1967). Next, I began drafting vignettes related to three central elements of portraiture analysis: context, voice, and relationship. Context is where the narrative (data collection) takes place. The portraitist seeks to describe the “physical, geographic, temporal, historical, cultural, and aesthetic nature of the research site, participants, and their experience” (Hill-Brisbane, 2008, p. 645). In my context vignettes, I described the participants and their teaching contexts. I narrated the experience of entering their spaces and observing their teaching practices. The voice vignettes reflected my interpretations as researcher. In portraiture, the researcher’s voice is present as careful witness, as interpreter, as autobiographer, as discerning other and as voice in dialogue.

The voices of the actors are also equally present as the narrative is co-constructed. In the vignettes of relationship, I began to piece together meaningful dialogue that took place during our interviews. Relationships are at the core of portraiture research, particularly the relationships 43 between the researcher and the participants. It is through relationship that portraitists seek goodness in the participants’ experiences. The vignettes I drafted related to context, voice and relationship became essential building blocks as I set out to write the final portraits.

Lawrence-Lightfoot and Davis (1997) pose two recurring questions that the researcher must ask throughout the collecting and analyzing of data and the writing of the final portrait.

First, the researcher must ask, “how does this line of investigation inform (give shape to) the product—the developing portrait?” and “how does this mode of representation inform (clarify) the process—the developing understanding” (p. 60). These are the questions I kept in mind as I began drafting the aesthetic whole for each portrait. This was a particularly sticky moment for me as the researcher because the idea of taking all of the data and composing a cohesive piece of writing that represented the depth of each of my participants felt insurmountable. I remember sitting up on the third floor of my house, transcripts and notes scattered around me. I wrote the research questions on a separate sheet of paper using a bold Sharpie marker. I aimed to stay grounded by these questions while also doing justice to each individual’s story.

In portraiture, the aesthetic whole is woven together to form the portrait itself, weaving together the emergent themes, with context, voice and relationship informing the artistic process.

Lawrence-Lightfoot and Davis (1997) beautifully describe the portrait components in the passage below:

Enriched by carefully constructed context, expressed through thoughtfully modulated

voice, informed by cautiously guarded relationships, and organized into scrupulously

selected themes, the research portrait is the result of a seamless synthesis of rigorous

procedures that unite in an expressive aesthetic whole (p. 274). 44

As researchers, portraitists begin with and return to their research questions, which frame the portrait, and create the aesthetic whole that fills the frame (Hill-Brisbane, 2008). As the narrative is constructed, it is the researcher’s responsibility to attend to resonance, coherence, and necessity in the final portrait. Resonance refers to the parts—the stories and themes—that are most relevant to the whole; coherence refers to the relationships between those parts; and necessity refers to the “indispensability of any designated part to the aesthetic whole”

(Lawrence-Lightfoot & Davis, 1997, p. 274). As I composed the portraits, I turned to poetic and artistic expression as methodological tools to highlight particularly resonant pieces of each participants’ story. In the following sections, I detail how I used poetic and artistic expression as tools for analysis in practice.

Poetry as Analysis. Lawrence-Lightfoot (2005) describes the portraiture process as discerning, deliberative and highly creative. One of the creative methodological choices I made in composing the three portraits was to include poetry within each narrative. Poetry in qualitative research can take many different forms and this study is not the first to incorporate poetic expression as a part of the portraiture process (Dixson, Chapman, & Hill, 2005; Hellman, 2011;

Hill, 2005). Miles, Huberman & Saldana (2014) identify poetic display as one way for qualitative researchers to extract core meanings from a large collection of text. Leavy (2015) explains that representing data in poetic form can draw out different meanings from the data and assist the audience in interpreting the data differently. Found poetry is a form of data analysis that is typically used as a method for interpreting written text that has been applied to literature reviews (Prendergast, 2006) and transcribed interviews (Butler-Kisber, 2002). Found poetry is

“the rearrangement of words, phrases, and sometimes whole passages that are taken from other sources and reframed as poetry by changes in spacing and/or lines (and consequently meaning), 45 or by altering the text by additions and/or deletions” (Butler-Kisber, 2010, p. 84). There is no prescribed method for creating found poetry. Some scholars generate found poetry using more traditional qualitative coding or categorization methods while others create poems in a more narrative approach to emphasize a particular story in the data (Butler-Kisber, 2010).

Faulker (2016) conducted an extensive review of the uses of poetry in research and concludes that poet-researchers “consider poetry an ideal way to capture and present this

[human] experience in a more easily ‘consumable,’ powerful, emotionally poignant, and accurate form” (p. 22). Faulkner advocates for an approach to poetic inquiry that diverges from found poetry in a sense that the researcher must also consider the importance of poetic craft when creating poetry as a part of the research process. She suggests that researchers must be willing to engage in conversation about the criteria for evaluating research poetry and urges poet- researchers to turn to ars poetica as a first step. Ars poetica is a poem about poetry and is often used as a tool to introduce one to writing poetry. Faulkner (2016) encourages poet-researchers to compose their own ars poetica to consider their understanding of poetry in the research process.

Following Faulkner’s (2016) guidance, I created the poem below to articulate my purpose in including poetry in this dissertation study.

I need to move to resist the structure, the protocol the voice in my head that says “what you are doing isn’t good enough” There is no more direct line or connection with spirit and self than through movement, transcending, shifting into a feeling state

A state with less judgment, without limits or rules or assumptions A state of authenticity, of joy

It’s more about process than product My voice is worthy I have something to say, something to bring forth in this world I’ve been taught to question it, silence it, disguise it

Moving my body, without expectation or agenda, frees the inner artist 46

She cannot be contained once she is shaken up Words are my medium but my body connects me to earth and source From the cerebral to the creative From the thinker to the dreamer

For me, writing poetry as a part of this dissertation was a form of movement and creative expression. My method for constructing poems was a blend of found poetry (Butler-Kisber,

2002) and poetic inquiry (Faulkner, 2016) that evolved organically throughout the analysis process. I relied on my intuition as I chose which words and phrases to include—a methodological practice that Gilligan et al. (2006) and Raider-Roth (2011) describe as the associative process. This process is akin to intuitive inquiry, a methodology developed by

Anderson (1998, 2011) that blends the rigors of mindful spiritual practice and scientific inquiry.

The associative process is rooted in the field of psychotherapy, though Raider-Roth (2011) makes a compelling argument for its relevance to research. Raider-Roth (2011) describes association as:

Subjective, personal, nonlinear, unpredictable, oftentimes surprising, and sometimes

troubling. Association follows the connections, feelings, thoughts, questions and images

that occur as a person encounters another person, idea, place, song, scent, and so forth (p.

76).

Following my associations as I read and re-read the data, I constructed each poem included in the portraits by selecting significant passages and rearranging words and phrases to represent a particular theme within the narrative. Leavy (2015) offers a set of questions for evaluating poetry in research that support my reliance on my intuition through the associative process as I constructed each poem. She asks poet-researchers to consider: (1) what does your internal monitor say?; (2) what is your emotional gut-level response?; and (3) does the poem call forth something from your experience or help shed light on an experience that is unfamiliar to 47 you? (p. 82). I kept these questions in mind as I constructed each poem. Though I was careful to maintain the integrity and the meaning of the participants’ words, I took creative liberty in attending to poetic form as I revised the poems (Faulkner, 2016). I read each poem aloud several times throughout the writing and revision process with the goal of distilling the clearest, most salient meaning. The original excerpts from the interview transcripts can be viewed with each corresponding poem in Appendix F of this study. The member checking process was essential in ensuring the trustworthiness of these poems and their resonance with the participants.

Art as Analysis. Throughout the research process, I used movement and meditation to bring me closer to the data as one component of this intuitive inquiry (Anderson, 2011). In fact, it was during meditation that I first felt inspired to create poetry from the participants’ words.

The desire to take this analysis beyond words continued to surface throughout the research process, as expressed in the following poem taken from my dissertation journal:

I continue returning to my desire to feel these stories in my body I am painting with words, but that doesn’t feel adequate I want to express in a different way, an embodied way I want to share with my participants how their stories have made me feel I want to show my own vulnerability my own resilience my own strength the deep sense of inspiration and beauty I’ve drawn from these people I want to share it with them

Though I considered using movement as a form of data representation (Cancienne &

Bagley, 2008) free-form dance served as a mechanism to process what I was learning during the research. When I felt stuck or fatigued, I would put on a piece of music and allow my body to move without specific agenda or form. In describing intuitive inquiry, Anderson (2011) recommends “spontaneous creative expressions in dance, sound, improvisation, writing, and visual art” as tools to access intuitive insights into the data (p. 52). This meditative practice was 48 essential to my work as a researcher and artist because I was able to track the associative process kinesthetically in addition to the process of writing.

In the final stage of analysis, I chose to illustrate my understanding visually and create a painting to express what I learned from this dissertation research (Hellman, 2011). The motivation behind this methodological choice was two-fold: first, I felt that I owed it to my participants to reciprocate their willingness to create and share a piece of art with me. This reciprocity felt necessary to uphold the values I set out to maintain throughout this study— particularly the values of courage and creativity—through the Structured Ethical Reflection process, which I will discuss in the next section. Second, it felt incomplete to present my findings in this study using only the written word. Arts-based approaches are described as “the merging of the conventions of ‘traditional’ qualitative methodologies with those of the arts to allow for deeper research insight, interpretation, meaning making and creative expression, and alternative knowledge and ways of knowing” (Wilson & Flicker, 2014, p. 58). Incorporating arts-based approaches throughout the data collection and analysis process with the goal of honoring alternative ways of knowing was an intentional choice on my part as a feminist, relational researcher.

Ethics, Trustworthiness and Rigor

Upon review, this study was assigned a “Non-Human Subjects” designation1 according to the University of Cincinnati Institutional Review Board (IRB), which means the IRB did not require oversight of the project primarily because the goal of this study was not to create

1 The University of Cincinnati IRB offers this unique designation to research it deems to be producing non-generalizable knowledge, among other criteria. For more information, see http://researchcompliance.uc.edu/HRPP/IRB/NotHumanSubjects.aspx 49 generalizable knowledge, according to the federal definition of generalizability, which is rooted in a positivist framework. It is important to note that in portraiture research, the portraitist does not aim for conventional achievement of generalizability in her work. Lawrence-Lightfoot

(2005) writes,

By contrast, the portraitist seeks to document and illuminate the complexity and detail of

a unique experience or place, hoping that the audience will see themselves reflected in it,

trusting that the readers will feel identified. The portraitist is very interested in the single

case because she or he believes that embedded in it, the reader will discover resonant

universal themes. The more specific, the more subtle the description, the more likely it is

to evoke identification. And amazingly—another irony—if the portraitist is to speak to an

eclectic and broad audience, living and working in other contexts, then the piece itself

must be very specific and deeply contextual (p. 13).

In this study, I aimed for authenticity as a standard for rigor. I aimed to intentionally build relationships of mutual respect (Lawrence-Lightfoot & Davis, 1997) with each of my participants, checking in with them after each interview to be sure my interpretations resonated with their experiences in an authentic way.

In addition to the IRB submission process, it was essential for me to embed an ethical lens into my study. I utilized the Structured Ethical Reflection (SER) process to ensure that this work is ethically mindful and grounded. SER is a reflective process intended to operationalize a relational, ethical approach to research that begins with the researcher identifying a set of values that inform their inquiry (Brydon-Miller, Rector-Aranda, & Stevens, 2015; Stevens, Brydon-

Miller & Raider-Roth, 2016). This process was critically important in guiding my choices throughout the research process, allowing me to steep my study in the values I deem most 50 important and holding me accountable for continually reflecting on those values. The values I identified through the SER process were presence, trust, receptivity, respect, courage, creativity and care (see Appendix E). In addition to and in support of my Structured Ethical Reflection work, I practiced yoga, meditation and journaling throughout my research project to make space for reflection.

An ethical stance was especially important when it came to my relationships with the participants in my study, all of whom were recruited to participate in my study through my personal network and provided consent via a Research Agreement before the study began (see

Appendix A). I intentionally used the language of “agreement” rather than “consent” and invited participants to name any desired conditions for their participation in the study in an effort to embody a covenantal approach to research rather than a contractual approach (Brydon-Miller,

2009). However, I found this tension between a contractual and covenantal approach was difficult to resolve given the ethical and legal norms of the dominant research paradigm. Because

I ultimately wanted to obtain my participants’ consent in order to provide an opportunity for them to freely choose whether or not to participate, it was challenging to adapt a traditional consent protocol to be an equitable, shared process rather than a power-over contract. Ultimately,

I chose to discuss this tension with each participant openly when I reviewed the research agreement in person. By sharing my discomfort with the contractual process, I aimed to build a relationship of trust and transparency with my participants.

Member checking was also a critical piece of my ethical stance in research process.

Member checking places the validity checking in the hands of the participants, who confirm and/or refute the findings and interpretations (Creswell & Miller, 2000; Lincoln & Guba, 1985).

Each participant was provided a complete draft of their individual portrait and invited to share 51 comments, corrections, and general reactions either in writing or in person. All three participants replied in writing and confirmed the validity and authenticity of their individual portraits. All three participants also agreed to use their real names in this study, which further validates of the resonance of the portraits with each individual.

In portraiture research, the voice of the researcher is explicit and known—a stark contrast to the objective, outsider view of the researcher in positivist research. Seidman’s (2006) guide for phenomenological interviewing also acknowledges the role of the “human interviewer” in the interviewing process. Michelle Fine (1994) eloquently describes this researcher position as the

Self-Other hyphen. She urges qualitative researchers to work this hyphen—to “probe how we are in relation with the contexts we study and with our informants;” she invites us to “see how these

‘relations between’ get us ‘better’ data, limit what we feel free to say, expand our minds and constrict our mouths, engage us in intimacy and seduce us into complicity, make us quick to interpret, and hesitant to write” (p. 135). To me, “working the hyphen” is an embodiment of my feminist, relational stance and I believe my personal relationships with my participants that existed before the project began and evolved as the project continued allowed for the collection of rich, meaningful data.

When it comes to issues of validity or trustworthiness, Anderson, Herr, and Nihlen

(2007) provide a useful framework to be applied in practitioner action research, and although this study is not a practitioner inquiry project, this framework is still quite relevant given my reflexive stance as a feminist, action researcher. The criteria they propose addresses five forms of validity and trustworthiness: democratic, outcome, process, dialogic and catalytic. Process, dialogic and catalytic validity are most applicable to my study. Process validity/trustworthiness asks the researcher to illustrate the adequacy of the research methods. Dialogic 52 validity/trustworthiness calls into question the “goodness of fit” of the data and involves going back as data is collected and initial findings are discussed. Finally, catalytic validity/trustworthiness requires the researcher to examine the depth of the process, including engagement in reflexive research cycles that can lead to transformative learning. Portraiture as a methodology is inherently rigorous in terms of data collection and analysis methods, as I described earlier in this chapter. Additionally, Seidman’s (2006) three-interview series encourages a reflexive process for both the researcher and the participants to develop shared understanding and co-construct interpretations of the data. These methodological aspects of this study ensured rigor—particularly in relation to process, dialogic and catalytic trustworthiness— in that a cyclical, reflective process was embedded in the research design of the study.

Limitations

This research study, like any other, is not without limitations. The first limitation of this study is that the three participants in this study represent limited dimensions of diversity. Though it is not the intention of portraiture research to develop understandings that can be generalized to a broad audience, it is important to note that the participants in this study do not represent the voices of all teachers—particularly those of marginalized, non-dominant identities not represented in this study. In future studies, participants who represent additional dimensions of diversity should be included to broaden our understanding of vulnerability and resilience in teaching. Though a universal definition of these concepts is not possible or even desirable from a feminist, relational standpoint, more diverse participants would create new squares to add to the quilt of understandings of vulnerability and resilience that were generated through this study.

A second limitation of this study is the limited amount of time I was able to spend with each participant given the constraints of scheduling and the time-related parameters of a 53 dissertation study. Though I did verify the authenticity of each portrait through member checking, it is difficult to portray the complexities of each human being after spending only several hours with them. The depth and length of my relationships with each participant before I began this study were also varied, which made it challenging to develop researcher-participant relationships that felt equitable. I made a conscious effort to attend to the relational boundaries— particularly those related to race and gender—that were stretched in this study, though I acknowledge the potential impact these boundaries may have had on my assumptions and interpretations as a White, female researcher.

In the chapters that follow, you will find the individual portraits of each participant included in this study—Mer, Steve and Kim. Following the individual portraits, I engage the portraits in conversation with one another to present the overarching findings revealed in this study and explore the implications of those findings. Thank you for your careful reading of these personal and powerful stories of vulnerability and resilience in teaching.

54

Chapter 4: Mer—A Portrait of Perception

Meredith Hogan does not think of herself as a yoga teacher. She is a healer and a shaman, standing between two worlds. “A shaman is a person who stands between the worlds and negotiates and helps to open doorways and—now here’s one for the books—undo sorcery,” she explains with a playful smile. “What’s unique about me as a teacher is that I’m bridging these worlds.” As she navigates these worlds, Mer understands vulnerability in teaching by shifting her perception. She is adaptable and fluid, guiding her students through non-ordinary experiences and skillfully creating safe spaces for exploration and risk. She models vulnerability with ease, perceiving her experience through alternative ways of knowing and sensing. She celebrates her own vulnerability and that of her students because she is firmly grounded by a deep sense of trust and gratitude. For Mer, each unfolding moment is an opportunity to expand and explore.

I started taking Mer’s yoga classes in 2008 after my graduate school roommate offered me her unused Groupon for a studio near our apartment. I was immediately hooked and began attending Mer’s Tuesday night class religiously. I’ve followed her around the city to take her classes, remaining a loyal student through studio changes and shifts in my own life. Her Tuesday night class, aptly called “Body Prayer”, has been a consistent anchor and source of nourishment for me throughout major life transitions, including the birth of my daughter. Over time, she has become a close friend. Mer’s classes offer a sense of ease and familiarity. She warmly greets each person who enters the room as they settle down onto their mats. Students are free to move at their own pace. There is no pressure or expectation and I welcome the opportunity to slow down and breathe. A weight is lifted; for the next 90 minutes, I can just be. Mer has a gift for weaving in spiritual wisdom throughout the class in a way that is accessible and inclusive. Her messages are often perfectly timed in the context of my own life. This is the magic of Mer’s 55 teaching, she shifts your perception to see what is possible. Like when you learn a new word and then you see that word everywhere. More often than not, Mer’s drops of wisdom feel like essential medicine for my own experience. She is a channel for something bigger, something unseen.

I took her class on a humid Monday morning before we met to discuss this project. Hazy morning light danced on the light blue walls of the studio as Mer guided us through a vinyasa2 practice, speaking about releasing expectations and widening our perception. To begin, she instructed us to move our mats along the wall, clearing space in the center of the room. We started with subtle movements from a seated position, moving only our eyes in all different directions. Mer reminded us that the way we perceive shapes the way we experience life. She encouraged us to release ourselves from the “tyranny of expecting things to be a certain way.”

We moved around the room in nonlinear, unexpected ways. Mer celebrates vulnerability in every class, inviting her students to release their fear and be free. By the end of class, I was transported.

A heavy layer had been peeled away. My outer skin was shed. Mer is a master at weaving sacred ritual into her classes, moving her students from the ordinary to the extraordinary. “My whole passion I think, in existence, is bringing the sacred, bringing it through,” she tells me. She has a beautiful, classic singing voice reminiscent of an earlier time and often incorporates song into her classes with an improvisational spirit. “I am a person who thrives on ascending order,” she says. There is nothing linear or planned about her life. “It’s not so much of a cerebral journey as it is just, ‘Oh. Okay. Yes.’”

2 Vinyasa means “flow” and refers to a style of yoga that involves fluid movement from one posture to the next. 56

A few weeks later, I arrive at Mer’s home for our first interview. The walkway up to her house is lined with plants and small statues that are familiar to me—a Buddha, a set of green, playful mushrooms. I recognize them from her former movement studio, The Shakti Factory, that closed a few years ago. It is early July, warm and sunny. A crew of construction workers are banging away at the house next door, busily replacing the neighbor’s roof. Mer answers the door dressed in happy green shorts and a black tank top with a round lace neckline. She is slender and strong, and her skin radiates with the glow of mid-summer. Her damp brown hair is swept up into a bun; her eyes are bright and kind.

Mer’s home is a reflection of her personality. It is modern and inviting, layered with texture. I follow her into the spacious first floor of her home and she busies herself in the kitchen, filling a pitcher of cool water with mint leaves and brewing a pot of tea. She flows naturally and easefully; each mundane task becomes a ritual. Mer is never in a hurry, keeping time is a pesky distraction. I sit at her kitchen table as she brings over a small bowl of walnuts and dried fruit. I am nervous to begin our interview, feeling awkward as I fumble with my recorder. She joins me at the table as I try to follow her lead and take a deep breath. In these small moments, she teaches by example. Slow down. See beauty.

I ask Mer to ground us in before we begin (an expression I’ve learned from her) and she opens our time together with a beautiful meditation, improvised straight from her heart; she is well practiced in ceremony. I wrote the poem An Opening by selecting and arranging the words that flowed effortlessly from her that day. The poem represents Mer’s ability to create sacred, safe spaces for relationships and her authentic connection with the spiritual and energetic realms.

The use of ceremony to open and close safe spaces is central to her embodiment of vulnerability 57 in teaching. As she speaks, my anxiety flutters behind my eyelids, and it takes a few moments for me to come down from my perch. Soon I am filled with a familiar remembering, a sense of trust.

An Opening awaken the belly of emotion water fire creativity the power that it takes to be vulnerable the cat-like energy that keeps us curious right action in accordance with our own souls the place of pulse the place of munay3 the place of love, compassion, clarity to hold all beings in love ourselves in love as we explore this day silvery space of moon voice and wind and truth allowing truth to be spoken may we see through the eyes of love may we see opportunities for beauty and grace may our relationships our own greater journey our connection to spirit be wide open

Early Lessons in Vulnerability

Mer has always been an embodied soul, easily connecting with people and nature from an early age. She describes her family as the perfect blend of love and challenge; her understanding

3 Munay in Quechua (language of the American Indian people of Peru and parts of Bolivia, Chile, Colombia, and Ecuador) means “love and will.” 58 of vulnerability is rooted in her childhood experiences of confusion and discomfort. To her, vulnerability means “being able to bring something human and authentic to a moment when that moment is just happening.” She sees vulnerability as a choice. Teachers can choose to “go with the playbook” or to say, “‘this is what’s happening right now and I’d like to know, anyone else feeling anything like this? So, this is a feeling. Let’s explore it.’”

Her parents divorced when she was in kindergarten. “I was always the harmonizer, that became my role that I gladly stepped into. I could listen to everybody and have sort of an endless capacity to listen and connect.” She grew up dancing and looking back, she understands that dance served as a portal, a way to “go to the mythic, to access great stories.” She began taking yoga classes after suffering an injury as a dancer and found healing on a physical and emotional level in that form of movement. She describes the first time she experienced an energetic shift during a yoga practice as a releasing of a valve, an experience of light. “It was enlightenment,” she explains. “It was that experience. And I was like, I will never know again the fear and darkness that I knew before because I know this is in me. It was God, you know? This isn’t

Pilates. This isn’t core work. This isn’t being a good dancer. This isn’t being a good anything.

This is being. And so then I knew I needed to share it.” She continued to pursue embodied work, studying theater and acting, and always gathered energy from being in community with others.

She attributes her calling to be a teacher to the early influences of her mother, who was an elementary school art teacher herself. “Artists are inherently healers,” Mer tells me, describing her mother. “Again, they're showing you what can be, taking this Pringle can and turning it into a nutcracker or whatever it is.” She speaks about her mother with deep respect and love, connecting her early understandings of nature and creativity to her relationship with her mother when she was an infant. Mer’s mother taught her that even the most confusing or 59 uncomfortable experiences can open up if you choose to seek beauty in the present moment.

Feelings of vulnerability become opportunities, if you shift your perception. She recalls a childhood memory that brings these early teachings to life.

“I remember when my folks were divorcing. She took us—my sister and I—and pulled off the side of the road. We'd been at my grandparents' house and the sun was setting. We were raised Catholic and we'd been asking all these questions like, why can't a woman be a priest?” I picture Mer and her sister clinging to each other and to their childhood innocence, frustrated by the complexities of the adult world and trying to make sense of their parents’ separation. “But she pulled over and the sun was setting and it was so beautiful and I'll never forget.” Mer slows down and speaks deliberately, carefully recalling her mother’s words, “She said, human beings create things. They create rules. They do things for various reasons. We're all human beings. But we come from something bigger than those rules—” her voice breaks and tears fill her eyes.

“She's like, look at this, just look at this. It can't fit into a house. It can't fit into a building. It doesn't have any rules. This is our world turning and she's like, however it came to be,” Mer pauses to take a breath, tears now streaming down her cheeks. “It's so much beauty and our work—she's like, I think—now, you decide what you think, girls, you know? I think that anything that's going to put doors and windows on something that can be this vast and beautiful has a long way to go. And that's it, you know? Lesson over. Okay. Get back in the car. We can go home now.” I smile and wipe tears from the corners of my eyes, touched by the poignant brilliance of her mother’s wisdom. “And so, you're curious about how the world works and the people most influential have this chance to show you something or to kind of like shut you down or open things up,” Mer says. “So, she was a genius at that. I am so grateful for that and I did 60 inherit that and I'm conscious of that and helping to give that gift forward. So that's my teaching life. It came from her, really.”

The opportunity to influence her students in the same way her mother influenced her, the chance to show them something and open them up rather than shut them down, comes through as

Mer tells me what vulnerability means to her as a teacher. For her, vulnerability creates a relational portal, an opening, an opportunity to honor what is happening in the present moment with reverence and support. “Understanding means standing under and supporting,” she tells me.

“It doesn’t mean like ‘I got you there’ and now I get an A and now my life is complete and successful,” she explains.

Resilience Follows Vulnerability

Mer playfully resists convention in her teaching. She embraces her own vulnerability and explores alternative ways of teaching and learning without fear. Indeed, her roots in yoga and

Pilates began in a relatively conventional way but she continues to expand the boundaries, exploring other healing arts. A few years ago, Mer completed her training in shamanic healing and energy medicine through The Four Winds Society at the Light Body School, under the guidance of Dr. Alberto Villoldo. These teachings now permeate all of Mer’s interactions with her students as she weaves shamanic practices into her public yoga classes and individual sessions. Mer shares a significant event in her teaching life that led her to become a trained shaman. I listen intently and as her story unfolds, I am surprised by what she tells me. I expected a worldly story—a fight with a friend, a life-event such as her recent marriage, the death of a loved one. The story she tells me is other-worldly; an experience of “gifted trauma” that led to transformative growth. Her story demonstrates Mer’s understanding of the potential healing and resilience that can follow experiences of intense vulnerability. Her choice to share this story with 61 me is further evidence of her willingness to be vulnerable, as her experience extends beyond logic.

She tells me about an opportunity she had in her late twenties to work with a friend’s husband on a music project. “I was kind of discovering my voice, rediscovering it. I'd been sort of quiet, and not using that aspect, which I knew was a healing tool,” she says. She recalls her excitement to work with this person since he at one time had a recording contract as a country musician. As she got to know this musician, she learned about a tumultuous, painful relationship from his past. Mer soon found out that the reason he wasn't playing music was because his former partner—also a member of his band—committed suicide while pregnant with his child.

“It totally shut him down and he was like ‘I can't open this box. I cannot play music. I can't do it,’” she tells me. “He would use this terminology always, ‘I'm opening this box.’ I was pretty naïve still. I thought, well, okay. Let's open the box, let's see what happens. Maybe it'll be this amazing experience.” Mer’s readiness to enter into another’s darkness demonstrates her intentional vulnerability. She embraces risk for the sake of authentic relationship, she is a seeker of beauty and expansion even when the outcome is unknown.

She describes what started to happen shortly after she began playing music with this man as feeling a “really bizarre energy” in her body. This energy continued for weeks and Mer felt alone. “The feeling was like I would get out of bed and my feet were fuzzy. It felt like there was a carpet on the hardwood floor. I would look in the mirror and I couldn't see my own eyes. It was like this layer around me. Who the fuck are you going to talk to about this?” she asks with an incredulous gesture. Mer believes that this “disembodied, tortured soul who committed suicide” was stuck in said “box” and when an energetic opening happened through music, this woman’s ghost jumped into Mer’s body. “I was beside myself,” she recalls. “I felt insane. Completely. I 62 felt crazy. I wanted to do things that I never wanted to do. I had a taste for whiskey. I wanted to do these weird things that have nothing to do with me.” This ghostly energy caused Mer to have a panic attack that left her sobbing on the floor at her thirtieth birthday party. She was met with skepticism from those around her who questioned the true cause of her breakdown.

Mer moved in with a good friend the next week who had just completed her training in shamanic energy medicine at the same school where Mer would later study. After Mer described was she was experiencing, her friend performed a shamanic ceremony called an extraction that

“removed this entity, sent it on its way in a beautiful way.” “It lifted that quickly, and I was back,” she tells me. This energetic experience was a transformative turning point for Mer in her life as a teacher and healer. “The second that happened and I went through it, I thought, this is so necessary,” she explains. “My God. How many people think they're crazy and they just have something that doesn't belong to their body in their body? The world is made of energy. This happens. These things happen and I needed to experience it in order to understand it.”

I am at a loss for words when she finishes her story. She acknowledges that the story makes her sound crazy and we laugh together about how such an experience doesn’t fit neatly into the ways we understand the world through language. And yet, I don’t question the truth of her experience. This energetic “way of knowing” that Mer describes is uncomfortable and almost always met with skepticism and fear. Mer knows this skepticism well, telling me that “99 percent of people have no ears to listen to [her story]” but she remains in a place of conviction. “That’s part of why I wanted to open up with the perceptual states4,” she explains, “because there are

4 Mer’s guided meditation at the start of our interview included a shamanic ritual known as the opening of the four perceptual states/directions (serpent/south, jaguar/west, hummingbird/north, eagle/east). 63 going to be those things in this conversation that we will feel that will not translate to the written word. I walk with that secret medicine every day, knowing that if it's needed, it's there,” she says.

“And it's difficult because it's really hard to talk about, and yet if you talked about it too much, it would totally devalue it, too. It's like it's not a talking thing. It’s an experiencing thing.” She describes this frightening, confusing experience as “gifted trauma.” For Mer, her vulnerability through trauma led to resilience and growth. Her resilience is constructed through trust, faith, and acceptance. “The blessing is right behind the wound. How can we actually be in the experience when we’re wounded? There’s a blessing in here. It’s right on the other side of this and if I can just hold that as reality and truth, then that growth happens, that resilience that happens, you almost welcome it.”

The Medicine Wheel: A Perceptual Map for Navigating Vulnerability

Mer draws much of her spiritual strength from the Medicine Wheel. The Medicine Wheel is a core concept of shamanic energy medicine rooted in Incan culture that is comprised of the four directions or four levels of perception - south/serpent, west/jaguar, north/hummingbird, and east/eagle. Mer describes the Medicine Wheel as a “map for peace and for understanding” and offers this framework to her students, encouraging them to connect to the strengths of each archetype when they are in need. This framework functions as a map for Mer and her students to navigate vulnerability. She thinks of these archetypes as loyal friends who she can call on to shift her perception at any time, depending on what is needed in that moment. I created the poem The

Medicine Wheel using Mer’s words to represent the act of connecting to the Medicine Wheel framework as a guide for navigating vulnerability. The Medicine Wheel is a metaphorical reminder of the power of perception; each archetype represents a critical dimension of Mer’s understanding and embodiment of vulnerability in her teaching life. 64

The Medicine Wheel step into the medicine wheel this place of observing perspective the same situation, vastly different archetypal energy creating sacred space around us dropping in breathe, rinse down down down into the belly of the mother

We meet at her home again for our second interview. Mer answers the door and greets me with a hug. She is wearing a woven tank top with long, colorful earrings that blend in with her dark, thick hair that falls around her shoulders. Her light washed, bell bottom jeans suggest that she is a soul from an earlier time, a flower child. As I follow her into the house, the energy feels quite different from our first meeting. Music floats softly from her computer that rests on the kitchen counter. The long wooden kitchen table where we sat during our first interview is covered with what I recognize as the artifact that I invited her to create for this interview. The artifact is alive and familiar to me, as it represents rituals of shamanic medicine that Mer incorporates into her teaching. She offers me a small glass of iced green tea, which I sip, savoring the earthy flavor. It’s difficult to put the energy I feel in Mer’s home into words 65 because it is truly a feeling—a sense of ease, belonging and acceptance. Small gestures like the tea are evidence of the way she flows through the world, taking great care of all things she encounters.

I ask Mer to describe her artifact and we move to stand around the table where a collection of stones, feathers, statues, candles and other items are carefully arranged in the shape of a compass with each arm of the living statue extending out from the center. She describes the artifact as a sand painting, a living altar, “a soul way of communicating.” In the sections that follow, I trace the four archetypes represented in her sand painting, weaving in layers of her understanding of vulnerability in her teaching life.

Serpent call in the south it is what it is nothing more no opinion, just is-ness the gift of the south to shed to release serpent energy slither out clean emerge anew

The south is represented by the archetype of the serpent. The poem above, Serpent, represents one’s ability to shift and shed, to accept vulnerability and release fear. “Southern medicine is cleaning out, releasing roles, releasing the stories you’ve been bound by,” she explains. Mer speaks about the “roles” frequently assigned to her by others when she recalls her life before she became a teacher. “You're really good at this, you should be a psychiatrist. You should be a therapist. You're great with kids. You should be a preschool teacher. I always had people telling me what I should be,” she says. She describes her nature as a bit rebellious, largely unconcerned with the judgment of others. “I never really got too concerned with being good or 66 pleasing people.” She encourages this same freedom in her students, in explicit and quiet ways.

“Look, we are here on this planet. It’s not a dress rehearsal. It’s a journey of exploration and the more rules we put on ourselves, the more we dampen the entire thing.” She is conscious of the constraints of more structured and conservative teaching environments, and one of her skills is the ability to shift her approach accordingly. She gently encourages her students to break free from the roles, rules and structures that hold them back. She invites them to be vulnerable, to risk, and she models this by taking risks herself. “That’s something I will say very overtly or very sweetly behind an acceptable thing to say. Depending on the environment.” I ask her how she balances her teacher “hat” with the other roles she plays in her life and in her relationships.

Her rebellious nature shines through as she says emphatically, “I think the main thing is that I don’t want to put on a hat, then take it off. I like to keep the same hat on or no hat on, and yet, you can’t do that. Of course, there are these seats. I call it the seat. I’m in the seat or I’m out of the seat. But I think, I’m never not that person.” Mer is committed to authenticity; she is not bound by the various roles she occupies in her life.

She tells me about a painful experience of vulnerability with a teacher she admired who broke her trust and severed their relationship. Mer describes her ability to shed the experience with grace, drawing on the serpent energy of releasing without judgment or over analysis. “The recovery process there was getting so clear about what I don’t want to be as a teacher, that energy I never want to have to clean up,” she explains. The energy of serpent is clear when she reflects on her recovery from the supernatural episode with her musician friend. Resilience came from her vulnerability and her experience of trauma. When I ask her to sum up that process, she speaks slowly, with intention, describing her resilience as “breakdown, complete and total release, and rebirth.” There’s a practicality and a groundedness to the archetype of serpent. Mer 67 says matter of factly, “Sometimes you just need to drop down to serpent and be like, ‘I gotta get this shit together.’ It’s a physical thing. It’s a literal thing.” In times of intense vulnerability, the energy of serpent is essential to our survival and our resilience. We must address our experience on a literal level before moving into the next level of perception—that of the jaguar.

Jaguar traveling up into the lower belly welcoming in the winds of the west jaguar the jaguar sees, perceives there is more than what meets the eye the realm of curiosity the realm of the mind, thought and emotion it's not as it seems

The poem Jaguar represents teachers’ and students’ collective responsibility to create and maintain protected spaces with clear boundaries in order to safely navigate vulnerability, particularly experiences of emotion. As she moves around her kitchen table describing her artifact, Mer tells me, “The jaguar represents movement. It represents fearlessness and the ability to jump over the rainbow bridge.” She runs her hand along the spine of a smooth, onyx jaguar statue that sits on the table, in a stance of prowling protection. The jaguar is the great protector of boundaries. Mer speaks about her own vulnerability in terms of the risk that is required to build intimate relationships with her students given the personal nature of yoga. “Within this field of yoga, certainly, many people who are not able to find what they need in other places, who are suffering emotionally, mentally, spiritually, will come into and open themselves up in these kind of halfway safe spaces and then be floundering,” she says. She tells me about a relationship with a former student where boundaries of safety were threatened. “I had a student that was really frightening who had a bit of an obsession with me and he was definitely having lots of personal, 68 mental, psychological issues happening. And so when he was in a place of big illumination, I was like this unbelievable goddess and the deliverer of light and to be worshiped, and then it would switch and then I was this darkness force that was lying and manipulating,” she explains.

“99 percent of the time, the vulnerability that I share, the intimacy I bring, the love that is just coming through me and coming through them, is glorious. And then there’s a small percent of the time where it’s dangerous. And that’s a real truth.” Mer navigates these tricky waters by calling on the energy of jaguar to create and hold clear boundaries and maintain a safe space in her teaching environment. She puts the onus on her students as well, urging them to take “radical personal responsibility” and tells them that they, too, are holding space. She describes that mutual responsibility, as she tells me, “When I am skillful and awake and attuned to the greater purpose, I really make a point of allowing everybody to or helping people understand that their presence is very, very important within the container and so nothing is neutral in this world.

You’re either adding to that presence or taking away from it.” Creating safe space, holding boundaries, and taking responsibility are all necessary conditions for navigating vulnerability in

Mer’s teaching life.

The jaguar represents the realm of the mind and the emotions; for Mer, the power of emotion is fundamental to her understanding of vulnerability. Mer speaks of “the divine influx of emotion” as one of the most potent aspects of her life as a teacher and she utilizes her own emotional experiences as opportunities to model vulnerability, inviting her students to join her in those expressions of authenticity. “Probably the most powerful moments of my teaching life so far have come from an inability to deny a feeling, a truth carefully chosen and spoken. And a sharing of tears that has nothing—nothing behind it, other than this beauty I’m sharing with you, which I recognize is a great gift that I sit in this place where, not everybody feels the freedom to 69 do that. Right? Even when you’re like this is coming now and it would be brilliant if I could just let it be here. Because it gives us all permission to be human.”

Mer recalls a moment that felt especially vulnerable for her as a teacher, remembering a time in her early teaching life when she was asked to teach a class at a prestigious workshop. She had just had her heart broken by an ex-boyfriend and was struggling to gather herself together that morning. She remembers stepping onto the stage and feeling the undeniable vibration of emotion bubble up to the surface. Unable to hold it back, she wept on stage in front of over 100 people for a few moments, then opened her eyes and said through tears, “You know, right now my heart is broken and if I don’t tell you that, I won’t be teaching from my heart. And so I’m telling you and the reason that I am here today is not what I thought. It’s this,” she pauses, the raw emotion clear in her voice as she remembers the intense vulnerability and emotionality of that moment. “And I was like, I think that the whole reason that any of us are here really is to discover truth, beauty and compassion, and so I’m asking you to have some compassion for yourself, for this feeling, for all feelings. And then the class began.”

The energy of jaguar encourages us to embrace our emotions and to honor them. Mer describes the sense of permission to express her emotions that she gained from such a vulnerable experience as she tells me, “It was the first time I really knew that it wasn’t a problem to be solved the way I came into the world.” She was able to shift her perception; emotions should be honored and expressed rather than silenced or repressed. She remembers a profound moment after she finished teaching the workshop class when a respected elder in the yoga community pulled her in close and said, “You are a divine one. You are doing exactly the right thing. You keep walking this path.” Mer describes this transformative moment as “the blessing of being blessed.” As teachers, she tells me, we have the ability to “bless the genius” in another, and when 70 you do, the genius grows. The energy of jaguar, the energy of emotion, can serve as a portal for profound growth and expansion when it’s permitted to be expressed authentically and safely. It is both the responsibility of the teacher and the student to intentionally hold and protect safe spaces for authentic vulnerability so that learning and growth can occur.

Hummingbird travel up through the center of the spine third eye welcoming in the energy of the north the winds of the north the royal hummingbird energy of witnessing everything is as it should be seeing through the eyes of expansion acceptance and trust

The hummingbird archetype is the great journeyer. The poem Hummingbird represents the foundation of trust that must be present in order to navigate vulnerability in teaching and learning. “The north is all about what is possible,” Mer says as she picks up a brightly colored feather from the table. The north also represents our ancestors and “ancient-ness, timelessness, that which will live beyond our skin.” The energy of hummingbird is an embodiment of sacredness, ceremony and ritual that is best expressed through art, music, and storytelling. Mer tells me that my dissertation project is a hummingbird project—an expression of the soul— which I take as a sincere compliment.

Mer calls on the energy of hummingbird, using ritual to intentionally interrupt patterns and to alter her students’ relationship to space, with the goal of taking them from “an ordinary state of consciousness into a non-ordinary one.” “Circles are crucial,” she tells me when I ask her to describe the ways she uses ritual and ceremony in her teaching life. She uses circles to create an environment of inclusion, to put everyone on the same page. Although critical to her teaching 71 approach, these rituals also have the potential to create feelings of vulnerability, both for Mer as the teacher and for her students. “There is a vulnerable aspect to that too because I am aware of the, you know, to use the annoying terms but like the airy fairy, hippy dippy shit that will cause people to shut down.” Mer skillfully invites vulnerability and builds relationships of trust with her students by modeling vulnerability herself. “I embody that it's a safe place by taking risks myself all the time in everything I'm saying, you know? I think that that’s part of it like modeling it by doing it. Some spaces you’re not welcome to do that as much so you have to kind of figure out, where can I where can I take risks in here that can bring us back to our humanity? Then there’s the other part where it's like, look if you are gonna take risks you gotta risk that some people might not like it and you might not be popular and so reduce the need to be well liked, you know?” Mer’s ability to “reduce the need to be well liked” allows her to be unapologetically herself and to show up fully as a teacher. She is honest, kind and clear, trusting that her students and her environment are ambivalent and loving. “You have a choice always to go inside, to go along with the grain, to collude with the cultural story of what is yes and what is no, or to create your own life moment to moment and find what you value,” she explains. The archetype of hummingbird inspires Mer to dream her world into being with vulnerability and humility, rather than maintain the status quo.

The hummingbird represents trusting the journey of life. She embodies this energy throughout her teaching practices and the concept of “the journey” is so clear in how she traces her teaching roots. When Mer speaks about her own journey, it is one of resilience and trust. She describes the journey as “a big wild thing,” comparing her own life to a river. “If you’re in a tough time, if you’re in a little eddy in a river, if things are stagnating or you’re feeling in pain, then to step onto the journey. I mean, it’s like if you can get inside it and recognize it as a 72 contraction and the natural order of things, if you pay attention and let the pain take you down a little road, then things will open up again and there’s this new turn. And so I think that’s kind of everything.” Mer lives in a place of trust, which she models for her students. Trust is at the core of her understanding of vulnerability and her life as a teacher. “Trust is basically the central theme of my whole life,” she explains. She speaks briefly about the possibility of having a child someday, something she is available to and open to, but not clinging to— “whatever happens, that’s the journey,” she says with a peaceful smile. Deeply trusting her own journey allows Mer to remain steady when her students experience resistance and struggle in their own lives. “You don’t sail in calm seas. That’s just not how we learn,” she says.

Eagle guiding the energy up past the crown of the head traveling hold the high watch the energy medicine of the eagle the winds of the east the condor vision seeing through the eyes of love and oneness no words pure energy of vibration we are all in this together holding this space one continuum of love, possibility awakening the dreamer

The fourth and final archetype is that of the eagle, which represents the energy of pure spirit. The poem Eagle represents a sense of connection on the energetic, spiritual level. This universal connection is a reminder that experiences of vulnerability are what connect us to other human beings. To “hold the high watch” means to lovingly hold space for others’ humanity, which is the essence of vulnerability. Mer picks up a rattle from the table and shakes it gently. 73

“This is my journeying rattle for the east which is into the time to come,” she explains. The energy of eagle is so powerful in Mer’s work as a teacher. She is a master at holding space, widening her own perception to see the whole picture and hold “the high watch.” “It’s all about disappearing,” she explains. “Being invisible so that you’re just a mirror of love and trusting that the soul knows what to do, and it does, you know?” The concept of space holding is central to her embodiment of vulnerability, which she demonstrates through her own receptivity and trust in “ascending order.” “It’s just about taking something and instead of dulling it down or repressing it and pushing it away like it’s not there, utilizing it as a breaking open point for consciousness.” She views this as her responsibility when she is in the seat of the teacher. “And so bring it in. Weave it through, and allow people to have a place where they can actually, instead of turning their backs on this aspect of themselves, which has been taught for everyone’s safety, to turn toward it and just hold space. And I mean, it’s a space holding profession that we’re both in,” she says matter-of-factly. The energy of eagle and her connection to the spiritual world is apparent in Mer’s commitment to presence and receptivity. This is a thread in all she does. She describes her openness to the universe, to spirit, telling me that she often asks herself and her students, “What are you available to?” “And that is the question that I’m always working with,” she says. “Show me, show me, show me, show me. Show me what I need to see.”

From the perspective of eagle, Mer views the teacher-student relationship as fluid. “I guess I always think that everybody’s in the role of both student and teacher, if you have eyes to see it,” she explains. Within that fluid relationship, Mer believes her responsibility is to lovingly encourage her students to shift their perspective, to go a little wider. “That’s a beautiful piece of this, you can know your stuff, have it all packed up, you can mail it in any day of the week. But what actually keeps teachers—dynamic, alive, passionate teachers—teaching, because it’s hard, 74 is that ability to pop the bubble and go, ‘oh, we got to get bigger now,’” she explains. In this way, all teachers are shamans. “You're standing as a shaman between two worlds. Here's your bubble world. I am here to help you go into the bigger world. So if you're not aware of the bigger world, that's my job and it might not be fun,” she says with a smile.

A Shift who is the teacher? who is the student? everybody, everybody if your eyes are open the power of suggestion love it as it is love as much as you can from where you are it is radically different, radically felt the outbreath follows the inbreath falling apart always proceeds being rebuilt

Meredith Hogan is not an ordinary yoga teacher. She is a shapeshifter, drawing from an ancient lineage of shamanic medicine. Her vulnerability is fierce yet loving. She acknowledges resistance, offering her students “a little bit of what you want and a lot of what you need.” From

Mer’s perspective, vulnerability and struggle create fertile ground for resilience if you shift your perception. “Stop asking why and ask how. Why is the wrong question. It’s like, how do I take what is here now—right now—and utilize that for an opportunity to expand. And so, that is a key thing, like if I could drill it down into the very, very most essential, bare bones thing, it’s that most people are asking a question that will not serve them,” she explains. Mer offers her students a sense of possibility. She considers the opportunity shift your perception to be an act of self- love. “Once you have permission to love yourself in that way,” she tells me, “everything is possible.” 75

Chapter 5: Steve—A Portrait of Permission

The walls of Professor Steve Kroeger’s office are covered with artwork. I enter the naturally lit space on an overcast, supremely humid day and immediately take notice of a large black and white portrait on the wall behind his desk. Steve tells me that the two people in the image are Palestinians whom he met during a recent trip to the Middle East for a research project. He composed the portraits in charcoal, using the eraser method5—one of his favorite artistic mediums because it is easy to manipulate. Steve is an Associate Professor and program coordinator of the Special Education Program at the University of Cincinnati, where he has worked for nearly 14 years. Steve was recommended to me as a participant in my study by one of his former colleagues who is a member of my dissertation committee. Though we have only recently met, I find Steve is easy to talk to and I feel welcome in his space. He is dressed casually in summer break attire, wearing a short-sleeved button up shirt and khaki slacks. A few beads of sweat glisten on his forehead just below his salt white hair, leftover from the muggy walk across campus. He tells me that art is his escape from the day to day; it is a way for him to stay balanced and make sure he doesn’t spend all of his time working. He reaches behind his desk to show me a small piece of paper covered with crowded sketches that he drew during a meeting; there’s hardly a centimeter of white space on the page. “I’m always the guy in meetings sitting in the corner writing and people think, man, look at that asshole. Until they see what I’m doing and then they say, hey, can I have a copy of that?” he says with a smile.

Steve’s evolution as a teacher is defined by a sense of permission. Permission to trust, to go his own way, to express himself through art instead of words, to let go of traditional notions

5 The eraser method is a subtractive drawing technique in which the drawing surface is covered with graphite or charcoal and then erased to make the image. 76 of success. He speaks about vulnerability in his teaching life with honesty and humility; for

Steve, his own vulnerability is not authentic unless it’s unexpected. If he knows it’s coming, he is likely to try to protect himself, to anticipate. Steve understands the discomfort of authentic vulnerability but celebrates the transformative “a-ha moments” that often follow. Steve strives to create conditions for learning where his students feel safe and empowered, where they are not afraid to make mistakes. He approaches his students with humor, respect, and a commitment to the reciprocal process of constructing new knowledge. “I am totally convinced now,” he explains, “that nothing I say will ever be remembered. I know it’s the truth. The only thing that will ever be remembered is something that they produce.” That’s when Steve comes alive as an educator, when he and his students are able to generate new knowledge in partnership with one another. At this point in his career, his teaching strategies are intentional. Nearly every choice he makes in the classroom is aimed at figuring out how to “unlock” that reciprocity so that authentic learning can occur.

Beginnings a seed in a barren forest replant one seed at a time light illuminating reintegrating nothing is ever wasted

I constructed the poem Beginnings from Steve’s words which I selected and arranged to represent his early experiences of vulnerability in education. He speaks about academia as a bit of an outsider; his path to higher education had many twists and turns. Though in retrospect, his journey has an undercurrent of integration and purpose—seeds planted one at a time in a barren 77 forest. Steve was not a good student as a child. “Early on, I struggled with stuff and my mom was an advocate for me and at one point they wanted to put me on the so-called slow track that they did and she went in and said ‘no, you aren’t doing that. I know this kid better than that,’” he tells me. He goes on to describe a painful memory from eighth grade when, for the first time, he invested in an academic task and felt proud of his work, but was met with shame and discouragement—an early experience of painful vulnerability. The assignment was a science project and Steve chose to draw the human body, harnessing his natural artistic ability that his father encouraged him to nurture from an early age. He drew the complexities of the human anatomy, creating overlays of the various systems of the body by hand. When it came time to present his work to the class, Steve tells me, he froze. His teacher gave him an “F” on the assignment. “It was one of those moments where—you know, it’s like the worst—this is when it comes up and it has a lot of emotional tug. And I just remember thinking, ‘you spend all this time and effort and you mess up in this one little thing,’ and it’s my little eighth grade brain thinking, well it just doesn’t equate,” he explains. Though it was many years ago, this is still a painful memory for Steve. “That kind of overshadows my whole academic life in a sense,” he tells me. There is sadness in his voice; I hear a deep sense of empathy for his adolescent self.

This formative experience of academic shame connects Steve to his future students in a profoundly personal way. His experience is a powerful reminder of the emotional imprint that teachers can have on their students’ academic confidence.

Service to Others

As a young adult, Steve got involved with a Christian community that eventually landed him in St. Lucia in the Caribbean for a year of volunteer work teaching religious studies. It was there that he joined the Society of Jesus (more commonly known as the Jesuits), a scholarly 78 religious organization of the Catholic Church. “They’re a very academic group, very into schooling and stuff like that,” Steve tells me. “Why I chose those things, I don’t know what was happening in my brain but I must have been attracted to this kind of area in my life that was just really underdeveloped.” His calling to serve others was what moved Steve into teaching and his work with the Jesuits took him all over the globe. He was ordained a priest and worked in South

America while finishing his master’s degree in theology. He then returned to the States and worked in a parish in the south side of Chicago for some time and shortly after, moved to Detroit to teach bible studies in a Catholic high school. His work in Detroit was what later drove him to pursue a degree in special education. “I was meeting all these kids in high school, seniors, juniors, who could not read or write. I had no idea how to help these kids. It was just a new world for me,” he explains. He recalls one particular experience with a student that pulled him toward special education. “When I was teaching in Detroit, there was this young man who the students absolutely loved. He was a great football athlete, and the kids liked him. He was really, really quiet. You couldn’t get him to participate. And the kids protected him from the teachers,” he explains. Steve tells me how he was struck by this peculiar arrangement among the students.

“His peers protected him and cared for him. I remember they eventually disclosed to me, saying,

‘We take care of him.’ They never said he was illiterate or he can’t read. It’s just—he really struggles with reading. You’re not going to be able to get him to read, that kind of stuff. And I thought, I could be of service to a kid like that if I knew what the hell to do.” Steve was drawn to the kids who were outcasts, those who were mismatched with their schooling for a variety of reasons. He connects this feeling of mismatch to his own experiences in school. He tells me that he remembers being excluded from peer groups as a child; he remembers the feeling of always working to get into a group. “I was kind of a behavior kid myself,” he explains. “Dad had to get 79 me out of jail when I was in high school for some stupid adolescent stuff I was doing.” These memories of struggle and exclusion instilled a sense of empathy in Steve that remains central to his identity as an educator. “That’s the inside of special education, figuring out what is the mismatch but understanding the human being there. What is it they’re trying to say, what’s their behavior saying? It’s translation. It’s kind of a second language of a sense.”

Steve’s artistic way of understanding is reflected in one of his earliest teaching practices that attracted attention from his peers in the special education field. As a teacher, he used multiple colors on a chalkboard to visually conduct a functional behavior assessment—a core practice in special education that is used to identify and assess behaviors that are interfering with a student’s learning. Steve’s non-traditional approach was creative and inclusive of the students and their families. He was encouraged by his peers to write an article about this unique method and that first academic writing experience was what ultimately led him to pursue a doctoral degree in special education.

Permission to Let Go

When I arrive in Steve’s office for our second meeting, I immediately notice a new painting propped up behind him on his desk. As a part of our conversations, I invited Steve to create a piece of art that represents a significant event in his life. Steve chose to paint a portrait of his father. The redness of the portrait glows; I recognize the white hair and the resemblance of the man in the painting to Steve. Steve’s artwork is visceral and personal; I am taken aback by the intensity of the portrait. As we begin to discuss the painting, Steve’s posture is proud but humble. He sits up straight in his chair and eagerly begins talking about what it was like to create this portrait of his father. The energy in his voice and body make it clear to me that he is pleased with his work. And yet, I sense his hesitation. He starts to slow down as he speaks and I hear a 80 bit of shakiness in his voice. Talking with me about his father seems to bring about conflicting emotions of affection and pain. I know from our first meeting that Steve’s relationship with his dad remains emotionally charged, so I am nervous about where this conversation will take us. I appreciate the vulnerability required to dig deeper into the intense memories of his father; I am honored that he is inviting me into this truly personal space. “I was not a companion to my father,” he explains. “I was always a son, and it was all—it was a conflictual relationship in the sense that a desperate need for approval and affirmation from him and not getting it. And being rebellious against, he was a very conservative person.”

The photo he used to create the painting was taken in

1987 at Steve’s ordination into the Jesuits. The man in the background is one of

Steve’s dear friends with whom he still connects regularly. He tells me that that this is one of his favorite photos of his father and that he really does not have many pictures of him. He chose to create the portrait using oil paint, something he would like to use in his art more often. “I was a little worried that it was so red but it’s—it kind of captures kind of an intense emotionality that it—and I’m kind of with him,” he explains. He tells me that creating the painting “was kind of like spending time with him.”

When his father died in 1990, Steve made the difficult decision to leave the Jesuits.

Through our conversations, we begin to explore the connection between the loss of his father and 81 his decision to leave the Jesuits. I ask him to tell me more about this pivotal moment in his life, and he speaks about his father with a mix of pain, regret and admiration. “There was something in my dad about—there was a drive, an expectation in him, and not always a good one,” he tells me. “He could be very critical. And so, there’s always a sense of being inadequate. That needing to be included, accepted, that kind of thing, that was coming from my dad.” The innate human desire to feel a sense of belonging and worthiness is a thread that runs through Steve’s life. I ask him to tell me more about what his dad’s death meant to him. I am struck by the significance of the event in his life that goes beyond the expected grief of losing a loved one. “When dad died, it was kind of a release,” he tells me with honesty. “I had, someone told me that you can have some of your best conversations with people after they’re gone. And I remember—I’m still a Jesuit at the time—and someone told me that and I sat down and had a conversation with my dad that I had never had and it felt as real as any conversation I’ve ever had. And it was a powerful, powerful moment and it was like, ‘are you okay?” and—sorry—” Steve stops, caught off guard by the emotion rising in his throat. “I don’t get to talk about this much,” he says. I encourage him to continue, mindfully holding space for him to speak authentically, without apology for his emotions. I am surprised by my calm response to Steve’s tears. I feel strangely at ease as I witness this supremely vulnerable moment, perhaps because this very experience is so connected to the heart of my work and this project. My nerves dissolve and I am filled with gratitude as he continues. “But it was this real sense, communication of ‘I’m fine and you’re going to be fine.’

And having that experience of dad just kind of saying ‘you’re going to be okay,’ created some kind of significant release for me.” The sense of permission to let go of the need for approval that Steve experienced when his father died reflects a critical dimension of vulnerability in his life. The need for approval and acceptance prevented him from trusting his own path. His 82 volatile relationship with his father fostered Steve’s growth as an inclusive educator. “I think it matured in me, created a goal in me not to communicate approval or disapproval to other human beings in a way that creates judgment.”

Though his father’s death may have been a catalyst for his decision, Steve reflects on the incremental shifts that led him to leave the Jesuits. “It wasn’t just that moment,” he says. “There were cumulative kind of experiences of moving away from this life I had chosen. I think there’s a lot of male stuff going on there in the sense of you set a goal, the priesthood thing, that’s like the top of the pyramid. You kind of work your way through it. You make this achievement. I’m there. And it’s like, oh it wasn’t all that I thought it would be.” Steve tells me that a longing for intimacy, for close relationship with a partner, was what ultimately drove him to leave a life of celibacy. “I finally figured out, I said—I’m probably going to be struggling like this for the rest of my life, and it’s probably not healthy. It’s like, water looks really, really good when you’re thirsty, right?” he says with a laugh. Steve relied on his close circle of Jesuit friends during this difficult time of dilemma. He describes the sense of love and community he felt living with these peers who offered him a compassionate, nonjudgmental space to process his thoughts and feelings. He compares it to talking to your wife about wanting a divorce and expecting her to be an objective listener, smirking at the humorous metaphor. “But these guys could do that,” he explains. “Because there isn’t that other. You’re not the only one. Everyone struggles with it.”

Steve’s decision to leave was characterized by an underlying sense of permission to let go of the need for approval and to trust that he would be okay. “It wasn’t so much that he [his father] wasn’t here to disapprove it, but it was more the sense that he said, ‘You’re going to be alright.’”

Steve’s enactment of vulnerability in his relationships with his students carries this same sense of permission to let go and trust their path. Ownership over one’s learning is critical and 83

Steve treats his students with sincere respect, giving them space to grow at their own pace. I ask him to tell me what this looks like in his teaching practice. “It’s allowing the other to articulate for themselves the areas of growth that they see,” he explains. “Because typically, if you give them permission, they’ll say the same thing you’re thinking, but it’s coming from them. Or they’ll say it in a way that you hadn’t - that’s new. It’s not just confirming what you’re believing but it puts them - you put them in the driver seat of that process.” Steve asks his students to identify what they want to learn and how they want to grow as pre-service teachers. He steps back as the teacher and quiets his authority in the classroom. He trusts that his students will reflect on their learning in a meaningful way and with permission, they will identify their own areas for growth and improvement.

Steve attributes his capacity for trust to his mother, who is still living today at age 92.

“My mom has always been a friend of mine,” he says. “She was this, just kind of supportive human being, good, good person. This was an unconditional love; kind of this blanket. You just know. This is a person who is there for you.” He tells me how his view of his parents has shifted over time. He believes his relationship with his father would be different now. “I don’t have that deep, driven need to please or compete with him. I’d see him as a human being. I’d see him as a friend, as a person who I’m indebted to, but in kind of a positive way. Here’s a person who was just generous with their life and would just love to share—he would love to see what we’re doing. It wouldn’t be about arguing with him or winning. That just wouldn’t be there. It’s just not important.” As I listen to Steve’s loving words about his parents, I continue to be humbled by his willingness to be so open and vulnerable in our conversations. He is again caught off guard by his emotional response. “I have to tell you,” he says, “I am on the verge of tears.” I offer

Steve a warm smile and hold myself still, hoping that my listening stance communicates the 84 compassion I am feeling as witness his emotion. I am keenly aware of the personal questions I am asking, and I assure Steve that I am grateful for his openness. I can tell he is overwhelmed and I try my best to put him at ease. Later on, when we meet for the last time, he laughs at himself. “I had no idea I’d be this damn emotional about it,” he says with a smile. “What’s with the tears?” We reflect on his stories of vulnerability and discuss some of the academic theories I am using in this project, and Steve notes that “emotion is so imbued in it.” He compares his experience of emotion to “a rising tide” and shares an image with me that represents the omnipresence of emotion in our human experiences of vulnerability and resilience. “It's an image that they use for other things,” he explains. “You know, you put big rocks in a jar and then you can put a lot more little rocks inside that and you can put a lot of sand inside of that and then you can put a ton of water in that. And you can see the capacity for that. But then if you start the other way, you put water and then sand, you never get the big stuff in there because it's taken up.

For some reason, the way it stacks, it's very, very different. So, it's a story about don't sweat the little stuff. But what that image, though, it strikes me as, is that if you get all the stuff, your theoretic and your geeky stuff is in there, then you can still pour just a ton of water inside that thing. And that's emotion. It just embraces all that, this emotional piece. And it was like, that's what it feels like. Telling the story to you feels like that.” I created the poem Rising Tide from his description of this image; in his image, emotion is represented by water.

Rising Tide riding on this big wave floating big rocks in a jar little rocks inside that sand water emotion embraces it all a rising tide 85

Authentic Vulnerability

I enter Steve’s classroom on a Thursday morning, running a few minutes behind. Two students speed-walk ahead of me; one smiles at the other and says, “three minutes to spare!” as they stride confidently through the door. The room is full and buzzing; Steve stands at the front dressed in a light green collared shirt and dress pants. He greets me with a smile and welcomes me to sit at the front of the room. I move into the corner, wanting to stay out of the way. The classroom is loud and busy, the desks are grouped into tables of four that fill the space. It takes a few attempts for Steve to call the class to attention. “I’m pleased that you start talking every time

I stop talking,” he tells them. “That means something is happening.”

Steve is trying a new teaching strategy called “inter-teaching” on the day I observe him.

The class session begins with a discussion about what is required for students to have a sustained, academic conversation. The sun shines through the blinds on the side of the room, brightening the room as Steve disarms his students saying, “I’m not gonna call on you. Start where you are and move from there.” As a part of the inter-teaching structure, students came prepared to work in pairs and carry out a sustained discussion about the readings for 30 minutes.

There is a pregnant pause after Steve explains the activity and provides instructions. This is a vulnerable moment as the students choose to participate or check out. There is inherent risk in trying a new approach that may or may not work, particularly early in the semester when Steve is just beginning to form relationships with his students. He sets a kitchen timer for 30 minutes, and the students begin their discussions. Steve sits in a chair on wheels and begins rolling from group to group, starting at the back of the room. He listens in on one group at a time for a few minutes before moving over to the next table. He continues affirming his students, nodding along and remaining an observer as the students discuss the text. I notice the students’ engaged responses to 86

Steve. They listen with attentive eye contact and respond with smiles and nods. The mood in the classroom is comfortable in spite of it being the second week of classes.

I witness a powerful moment at the table closest to me when the activity is “working.”

The student in front of me, a young woman with dark hair, shares an example from her own experience that relates to the reading. The student across from her counters her view and they discuss, respectfully pushing each other’s views. I am impressed by the students’ engagement in the activity and before I know it, the kitchen timer beeps, indicating that 30 minutes have passed.

Steve instructs his students to complete a short assessment survey immediately after the activity.

“Take your time,” he tells the class. “I’m not going to grade it. I just want to see your learning.” I notice how often Steve tries to disarm his students with these kinds of statements. His choice of language seems intentional, given the repeated message that achievement is not his primary concern. I ask him to describe what he observes in his students that causes him to use this disarming language. “You know, you can just feel that tension,” he explains. “There’s a kind of a silence that they give you when you say I'm gonna ask you. Something happens in their body language that that triggers a statement like that from me.” Steve is aware of the pressure that students feel when grades are on the line. It is early in the semester, and he is working to build trust, emphasizing the process of learning rather than the assessment of a product.

Steve is highly conscious of his dominant position of authority. He speaks about the

“preeminence” of his narrative, critically aware of his privileged identity as a White male. He deconstructs his understanding of his own vulnerability through a critical lens. “Even being vulnerable, you can frame that as a strength,” he says. “You know what I’m saying? But that’s kind of a pseudo-vulnerability. It’s not a real vulnerability. Because a real vulnerability, is that there’s something I don’t know here and I’m—and then there’s kind of a blindness.” This 87 blindness represents the unexpectedness of true vulnerability. In order to be “true”, vulnerability must be authentic and in the moment. It reveals something we do not yet know about ourselves or the world. Steve recalls an example of vulnerability in the classroom from the literacy course he teaches for pre-service teachers. “We sent our students into city schools and their assignments reflected a deficit perspective, a kind of a negative notion of culture, of presumptions that we consider dangerous assumptions that wouldn't really help them as teachers,” he explains. In response to the students’ assignments, Steve now embeds readings about race throughout the curriculum of the course to better prepare his students to serve diverse student populations.

“What that does create is more vulnerability potential for them to realize that they're in a racist system and that has serious implications for them as teachers no matter where they are for that matter. He describes how challenging this kind of “race talk” can be. “To engage in any of those conversations, there has to be an authentic vulnerability because it involves a risk of I’m gonna enter into the conversation with knowing that I’m going to make a mistake, and that it will be offensive to someone and the offense is appropriate. Their feeling of being offended is authentic.

And my reaction to it can’t be—can’t shut it down.” Steve takes responsibility for creating conditions in his classroom that allow for authentic vulnerability. He makes a concerted effort to disarm his students and to ensure that they feel safe to make mistakes as they learn. He explains how he addresses this discomfort directly, especially when he is asking his students to explore complex issues such as race. “This is not about making you feel bad,” he tells his students. “You will feel bad. You’ll feel uncomfortable. It’s just a natural human response to that kind of reading. This is a counter narrative, it’s a narrative you aren’t used to. But it’s not about you feeling guilty or you feeling bad. It’s about widening your understanding, your awareness, so that you’re hearing, seeing the stuff from a different perspective.” 88

For Steve, the discomfort of widening or shifting your perspective and being receptive to a “counter-narrative” is at the heart of true vulnerability. I ask him to tell me more about what happens when he experiences this kind of authentic vulnerability in his life as a teacher. “The feeling is familiar to me and one is feeling embarrassed. Or I am ashamed. Those are the feelings

I get. I remember as a priest, I remember preaching in a church and I thought I did this really fantastic job and a young woman came up to me and said, ‘This was like the worst homily I’ve ever heard, you used all male images,’ I mean she had a list of them. She said ‘I'm just so alienated from this church and you just made it worse.’ That experience of vulnerability is seeing, realizing ‘Oh, I completely missed that.’” He goes on to describe another example of authentic vulnerability from his recent research trip to Palestine. “I walked into a classroom. The woman was an Arab Muslim woman, just an extraordinary teacher, fourth grade. She taught

Arabic and these kids were just enthusiastic. But for some reason, I felt like ‘Oh, God, this woman cannot want me here.’ So, I'm placing on her this notion that I'm not welcome, and that wasn't her experience of me at all. In fact, there was evidence really to the contrary. And I'm thinking here I am, kind of at the end of my career, and I still walk in with this colonial kind of, post-9/11 security narrative in my head where Muslims are dangerous or Muslims don't like me.

I still do that, and that's kind of one of the things my colleague and I were doing in interrogating my field notes, I was using language like that and she said, ‘How do you know? Where'd that come from?’ And you start to realize ‘Oh, I just brought that with me. I just kind of applied that there.” In these moments, Steve describes his vulnerability as uncomfortable and embarrassing; yet he acknowledges how critical this kind of authentic vulnerability is to the learning process.

When you are able to recognize your own “misses” with humility, he explains, “You go deeper and so you kind of have less misses. Although knowing that you're always still, tip of the 89 iceberg, kind of thing. But it is a sense of epiphany. It's a sense of insight, a sense of wow, that's really cool.”

As an academic and a critical thinker, this kind of authentic vulnerability is not always easy for Steve to achieve. “This notion of vulnerability is, for me, not hiding behind being vulnerable as a strength but being vulnerable as a person who is willing to risk—to enter the conversation and be wrong and have to be corrected or have to be taught,” Steve explains. “I find that’s hard for me to do consistently because I’m always trying to be a critical thinker, to unearth my own crap before it gets exposed.” Steve feels that this his tendency to try to avoid true vulnerability is in part a structural condition of the academic environment. As an academic and a teacher, Steve feels that he is expected to be an expert who is able to identify his own blind spots before they are exposed to someone else. He reflects on the defensiveness and the resistance that often surfaces in himself and his peers when they have to admit that they are wrong or they do not know something. “In other words,” he explains, “for someone to feel like they're capable of saying ‘Yeah, I don't know something,’ there's a level—like you say, a level of vulnerability— that people, humans tend to resist. And for some reason in the teaching profession, it's pretty bad that way. This notion that we reached this point where you don't need to learn anything more is just, I don't know if you ever asked someone that, I don't think anyone would actually admit it.

But the way we respond to new knowledge and changing things, it's an active kind of dynamic, kind of thing.”

Steve intentionally communicates reciprocity with his students. He aims for a collaborative learning process, respecting his students’ unique experiences and perspectives. “I talk about my own identity,” he explains. “I try to emphasize this co-walking piece that I’m not here just to tell you how to think.” He tells me another story from a few semesters back when he 90 realized his post-9/11 generation of students had an authentic fear of Muslims in the Middle East.

“I had kind of refused to see that. This last group that came through, kept telling me that and I said, I finally thought to myself ‘Jesus, you're such an idiot. Why haven't you been listening to them?’ Because this is an authentic fear of theirs. That's not my experience because I've had international Middle East experience. But there's other times when, in fact, I remember telling my students, I said ‘On the way over here, I was following a Muslim young man who had religious garb and a backpack on, and I'm thinking, does he have a bomb in that thing?’ And that's like, I wasn't like generating, that just surfaced for me. It's like, I'm embarrassed for it. I'm embarrassed that I think that. But it was a very real kind of thinking on my part.” He shares this moment of authentic vulnerability when he must admit his own biases to create an environment where it is safe to admit when you are wrong; he is “co-walking” with his students and shares his mistakes in order to build trust with his students and. This notion of trust and safety is central to

Steve’s understanding of true vulnerability. “It’s an act of trust of other people and that’s one of

Friere’s foundational notions, is that education is fundamentally an act of trust, and the trust is, is that you have what you need in order to take the next step.” Steve intentionally assumes a strength-seeking stance (Raider-Roth, 2011) with his students in order to build that kind of trust.

He validates his students to build their trust in their own thinking and learning. “Frequently they undervalue something that they’ve said themselves or don’t see its connection to a larger kind of insight,”’ he explains. He urges his students to value their unique insights and trust what they know (Raider-Roth, 2005).

Steve shares a story with me that illustrates the power of trust in teaching and learning.

At a recent family picnic, he observed a group of kids playing cornhole. The children ranged significantly in age, and the youngest children were picking up the bags one at a time and 91 walking the 27-foot distance to place them in the hole on the board. Steve’s cousin noticed this and walked over to the boards, moving one of the sets close together so that the edges of the boards were nearly touching. The small children could then easily toss the bags into the hole.

Steve tells me how he was struck by his cousin’s act of love. “What a powerful image of teaching,” he explains. “Because what she is most concerned about is that these kids have an experience of success which would make them more confident to move further back. To increase their risk and to increase the challenge inside of it. She did that because she loves those kids and that pushes all of the bullshit aside.” Though this anecdote may seem insignificant, it represents

Steve’s evolution as a teacher. His cousin’s decision to remove barriers to success for those children created an environment of trust where the kids could take a risk, throw the bean bag, and experience the feeling of success. Removing these barriers relieved the fear of failure.

Similarly, Steve has learned that when it comes to meaningful teaching and learning, trust and love—rather than traditional notions of “success”—rise above all other factors. “It’s not about getting them to learn. It’s not about getting them to comply. It’s about getting them to trust. And to love enough that they would really take—it’s getting them to risk, to take that step. And I think that’s the difference. I have to make this relationship work because it’s gonna unlock this other thing.” I created the poem Trust from Steve’s description of those trusting relationships as a final representation of his understanding of vulnerability in his teaching life.

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Trust the other has to know you respect them trust them you know the burden they carry it’s trust respect we grow because we know there’s something to grow toward

Steve is committed to being a reflective educator and compares his students’ learning to a combination lock that he is constantly trying to decode. “My position is to be hyper metacognitive about what I'm doing and how I'm doing it and why I'm doing,” he tells me. Steve approaches his teaching in the same way he approaches his art, patiently making adjustments until his students feel ready to take the next step on their own. In Steve’s life as a teacher, true vulnerability requires empathy, humility and trust. “The other has to know” that they are safe to take a risk and be vulnerable in order to reach an “a-ha” moment. “The goal of being vulnerable,” he explains, “is allowing the other person to know their own mastery and their own thinking. They determine their pathway and you're not directing that, you’re just providing context for thinking and reflection.” Through his own experiences of authentic vulnerability,

Steve has learned that affording others the permission to let go of the need for approval is a critical condition for learning.

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Chapter 6: Kim—A Portrait of Purpose

The summer before Dr. Kimberly Mack’s first year as principal of John P. Parker School, she made a list of every child’s name and address in the school and went door to door to introduce herself to the students and their families. “I went and knocked on every single door,” she tells me with pride. “And if they were not home, I left a note that said I was there because I wanted them to know that I was the new principal; I was in there with their kids and this is how we were gonna operate. We were gonna be a community school.” This was only after she visited each of the neighborhood churches and asked the pastors to pray for her and for the school. Her first actions as principal showcase the leadership style that Kim has developed over time—she is a committed, persistent and faithful leader. She describes herself as naturally quiet but has learned to use her voice strategically to advocate for herself and her school. Kim’s understanding of vulnerability in her teaching life comes from a steadfast sense of purpose that is grounded in her Christian faith. For her, teaching and leading from a vulnerable space is a spiritual endeavor.

She believes in shared leadership and considers it her responsibility to “bring everybody’s voice to the table.” Her journey as an educator is one of perseverance and strength.

I was introduced to Kim by a colleague who recommended her based on what they knew about her life, given my study of vulnerability and resilience. We meet for our first interview on a September afternoon, a few weeks into the start of a new school year. It has taken months of emailing back and forth to find a time to meet and I am relieved and excited that it is finally happening. Kim’s life as a principal is hectic and her schedule has been especially complicated in recent weeks. She is the full-time caregiver of her aging mother who has had several stays in the hospital in the last few months. When I arrive at Parker that day, the parking lot is nearly empty and my stomach starts to churn with nerves. I take a deep breath and sit in my car for a moment 94 to gather my thoughts, trying to come down from the frenetic pace of my own work day. When I approach the building, the front door is locked and I feel a brief sense of panic—I guess our meeting isn’t going to happen after all. Within seconds, I see Kim approaching the door and she greets me with an easy smile. The knot in my stomach loosens and I roll my eyes at myself as I follow through the school lobby and back to her office. Kim is a few inches shorter than me and walks with a steady gait. She is dressed in a vibrant floral dress; her textured hair is pulled straight back and her bright white smile stands out in contrast to her warm brown skin. Her dark eyes are lively and kind. Her energy is contagiously calm; I imagine she is a grounding force in this often-chaotic elementary school environment. Her office is tucked into the front corner of the school and the walls are decorated with posters, plaques and photos, most of them artifacts of pride and accomplishment. Kim’s large desk is covered with papers and the white board on the opposite wall is filled with notes and numbers—the look of a busy administrator’s space. I notice myself talking fast, making anxious small-talk as she invites me to sit with her at a small square conference table just inside the door of her office. She is pleasant and engaging but not overly chatty at first, so we dive right into our first interview. As I learn throughout our time together, one of Kim’s strengths as a leader is her ability to infuse a no-nonsense approach with patience, compassion and humor.

Finding Her Voice

Kim tells me that she always wanted to be a teacher. Though she was “good at school,” she did not enjoy it as a child. “I didn’t feel very comfortable in school. I was the only African

American female in my whole school. At times, I was picked on and mistreated.” She moved out of the top track in high school to distance herself from the other high-achieving students who were especially mean to Kim and “thought they were better than other people.” She remembers 95 playing school with her friends at home, using old-fashioned metal desks that her father stored in their basement. She traces a commitment to learning throughout her family tree; her elders prioritized education in spite of their circumstances. Her father was a pastor and though he only had a sixth-grade education, he was an avid reader who collected books and studied constantly in order to do his work. He would host weekly “fireside chats” with members of the church community, studying scripture line by line. Her grandfather was the only member of his community who could read and he would spend time reading letters for other people. Her mother lost her own mother when she was only two years old and she was passed around to different family caregivers as a child. The aunt who ultimately raised her could not read and Kim’s mother was responsible for paying the bills and enrolling herself and her cousin in school. She earned all

A’s and only one B in her life.

Kim has served as principal of Parker for the last ten years of her career; though her path to becoming an academic administrator took “a lot of heartache” and required Kim to stretch beyond her comfort zone. In spite of her childhood desire to become a teacher, Kim’s mother encouraged her to pursue a degree in business because she worried she wouldn’t make enough money in education. After graduating with a bachelor’s degree in technical writing, Kim worked as a receptionist at a local bank for a few months before returning to school to earn her degree in education. Soon after she earned her teaching degree, she began working as a traveling teacher at a local high school. She recalls the difficulty she faced due to an overbearing principal who treated Kim unfairly. He held Kim to a different standard than her peers and required her to turn in all of her lesson plans for review. His approach was what Kim refers to as “reporting not supporting.” He did not trust Kim as a new teacher and she felt disrespected. “It was almost like he was trying to break me and I survived it,” she tells me. She later found out that this principal 96 did the same thing to all the new teachers the next year, so his treatment of Kim was a demonstration of his general leadership style. I imagine that her negative experience with an administrator who did not trust his staff likely influenced the collaborative approach to leadership that Kim would develop as a principal years later.

After one year, Kim moved on to teach eighth grade at a different school in an urban environment with fewer resources. Kim grew up in a small, rural area and describes her upbringing as “sheltered.” “I lived in a small community and didn’t understand that everybody didn’t grow up like me with a mom and a dad that watched your every move and kept you in line,” she explains. She soon began to see the extreme challenges her students were facing. She tells me about an eighth-grade girl who smoked marijuana with her friends without realizing it was laced with crack. The student was shaken up and experiencing withdrawal when she came to

Kim asking for guidance. “I began to see that there are children out there who are in these really adult situations and don’t have any support. So, that’s what really drew me to want to get into a higher level of education,” she explains. “So, after being at that school for two years, I went to school to be a principal. Cause I felt like if I was in charge I could impact change. But keep in mind, I’m very shy, I hardly talk. So, I’m jumping into something that is totally uncomfortable for me.”

As a child, Kim and her four brothers were embedded in their church community. Her father became a full-time pastor after losing his job as a brick mason. She tells me that her father did not allow Kim’s mother to continue working independently as a nurse when he lost his job because of what she describes as “his old, misogynistic values” and so Kim’s mother worked in the church as well. As Kim grew older, she got involved in the daily operations of the church.

Her father noticed how capable and smart she was and continued to assign her more 97 responsibilities. She became confident in her abilities in the church environment, as she learned how to do things that no one else knew how to do. “I felt purposeful, I felt empowered and I felt bright. My grandmother said I’ve been here before. She felt like I was an old lady in a kid’s body,” she explains with a laugh. In contrast, becoming a confident leader in the school environment has taken time; she tells me that early on in her career she felt like she had two identities—her outgoing church identity and her reserved professional identity. “I was always doing things and making things happen and that earned me the respect,” she tells me, as she describes her work in the church. “So, I had I think confidence in that area that I didn’t have in the school setting because it was so different for me and it wasn’t my comfort zone and I didn’t have lots of models and encouragement. I had to find my place and find my way in this setting and I had to develop my voice.” As a teacher and leader, Kim has learned over time how to bridge her church and professional identities to effectively serve the children in her school.

Throughout our conversations, Kim frequently speaks about her struggle to find her voice. “I had ideas but I wasn’t really—I didn’t find my voice until I was much older,” she explains. As a naturally quiet person, she describes finding her voice as a journey. “I had to learn to find my voice or I woulda got squashed and kicked to the side, you know? I had to learn how to even be strategic in how I position myself to be able to speak on behalf of my school and my students and in this community.” Kim’s voice is steady and calm; I listen intently as she speaks about her experiences with a matter-of-fact tone. The evolution of her voice is central to Kim’s understanding of vulnerability in her teaching life. Finding her voice is what allows her to navigate experiences of vulnerability with strength. “When you don’t have a voice, that makes you vulnerable,” she explains. “When you are fearful about speaking up, that makes you vulnerable. When you do not call a spade a spade, that makes you vulnerable.” She tells me 98 about occurrences in her past when she felt bullied; feelings of intense vulnerability prompted her to develop her strength and confidence. She found her voice by necessity, through experiences of broken trust. For Kim, she found her voice through disconnection and reconnection in relationships. “When you get dinged a bunch of times by people that you thought you could trust, that’s when you learn to speak up,” she tells me with conviction. “You have to do it strategically but you have to have a voice. And what I learned is how to use my network.

Sometimes it’s not advantageous for me to be the voice. But you have to have people who can be the voice for you at times.” The strategic use of her voice and her relational network is central to

Kim’s understanding of vulnerability in her life as an academic leader. “Vulnerability requires openness. And when you’re open, there’s no filter. So, all of the darts can come,” she explains.

“So, it’s like you’ve gotta figure out when you can be vulnerable and when you can’t.” I constructed the poem My Voice using Kim’s words to represent her evolution as a leader and her ability to strategically use her voice in moments of vulnerability.

My Voice

When he steps in You step up When he steps up You step up Be right there Don’t let him Stand in your place of authority

I think I found my voice Learning to Persevere

Kim tells me about the significant challenges that brought intense vulnerability when she first became principal at Parker. “When I first came here I was very vulnerable but I had to get thick skin,” she explains. “It hurts when people question your ability and sometimes their questioning your ability makes you question your own ability even though deep down you know 99 what you have in mind.” Kim applied for the principal position after serving as Assistant

Principal at Parker for three years. Shortly after she became Principal, Kim recognized that the odds were stacked against her. The previous principal had recruited many of the strong staff members from Parker to another school. There was a group of teachers who were very loyal to the previous principal who assumed that Kim had set her up to lose her job so she could apply for the position. “I really felt isolated,” she tells me. “I didn’t have anybody. They gave me a hard time throughout the year.” During that year, Kim experienced constant adversity and workplace bullying. She overheard a district administrator who came to do a walk-through of the school talking negatively about her with another teacher. She reported this incident, and when a new administrator came to visit the school, the middle school teachers set her up for failure. “I can remember he was coming to do a walk through in the building and that group of teachers let all their kids go crazy in the hallway to make me look bad.”

At a particularly low point, the administrative assistant assigned to Kim’s school was no longer working because she entered rehab for drug addiction. Kim was buried under paperwork without anyone to help her. She ended up spending the night at the school to complete what needed to be done—she had no alternative. The next morning, she went to IHOP for breakfast, changed her clothes, and came back to start another school day. “I just had to keep moving. So if it meant staying all night in the school, I stayed all night in the school and did what I had to do.”

Over time, her perseverance began to pay off. The administrator who walked through the school was not fooled by the teachers’ set up. “The gentleman came to me and he said you know when I do walk throughs of buildings I usually talk to the custodians and the paraprofessionals and I talk to the lunch room folks because they know what’s really going on in the school. He said, ‘I talked to them and they spoke very highly of you,’ so all that they had set up for me didn’t 100 work.” At the time of his visit, the walls of Kim’s office were covered with charts that tracked assessments and progress for every student in the school. The administrator was impressed. “He knew I was doing my job,” she says. “He knew I knew what my kids were doing and I was tracking them to success so he left me alone and he went to the powers that be and basically said she’s doing what she’s supposed to do.”

These early experiences of vulnerability as principal shifted Kim’s relationships with professional colleagues who don’t support her—the people she refers to as the naysayers. “I had to learn not to care what people thought. And just go do what I had to do,” she says. “And when I say ‘I don’t care’ that might be a little harsh. It’s more about not allowing the naysayers to stand in the way of what you know is right. They can sit up and say everything they want to say but the proof is in the result.” Kim draws on a biblical story about Isaac from the Old Testament that illustrates her perseverance in the face of vulnerability and struggle. In the story, Isaac’s adversaries continue to fill his wells with dirt in an attempt to destroy his crops. Isaac follows

God’s guidance and moves five different times, digging new wells in each location. I constructed the poem Dig Another Well from the words Kim used to describe this tale and its relevance to her life. Dig Another Well represents Kim’s persistence and adaptability. If someone stands in the way of her purpose, she, like Isaac, simply chooses to move.

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Dig Another Well

She dug a well They kept picking She moved Dug another well They start picking She moved again Dug another well Something you know is right Sometimes not worth the fight Pick it up Dig another well

Kim’s understanding of vulnerability and resilience in her life is cyclical and natural. You have to experience struggle in order to build strength. “I think it’s just the ebb and flow,” she tells me. “You know, sometimes you’re on a mountain top or sometimes there’s a valley experience and I think those valley experiences are when you’re being vulnerable. You know, you’re in that space and you’re trying to see the mountain top, you know you wanna get there but you gotta go through and deal with this before you can get to that. And I see the mountain top as resilience, but I don’t see it always as being where you live and breathe from day to day. I think you’re constantly in motion between being really vulnerable and then being resilient. And I think that’s just life.” Kim’s metaphor of the mountain top and the valley resonates with my own life experience of the growth that can come from periods of intense challenge. Vulnerability can lead to transformation and resilience, if you have faith in the cyclical journey. Our emotions can become fuel. “There are times when you’ve vulnerable and then something happens and you feel so bad about it, it messes with your psyche. It messes with your self-esteem, it messes with your confidence,” she explains. I really relate to Kim’s words as she describes what it feels like to be truly vulnerable. “But that resilience piece is when you say, “Oh, no. I’m better than this.” And then you use that hurt, that anger as a stepping stone. And it’s important not to be bitter. And 102 that’s something I’m working on.” This cyclical resilience has been modeled for Kim by others.

She is inspired by those who navigate vulnerability with authenticity and optimism. “I think that the people that I admire the most are the people who are open about their vulnerabilities and they celebrate when they have those opportunities of resilience. I think about my first principal when I was a teacher. She didn’t have a good first year, didn’t have a good experience, they demoted her back to being assistant principal. She took that opportunity to finish her doctorate; so, I’m gonna make lemonade out of lemons.” She recalls her first year as principal as one of “constant vulnerability” but did not consider failure an option. Again, she is grounded by a resolute sense of purpose. “I really honestly believed that I was meant to do it, I was meant to be there. So that made me fight much harder. So if you’re coming at me attacking then that’s gonna make me fight much harder to prove you wrong,” she explains. “I’m thankful that I did fight through and I didn’t quit. Because if I had quit, what we developed here wouldn’t be. And these children here wouldn’t be here, more than likely.”

After that first year, the teachers who treated Kim so poorly left the school, one by one.

The next year was challenging in a different way because Kim had an entirely new team of teachers but things soon started to level out. When I ask her how she kept going throughout a time of discouragement and struggle, she tells me that her resilience comes from a spiritual space. “When you know in your heart that you’re supposed to be doing certain things and you’re constantly reinforced through the positive things that happen, it gives you that push to keep moving,” she tells me with humble conviction. “I do feel that this is my calling. I think everything that happened was meant to happen for a purpose and a reason and because of it, it made me stronger and it taught me some things. And I believe the success that we have experienced over the last year is really because God has his hand in this school and in this place. 103

He’s the reason. He is behind it. Cause it’s not all me. It doesn’t happen like that.” I am inspired by Kim’s deeply rooted faith and her humble trust in God.

When I invited Kim to create an artifact that represents a significant experience in her life, she responded with a boisterous laugh and told me that she would try. A few months later, she sent me the collage pictured here.

“The reason you got it so late is because I am not an artist,” she tells me when we sit together to discuss her artifact. “When I did that it was so easy though, and it blew my mind. I was like, ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe this’—I cut out that face by hand!

Can you believe it?!” she tells me, exploding with laughter and excitement. “And so then I thought, okay I was meant to do this now.” I am thrilled to hear her talk about her artifact with such pride and enthusiasm. She goes on to tell me that when she sat down to create this collage, she thought about what was most important to her in her teaching life. She cut out the hearts first, and placed them throughout the image to represent her passion. She created the image of her school sitting up on a hill. “I really think about how when I first came here how I viewed this school as a city on a hill. There’s a scripture that talks about the city on the hill. And how this school could be a beacon of light for this community and the city at large,” she explains with a proud smile. She tells me that the cross represents the influence of her Christian faith in her teaching life. This piece of her collage is a symbol of her formative experiences in the church community; the place where she first found 104 her voice. “I know that without God none of this would be possible for me,” she says. “I’m just so thankful for the opportunity and thankful that He inspires me and He gave me the gifts to be able to do what I do here. And to impact so many children. Not just the children but their families.” Finally, she added a silhouette of a girl with small shapes above her head that represent the ideas and talents that need to be drawn out of children. “I put the little girl in because the little girl reminds me of myself but also of every young lady that has a dream of doing something,” she explains. Kim works on behalf of all students but she is especially passionate about creating opportunities for girls. “In our society,” she says with a tinge of sadness in her voice, “They don’t have that many opportunities.” To me, Kim’s collage represents the complexity of her identity as a teacher and leader. While she may appear quiet, she is bold and bubbling with passion, just beneath the surface. She is slow to trust because she has been burned one too many times. But she is clear about her purpose and grounded by her faith. “I remember telling my dad about the problems I was having and he would tell me, ‘I can’t help you daughter,’” she says with a laugh. “Basically telling me I was gonna have to pray for this one myself. And I would have to struggle up and keep movin’.” To me, Kim’s artwork also represents her resilience as a leader and the wisdom she has gained from the struggles in her life.

“I’m thankful for the lessons,” she says. “Had it not been so difficult I don’t think I would have learned perseverance and I don’t believe I would have the type of school that I have today.

Because there was a side of me that said, ‘Oh I gotta show them.’”

Leading with Respect and Responsibility

On the morning of our second meeting, I arrive at John P. Parker School at 7:28 am.

Nearly 400 students attend Parker, ranging from pre-school to sixth grade. The parking lot is not as busy as I expect it to be, but a few cars are pulling in and kids are walking to the door escorted 105 by their guardians. I follow a woman to the door as she walks with two girls dressed in the school uniform. One girl has a cast and a sling on her arm and the woman who I assume to be her mother is desperately begging her to keep the sling on all day. I wait in the reception area and tell the desk worker that I am here to meet with Principal Mack. I see a flash of bright colors as Kim zooms by in the hallway behind the front office; she is dressed in another vibrant floral wrap dress. She is walking and talking with another woman and does not see me. I feel like an outsider; I worry that my presence is an inconvenience. Eventually, the desk worker tells me that

Kim said I could head into the Monday Morning Meeting and I make my way down the hallway, following the sounds of children’s voices.

The Monday Morning Meeting is a beloved weekly ritual at Parker. All members of the school community, from the preschoolers to the principal to the custodian, gather in the gymnasium to start the week together. Kim started this ritual in partnership with her instructional leadership team. The meeting typically includes a weekly showcase of student achievement and a focus on one of the 24 Via Character Strengths (Peterson, C., & Seligman, M. E. P., 2004) that they’ve integrated into the culture of Parker as a part of a city-wide initiative that emphasizes the strengths of individuals and communities. The 24 character strengths are displayed on colorful flags that decorate the lawn outside of the school building. Parker has received national attention for their implementation of this initiative, under Kim’s leadership.

Kim tells me that the best part of the meeting is that it always starts with dancing. I can hear the Cha Cha Slide thumping from the gym as I walk through the hall that morning. When I peek in, the kids are dancing along in little clusters throughout the room. The older students are mostly seated in the bleachers along the back wall, trying to look cool. “I mean they like the Cha

Cha Slide but they really like the Nae Nae, so if they were doing the Nae Nae they would’ve all 106 been out of the bleachers out there on the floor,” Kim tells me with a laugh. The gym pulses as the kids move around with energy levels far above those of the adults in the room. The teachers monitor the room, filling their water bottles at the drinking fountain and sipping their travel mugs of coffee. Several of them greet me with a smile and a friendly “good morning” even though I am a stranger. I sit at a table tucked back in the cafeteria that connects to the gym, trying to stay out of the way and I see a teacher rushing out of the gym, a third-grade girl in tow. “Mr.

Krieger—we’re sick. There’s a trail of it,” she says with a sour expression. Mr. Krieger, the custodian, moves dutifully into the gym to clean up vomit from the floor.

Kim walks into the cafeteria with the same woman I saw her with in the hallway and I call after her. She does not hear me at first, so I stand and say her name again and she turns to greet me with a warm smile and a hug. She introduces me to the other woman who I find is a substitute principal sent by the district. Kim explains that she plans to take a few weeks of leave to attend to her elderly mother. When I learn this news, I feel especially grateful for her time given the stress she’s experiencing in her personal and professional life. She escorts me into the gym and welcomes me to sit wherever I would like. I take a seat on the floor up against the concrete wall next to the sixth-grade students. Most of them appear bored and are not phased by my presence.

Kim moves to the front of the room and smiles proudly at the students who are still dancing along to the Cha-Cha Slide. As she walks confidently to the podium, I am reminded of our first interview when she talked about the struggle to find her voice. It is powerful to see her in action in her school community knowing the time it has taken her to get there. She begins to speak and the room gradually quiets down. “This Monday Morning Meeting will be a little different because I have some announcements,” she explains. She begins to talk generally about 107 expectations. She speaks about reports of “students making choices to not be kind to other students.” “Notice I said choice,” she tells them. After a few moments, Kim specifically mentions the word bullying and several kids “boo” in response. “Yes, I hear you,” Kim says, nodding. “We have only three rules for our students at Parker. What are those three rules?” The room fills with noise as the students indecipherably yell out the rules at different times. “Let’s try that one more time,” Kim says with patient diligence. “Respectful! Responsible! Safe!” the kids shout in response.

She speaks to her students about ownership, appealing to their sense of pride in their community and reminding them of the importance of inclusivity in a learning environment.

“Everyone has a right to come to school and feel safe and respected,” she says with conviction.

“We are all part of the human race. In order to be successful, we have to learn how to do this walk together.” I am struck by her authenticity and her confidence as she relays an uncomfortable message to her students. Kim speaks to her students with respect and calls on all members of the school community to treat one another with kindness. As I listen to her speak, I recognize this moment as one of potential vulnerability when she has to interrupt the lighthearted nature of the Monday Morning Meeting with a strong anti-bullying message that students may not want to hear. She is taking a risk as a leader to address an issue that can be sensitive and elicit defensiveness or apathy; the students may not be receptive. But she does not hesitate. She is clear about her expectations and urges each student to take courageous responsibility for the inclusive environment of their school. She tells them about a new button on the school website that will be used for anonymous reports of bullying, emphasizing the zero-tolerance approach and instilling a healthy dose of fear into the students who might be offenders. She is not messing around and from the looks on the students’ faces, they understand the seriousness of her tone. 108

“You are here to learn,” she says. “If I have to push a button to report you, I am going to be upset. Consider our meeting as a warning.” She calls out two students who are not paying attention by name and the boys snap to attention. “Mr. Clark? Mr. Dillinger?” She takes a long pause and holds her gaze, zooming in on the sixth-grade students in the back of the gym. “I’m not playin’,” she says, as she dips her chin toward her chest, eyebrows raised and eyes unblinking. The boys don’t move a muscle.

Though her tone with the students that morning was stern, Kim’s approach to leadership of her staff is one of collaboration. With issues of bullying in particular, Kim knows that it is developmentally typical for adolescents, but that does not lessen her commitment to creating a safe environment. “I really have to make sure I keep it in their face,” she tells me. “And so, I start the conversation and then the teachers continue to reinforce.” She sets the stage and then allows her staff to implement with their own strategies. “A lot of times people look at the principal who’s supposed to be the know it all and the end all, be all. No,” she explains, shaking her head. “The teachers I’ve had working with me have helped shape and transform my thinking in a way that allows me to do what I do.” Kim recognizes how important it is to create an environment of safety and respect for her students and her staff in order to support their development. In describing her relationships with her teaching staff at Parker, she says, “I don’t want them to be fearful of me, I want them to see me as a collaborator and someone who brings resources to help them do their job better. One of the most rewarding things about being here is finding the gifts among my staff and releasing them to use their gifts to help our school.” Kim views experiences of vulnerability for her teachers as moments of stress that can keep them stuck in survival mode. “You can’t think critically when you’re in survival mode,” she explains. To support her teachers and assist them in navigating vulnerable moments, she connects them with 109 mentors to help them feel more comfortable in their work. She believes that all teachers should also have external mentors without “skin in the game” to help them navigate the challenges of teaching. “What’s important is having somebody you can talk to who is not necessarily always in your environment who can give you clear guidance,” she explains.

Our conversation about these issues is appropriately timed, as Kim is experiencing her own vulnerability in trying to balance her responsibilities as principal and as caretaker of her mother. When I ask her about her decision to take some time off, she describes her struggle over the past few months. “It was almost like plugging holes in a dam. You do this, then this falls apart. Do this, then that falls apart,” she explains. I relate to her struggle to maintain balance and

I hear the exhaustion in her voice. “For what I have to do here in terms of problem solving and fixing the obstacles that face my school and my students, I need to be able to think critically and

I found myself sitting at the computer not being able to think. So I just told the district I need help. Cause sometimes it’s like that, you gotta regroup and then start again.” Kim’s ability to admit that she needs help and give herself space to recalibrate is evidence of her strength and wisdom in times of vulnerability. Her decision to disconnect from her professional role and take a few weeks to attend to her mother’s needs and her personal sense of balance is a timely example of the vulnerability that arises when personal challenges interrupt one’s professional responsibilities. I know this feeling well, as my own struggle to find balance as a working mom was the genesis of my interest in vulnerability that led me to pursue this project.

Inspiring Hope

Kim’s sense of purpose is fueled by a desire to create opportunities for her students. “I love, love, love putting opportunities together,” she tells me with a big smile. “That’s—seeing what the gaps are for their success and then finding ways to fill the gaps.” She tells me that she 110 wants to expose students to new ideas so that they feel inspired and excited about their futures.

“Cause you don’t know what to want for if you’ve never been exposed,” she explains. “Those are the things that excite me. How can I open up this great big world to them and also to their families?” Kim is able to navigate experiences of vulnerability as an educator and leader because she is committed to creating a culture that supports all members of the school community, with students at the center. “I’ve tried to create a culture here where it’s happy, it’s peaceful, we’re all moving forward together,” she says. “I try to develop a relationship with them so they know I care and even if I have to send you home, you’re coming back and nobody’s gonna hold anything against you. Try again.” She applies her understanding of cyclical resilience from moments of vulnerability to her students and to herself. She leads with grace and aims to give her students hope. “When I think about what I’m doing in terms of my professional life it’s about hope. I feel like it’s my job to inspire these students to be the greatest people they can be,” she tells me. I created the poem Little Suitcase from Kim’s words as she describes her desire to teach her students to dream and to hope. This poem represents the way that Kim applies her understanding of vulnerability and resilience in her approach as an educational leader.

Little Suitcase

Little suitcase, full of stuff Open the suitcase Unpack the stuff It’s not always easy

This world belongs to them They have a right To do anything they want to do They haven’t been taught to dream They haven’t been taught to hope That’s what I’m supposed to do Show them what to want for Then it’s their job to go get it You make it happen for yourself 111

When I meet with Kim for the last time, she is dressed head to toe in vibrant purple. Her outfit—a purple tweed blazer-skirt set and matching knit hat sprinkled with small rhinestones— reminds me of Sunday church attire, which seems fitting. She is more animated and seems more

“herself” during our final conversation. I ask her about her mother and she tells me that she is doing much better. I can see a sense of relief in her eyes. The hour we spend together flies by; we have become friends. When I pull out of the parking lot later that morning and drive away, I see the school in my rearview mirror—a city shining on a hill. I am reminded of Kim’s metaphor for vulnerability and resilience; sometimes you are in the valley, sometimes you are on a mountain top. I picture Kim standing proudly on the mountain top in front of her school. Should that mountain top collapse into a valley, Kim will not lose hope. Grounded in a profound sense of purpose, she will keep moving and dig another well.

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Chapter 7: Portraits in Conversation

The three portraits included in this study demonstrate newly discovered dimensions of vulnerability in teaching through the lenses of perception, permission and purpose. Mer’s understanding of vulnerability is highly relational and spatial. For her, teaching relationships are defined by her choice to model vulnerability and invite her students into safe spaces, both literally and figuratively. Steve views vulnerability as a necessary condition for learning that generates discomfort but leads to a worthwhile “a-ha” moment. He questions the authenticity of his own vulnerability if it is something he chooses or expects and his understanding of vulnerability is complicated by the privileged aspects of his identity. Kim’s understanding of vulnerability is largely structural in that her experience of not “finding her voice” rendered her most vulnerable as an early career teacher. She views vulnerability as a condition that should be approached with caution, depending on the degree of trust. As the portraits in the previous chapters illustrate, each participant’s understanding of vulnerability in their teaching lives is complex and multilayered. There is both cohesion and contrast across each portrait, which illustrates the multidimensionality of vulnerability as a concept. For all three participants, there is a clear relationship between vulnerability and resilience. In this chapter, I begin with a discussion of vulnerability in response to the first research question that drives this study, drawing from the three portraits and connecting the participants’ understandings of vulnerability to my theoretical framework. I then turn to the second research question that guides this study to explore how resilience is constructed in participants’ stories of vulnerability across the three portraits. Finally,

I address the third research question and discuss the cyclical and ongoing relationship between vulnerability and resilience revealed in this study, using art as analysis.

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Revisiting Vulnerability

The first research question guiding this study is how do teachers describe and make sense of vulnerability in their teaching practices and everyday lives? As I discussed at length in chapter two, definitions of vulnerability in the education literature vary significantly in terms of how the term is conceptualized. Lasky (2005) views vulnerability as an emotional state; similarly, Bullough (2005) considers vulnerability to be a mood. Brown (2012) defines vulnerability as an experience of uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure that requires mutuality, boundaries and trust. Kelchtermans (2009) questions the notion that vulnerability is a choice and instead takes a structural view, arguing that vulnerability cannot be avoided and is an inherent condition of the teaching profession. Vulnerability is a critical component of relational- cultural theory. Following experiences of disconnection or rupture, we experience vulnerability as we work to reconnect with others and repair our relationships (Jordan, 2017). In this study, I argue that experiences of disequilibrium/destabilization (Kegan, 1982, 1995), disorienting dilemmas (Mezirow, 2000), and felt difficulties (Dewey, 1933, 1989) are also signals of vulnerability in teaching and learning that contribute to our understanding of the concept. As I discuss in this chapter, the findings of this dissertation study contribute to an emerging, multifaceted understanding of vulnerability in teaching that can be described as vulnerability as courageous disconnection, vulnerability as authentic emotional expression and vulnerability as paradox. I will discuss these facets of vulnerability that emerged from the data in the sections below, grounding each in evidence from the three portraits.

Vulnerability as Courageous Disconnection

Participants in this study shared stories of vulnerability that involved feelings of risk and disconnection. Though the term disconnection may sound implicitly negative, disconnection in 114 the data often took the form of standing alone with courage. This finding may seem counterintuitive given the central claim of relational cultural theory that connection is at the core of human development (Jordan, 2014). However, as Jordan (2000) and Miller and Stiver (1997) tell us in describing the paradox of disconnection/connection (rupture/repair), acute disconnection happens frequently in relationships and has the potential to strengthen the relationship if it is met with mutual empathy and mutual desire for growth. In contrast, when disconnection results in hurt and isolation and the relationship is not renegotiated, the relationship will suffer and become less authentic.

The stories of vulnerability in their teaching lives shared by all three participants included experiences of momentary disconnection. For example, Mer shared the story of her first teaching workshop when she experienced an emotional breakdown in front of a hundred people. She spoke her truth—she was heartbroken from a recent break up—and expressed her emotion with authenticity, risking isolation as she waited for her students’ responses. In that moment, Mer momentarily disconnected from the people in the audience. She did not shield her vulnerability and took a risk by allowing others to witness her personal emotional experience. In this example, that moment of acute disconnection led to reconnection with herself and her students as she honored her emotional experience openly. Her vulnerable disconnection built relationships of trust with her students. In Steve’s portrait, we learn about his decision to leave the Jesuits and disconnect from his religious professional community. He made that decision following a significant experience of release when his father died; his father’s death allowed Steve to give himself permission to disconnect from his current life path and trust that he would be okay. His ability to disconnect from his community allowed him to reconnect with himself more deeply and led him to pursue a career in higher education. In Kim’s portrait, we see an example of 115 vulnerability as courageous disconnection when she chose to take a few weeks of leave from her demanding job to attend to the needs of her aging mother. Kim demonstrated courage in admitting that she needed help to regain balance in her life. She took the risk of disconnecting from her school community and her responsibilities as principal in order to reconnect with herself. If Kim had not established this temporary boundary between her professional life and her personal life, growth within those relationships would not have been possible.

As the above examples demonstrate, each participant’s stories of vulnerability in their teaching lives involved the risk of intentional disconnection. A painful moment of vulnerability led each person to choose to momentarily disconnect with courage in order to grow. Jordan

(2017) points out that disconnections themselves are unavoidable; yet how we respond to those disconnections is critically important to our well-being. In the stories shared by the participants, this view of disconnection is expanded as participants not only respond to disconnections that they cannot control but also use disconnection as an intentional strategy to navigate vulnerability and reconnect with self and others. In each example, relationships were repaired, recalibrated and enriched because of the experience of vulnerability as courageous disconnection. In this facet of vulnerability, the data suggests that courageous disconnection in moments of vulnerability leads to growth through the rupture and repair cycle. The concept of vulnerability as courageous disconnection relates to the development of what Jordan (2004) describes as relational awareness. When we practice relational awareness, Jordan (2004) states, “We engage in articulating, tracing and getting to know relational movement from connection to disconnection and back into connection in the here and now. We foster an awareness of self, other and relationship,” (p. 41). Vulnerability as courageous disconnection means that teachers may 116 embrace or even choose momentary disconnection in order to deepen their own relational awareness.

Recall that vulnerability is also explicitly mentioned in Jordan’s (2004) description of relational competence—a key concept in relational cultural theory. She states that relational competence involves “experiencing vulnerability as inevitable and a place of potential growth rather than danger” (p. 15). Jordan (2004) argues that relational competence is dependent on one’s willingness to be interpersonally influenced, which could also be described as one’s willingness to be relationally vulnerable. The findings of this study support Jordan’s (2004) claim and add a layer of complexity in suggesting that momentary disconnection is often necessary for growth through vulnerability to occur. In fact, teachers might choose to disconnect as a strategy for navigating vulnerability. This finding can be more clearly understood in the context of the relational triangle. Raider-Roth and Holzer (2009) adapt David Hawkin’s “I, Thou, and It” triangle as a model for understanding teaching and learning processes, referring to this triangle as the “relational triangle.” The three points of the triangle represent teacher, student and subject matter and each side represents the interaction between these points; additionally, a circle surrounds the triangle to represent context. In their study of a relational learning community,

Raider-Roth, Stieha and Hensley (2012) analyzed the process of rupture and repair through the lens of the relational triangle, noting instances of disconnection as “breaks” in the sides of the triangle that represent the connections between teacher, learner and subject matter. The findings of this dissertation suggest that teachers might “break” or rupture a connection within the relational triangle intentionally as a way to navigate experiences of vulnerability. Choosing to rupture a connection within the relational triangle can be interpreted as an important form of boundary setting in teachers’ lives. For example, Mer speaks about the importance of 117 maintaining healthy boundaries when she describes the jaguar archetype in the Medicine Wheel.

She recalls a relationship with a student who was suffering from psychological instability and how she needed to create and maintain a clear boundary—acute disconnection—from this student in order to navigate her vulnerability. In this example, we see that Mer chooses to rupture one side of the relational triangle as she embodies vulnerability as courageous disconnection. By choosing to rupture a connection within the triangle (in this case the I-thou, teacher-student connection in an individual relationship), Mer strengthens her relationship with self and preserves the safe space that she holds for other students in her teaching community. In Kim’s portrait, we witness vulnerability as courageous disconnection when she addresses the issue of bullying in her school community. Kim disrupts the relationship of connection and harmony with her students to communicate her commitment to reduce bullying in the school. She intentionally

“breaks” her connection with her students to strengthen the connection between her students and the anti-bullying message, which in this example could be considered the “subject matter” at hand. This facet of vulnerability has significant implications on our understanding of vulnerability in teaching in that connection may not always be the appropriate response to vulnerability. Teachers must consider which legs of the triangle need protection and which may need to be momentarily ruptured in order to grow. These momentary ruptures are acts of vulnerability themselves, in that teachers must trust that when they choose to disconnect from one person or context with the intention of strengthening another that growth and transformation will follow. The temporal space of vulnerability that follows purposeful disconnection creates opportunity for reconnection and repair. By creating necessary boundaries through momentary disconnection, teachers create new opportunities for repair and transformation of relationships— with self, others and subject matter. In other words, sometimes a side of the triangle must shift or 118 rupture in order for repair to be possible. This balancing act is complicated by the emotions that typically accompany experiences of vulnerability, as illustrated by the second facet of vulnerability revealed in this study—vulnerability as authentic emotional expression.

Vulnerability as Authentic Emotional Expression

The findings in this study provide evidence for Zembylas’s (2003) claim that the structural vulnerability of the practice of teaching and the emotional experiences of the teacher are inseparably linked. The portraits presented in this study illustrate the omnipresence and significance of emotion in participants’ stories of vulnerability. The participants described the ways in which experiences vulnerability often trigger intense emotion and in several instances, reflecting on those stories of vulnerability during interview conversations became a portal for expressing, processing and digesting strong emotions. Recall Steve’s use of imagery to describe the way emotion is imbued in his experiences of vulnerability. He compares emotion to water in a jar filled with rocks and sand to illustrate the way he understands emotion in his own teaching life—emotion is an embedded component of teaching relationships.

As a unique aspect of this study, each participant was also invited to express a significant event in their lives related to vulnerability through art. Participants noted that the creative process supported their ability to express the depth of their experiences of vulnerability. Inviting participants to create a piece of art functioned as an elicitation tool and allowed for rich conversation about the participants’ experiences. The artifacts themselves represented the interplay of vulnerability and emotion in teaching as a multilayered experience. Mer’s artifact that represented the Medicine Wheel provided tangible symbols for the archetypes of perception that she invokes to navigate experiences of vulnerability that trigger intense emotions. She remains grounded and able to express and release her emotions through the shamanic framework 119 as she draws from the strengths of each archetype. For Steve, the act of painting a portrait of his father felt like “spending time with him” and allowed for a release of emotion when he described how his relationship with his father shaped his understanding of vulnerability in his life as a teacher. Kim’s creative process elicited feelings of joy and surprise as she pushed past her initial resistance to make a piece of art. I witnessed her sincere pride and deep faith as she described the meaning behind her collage.

Vulnerability as authentic emotional expression represents the ways in which emotion can be used as both a catalyst for connection and a tool for resistance. To be authentic means to bring oneself fully into relationship and to let yourself be seen (Jordan, 2004). As a catalyst for growth, expressing emotions is one way to let yourself be seen in teaching relationships. If we mask our emotional experiences entirely, we likely hide true aspects of ourselves from others and remain distant. In the example from Mer’s portrait described in the previous section, her expression of emotion in front of the crowd brought her closer in relationship with her students at the workshop. For Mer, expressing her authentic emotions is one way that she models vulnerability and holds space for others to express themselves fully without judgment. However, it is important to note that structural aspects of different teaching contexts can constrain teachers’ ability to let themselves be seen. In order to express emotions authentically, teachers need safe spaces to process their experiences in communities of supported vulnerability. Kim alludes to the need for trust in order to express herself honestly. She describes her struggle to “find her voice” and the ways she hid her true reactions as an early career teacher. Jordan (2004) warns of the dangers of unsupported, disowned vulnerability that results in inauthentic relationships where people relate by “adopting roles and coming from distanced and protected places,” (p. 33). She argues that “inauthenticity takes us out of true mutuality,” (Jordan, 2004, p. 41). Since mutuality 120 is considered a necessary condition for growth through connection, it follows that authenticity

(bringing oneself fully into relationship) is also necessary for growth through connection. The data in this study reveals that emotional expression is one way to embody authenticity in experiences of vulnerability.

This study shows that emotional expression is necessary for growth through vulnerability and yet, emotion can also become a weapon used to silence voices that do not align with the dominant group. This aspect of the data is a representation of the potential for emotions to become a tool for reinforcing power-over relationships, as defined by RCT. Power-over can manifest as “gathering power over others to be safe” and can limit one person’s authenticity by imposing fear of rejection or threat of retribution (Jordan, 2017, p. 229). The findings emphasize the important role that teachers play in creating spaces for learning that do not reinforce systemic power-over relationships. Teachers must closely examine the privileged aspects of their own identities and be highly aware of emotion as a site for maintaining power-over others who may not feel safe to express their feelings authentically. This complexity emerged in Steve’s portrait as he describes his understanding of “authentic vulnerability” as unexpected experiences that often bring about feelings of embarrassment or shame when he has to admit that he made a mistake or he does not know something. In describing his White students’ vulnerability and emotional responses of guilt when they discuss readings about race, he says:

“They say, you know, ‘I know you told me I'm not supposed feel guilty,’ because what

accompanies guilt is anger. And then when they get angry they stop reading and they start

to understand you and stuff. So, it becomes, it's what Leonardo called the technology of

affect. It creates this, uh it's a, it’s a shield for vulnerability, so the anger becomes more

about me again. This is, you’re not paying attention to me, when that’s not the point.” 121

Steve’s narrative reveals a significant relationship between vulnerability, emotion and privilege—emotions can actually function as tools to “shield” one’s true vulnerability. He references the theory of whiteness as technology of affect (Leonardo & Zembylas, 2013) to explain what can happen in these vulnerable moments. The theory of whiteness as technology of affect calls into question the relationship between whiteness and emotions. Emotions become an embodiment of power for Whites, as “white privilege and racial stereotypes are enacted through particular emotional practices that fixate ‘us’ and ‘them’ into exclusive subject categories,” (p.

158). For example, a White student may express feelings of hurt or guilt when discussing issues of racism with students of color to distract from the discomfort of the conversation and from the

White student’s “true” vulnerability—the vulnerability of not knowing or not understanding.

This is a discursive, emotional enactment of power that asserts the White students’ narrative as central. The White students’ guilt dominates the conversation, rather than inviting dialogue about the student of color’s emotional experience. This example also connects to Boler’s (1999) critical stance in considering the relationship between emotions and gender in education. Boler (1999), like Leonardo and Zembylas (2013), views emotion as a site of power that can mask important dynamics of systemic power when emotions are viewed as individualistic and insignificant.

The findings of this study illustrate the powerful role that emotions play in teachers’ understanding of vulnerability. Expressing true emotions can bring us fully into relationship with others but can also lead to disconnection if expressed without trust or used as way to distract from our “true” vulnerability. This complex aspect of vulnerability in teaching becomes even clearer through the lens of the third dimension revealed in this study: vulnerability as paradox.

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Vulnerability as Paradox

The first two facets of vulnerability discussed in the previous sections illustrate the paradoxical nature of vulnerability in the lives of teachers. Vulnerability is a both/and concept— it is both inescapable and voluntary, both uncomfortable and necessary for transformative learning and relational growth. The findings of this study suggest that experiences of vulnerability in teaching must be simultaneously celebrated, navigated and critically examined.

Each portrait reveals an understanding of vulnerability as paradox through the parallel tensions of individual/structural, empowering/constraining, connection/disconnection.

The first tension within the paradox of vulnerability in teaching that surfaced in the data is whether vulnerability resides within the individual or within the structure of the teaching environment. Participants in this study identify a number of structural sources of vulnerability in their teaching lives that reflect Kelchtermans’ (1993, 1996, 2005 and 2009) claim that vulnerability is an inherent condition of the teaching profession. In Mer’s portrait, we learn about the vulnerability that can sometimes be threatening in close relationships between teacher and student, should appropriate boundaries of respect be crossed. We also see how the yoga/wellness environment can create a rigid context for Mer as a teacher. She must navigate the structural limitations of different studios in order to please her clients who are paying for her services. In

Steve’s portrait, he describes the ways in which his struggle to experience “authentic vulnerability” is reinforced by the academic environment. As a professor, he feels that he is expected to be a voice of authority, making it uncomfortable and embarrassing to admit when he has made a mistake or does not know something. For Kim, the structural hierarchy of the school environment silenced her voice during her early years of teaching. She was hesitant to speak up because of power dynamics at play; her vulnerability as a new teacher was unavoidable. And yet, 123 in spite of these structural sources of vulnerability, participants also spoke about vulnerability as an individual choice or behavior, a necessary condition for relationship and transformation. Each participant understands vulnerability as a powerful force for learning and growth, both for themselves and for their students.

We see examples in each portrait of the way vulnerability both empowers and constrains teachers in their lives, evidence of the second paradoxical tension revealing in this study. Mer describes vulnerability as one way that she feels empowered to challenge the status quo in her teaching environment. She resists the traditional notions of the teacher-student relationship, posing the questions: “Who is the teacher? Who is the student? Everybody, everybody. If your eyes are open.” By modeling vulnerability and reciprocity in her relationships with students, she empowers herself and others to show up fully and honestly in the teaching relationship. For Kim, choosing vulnerability is a risk that should be approached with caution, depending on the level of trust in the teaching relationship. The juxtaposition of Mer and Kim’s understanding of vulnerability suggests that contextual factors likely impact the degree to which teachers feel empowered or constrained by their own vulnerability. In a less traditional context like the yoga/wellness community, Mer can access vulnerability as a strength more readily than Kim who resides in the traditional K-12 world.

The final paradoxical tension—connection/disconnection—mirrors the relational paradox of RCT identified by Miller and Stiver (1997). When disconnection (rupture) happens repeatedly without repair, individuals may develop strategies to protect themselves and remain isolated while still existing in relationship. In other words, vulnerability has the potential to lead to increased connection or to become a state to be avoided, depending on how experiences of rupture are managed relationally. In the teaching and learning relationship, this is especially 124 important to consider, as teachers strive to maintain relationships of trust with their students, their communities and themselves. This final tension cements the significance of this study in that exploring and understanding vulnerability as a concept is essential for all teachers because experiences of vulnerability are unavoidable, necessary and precarious. By building a more complete understanding of vulnerability in teaching, we are able to pragmatically identify strategies for teachers to become more resilient in their teaching lives, as substantiated by the findings presented in the following section.

Revisiting Resilience

The second research question guiding this study is how is resilience constructed in stories about vulnerability in teaching? According to Buzzanell’s (2010, 2017) communicative resilience theory, resilience does not reside in the individual; rather, resilience is a process of construction, grounded in messages, d/Discourse, and narrative (i.e. in relationship). Through studies of resilience, Buzzanell (2010, 2017) identifies the following five ways resilience is constructed through narrative: (1) crafting normalcy, (2) affirming identify anchors, (3) maintaining and using communication networks, (4) putting alternative logics to work, and (5) legitimizing negative feelings while foregrounding productive action. The portraits in this study suggest that resilience is an ongoing process that is woven into the fabric of teaching and that this process becomes especially visible as teachers navigate experiences of vulnerability.

Through the lenses of perception, permission and purpose revealed in the portraits, we gain insight into the unique ways that each participant navigates vulnerability and constructs resilience in their teaching lives. These lenses function simultaneously as frames through which

Mer, Steve and Kim make sense of vulnerability in their lives and as communicative tools that they use to construct resilience. Specifically, each participant’s lens—perception, permission and 125 purpose—corresponds with one of the communicative resilience processes identified by

Buzzanell (2010, 2017). The findings of this study reveal the ways in which these communicative strategies for resilience can be adapted and shaped by individuals’ life experiences.

In Mer’s portrait of perception, she draws on her spirituality and her shamanic energy medicine training to construct resilience in moments of vulnerability. For Mer, life is a journey and she is guided by the archetypes of serpent, jaguar, hummingbird, and eagle as she navigates life’s challenges. Her faith in these teachings allows her to construct her reality through an alternative lens. Her ability to remain grounded and to trust her journey functions as an alternative logic that she can connect to as a way of making sense of intensely vulnerable experiences. “Putting alternative logics to work” requires one to reframe a situation in order to make sense of it (Buzzanell, 2010). In moments of extreme difficulty or vulnerability, alternative logics serve as creative frames for interpreting life’s challenges. Mer’s commitment to shift her perception, to see beauty, to appreciate the wholeness of the journey allows her to construct resilience through alternative logic.

For Steve, his portrait of permission demonstrates his ability to legitimize negative feelings while foregrounding productive action and embracing contradictions. His view of vulnerability in his teaching life centers on the idea that vulnerability must be authentic in order to be “true.” What surfaced in his narratives about vulnerability was an honoring of authentic emotions as a path toward growth and transformation. In other words, Steve constructs resilience in moments of vulnerability by naming his emotional reaction and reframing to focus on the “a- ha” moment that follows. In communicative resilience theory, Buzzanell (2010) describes the conscious choice that one must make to “focus on the positive” in times of extreme stress or 126 vulnerability. However, a critical component of this resilience construction strategy is the honoring of legitimate emotional responses to challenge. Steve’s portrait of permission demonstrates how necessary it is to acknowledge the validity of one’s emotions as a critical step in constructing resilience. Steve does not dismiss the emotional aspects of vulnerability in his life or in the lives of his students. On the contrary, he views those feelings of discomfort, shame or embarrassment that often characterize experiences of “true” vulnerability as opportunities to learn and grow.

In Kim’s portrait of purpose, she relies on the strength of her identity as a spiritual,

Christian woman who is pursuing her calling to be a teacher. Her desire to create learning opportunities and her faith that “she is supposed to be here” allows her to construct resilience in the face of vulnerability and adversity through a discourse of purpose. Buzzanell (2010) defines an identity anchor as “a relatively enduring cluster of identity discourses upon which individuals and their familial, collegial, and/or community members rely when explaining who they are for themselves and in relation to each other” (p. 4). Kim’s sense of purpose is firmly grounded in her identity. She recalls early experiences of “finding her voice” when she worked at the church where her father was a pastor. She approaches her job as principal with a sense of gratitude, given her family members’ limited access to education. These formative experiences shaped

Kim’s identity as a leader and she reconnects to those roots as a way to navigate vulnerability.

The lenses of perception, permission and purpose represent the participants’ discursive constructions of resilience in their lived experiences. Evidence of the communicative process of resilience (Buzzanell, 2010, 2017) in the participants’ stories suggests that teachers engage in ongoing resilience construction by creating unique discourses (perception, permission and purpose) that allow them to simultaneously make sense of and navigate experiences of 127 vulnerability. This is not to suggest that vulnerability and resilience exist in a causal relationship; vulnerability does not necessarily lead to the construction of resilience. As I have discussed at length in this dissertation, RCT teaches us that mutual empathy—a shared desire for growth— must be present in order for vulnerability (disconnection) to lead to resilience (connection).

However, in this portraiture study, my intention was to seek the goodness in each of the participants’ narratives (Lawrence-Lightfoot & Davis, 1997). This methodological stance revealed the profound strength of each individual participant as they navigate the vulnerable nature of teaching in relationship with others that could not have been achieved through other methods of inquiry. Additionally, the application of Buzzanell’s (2010, 2017) communicative theory of resilience is a unique contribution of this study that, when combined with a relational, feminist approach, allows for a deeper understanding of how teachers might construct resilience through language that can be used to improve teachers’ lives.

Vulnerability and Resilience in Cyclical, Ongoing Relationship

The data in this study shows that for both students and teachers, navigating the teacher- student relationship and constructing new knowledge are vulnerable endeavors. Fears about being wrong, feeling ashamed or unworthy and becoming isolated from others surfaced in the participants’ narratives of vulnerability in teaching. However, those painful moments of vulnerability became fertile ground for resilience construction through the lenses of perception, permission and purpose. The final research question guiding this study was: What is the relationship between vulnerability and resilience in teaching? Ultimately, the data in this study revealed a dynamic, cyclical relationship between vulnerability and resilience that is ongoing.

Understanding this relationship as a dynamic cycle can aid teachers in navigating the paradox of vulnerability. Because the cycle is dynamic, we know there will be movement, change, and 128 growth in time. We learn through vulnerable moments that create opportunities for constructing resilience in relationship with others and ourselves. Vulnerability and resilience exist in dynamic relationship as interconnected concepts that resist and contradict each other. As I have demonstrated in this dissertation, vulnerability is a complex, multifaceted term that is understood by the participants in this study through the lenses of perception, permission and purpose. These lenses function simultaneously as frames for understanding vulnerability and discursive tools for constructing resilience. Taken together, the portraits of perception, permission and purpose reveal deeper layers of vulnerability as courageous disconnection, authentic expression of emotion, and paradox. As I take a step back and consider how to summarize what I have learned in this research, it feels incomplete to only put my findings into words. Thus, I conclude this chapter with an arts-based representation of my understanding of vulnerability and resilience in teachers’ lives inspired by the work of my committee member Sarah Hellman (2011) and her use of painting as analysis.

Throughout this dissertation study, I have relied on a simple mantra that I learned years ago to help me get through moments of stuck-ness in my work: when you are stuck, move. As a former dancer, I am best able to process my own emotions and understandings through fluid, artistic expression. To me, this is the beauty of what it means to be a human being. We are not static. Even when we feel stuck or lost, time moves along and things shift. As a part of my final analysis, I created this painting to represent what I have learned about vulnerability and resilience in conducting this study. As I prepared my materials to create this painting, I felt my own vulnerability as researcher and artist sitting on my heart. I think of myself as a creative person and yet, I am hesitant to create my own art and share it with others. I remind myself that each of my participants took a creative risk by sharing their art with me. I give myself permission 129 to create without fear of failure. As I sit with the concepts of vulnerability and resilience, images of the natural elements keep entering my mind. Nature offers us a beautiful illustration of the ongoing, cyclical nature of vulnerability and resilience. The earth is in a constant dance of birth and death, expansion and contraction—much like the dance between vulnerability and resilience that surfaced in each of the portraits. I begin by mixing my paints to create a deep blue to represent vulnerability as authentic emotional expression. I am reminded of Steve’s use of imagery to explain the omnipresence of emotion in my research questions. Water represents emotion, often expressed through tears. I use my fingers to shape the blue paint into large drops of water, falling from the top of the canvas down to the bottom. The paint feels cool on my fingers, and I feel a sense of creative agility as I move my hand along the canvas. I then choose a bright red and make similar shapes, only this time to represent the element of fire. To me, fire represents vulnerability as paradox—fire, like vulnerability, is potent and powerful when contained in a safe space. And yet, fire can be fiercely damaging in an unstable environment.

Fire is both necessary and dangerous. Next, I draw the shape of woman’s face, with one eye visible in the image to represent the power of perception in moments of vulnerability that we see in Mer’s portrait. In this image, she is alone in the image to represent vulnerability as courageous disconnection; yet, still she is connected to others and to the earth, represented by 130 the rich green I used to paint the earth below her face. Beneath her chin, I traced thick purple roots into the earth to represent the roots of purpose that were revealed in Kim’s portrait. The roots represent the need for teachers to remain grounded in their sense of identity in order to grow. I used circular gestures of paint throughout the canvas to represent the ongoing, cyclical relationship between vulnerability and resilience. The painting is intentionally dynamic and chaotic; a visual representation of the messy dance between vulnerability and resilience in teachers’ lives.

This painting represents the culmination of my learning in this dissertation study, though it is not meant to stand alone. Rather, this image is one component of the colorful landscape of portraits generated in my study of vulnerability and resilience. The stories shared by Mer, Steve and Kim are the core of this research. It is only through their willingness to share some of their most personal and intimate experiences as teachers with me that I have gained the understanding of these concepts that is represented in my painting.

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Chapter 8: Implications and Future Directions

The findings of this study enhance our understanding of vulnerability and resilience in the lives of teachers by exploring these concepts through a relational, constructionist lens. The methodological choices I made as researcher reflect both my personal, ethical stance and the commitments of feminist, relational theory. In this final chapter, I discuss the practical implications of this study on the lives of teachers, as well as the implications of this study on relevant areas of theory and qualitative research methodologies. Finally, I conclude with potential directions for future research.

Implications for the Lives of Teachers

Each portrait included in this study illustrates the prevalence of vulnerable moments in teachers’ lives. Though this is not an action research study, I approach this work as a trained action researcher and view action research as a common values stance (Brydon-Miller, Rector-

Aranda, & Stevens, 2015). One of those core common values is that research should somehow enhance the lives of those involved in the inquiry. Thus, it is important to consider what practical implications this study has on the lives of teachers.

A key finding of this study is that teachers need “safe spaces” to process their experiences of vulnerability. For each of the participants, experiences of vulnerability elicited emotions and often led to momentary disconnection. From a RCT perspective, teachers need safe spaces that promote mutuality among its inhabitants so as to create the necessary conditions for resilience and growth following disconnection in vulnerable moments. Other scholars have recommended that safe spaces are critical to the identity development of teachers, particularly those in early career (Hong, Greene, & Lowery, 2017). Raider-Roth (2017) proposes relational learning communities as ideal “holding environments” (Winnicott, 1960) for teachers to 132 experience support and growth as they reflect on their teaching practices. These spaces provide

“a necessary bridge to new learning” contexts (Raider-Roth, 2017, p. 119). Raider-Roth (2017) provides helpful strategies and suggestions for building such a community in various educational contexts. In a sense, it was my intention in this study to provide this kind of holding space for the participants as I listened for their stories and constructed their portraits of vulnerability. Raider-

Roth (2017) identifies presence as a critical aspect of relational pedagogy. Presence was one of the core values that I identified in the Structural Ethical Reflection process, and this value was critically important for me as I asked my participants to share intensely personal stories that elicited strong emotions. As a part of the member checking process, all three participants shared that they felt that they had learned from our conversations. Thus, the findings of this study suggest that teachers would benefit from safe spaces to share their stories of vulnerability with others in an environment of presence and trust.

Vulnerability is an important concept that should be explicitly examined in relational learning communities as a complex and inherent facet of the teaching profession. Raider-Roth

(2017) adapts David Hawkin’s “I, Thou, and It” triangle as a model for understanding teaching and learning processes within relational learning communities. Raider-Roth (2017) refers to this triangle as the “relational triangle” in order “to highlight the centrality of the dynamic of relationship that occur within and around the triangle and its context” (p. 4). By making this relational triangle known to teacher participants, facilitators of relational learning communities are able to center the relational dynamics of the group as the “it” or subject matter for discussion.

Similarly, the findings of this study suggest that the concept of vulnerability in teaching would serve as a powerful “it” or subject matter that could generate rich discussion and reflection in a relational learning community. 133

Another unique aspect of this study was the invitation for each participant to create an artifact that represented their experiences of vulnerability and resilience in teaching. This study supports the notion that alternative forms of expression such as visual art or poetry can be powerful modes of reflection for teachers. This kind of reflective art-making could take place individually or be embedded within a relational learning community. In a relational learning community context, arts-based reflection could serve as a reflective tool for participants to express their learning, particularly when reflecting on difficult experiences on the repairs that follow moments of acute disconnection in teaching and learning relationships (Raider-Roth,

2017).

A second implication that this study has on the lives of teachers is the introduction of resilience as a communicative process (Buzzanell, 2010, 2017) to teacher education. Scholars have proposed various models for teacher resilience (Mansfield et al., 2016); however, these models tend to focus on structural elements of the profession such as “social support” without clear recommendations for how teachers might engage with these models on a day to day basis.

Communicative resilience theory is an adaptable theory because it “explains how people react to and productively prepare for varied disruptions across communication contexts” (Buzzanell,

2017, p. 12). The communicative processes identified in communicative resilience theory

(crafting normalcy, affirming identify anchors, maintaining and using communication networks, putting alternative logics to work, and legitimizing negative feelings while foregrounding productive action) could be used within these resilience models to develop resilience training for teachers that centers language as a tool for empowerment in the resilience construction process.

In this study, the data revealed Mer, Steve and Kim’s unique use of these communicative tools through the lenses of perception, permission and purpose. The findings of this study both 134 confirm and extend Buzzanell’s (2010) theory by revealing the ways in which participants constructed resilience through unique discourses tied to their life experiences. As one example in practice, teacher educators might develop professional development curriculum that introduces perception as a frame for “putting alternative logics to work” in order to navigate moments of disconnection or struggle in their teaching lives. Teacher educators might develop creative exercises that utilize metaphors or imagery as discursive tools (alternative logics) for shifting one’s perception and responding to experiences of vulnerability. This kind of discursive tool is both effective and practical; teachers can develop a toolbox of strategies for dealing with vulnerable moments which will in turn empower them to construct resilience in their teaching lives, improving the mental and emotional health of teachers and reducing burnout.

Implications for Theoretical Understandings of Vulnerability and Resilience

From a theoretical perspective, the bridging of relational cultural theory and communicative resilience theory is a unique and significant contribution of this study. RCT challenges the psychology of the self and centers connection at the core of human development

(Jordan, 2017). Similarly, communicative resilience theory suggests that resilience is not an individualized state but rather, an interactive, relational process (Buzzanell, 2017). Taken together, these theoretical perspectives lead to a more nuanced understanding of vulnerability and resilience. Jordan (2017) writes, “As we attempt to regain connection, we experience vulnerability and a fear of rejection. There is powerful energy behind our resilience; we turn to one another to keep going, to get back on our feet and try again,” (p. 236). Communicative resilience theory offers us a clear and practical guide as to how we might “turn to one another to keep going” through language. The communicative strategies for building resilience identified by

Buzzanell (2010, 017) function as tools that we can both teach to others and draw from ourselves 135 in times of vulnerability. This study crosses disciplinary boundaries and is the first of its kind to combine these specific theoretical perspectives.

The findings of this study also have implications for our theoretical understanding of emotions in teaching. As I discussed at length in the previous chapter, this study revealed the complex interplay of vulnerability, emotion and identity. In particular, this study provides support for a critical approach to emotions in teaching that views emotion as a site for enacting power (Boler, 1999; Leonardo & Zembylas, 2015). In a similar vein, Buzzanell (2017) and

Harrison (2013) call for more critical analyses of resilience processes so as to not overlook structural considerations of how and why members of different groups may struggle to implement the five resilience processes. The findings of this study just skim the surface of the impact of structural power dynamics on individuals’ ability to navigate experiences of vulnerability and construct resilience. Future studies might examine the relationship between emotions, power and resilience more closely from a critical stance to more deeply understand how marginalized groups experience vulnerability in teaching.

Finally, the findings of this study contribute to our theoretical understanding of vulnerability by proposing an emerging model for vulnerability in teaching that includes the dimensions of vulnerability as courageous disconnection, vulnerability as authentic emotional expression and vulnerability as paradox. These dimensions incorporate existing definitions of vulnerability (Lasky, 2005; Bullough, 2005; Brown, 2012; Kelchtermans, 2009) and offer a more complex view of vulnerability in the practice of teaching. These dimensions provide a multilayered understanding of the concept that did not previously exist in the teaching literature.

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Implications for Qualitative Methodology

This study contributes to scholarship that extends portraiture methodology by including additional aesthetic elements (Hill, 2005; Dixson, Chapman, & Hill, 2005; Hellman, 2011). I chose to include poetry and visual art to enhance the richness of each portrait and to represent my experience as researcher. Additionally, I relied on intuition, movement and meditation throughout the research process as tools for reflection. Each of these methodological elements were attempts to conduct an authentic and rigorous dissertation study (Jacobs, 2009). In particular, my experience conducting this study sparked my curiosity about the role of intuition and movement in data analysis as fruitful ground for further methodological exploration.

This experience of conducting an arts-based dissertation study about vulnerability exposed layers of my own vulnerability as a student, researcher, writer and artist in ways I did not anticipate. In particular, stepping into a form of writing that is more free-flowing and creative was supremely uncomfortable at times. I am deeply grateful for this experience, as it revealed some of my deepest fears and insecurities. I created the poem Inner Critic from an entry in my dissertation journal that I wrote during the process of writing the three portraits. Inner Critic represents my experience of vulnerability as a researcher which I believe to be uniquely connected to my methodological choices in this study.

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Inner Critic

My inner critic is active What’s the point? She is subtle Manipulative She plants seeds of doubt I’m better than you I’m busier More worthy More accomplished You are small I’m going to tell You don’t see me coming

Thank you Thank you for showing me What I bring to the world is mine My unique expression It matters I have something to say I stand I plant my feet The stories I tell Would not otherwise be told My path is my own It matters I am whole

As I stated in the introduction of this dissertation, my questions about vulnerability come from a personal place. Stepping into the role of researcher, creative writer and artist brought me face to face with my inner critic—a voice of criticism that I realized I often project onto others, fueling my self-consciousness and fears about what others will think about me and my work.

Engaging in this research has transformed me in many ways; in particular, I feel that I was able to tap into a sense of creative empowerment through portraiture. My experience of vulnerability as researcher has implications for other scholars who set out to conduct arts-based inquiry. The incorporation of artistic expression through writing, painting and movement allowed me to navigate my most vulnerable moments. Journaling was also essential to my ability to traverse the 138 precarious landscape of conducting a “non-traditional” dissertation study. Finally, I met bimonthly in a relational learning community comprised of fellow graduate students (Raider-

Roth, 2017), where I was given space to raise “qualitative quandaries” and reflect openly on my experience as a researcher and writer. This community was a critical component of my dissertation journey and I would highly recommend that my fellow doctoral students seek out such communities of support.

Considerations for Future Research

This study provides a foundation for further inquiry related to vulnerability and resilience in teaching and learning. One unique aspect of this study is the inclusion of teachers from diverse contexts. This methodological choice yielded rich data that transcends the silos of particular teaching fields and instead focuses on the commonalities across teacher identities. Future studies might incorporate opportunities to bring teachers from diverse contexts together to engage in dialogue about vulnerability and resilience in teaching. These conversations might lead to practitioner action research opportunities to construct contextualized strategies for navigating vulnerability and constructing resilience in teaching.

Another potential extension of this study would be to conduct a discursive analysis of the textual data to more closely examine communicative processes of resilience (Buzzanell, 2010,

2017). In this study, I used portraiture as the primary methodology for data collection and analysis and a full discursive analysis was beyond the scope of my approach. However, the communicative processes identified in the Chapter 7 suggest that discursive analysis of the data may generate a deeper understanding of how resilience was constructed in each participant’s narrative. Discursive analysis would serve as a particularly useful approach for exploring the notion of vulnerability as paradox, given the rich scholarship about paradox in the discursive 139 organizational communication literature (Smith & Lewis, 2011; Putnam, Fairhurst, & Banghart,

2016).

This study raises important questions about vulnerability in the lives of students as well as teachers. In particular, the relationship between vulnerability, resilience, and privilege warrants more exploration from a critical stance to consider how structural forces and marginalized identities complicate the dimensions of vulnerability and resilience identified in this study. The cyclical, ongoing process of vulnerability and resilience revealed in this study supports the centrality of connection and disconnection processes in human development that we understand through a relational cultural theory lens. Thus, future studies might investigate how students navigate experiences of vulnerability and construct resilience in their learning.

Final Thoughts

I close this dissertation study with a deep sense of gratitude. I am beyond grateful to my participants for their willingness to share their personal stories with me. I am grateful for the opportunity to approach this dissertation journey from a personal place and for the ability to generate research that is creative, rigorous and authentic. It is my hope that the portraits included in this dissertation will extend beyond the academy and reach a broader audience who might relate to the participants’ stories of vulnerability and resilience and draw connections to their own lives. We are living in a time when it can be especially challenging to connect with our fellow human beings, particularly those who view the world differently that we do. My experience in conducting this dissertation study confirms one thing that I know to be undeniably true—connection is why we are here. The portraits in this dissertation illustrate the centrality of connection in teaching through the concepts of vulnerability and resilience. As Mer, Steve and

Kim show us, we can navigate experiences of vulnerability by shifting our perception, granting 140 ourselves permission and remembering our purpose so that moments of vulnerability become opportunities for resilience that will enhance our lives, deepen our relationships and better our world. 141

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APPENDIX A: Researcher and Participant Mutual Agreement

University of Cincinnati, Educational Studies - Educational and Community Based Action Research

Principal Investigator: Annie Straka Title of Study: Portraits of Vulnerability: Teachers’ Construction of Resilience

Researcher Ethical Statement: In this project, I am committed to upholding the values of presence, trust, receptivity, respect, courage, creativity and care. In entering into this mutual agreement with you as a participant, I deeply honor your experience and your willingness to share your story with me. If at any time, your needs change during our partnership, I invite you to let me know and I will do my best to provide wholehearted support.

Project Summary: This project is being conducted to fulfill the dissertation requirement for the doctoral degree in Educational Studies in the Educational and Community-Based Action Research Track.

The purpose of this study is to explore teachers’ experiences of vulnerability in their teaching lives and understand how those experiences might contribute to their construction of resilience, particularly after teachers experience significant or life-altering events.

Why are you being asked to participate in this study? Through personal referral, you were identified as a teacher who embodies vulnerability and resilience in your teaching practice. As a researcher and fellow teacher, I would be honored if you would share your story and be included in this project.

What will participation in this study involve? Should you agree to participate, you will be asked to participate in three face-to-face interviews at the time and location of your choosing. Each interview will take 60-90 minutes and will be recorded in audio format for transcription. After each interview, you will receive a copy of the full-transcription and will be involved in the data analysis process to the degree you choose. Additionally, you have the option to create artifacts using various modes of expression throughout the study. If we determine during our interviews that observation might add to the data collection process, I may ask for your permission to observe you in a particular teaching context. Finally, you will be invited to discuss the findings of the study in a group setting with the other participants.

How long is the study? Data collection for this project will span from May 2017 to December 2017, with the dissertation approximately by March 2018. You can leave the study at any time and I am committed to respecting your time-commitments and personal/professional responsibilities throughout the research process.

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Are there any risks to participating in this study? The risk of being harmed in the study is very low. However, I will be asking you to share personal stories and experiences with me. Should you feel uncomfortable at any time during the study, please let me know and I will do my best to honor your needs. You can leave the study at any time.

Are there any benefits to participating in this study? Benefits to participating in this study are largely intangible but significant nonetheless. Participation could enhance your understanding of your life as a teacher and will provide a safe space for sharing and exploring your personal experiences.

How will information collected in this study be kept confidential? I am committed to respecting your privacy for any personal data that is shared during the research process. You will have the option to have pseudonyms used in the data collected to protect your/others’ identity. However, it is important to know that given the depth and context of the personal narratives, you could be identified indirectly by those who know you.

What are your legal rights in this dissertation project? Nothing in this agreement form waives any legal rights you may have.

Do you have choices about taking part in this dissertation project? I am committed to conducting this study in mutual partnership with you. The structure of this study is intended to be adaptable in order to provide the highest level of support to both the participants and the researcher.

That being said, you can choose not to participate in this study. Refusing to take part will not cause any penalty or loss of benefits that you would otherwise have. You may skip any questions that you do not want to answer. You may give your permission to participate in some or all parts of the study and then change your mind and end participation at any time. To leave the study, you should tell Annie Straka at [email protected] or Dr. Miriam Raider-Roth at [email protected].

What if you have questions about this research study? If you have any questions or concerns about this dissertation project, you should contact Annie Straka at [email protected] or 513.379.4438 or Dr. Miriam Raider-Roth at [email protected] to ask questions about anything you do not understand.

Please use the space below to share any requests or needs that would support you as a participant in this study:

______154

Agreement: I have read this information and received answers to any questions I asked. I give my consent to participate in this dissertation project. I will receive a copy of this signed and dated consent form to keep.

Please check one: ______Yes, I give consent to use my real name and the names of others, locations, etc. in this dissertation project. ______Yes, I give consent to use my real name in this dissertation project but would like the names of others, locations, etc. to be referred to by pseudonym. ______No, I do not give consent to use my real name or the names of others, locations, etc. in this dissertation project and would like to be referred to by pseudonym.

Participant Name (please print) ______Email: ______Phone: ______Participant Signature ______Date ______Researcher Signature ______Date ______

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APPENDIX B: Interview Guide

(loosely adapted from Seidman’s three-interview series)

First Interview: Life History & Daily Practice • How did you become a teacher? • Can you tell me about your life up until you became a teacher? • Describe your relationships with your students. What is most rewarding? What is most challenging? • Describe your relationships with your colleagues/your teaching community. What is most rewarding? What is most challenging? • What do you like best about your life as a teacher? • What do you find most challenging in your life as a teacher? • What keeps you up at night/causes worry or stress in your teaching life? • Can you tell me about a time you faced a “felt difficulty” or dilemma in your teaching life? • What does vulnerability mean to you in your life as a teacher? • Tell me about a moment or moments in your teaching when you felt especially vulnerable.

Second Interview: Significant Events (Using art(ifacts) as elicitation tool). • Tell me the story of your significant or life-altering event. • Tell me about the art(ifact) you created/chose to represent this significant event. • How did this significant event impact your life as a teacher? • Did this significant event cause you to feel vulnerable? If so, in what ways? • Tell me about the time after this significant event occurred. • How did this significant event impact your daily life? • Were you changed in any way after this event occurred? If so, in what ways?

Third Interview: Reflection on the Meaning • What does being a teacher mean to you? • How do you think about your significant event in the context of your life as a teacher? • Reflection back on first and second interviews, the process, the art making, etc.: o What is your reaction to this interview process so far? o Has your participation impacted how you think about your life as a teacher? If so, how? o Has this experience changed how you think about vulnerability in your life as a teacher? • Other questions to be determined based on first and second interviews.

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APPENDIX C: Dissertation Artifact Information Sheet

As a participant in this dissertation project, you have the opportunity to create or choose artifacts throughout the research process. Artifacts are intended to provide an alternative form of expression to be used as data in the study. Below you will find a description of two options for creating or choosing artifacts.

Option 1: After our first interview and before our second interview, please take time to create or choose an artifact that represents a significant or life-altering event you’ve experienced during the course of your teaching life. Significant or life-altering events can be widely defined. Some examples might include changes in relationships (i.e. childbirth, miscarriage, adoption, marriage, divorce, death), recognition of enduring challenges or obstacles (i.e. complicated family patterns, disability), other major life events (i.e. job change, job loss, promotion, health issues) or a significant moment in your teaching practice. What counts as “significant” is entirely up to you – please do not feel limited in your reflection. At times, seemingly mundane or minor events can become significant over time.

When creating your artifact, you can utilize any medium, material or form you choose. Some examples include: painting, collage-making, sculpture, photography, poem or narrative writing, song, movement, etc. You can also choose an existing artifact or symbol that relates to your experience. Please bring your created/chosen artifact to your second interview.

Option 2: After our second interview and before our third interview, please take time to create or choose an artifact that represents your reflection on the first and second interview and describes/expresses your learning from this process so far.

When creating your artifact, you can utilize any medium, material or form you choose. Some examples include: painting, collage-making, sculpture, photography, poem or narrative writing, song, movement, etc. You can also choose an existing artifact or symbol that relates to your experience. Please bring your created/chosen artifact to your third interview.

***If you would prefer that I provide materials and/or space for you to create your artifact, please let me know and I would be delighted to do so.

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APPENDIX D: Analysis Memos

Sample Pre-interview Memo – Meredith Hogan, 6/29/2017

What is my energetic/mental/emotional state going into this interview? I’ve struggled to stay connected to my writing and this project over the past week. After I left my meeting with Steve last Friday, the rest of my day was filled with work-related conversations, which led to a long weekend of activity with family, followed by a return to my working life the following Wednesday. I think about writing every day, but it’s a struggle to actually have the discipline to sit down and do it. There is always something else more pressing, more urgent, that feels like more of a priority and gets in my way. But that’s also an excuse. I find that I continue to battle feelings of doubt about my ability to write and about the value of this project overall. It feels so far away, like such a tall mountain to climb sometimes.

I was able to move my first interview with Mer from Wednesday to Friday, as I anticipated being rushed on Wednesday and struggling to be in the correct head space to enter into data collection. This morning (Thursday), I woke to a text message from Mer asking if we could move it back from 9:30 to 10:30 because she had a rough night. I’m hoping she was just out of it (I know that her mind doesn’t work in a linear fashion) and that she knows our meeting isn’t until tomorrow. Still, I find myself quickly moving to thoughts that maybe we will have to cancel. I think this comes from that place of doubt. I am excited to begin, but also fearful because this is the real thing. I find myself feeling tired and stressed, mostly because life is pulling me in many directions right now. I need to return to the roots of my work, reconnect with the values I stated in my structured ethical reflection. I am confident I will get there, it’s just the nerves of anticipation.

What are my hopes or intentions going into this interview? I am hoping that my questions elicit deep, thoughtful conversation. I hope that this interview is confidence building, both for me and for my participant. I intend to be grounded, steady and prepared. I intend to be mindful, especially of my own responses. Since Mer and I are friends, I want to be particularly aware of how much I feel compelled to speak, relate and respond. I want to hear her words, her voice. I am hopeful that this interview is energizing and easeful for both of us.

What are my fears or concerns going into this interview? I am worried about my interview skills being rusty. I keep thinking of Terri Gross from Fresh Air on NPR. She lets the interviewee speak, and resists the human urge to respond with more than a short affirmation or follow up question. This is unnatural for me, and I am especially nervous about it because of my dynamic with Mer. I am worried that the formality of the interview and the audio recording will feel strange and unnatural. I also want to make sure I really capture her and that I don’t miss anything. I want to deeply listen and to take in my surroundings. I want to create space following the interview to make sure that I write it all down and I hope that I have the judgment to know what “it all” needs to include to feel complete.

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Sample Post-interview Memo – Steve Kroeger, 7/25/2017

Context – who, what, when, where? The energy was different when I entered Steve’s office today. The first thing I noticed was a new piece of artwork behind him on his desk. Immediately, I recognized that this was the piece he created for our interview—a portrait of his father in oil paint. It’s red and vibrant. The image oddly reminds me of Nelson Mandela in his expression.

Voice – as witness, as interpretation, as preoccupation, as autobiography, as listening for voice and as voice in conversation I witnessed such intensely personal emotion in today’s interview. I felt unsure about how to respond, but I also felt at peace knowing that this was an authentic moment that we shared. I was so thankful to witness such a deeply personal experience. I found that I spoke much more once Steve became emotional. This felt appropriate and natural to relate to him in as human of a way as possible through sharing and conversation.

I am concerned about the personal, emotional nature of the questions I am asking. I want to be sensitive to this and aware that it is emotionally draining to ask people to open up in this way. At the end of the interview, I hugged Steve. This felt true to who I am and I hope he saw it as a gesture of support and gratitude and not as odd or inappropriate.

I am preoccupied with the thought that I went into analysis mode, especially in response to the intense emotion. How do you stay “distanced” as an interviewer in those moments?

Relationship – searching for goodness There were so many raw moments in this interview that I think really show Steve’s vulnerability and humanity. He is kind and sensitive and I am so appreciative of his willingness to share these stories with me.

Emergent Themes – are there any emergent themes that surfaced during this interview? I was struck by how Steve spoke to universal aspects of what it means to be human. Longing/desire. Death/mortality. Emotion. The levels of perception from Mer’s interview speak to the depth of these topics in a really interesting way.

Aesthetic Whole – how do I see this interview fitting into the larger portrait? Steve spoke about some really deeply embedded relational patterns and how those patterns show up in different contexts. I imagine that I will somehow integrate the pieces of his dad’s death that he spoke about in the first interview into this second one. What he described about the art- making process was really significant in that he “felt like he got to spend time with his dad.” This is an alternative way of expressing and processing some really intense experiences. The art making takes us beyond describing with words – this is from the level of hummingbird.

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APPENDIX E: Structured Ethical Reflection

Analyzing Going public Constructing Planning Collecting Developing Recruiting data/ Member (presentation Research project/ data/taking partnerships participants evaluating checking and Question Action action

VALUES action publication)

Creating and Deeply Taking time Allowing Being fully Attending to Remaining Being fully holding space listening to to “be with” participants present when I and being true clear and present when for all to be participants’ the data and to shift and speak with to my core grounded as I I speak with present when stories; honor the authentically others about this intentions in plan for the potential the project is suspending depth of the contribute to

PRESENCE project this study future participants publically judgement analysis the findings shared

Ensuring Protecting Honoring my Honoring that my Constructing Intentionally personal participants’ Understanding Asking each participants questions that incorporating stories and desires and that trust takes participants participants’ feel safe to contribute to relationship being fully needs time and that what they needs for contribute to building trust building into transparent regarding

TRUST individuals have need to feel building trust the analysis with the research about sharing their unique needs safe, open during data in an participants process analysis stories collection authentic processes publicly way

Suspending Using ritual Receiving

judgement and Being Being open any reactions, Embracing and meditation Receiving Remaining open receptive and to comments, change and remaining before and any changes, to any open if my participants’ criticism, or unpredictabil open during during suggestions partnerships that research responses to questions ity in the interviews, analysis to or criticism will support this questions need participating with an open research letting receive data with grace work to shift at any in this and humble

RECEPTIVITY process participants in an open, and gratitude time project mind and drive the receptive heart experience way

Being Honoring Honoring Identifying Being Seeking out reliable and and and

partnerships that Creating respectful of Acknowledgi environments clear in my acknowledgi incorporatin are built on research others’ time ng and , venues, communicati ng the g mutual respect questions that constraints, honoring publications, on; beauty and participants’ for all parties are respectful commitments individual etc. that Respecting depth of suggestions,

RESPECT and for the of the teaching , and needs and support the participants’ each contributions intentions of path responsibiliti boundaries foundations time, privacy individual and this project es of this project and requests piece of data reactions 160

Making brave and Remaining Sharing this Asking bold choices Asking for

confident in Approaching work with Being brave and questions that in my participants’ Approaching my research the analysis others and confident when challenge and project; contribution participants choices; process with standing as I discuss this push the taking risks throughout without fear trusting the a courageous my project with traditional in the project the project of rejection research heart and “researcher- COURAGE others research to expand without fear process as it mind self” without paradigms what of rejection unfolds fear research looks like

Asking Recruiting Incorporating Committing Providing questions that Incorporating participants Committing creative to creative multiple Identifying allow for creative who are open to creative works as a expression modes of opportunities for creative practice into to creative expression as central as an expression unexpected expression as all stages of expression as an essential component of essential for soliciting partnership a part of the the research a part of the form of data public form of data participant

CREATIVITY research process research collection sharing of analysis feedback process process this project

Integrating Asking self-care Attending to Approaching Ensuring Creating a Building research practices into participants’ data analysis Identifying participants supportive,

supportive, questions that the research needs during with care – participants are caring space mutually support process; data considering who will supported in for sharing beneficial participants in establishing collection to the needs of CARE benefit from their the work relationships their lives and and ensure they myself and this study contributions (sharing food, with others teaching maintaining feel the to the study etc.) practices supportive supported participants boundaries

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APPENDIX F: Poem Transcripts

Each constructed poem is presented below with the corresponding section of interview transcript that was used to generate the poem. The words and phrases that appear in each poem are noted in bold.

Poem Transcript—An Opening

RESPONDENT: So just dropping our energy down, down, down through our feet, down

through our roots and into Pachamama. And so let the breath drop there and

stretch to just awaken that primordial place of connection where we literally

ground, where we got nourishment and give nourishment to earth and to

planet and just connecting to the greater purpose of this project, our

friendship, growth, evolution, all of these things alive in our bodies. And just

letting the breath travel into the space of the belly, into the place of emotion,

water, fire, creativity. And just resting in the active energies there, and

connecting to the power that it takes to be vulnerable. And that great cat-

like energy that keeps us curious. And setting into that place, that waca just

beneath the naval center, that place of right action, that we may we be in

right action in accordance with our own souls. And just gathering the hands

towards the heart, and letting our rhythms tune in together. And feeling the

place of pulse, the place of munay and the place of love, compassion,

clarity, and to hold all beings in love and ourselves in love as we explore

this day. And just letting awareness move towards the throat and sensing

some silver there, that cool beauty, that silvery space of moon, and voice and

wind and truth and just allowing truth to be spoken here. And traveling with 162

breath awareness into the mind and into the mind's eye, into that piercing

place of awareness.

An Opening awaken the belly of emotion water fire creativity the power that it takes to be vulnerable the cat-like energy that keeps us curious right action in accordance with our own souls the place of pulse the place of munay the place of love, compassion, clarity to hold all beings in love ourselves in love as we explore this day silvery space of moon voice and wind and truth allowing truth to be spoken may we see through the eyes of love may we see opportunities for beauty and grace may our relationships our own greater journey our connection to spirit be wide open

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Poem Transcript—The Medicine Wheel, Serpent, Jaguar, Hummingbird, Eagle

RESPONDENT: No. Yeah. So I want to invite us to actually just step into the medicine

wheel here because it is this place of observing perspective and letting

the same situation be vastly different, and just calling archetypal

energy as well, that creating this sacred space around us. So just

dropping into the root. And now breath rinse down, down, down into

that deep, deep reaching root system that connects all the way into the

belly of the mother. And just noticing that connection to earth as we call

in the south, energy of the south, the perspective of the south, seeing

through the eyes of it is what it is, nothing more. No opinion, just

finding the is-ness. And also recognizing the gift of the south to shed

and to release, so that serpent energy that can slither out clean and

emerge anew. And traveling from the root system up through and into

the lower belly into the second chakra, just letting the breath wash into

that space as well. Welcoming in the winds of the west and the

perspective of the jaguar, the way that the jaguar archetype sees,

perceives. The jaguar perceives that there is more than what meets the

eye. So awakening and just welcoming in the realm of curiosity, the

realm of the mind, thought and emotion. It's not as it seems. Now,

honoring that jaguar energy in our own minds and emotions and then

bumping it up, energetically up a level, travel up through the center of

the spine, into the place of the third eye via the heart. And welcoming in, 164

as the eyes are softly closed, welcoming in the energy of the north, the

winds of the north and the royal hummingbird, this energy of

witnessing the perspective of the hummingbird and it says everything is

as it should be. Seeing through the eyes of expansion via that avenue of

acceptance and trust. Truly lightening up and expanding out as we

travel through the body, and then guiding the energy up and into the

crown of the head and through and past the crown of the head, all the

way up into that place of the quira cocha, that sacred tent, the eighth

chakra above the head and then traveling 60 feet above that, to hold the

high watch. Welcoming from that perspective the energy medicine of

the eagle, the winds of the east, the condor, vision, and just welcoming

in that way of seeing through the eyes of love and oneness, no words,

just the pure energy of vibration that we are all in this together,

holding this space together and seeing, viewing through the - those eyes

that see the way spirit sees, one continuum of love, possibility and just

awakening the dreamer there.

The Medicine Wheel step into the medicine wheel this place of observing perspective the same situation, vastly different archetypal energy creating sacred space around us dropping in breathe, rinse down down down into the belly of the mother 165

Serpent call in the south it is what it is nothing more no opinion, just is-ness the gift of the south to shed to release serpent energy slither out clean emerge anew

Jaguar traveling up into the lower belly welcoming in the winds of the west jaguar the jaguar sees, perceives there is more than what meets the eye the realm of curiosity the realm of the mind, thought and emotion it's not as it seems

Hummingbird travel up through the center of the spine third eye welcoming in the energy of the north the winds of the north the royal hummingbird energy of witnessing everything is as it should be seeing through the eyes of expansion acceptance and trust

Eagle guiding the energy up past the crown of the head traveling hold the high watch 166 the energy medicine of the eagle the winds of the east the condor vision seeing through the eyes of love and oneness no words pure energy of vibration we are all in this together holding this space one continuum of love, possibility awakening the dreamer

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Poem Transcript—A Shift

RESPONDENT: So there we go. Who's the teacher? Who's the student? Everybody,

everybody, if your eyes are open. But it was - it's been a good lesson as

far as just keeping those that you do really trust and those that you are

really close to, close and also not putting them on a pedestal and just, to

me, this whole journey recently after finishing this energy medicine school

is just with so much clarity and so much - just so much presence. What

are you available to? And that is the question that I'm always working

with, and show me, show me, show me, show me. Show me what I need

to see and don't let me get my heart broken because I put someone up on a

mountaintop when they were just trying to walk alongside the river. It's

not fair. And so, yeah.

***

RESPONDENT: With that different kind of awareness of like the power of the suggestion.

Not even just a suggestion but an experience of something, creating these

safe spaces by being a safe person who can fall apart in front of you. You

know.

INTERVIEWER: Yeah.

RESPONDENT: Yeah and again it's like why is this such a big deal like falling apart is

always what proceeds being rebuilt.

INTERVIEWER: Right.

RESPONDENT: It's just what happens. Yeah, yeah. The outbreath follows the inbreath.

That’s the way it is. 168

***

RESPONDENT: Right, what’s the opposite of that? What is being what is needing to be

honored in the feeling that you currently have and that’s the whole love it

the way it is.

INTERVIEWER: Yeah.

RESPONDENT: Love as much as you can from where you are and don’t resist it but

listen to it to find the opening you know and so yeah I I think um I think I

there’s a lot to learn in terms of how to both practice that myself more a

masterfully and also to give more ways of working with that you know.

The whole concept of like the energy body is still very again very

nebulous to a lot of people that they're information comes our information

comes like that.

INTERVIEWER: Yeah.

RESPONDENT: It's just a matter of trying to see listen, see, sense, feel let it be, find the gift

in it, you know?

INTERVIEWER: Yeah well and it's it's like makes me think of just the concept of like

alternate ways of knowing which is for most it's in most indigenous

communities like that’s what it is and we are so conditioned. Even as

somebody who like thinks about this stuff and like reads books about this

stuff it's like, it is so engrained that I'm trying to make sense of it with my

mind using words and goals and tasks…

RESPONDENT: And all the success measures that you’ve been given throughout your life.

INTERVIEWER: Mm hmm. 169

RESPONDENT: Yes, it is radically different from that. It is radically felt.

A Shift who is the teacher? who is the student? everybody, everybody if your eyes are open the power of suggestion love it as it is love as much as you can from where you are it is radically different, radically felt the outbreath follows the inbreath falling apart always proceeds being rebuilt

170

Poem Transcript—Beginnings

RESPONDENT: She was - she used to teach in the special education program and I

remember when I was in my master's program when I first came to UC, I

was kind of drawing stuff, kind of related to what we were studying. And

so she noticed that, and she did that, blessed the genius thing. And it was

like a really powerful, powerful moment for me. It changed - it really

transfigured or transformed my understanding of myself within

relationship to academics. That became - that was the seed in kind of a

barren forest, kind of thing. I was just reading Gloria Alzandua recently,

Borderlands, and she talks about this notion of how the Europeans came

and clear-cut the forests, and it's kind of symbolic of ripping away all the

culture that was there. And her notion was that you replant one seed at a

time, with weeds or whatever else you want to replant with, kind of thing.

And I remember that moment with Regina, her noticing this thing I did as

a way of doing that, reintegrating. That's happened a number of times

over the past 15 years where stuff that I thought was really critical to me

in the Jesuits that I thought I was leaving behind has come back. Work

with Paula Friere for example was one of those things. So we met Friere

in Berkeley where I was in school and of course his work - his pedagogy

was at work in Nicaragua, and I was living in Nicaragua, part of the

Jesuits thing, so I actually had an opportunity to meet him and I thought

will I ever see this again. And it's still - Friere is just a major, still -

INTERVIEWER: Right. 171

RESPONDENT: - action research and all that stuff, it's just - he's a thinker for us. But - and

so you see things like that have come, kind of keep circling around that

you - so I have this notion that nothing I've ever done is ever wasted,

even though - even though you take these big pivots –

RESPONDENT: And - but I'm available for it. I'm not - I don't have this other job or I'm -

that kind of stuff. And - but I'm trying to figure out what - haven't really

done that kind of reflection of like what was happening in my brain when

that was happening is - in terms of - it - light bulbs illuminating. There

is a sense of struggle and wanting to come into - understand what is - what

am I supposed to be doing kind of thing. There was always that sense -

Beginnings a seed in a barren forest replant one seed at a time light bulbs illuminating reintegrating nothing is ever wasted

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Poem Transcript—Rising Tide

RESPONDENT: Dear Lord, I was riding on this big wave of emotion the whole damn

time.

RESPONDENT: No, just - you're - the way you're articulating that makes a lot of sense to

me in a sense that emotion is so imbued in it. I mean, it's just - have you -

that image of - it's an image that they use for other things. You know, you

put big rocks in a jar and then you can put a lot more little - rocks inside

that and you can put a lot of sand inside of that and then you can put a ton

of water in that.

INTERVIEWER: I haven't heard that. That's -

RESPONDENT: Oh, okay. So if - you can imagine doing that, right? And you can see the

capacity for that. But then if you (indiscernible) and start the other way,

you put water and then sand in the little - you never get the big stuff in

there because it's taken up. For some reason, the way it stacks, it's very,

very different. So it's a story about don't sweat the little stuff. Make sure

you get the big things in there and all that other stuff fits. But what that

image, though, it strikes me as, is that if - you get all the stuff, your

theoretic and your geeky stuff is in there, then you still - then you can still

pour just a ton of water inside that thing, and that's emotion. It just

embraces all that, is this emotional piece. And it was like - that's what it

feels like. Telling the story to you feels like that. Just back - this like a -

the - a rising tide, that the story without the emotion is like the tide is out. 173

But now with the tide in, it's like I'm floating in this emotion, like - and

it's like this really powerful kind of feelings or - to a point, where at some

point I can hardly talk, that kind of thing. And so it's always triggering

this other - and then for some reason, I don't know why, what's - what's

with the tears? I mean, why does - why is that the point where the

emotions kind of flip out and stuff?

Rising Tide riding on this big wave floating big rocks in a jar little rocks inside that sand water emotion embraces all a rising tide

174

Poem Transcript—Trust

RESPONDENT: Yes, yes. So I think they - the other has to know that you respect them

and trust them in the areas of expertise that they in fact have, that you

know and understand the burden that they carry, kind of thing. So

that's kind of like the first step in that process, is just establishing that - I

don't know if it's a rapport, I suppose - but it's a - it's trust. I mean, I

remember us doing kind of an analysis of what we were doing and that

that word was everything. The - not - it doesn't make any difference what

- if you're right or wrong, unless you have this level of trust, people just

aren't going to buy into it. So that was - that's really the thing, is figuring

out what does trust look like in these relationships, and one of those

characteristics is this notion of you respect them because you're bringing a

deficit. But the second piece of that is saying yes, there is a deficit so you

have to recognize that. I mean, that's the whole notion of human growth is

that we grow because we know there's something to grow towards,

right?

Trust the other has to know you respect them trust them you know the burden they carry it’s trust respect we grow because we know there’s something to grow toward

175

Poem Transcript—My Voice

RESPONDENT: For three years and that was very rough because every year I had a

different lead principal. So, the first principal I had I met her at UC and

she was looking for an AP and she wanted someone she could trust so

someone recommended me to her. She said “Oh yeah, she’s, yeah I could

work with her.” So, I came in with her and then half way through the year

became very clear that she was not going to be in that position anymore

and so the next person they went and got somebody from out of the district

from another state who was a very condescending, rude individual. So, I

had to work my way through and that also dealing with people like that

also taught me how to gain my voice. ‘Cause if you’re talking to a parent

like were talking and he would wedge himself in between our

conversation and then stand in front of me with his back to me facing the

person and the first time it happened I was like did he really just do that? I

couldn’t believe anybody act like that.

INTERVIEWER: Mm hmm.

RESPONDENT: And then it happened a couple more times so then I learned okay when he

steps in you step up. And when he steps up, you step up and you all you

be right there in the person’s face don’t let him you know what I mean?

RESPONDENT: I think as an administrator I’ve been doing it for a long time um I think I

found my voice as a school administrator. Sometimes when I'm placed in

other situations it's a struggle um and I have to remind… my brother said 176

something to me one day and it stuck with me. He said that how did he put

it? If you don’t stand in your space of authority someone else will.

My Voice

When he steps in You step up When he steps up You step up Be right there Don’t let him Stand in your place of authority

I think I found my voice

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Poem Transcript—Dig Another Well

RESPONDENT: I can remember um spending a night in the school doing paper work that

my secretary was supposed to do because she didn’t have the capacity to

do it, she couldn’t do it she didn’t know how to do it and I felt that was

intentional give me someone who didn’t do um as a way to make my year

very difficult. So, but what I learned from that is I'm a spiritual person I'm

just gonna give you this this little anecdote and I might not say it just right

but there’s a story in the bible about this gentleman he had been moved

from one place to another place and he dug a well and when he dug this

well you know got it going the people in the next camp over they didn’t

want them in their territory so they kept picking with them. So, he just

got his people and he moved and dug another well. So, um he got there

and the people there wanted his well. So, they start picking with him and

his people because they wanted to take the well. He moved again dug

another well and I learned I’ve learned to dig another well. So when it

seems like you’re getting um I'm trying to think of the word…when you

run into opposition and adversity around something you know is right

sometimes it's not worth the fight. Pick it up, move to the next thing

and dig another well and go and do your thing. And that’s what I’ve

learned and even in that situation where it was very hard I had to strategize

‘cause I was quiet. You know, people didn’t know who I was but they

knew all these other folks and they were setting little traps and I just had

to keep moving. I just had to keep moving I had to make so if it meant 178

staying all night in the school I stayed all night in the school and did what

I had to do. To make to get tho… to get that situation straightened out that

a person had created for me. Um I walked the streets and I talked to

families I mean, I made a list of every kid in my school and I went and

knocked on every single door and if they were not home I left a note that

said I was there because I wanted them to know that I was the new

principal, I was in there with their kids and this is how we were gonna

operate. So, trying to make those personal connections so even though

there was some naysayers who were trying to set things up for me I had to

move on and think about what was important and not focus on those

things. And that’s kind of how I had to learn to get over ‘cause it was hard

‘cause I didn’t come from that. I didn’t come from I came from you know

really small kind of situation and when things didn’t go right you know

you run home. You know?

INTERVIEWER: Mm hmm.

RESPONDENT: And run home for me was not an option.

INTERVIEWER: Yeah, how did you… how did you do that? I mean how did you where did you get your your strength and your ability to keep digging those wells?

RESPONDENT: I have all brothers and my dad was kinda hard.

INTERVIEWER: Yeah.

RESPONDENT: So you could I mean to fail at something was worse.

INTERVIEWER: Like school of hard knocks with brothers.

RESPONDENT: Yes. 179

INTERVIEWER: Yeah.

RESPONDENT: It was but I just and also I knew I was supposed to be here.

Dig Another Well

She dug a well They kept picking She moved And dug another well They start picking She moved again Dug another well Something you know is right Sometimes not worth the fight Pick it up Dig another well I’ve learned I was supposed to be here

180

Poem Transcript—Little Suitcase

RESPONDENT: Yeah it was called the hope project and that’s what hope stood for and

when I think about what I'm doing in terms of my professional life it's

about hope. I feel like it's my job to inspire these students to be the

greatest people they can be. Providing them with opportunities that the

might not otherwise have so that they understand that this world belongs

to them and that they have a right and opportunity to do anything that

they want to do. Sometimes people get caught in a space because they

they haven’t been taught to dream. They haven’t been taught to hope.

And that’s what I feel like I'm supposed to do.

INTERVIEWER: Yeah.

RESPONDENT: Is I'm supposed to give every kid that comes to this school an opportunity

to dream and an opportunity to hope for their future. And show them, one

of my teachers said it like this she said sometimes people don’t know

what to want for. It's my job to give them many, many options of what to

want for and then they it's their job to go get it.

INTERVIEWER: Yeah.

RESPONDENT: So, that’s what when I think about what I do from day to day that’s what

I'm trying to do. Give kids options.

INTERVIEWER: Yeah and you that came through I think even just in the little bit in the in

the gym in terms of um that sense of ownership I think for students that

you know you haven’t that that degree of choice whether we’re talking 181

about something that you can choose a negative or positive behavior but

also…

RESPONDENT: In life.

INTERVIEWER: the world doesn’t happen to you, you know.

RESPONDENT: Yeah you make it happen for yourself. So, that’s what we’re trying to do

for every kid that walks through the door. It's not always easy because

they come with their little suitcase full of stuff but helping them to open

that suitcase and unpack the stuff and put the stuff in the want to travel

through life with.

Little Suitcase

Little suitcase, full of stuff Open that suitcase Unpack the stuff It’s not always easy

This world belongs to them They have a right To do anything they want to do They haven’t been taught to dream They haven’t been taught to hope That’s what I’m supposed to do Show them what to want for Then it’s their job to go get it You make it happen for yourself