Empathy for the Instructor: A Reflection of Using Empathy-Based Pedagogy as a Graduate Teaching Assistant

Empathy-Based Pedagogy in the Writing Classroom: Reflection, and Responsive Instruction

My study demonstrates that empathy-based pedagogy could increase student engagement and foster deeper connections with course material. Student discussions revealed a shift from their knee-jerk defenses or disengagement to approaching the material with a different perspective of enthusiasm and openness. In the most precious of cases, the data held responses in discussion posts or survey data had revealed their inner kindness through demonstrating empathy for the authors or characters of a novel or story as a direct result of what their peers had been disclosing or relating. These exchanges didn’t just improve participation; they transformed the way students approached composition, helping them see writing not just as a task, but as a tool for understanding the self and others. In the writing classroom, this is especially powerful. Writing is inherently personal, even when academic. When students feel safe, seen, and heard, they take more creative and intellectual risks. This environment, cultivated through empathy-based pedagogy, allows for vulnerability, which is at the heart of genuine writing. The result is deeper engagement not only with the material, but with the act of composition itself.

Connecting Empathy to Composition Theory

Empathy-based pedagogy aligns with several principles of composition theory, particularly in post-process and social constructivist frameworks. Most research points to the importance of maintaining a welcoming environment for students and often claims that when the opposite occurs, “when learners feel that they are not connected to their instructors, their insights toward the efficiency of education are reduced (Moore and Kearsley 2004)” (Zhang 1). Whereas research from Carl Rogers showcases that when an instructor has the ability to understand a student’s reactions from the inside…the likelihood of learning is significantly increased (Zhang 2). Sharon Tettegah and Carloyn Anderson defined this form of teacher empathy as an “aptitude to communicate with learners’ concerns, understand their concerns, and perceive the situations from learners’ points of view” (Zhang 2).

In addition, Nancy Sommers’ work on student revision practices emphasizes the importance of feedback and reflection in developing writing, claiming, “[T]hese revision strategies are a process of more than communication; they are a process of discovering meaning altogether” (385). Empathy-based pedagogy encourages students to see feedback not as criticism but as a form of care. Similarly, instructors who model empathy in their responses demonstrate that revision is a process of growth, not judgment. For example, when students express anxiety about peer review, I incorporate low-stakes empathy-building exercises before any formal critique begins. We might start by writing affirmations for one another’s work or reflecting on what makes receiving feedback difficult. These adjustments, directly inspired by student input, foster trust and make the revision process more meaningful. Similarly, when students shared that they felt disconnected from writing prompts, I revised them to allow for more personal reflection and voice, which invited them to explore moments of moral conflict, transformation, or belonging. These prompts, grounded in empathy, elicited some of the most thoughtful and well-developed essays I’ve seen in my teaching career. The feedback loop between students and teacher, when guided by empathy, becomes generative. It leads to ongoing course adjustments, more inclusive practices, and ultimately, more powerful writing.

Reflection as a Pedagogical Tool

The greatest lessons often supersede what is written in textbooks. I entered academia to teach and offer what I lacked during my formative years. Many of my students are navigating their first real experiences of autonomy and authorship, both personally and in writing. Some thrive with this freedom; others seem to lack their voice or purpose. Empathy-based pedagogy becomes crucial here. It allows me to support students not just as writers, but as individuals developing a sense of self through language. Encountering a range of students from various disciplines has broadened my horizons and allowed me to become familiar with many different assignments and teaching styles, which, in turn, strengthens my teaching skills as I attempt to diversify my fields.

This practice of listening with empathy aligns with a concept I have come to appreciate deeply—rippling. Introduced by Irvin D. Yalom in Staring at the Sun: Overcoming the Terror of Death, the novel details profound insights into his confrontation with mortality and our intrinsic purpose for existing. I increasingly understood the ephemerality of my existence, and the concern for human legacy is ingrained in me because, without it, humans lack meaning. To overcome this, Yalom provides even his most stubborn patients with secular counsel through the concept of rippling, which refers to the fact “that each of us creates, often without our conscious intent or knowledge—concentric circles of influence that may affect others for years, even generations. That is, the effect we have on other people is, in turn, passed on to others, much as the ripples in a pond go on and on until they are no longer visible but continuing on a nano level” (Yalom 83). In essence, this effect is not talking about a physical dowry or gift, but rather “...leaving behind something from your life experience; some trait; some piece of wisdom, guidance, virtue, comfort that passes on to others, known or unknown” (Yalom 84). As educators, our role extends into human development and psychology, where we aim to impart knowledge and offer guidance, compassion, and counsel to those seeking it. By embracing empathy in our teaching, we acknowledge that our influence can ripple through students’ lives, often in ways we may never fully understand.

A Slight Digression in Progress…

Navigating these challenges of employing empathy-based pedagogy as a GTA has been a significant life lesson in its own right. While I feel fulfilled by the positive changes I have made in the classroom, I have also realized that the emotional investment did not stop when I left the classroom; the emotional demands of teaching became overwhelming, and I needed to set clear parameters for my emotional energy. Juggling the different rosters of students, I find myself increasingly serving as a conduit for others’ needs, leaving me little time or energy for my own personal desires or engaging with family and friends. Although I still consider this career advancement a blessing, I felt underprepared to pay the cost of mental and emotional strain in managing a class alongside my pedagogical goals. Empathy-based pedagogy demands a deep investment of emotional energy, which can quickly become exhausting, especially when you are still navigating your role as a teacher. In my case, I often found myself caught between the desire to connect with students on a personal level and the need to maintain professional boundaries and authority. Scholars Leandra Smollin and Arnold Arluke have shed light regarding similar sentiments of isolation, describing how graduate students hired as part-time instructors or assigned few courses undergo this “rite of passage…[and] occupy a liminal space where they are both students…as well as instructors” (28). Moreover, perhaps the only thing we desire after a long day expanding our social battery is to be alone.

Ironically, being a GTA has allowed a greater chasm of disconnection to emerge within the academic community. I understand that the position of a GTA is ephemeral to the campus culture due to short-term contracts; however, navigating a different campus and culture makes one susceptible to the same culture shock as entering a new working environment. In addition, within the classroom, some students bypassed my humanity and saw me as a vehicle for grades, an obstacle to navigate to pass the course, a means to an end. Reducing my teaching to a purely transactional retainment alongside the other contributing factors led me to experience “physical, emotional, and mental exhaustion caused by long-term involvement in emotionally demanding situations” (Harrison 1999 qtd. in Lackritz 713), or burnout as we colloquially say. This feeling is well known as a slow but steady erosion of energy and enthusiasm, compounded by constant pressure, demands, and lack of emotional rewards (Lackritz 714).

This lack of work-life balance naturally leads me to note an institutional impediment to empathy-based pedagogy. Despite the widespread praise for empathy as an essential teaching trait and its central role in university mission statements that are committed to student retention and inclusivity, there is a glaring lack of institutional support for those expected to implement this pedagogy, and even less readily available for GTAs and adjunct faculty. In addition, Jessean Banks has noted, “[d]espite an abundance of available literature on best educational practices and professional development initiatives that are typically offered by university teaching and learning centers, there is little opportunity for GTAs and adjuncts alike to share experiences, investigate, and embrace contemporary approaches to curriculum and pedagogy with other colleagues in the immediacy of their own discipline and program settings in which they teach” (16).

The refusal or lack of compensation to encourage and integrate incoming faculty attempting to integrate in academia does not supersede the diminishing returns of assuaging teaching anxiety and ensuring every student receives quality education from the resources embedded. The instability of retention rates and job security correlates to student performance, where students performed better when taught by full-time faculty, mainly due to the professional development opportunities and support available to them compared to their adjunct counterparts (qtd. in Banks 12). If universities genuinely valued student success, they naturally would demonstrate that same respect for those responsible for teaching them. Until graduate and adjunct faculty receive equivalent professional development to full-time faculty, student retention and success will continue to be undermined (Banks 12). Enthusiasm alone is not enough to sustain effective teaching in the long term, and, with the necessary resources, both students and instructors can be set up for a long trajectory of success. What is written off as a rite of passage for budding instructors to be indoctrinated into the college experience goes much deeper and is a vein of injustice. But just because a foundation exists does not mean it should not change.

Nuances to Navigate: Saving Face, Professionalism, and Self-Disclosure

Being near the age of the students I was assigned to teach, my relationship with students was often complicated by my dual role as a peer and “authority figure,” whatever that means. One of my ongoing concerns is understanding what it truly means to be a “professional” in this context. Without the formal title of professor and navigating the uncertainties inherent to graduate school, I frequently encountered imposter syndrome. Anxiety related to first-time teaching among graduate instructors often revolves around five key themes: “feelings of unpreparedness, overwhelming time demands, lack of confidence, challenges with students, and insufficient support” (Smollin and Arluke 31). Many graduate instructors report spending months preparing for their first course, sometimes entire summers, to write out lectures. Like them, I had spent all this extra effort to conceal the ironic truth: I did not have it all together, but I was expected to perform as someone who did. Researcher Jennifer Borek illuminates the demands of an instructor. She lists a very tangible concern, “[Our] ego needs are critical to most of us. We want to feel competent, and by and large, teachers are very competent” (Borek 3). Understanding these expectations, a cycle of self-doubt manifested: how do I balance authority with empathy?

For many GTAs, the fear of losing authority in the classroom can cause them to adopt a
face or persona, perhaps even playing the role of a more distant or rigid figure. Machiavelli considered what makes an effective leader, “At this point, a question arises: is it better to be loved than feared, or to be feared than loved? The answer is that a prince would like to be both. But since it is difficult to reconcile these two, it is much safer to be feared than loved—if the one must cede to the other” (Machiavelli and Atkinson 271). The idea of saving “face” is not new and is mentioned on many occasions by sociologist Erving Goffman’s “On Face Work: An Analysis of Ritual Elements in Social Interaction,” which details how individuals manage their social identities, striving to project a consistent image that earns respect and social validation (Goffman 5–7). For GTAs, maintaining face is especially challenging due to the lack of clear protocols or models for balancing authority and approachability. This tension made me reflect on my own role: How would students perceive my instruction? How will the students receive my instruction and authority? How do I navigate leniency in comparison to empathy? These issues then begin to reflect the most personal and reflective portion of my experience and encounter with empathy-based pedagogy:
Empathy-based pedagogy can be misunderstood by students, often perceived as granting them unlimited leeway.

For instructors, this can sometimes lead to fears of being “trampled” by students at the beginning of the semester. After all, restoring respect once lost takes a long time to reclaim. This tension between maintaining authority and embodying an empathetic approach constantly challenges me. I was, after all, the least menacing person in the classroom, and at times, I had undergone my struggles of having to be an emotional sponge to others. I wanted the same for myself, someone to lend an ear. Why do instructors need to consider altering themselves to gain the same respect? This tension is echoed in a poignant example shared by Tobin (2010), who conducted case studies of instructors. The case involved a first-year instructor, Linda, who struggled with whether to share a personal, painful experience with a student. After learning that her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer, Linda encountered a personal narrative written by a first-year student regarding the same fear and pain, and there she felt the same deep connection. Torn between professional boundaries and a desire to empathize, she confided in her colleagues: “I need to maintain some professional boundaries with my students, especially since I am a new teacher and I am not much older than them. However, all I can think about when reading her essay is how much I am dying to tell her that I know exactly how she feels. Do you guys all really think it would be a terrible mistake for me to tell her?” (196). This narrative is a small reminder of the deep emotional labor involved in teaching.

Furthermore, I have understood that teaching is a performance, an act to maintain face,
“professionalism,” and composure. Undoubtedly, there are many solitary and emotionally burdening experiences that GTAs and instructors alike face, but this is why empathy in the role of the classroom and beyond is crucial. Teaching should never be a solitary, unrecognized endeavor, and the patterns of discrimination and disrespect that persist in academia must be challenged and stopped. The work of GTAs and adjunct faculty needs to be continuously supported and reinforced, not only for the benefit of students but for the well-being of those entrusted with their education.