When I first stepped into the classroom, I carried a heavy binder of pedagogy and a heart full of expectations. I used to think that being a “great teacher” was a purely technical feat—a puzzle of perfectly timed lesson plans, sophisticated behavior modification systems, and the pursuit of instructional rigor. I obsessed over the data, the assessments, and the concrete evidence of learning. As a young professional, I felt a deep sense of pride in mastering these skills; I believed that my authority and expertise as the “adult in the room” were the primary drivers of student success.
However, the reality of the classroom quickly began to erode that clinical perspective. During those early years, I noticed a recurring pattern that no textbook had prepared me for. The moments of greatest breakthrough didn’t happen during a flawlessly executed lecture; they happened in the quiet spaces in between. I started to suspect that the real difference in these children’s lives wasn’t necessarily what was coming out of my mouth – -but what was pouring out of my heart.
I found myself deeply invested in their lives. I loved them. I stayed up late worrying about their home lives and spent my days acting as their loudest cheerleader. This wasn’t reserved for the high achievers; I felt this pull for every single one of them, from the most confident, skillful child to the one who struggled just to stay in their seat. I realized that my most effective “teaching tool” wasn’t my degree, but my empathy.
This shift in my philosophy stayed with me as I transitioned out of the classroom. When I started my consulting business about six years ago, I was looking for ways to articulate this “heart-first” approach. That’s when I stumbled upon a YouTube video of Rita Pierson titled Every Child Needs a Champion. In that iconic eight-minute segment, she spoke with a conviction that spoke to me. She said something that instantly solidified years of my own quiet suspicions: “Kids don’t learn from people they don’t like.”
It was a simple, profound truth that challenged the traditional, stoic view of education. It suggested that a teacher’s rapport, their warmth, and their ability to build a genuine human connection were not “soft skills”—they were the foundation of all cognitive development. You can have the most rigorous curriculum in the world, but if a child doesn’t feel seen, safe, or valued by the person at the front of the room, the door to their mind remains bolted shut.
Looking back at that young teacher with the heavy binder, I see someone who had the right intentions but the wrong focus. I used to think teaching was a clinical transfer of information. But now, I KNOW that a child’s success begins with you—the adult who chooses to be their champion, their advocate, and their safe harbor.
Judy LoBianco, President, HPE Solutions LLC
This post is part of #slowchathealth’s #MicroBlogMonth, where educators from around the world share, connect, and inspire.
Take a moment to explore more posts, connect with contributors like Judy LoBianco, and if you’re feeling inspired… we’d love to hear your voice too.
Pair this post with:
Teaching is NOT a Problem to be Solved by Dr. Kristi Mally
Finding Their Swish by Judy LoBianco
How Legends Are Made by Heather Burd
#slowchathealth 