If someone asked you how much you enjoy your job, how would you respond? Is loving your job really that important?
For me, the dream of the perfect job began in elementary school. I couldn’t think about anything other than escaping school and moving on with my life. I shifted my focus from hating school to convincing my mom that it was a waste of time. She, however, saw things differently. Instead of learning, I constantly concocted new ways to escape what I viewed as my childhood prison. At just eight years old, I was convinced I knew exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up. Even though I disliked school, I justified my actions because I had a plan.
Third grade was particularly difficult, largely due to the relentless drilling of multiplication tables. The one thing that made that year bearable was Career Day. The most memorable speaker was a local dental hygienist who left a significant impact on me. It wasn’t her lecture on brushing and flossing, nor the silly dental hygiene cartoon, that made a lasting impression; it was her enormous five-foot red toothbrush. I can only imagine that today, kids would take selfies with the toothbrush and post them on social media before moving on.
School was the bane of my existence and the source of all that was wrong in my childhood. Afflicted with ADHD, concentrating was a challenge. Distractions made school unbearable; if a bird flew outside the window in my line of sight, I would instantly forget everything I had learned that morning. Growing up in a rural town, I wouldn’t find a qualified teacher who could manage my ADHD until fourth grade.
As an adult, I’ve spoken with many people who can pinpoint that one special teacher who left a lasting impression. For me, that teacher was Mrs. Eklund. She stood out among my other teachers because of her patience and care. She worked tirelessly to help me understand and organize my thoughts, and her focused determination became a cornerstone of my personality. Most of my other teachers lectured for hours, forced us to memorize what seemed like insignificant information, and occasionally put on a movie so they could step outside for a smoke break.
When you Google the word “teacher,” the definition states: one who shows and explains with encouragement, demonstrates a fact or principle, and helps you understand through their personal experience. In contrast, “instructor” is defined merely as someone who gives direction or informs about a fact. By all standards, Mrs. Eklund was definitely a teacher, while my other teachers were simply instructors.
In my current profession in the health and fitness industry, the terms “teacher” and “instructor” are often used interchangeably by individuals with varying levels of experience, education, and skills. You might wonder why this distinction matters. I bring it up because, in the health and fitness industry, it can be nearly impossible to identify who is genuinely qualified, educated, and skilled in teaching. I’ve encountered countless personal trainers with multiple qualifications who do little more than instruct. It’s a sad reality that in a profession meant for teaching, many individuals merely instruct to collect a paycheck.
I recall a discussion with a mentor shortly after completing a comprehensive Pilates teacher training program. After the nerve-wracking process of testing, I approached her to receive my certification. I remember the “I’m proud of you” hug she gave me just before handing me the certificate. Stepping back with a big smile, I exclaimed, “It is so rewarding to be a teacher.” She paused, considered her response, and with a subtle eye roll followed by a sad—and, I must admit, patronizing—sigh, said, “Oh, my dear, you’re not a teacher.”
For a moment, her words hung in the air. I felt like a deflated balloon or a firecracker about to explode. I looked at her, utterly confused. Surely, she must be mistaken; I was holding the certification that signified I was a teacher. She placed her hand on my shoulder, gazed into my eyes, and continued, “You have simply completed the necessary hours, education, and personal practice that signify you’ve learned the Pilates method. Your certification does not make you a teacher. What truly makes you a teacher is years of practice and a passion for teaching.”
On the flight home, frustration and confusion engulfed me. I had no idea how to explain her words to anyone. For the record, I kept this conversation private; I wasn’t humble enough to admit she was right. It would take me years to acknowledge the truth in her statement.
Today, I understand what it means to be a teacher. First and foremost, you need to love what you do. You must continually experience and educate yourself about the subject you teach. The truth is, you can only teach someone something if you have personally experienced it yourself. Otherwise, you’re merely instructing.
I use my body as a teaching tool, constantly honing my skills to relay a clear message. Learning to move better allows me to convey the depth that comes with experience. I’ve struggled with physical limitations due to past injuries, which I now consider a blessing. My experiences help me teach my students how to move properly.
So, what makes a teacher great? I truly believe that passion is essential for effective teaching. Everyone can sense enthusiasm, and that makes a significant difference. Knowledge is also crucial; know your subject inside and out, and when you don’t know something, acknowledge it and seek the answers. No one appreciates a phony.
One of my biggest pet peeves is when a personal trainer or Pilates teacher tells a student they can’t do something. I’ve worked with countless students who had previously been limited by health and fitness professionals who failed to teach effectively. When I ask why they were told they couldn’t or shouldn’t perform a specific exercise, they often reply that their former trainer had tried to teach them but deemed them the problem when they couldn’t perform it correctly or experienced pain. Remember, an instructor can’t teach, no matter how hard they try.
Teaching should be fun, and learning requires engagement. Adults are just big kids eager to learn. What we need is the right teacher to inspire students to grow.