This is a blog post about the prevalence of anxiety in (my) teaching, and an attempt to identify teaching/ learning practices related to monitoring one’s progress and success that feed into (my) anxious habits. Underpinning this anxiety is the socio-political American concept of “success” birthed from a meritocratic culture and history, which we will briefly discuss. This post also attempts to illustrate what we have learned about self-attentiveness from the field of psychology, and how that knowledge can be utilized to build healthier methods for monitoring and assessing our learning progress. Finally, through principles of embodiment, I attempt to offer concrete embodied reflection strategies to support the motives and methods needed to engage in “adaptive” reflection (reflection resulting in observable, desirable change).  

Blame, shame, and uncertainty in my teaching history

First, since I’m primarily a storyteller, a personal anecdote to set the stage: in January 2017, I began student teaching. This was the last semester of my undergraduate degree and, as long as I lasted the semester, I would come out of the experience with a BA in English and teacher certification in secondary English education. I was one of those people who had been told since I could go to school myself that I was destined to be a teacher. I was inspired by a transformative middle school English teacher who involved her students in the design of her curriculum (ahead of her time, perhaps, in 2005). Finally, I decided to set my sights on a career in teaching English upon reaching high school, after having a string of uninspiring, punitive English teachers. I dreamed of being the kind of teacher I needed in those developmentally difficult days of adolescence. I attended Plymouth State University for English ed, and thrived in the program – a pedagogically progressive program that was equity-minded, critical, experiential, and project-based. My assessment in the program was most often based on participation in group reflective practice, and individual portfolios and reflections. Despite my strong foundation and unique pedagogical experience, in January 2017, standing on the precipice of my teaching career, all I could feel was the tremendous, suffocating weight of expectation. 

On paper, my student teaching experience went great. I was placed in a well-resourced high school with a highly supportive mentor teacher. My mentor teacher was hands-off by the second week of my placement. I had great rapport with students. Behavior management was a beast, but every teacher knows that behavior management is very much a skill that needs to be developed in the line of fire. However, my “reflective practice” became obsessive and, as a result, I was a mental and physical wreck. I agonized over every decision, every grade given. I worried about students on the fringes— students I wasn’t connecting with, students with IEPs, students who had already decided they were going into the trades and nothing I was going to teach them would be of value. I had been trained to observe, measure, judge, and surveil my students to make sure that my teaching measured up. I never felt a sense of satisfaction in my performance or labor. Instead, my brain latched onto the idea that “there is always something more that can be done,” and, maybe worse yet, “the quantitative performance of my students indicates the quality of my performance as an instructor.”  

When I finished student teaching with flying colors and a strong recommendation from my mentor teacher, I had a patch of grey hair that hadn’t been there before, and I knew that I would give myself stomach ulcers if I went back to teaching. I pursued my passion for helping others learn through two new avenues in the field of higher education: advising students in a customized major program, and designing programming for college faculty to explore pedagogy. No teaching. Well, no teaching in a “formal” classroom setting. Fast forward to fall of 2024 when I got an opportunity to teach my first college class. My fingers were crossed that time and age had allowed some needed space and tools for healing but… my mental health took a steep decline almost immediately. I continued for the next three semesters, hoping that I could develop the coping mechanisms needed to resist obsessing over my students’ performance. A good amount of therapy later… and I got my Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder diagnosis. Since formal teaching seemed to be somewhat of an OCD trigger for me, I had to go back into my teaching history and unpack the damage that had been done.

Along the way, I discovered harmful worldviews my brain had latched onto, and the practices that had enforced those worldviews. Mainly, I felt a lot of blame, shame, and uncertainty when I evaluated my teaching capabilities. These self-critical anxieties disguised as proof of my shortcomings were cycled through my brain by means of my reflective practice. According to Tannebaum et al. (2013), scholars disagree on an exact definition of reflective practice, but can agree that it is used to improve problem-solving and thought processes. In particular, in the field of education, reflective practice promotes “knowledge construction in teaching,” “self-regulation in teachers,” “improved education,” a more “effective classroom experience to students” (p. 244). I have found myself wondering if the vague definition of reflective practice has contributed to practitioners’ misuse of it. Unfortunately, for this OCD individual, my unstudied (notice the emphasis) my reflection looked too much like rumination. Rumination, according to Smith and Alloy (2009), 

…is best characterized as a stable, negative, broadly construed way of responding to discrepancies between current status and target status. Specifically, rumination may be triggered by both the realization that one is not where one desires, and the negative affect that is likely to accompany that realization. Further, the content of rumination is likely to center on themes of discrepancies between actual and desired status. Finally… rumination is an emotion regulation strategy that is driven by positive metacognitive beliefs about its efficacy in remediating perceived discrepancies, but ruminative thinking serves to effectively avoid processing of negative emotion. (p. 14)

There’s a lot there. Here’s my best summation: rumination is a cognitive response triggered by the realization of a personal shortcoming and the negative emotions precipitated by this realization. Ruminatory thinking is centered on that shortcoming and powered by the belief that the act of ruminating will help solve the shortcoming, but the reality is that ruminatory thinking is an emotional processing avoidance tactic. In differentiating between obsessive rumination and depressive rumination, Smith and Alloy write: “[obsessive rumination is]… typically followed by some action designed to neutralize the obsession. Further, obsessions are hypothesized to be harmful because of their exaggeration of the significance of the obsessive thoughts… obsessions focus… on the likelihood of harm coming as a result of the belief, and the necessity of neutralizing the potential harm” (p. 11). Obsessive ruminatory thinking is centered on the potential for harm as a result of a shortcoming and the belief that those obsessive thoughts are meaningful and based in reality. Action taken based on ruminatory thinking is intended to “neutralize” the potential for harm. Here’s a handy chart to illustrate self-attentive rumination and its cousin obsessive self-attentive rumination (this isn’t meant to be a symptom list or an exhaustive list of descriptors):

Self-Attentive Rumination	Obsessive Self-Attentive Rumination
1. Triggered by the realization of a personal shortcoming and the negative emotions precipitated
2. Thinking is centered on that shortcoming	2o. Obsessions are centered on the potential for harm as a result of a shortcoming
3. Built on belief that the act of ruminating will help solve the shortcoming	3o. Built on the belief that obsessive thoughts are based in reality
4. Considered an emotional processing avoidance tactic
5. Action taken is intended to solve the shortcoming	5o. Action taken is intended to “neutralize” the potential for harm

Upon unpacking my teaching history and understanding my OCD diagnosis, as a college instructor and the Learning Developer for the Open Learning & Teaching Collaborative, I started noticing that students’ and instructors’ reflections often focused on the shame and anxiety felt because of perceived shortcomings. In short, ruminatory in nature. I noticed this especially in students and faculty engaging in a problem-posing approach to learning where emergence is embraced, students are at the helm, and instructors take on a facilitating role, rather than a sagely “keeper of knowledge” role. In other words: learning environments where uncertainty is the norm– a feature, not a bug.

Maybe you relate to some of the following statements: I don’t know if students are getting what they need to get out of this class. I feel guilty when students struggle. Students are resentful when I’m not giving them the answers or telling them how a problem should be solved. I find myself worrying about the students who are disengaged and what I’m doing that is impacting their motivation. I don’t know what any given day of class is going to look like and it gives me anxiety. Reflection is an invaluable tool. It allows us to consider and revise our thoughts and behaviors to progress toward particular outcomes. It empowers us to engage in dialogue and seek new perspectives to the end of adjusting the ways we experience and participate in our world. However, adaptive reflection is a complex cognitive process that needs to be learned, practiced, and refined, and there’s a thin line between reflection and cycles of anxiety-driven rumination. 

What can we learn from the study of self-attentiveness in psychology?

In the field of psychology, attempts have been made to measure self-attentiveness, which seems like a great place for us to start when determining when reflection becomes rumination. According to Trapnell and Campbell (1999), the “Self-Consciousness Scale” (SCS) was developed by Fenigstein, Scheier, & Buss in 1975. Through statistical analyses of responses from their self-report questionnaire, Fenigstein et al. suggested that there are two types of self-attentiveness, “private self-consciousness (PrSC– consciousness of one’s inner feelings thoughts, and physical sensations) and public self-consciousness (PbSC– consciousness of one’s appearance to others)” (p. 297). However, additional empirical testing with the SCS scale revealed that higher levels of self-consciousness were linked to higher levels of neuroticism, anxiety, and depression, as well as better self-awareness, interpersonal relationships, open mindedness, and decreased loneliness (Joireman et al., 2002). I’m sure we’ve all heard the phrase “sadder but wiser.” Trapnell and Campbell (1999) explored the limitations of the SCS, named the above phenomena the “self-absorption paradox,” and suggested that the SCS conflated rumination and self-reflection under the same banner of “self-attentiveness.” Trapnell and Campbell write:

[there is a] motivational distinction relevant to dispositional self-focus that bears a family resemblance to another dichotomy of long-standing utility in psychology: fear and curiosity. Rumination provides a summary conception of self-attentiveness motivated by perceived threats, losses, or injustices to the self. Reflection provides a summary conception of self-attentiveness motivated by curiosity or epistemic interest in the self. (p. 297)

They emphasize the importance of the motive of a person’s self-reflection. Rumination is a result of fear, and reflection is a result of genuine curiosity around learning about oneself. They conclude that the “motivational ambiguity” of the SCS meant that it had limited accuracy when measuring someone’s ability to adjust their behaviors based on what they observe in themselves (adaptive reflection), instead of dwelling on their shortcomings (maladaptive reflection).  

Grant et al. (2002) sought to eliminate rumination from the scale and developed the “Self-Reflection and Insight Scale” (SRIS). Very much informed by the work of Trapnell & Campbell, Grant et al. write, “Engagement in self-reflection does not necessarily mean that one has developed, or will develop, clarity of insight.” (p. 830). They suggest that there are two types of self reflection: “problem-solving self reflection” (PS-SR) and “self-focused self reflection” (SF-SR) (sorry in advance for all of the acronyms with the same exact letters; I’ll try to insert pop-outs with the power of the web). In short, a person can engage in SF-SR all day without ever gaining insight into what behaviors need to shift to enact change, especially because this type of reflection is focused on the negative emotions felt upon looking inward. Cognitive flexibility, perspective-taking, and self-efficacy are all necessary skills in adaptive reflection, but aren’t developed simply by looking inward (Grant et al., 2002). Upon comparing participants’ insight and self-reflection survey responses to their results on various pathology scales for alexithymia, psychopathy, depression, anxiety, cognitive flexibility, and self-control, Grant et al. suggest that adaptive self-reflection is determined by “the extent to which an individual actually consciously engages in acts of self-reflection, the psychological mechanisms and behaviors that they use in the process of self-reflection, and the reason that they engage in self-reflection” (p. 830). The work of Grant et al. expanded our understanding of adaptive vs maladaptive reflection and suggested that motive and method are paramount. We must be intrinsically motivated to deliberately reflect, powered by personal meaning and attainable change (Grant et al. describe this reflection as “problem-solving,” but there’s some critique in the reflective practice world around framing it in this way. More on that later).

As instructors, can we describe our motives and methods in our own reflective practice? Can we identify the difference between self-focused reflection and problem-focused reflection? Is our reflection motivated by fear of loss or punishment, or by curiosity? Do we help our students develop skills and methods for adaptive reflection or do we simply assign self reflections? What does reflective practice literature tell us about motive and methods?

Unpacking “motive” for reflection

In their article, “Reflection, reflective practice and embodied reflective practice,” Leigh and Bailey (2013), explore the limitations of traditional reflection. They suggest that motivation for reflection is particularly fraught in an educational setting. Certain factors like audience and assessment “inhibit reflection.” Similarly, Oates and Mynott (2025), write about the emotional performativity on the part of the student and surveillance on the part of the instructor in the evaluation of mandatory reflective practice, and Trowler et al. (2020) even go so far as to call it a “penitent practice.” Forgive me teacher, for I have sinned. I didn’t use the correct number of peer-reviewed resources. If adaptive self reflection is partially determined by motive, we are starting on shaky ground when ours and our students’ reflections are judged, quantified, and used to determine summative success. I am reminded that, despite our attempts to utilize self-reflection as a more empowering assessment method informed by problem-posing practices, we still very much work in the context of a meritocratic America where grades and degrees determine economic success for students, and our students’ performance often determine our employment status as instructors. 

In The Tyranny of Merit, author Michael J. Sandel (2020) illustrates the religious, social, and political changes in American history that led to the modern American meritocracy, perhaps illustrated most commonly by the phrase “pull yourself up by the bootstraps.” In chapter two, “Great Because Good”: A Brief Moral History of Merit,” Sandel explores the impact of Christianity on the American meritocracy, pointing to Calvinist predestination as a significant building block for the American work ethic. One might think that predestination (the belief that God had predetermined those individuals who were going to heaven) would absolve individuals of the need to strive for individual merit, however, it had an opposite effect. Sandel writes, “The Calvinist notion of work in a calling evolved into the Puritan work ethic… it was hard to resist its meritocratic implication– that salvation is earned, and that work is a source, not merely a sign, of salvation” (pp. 39-40). “Proof of salvation” became something you could observe in others; you just had to look at their material possessions and good fortune. As the original religious connotations dissipated, it left the belief that our labor can lead to good fortune (and that bad fortune is a result of moral failing) firmly embedded into American culture and institutions.

Sandel connects the American meritocracy to the education system in a few ways, one of them being college admission: “A degree from a name-brand university has come to be seen as the primary vehicle of upward mobility for those seeking to rise… The years of strenuous effort demanded of applicants to elite universities almost forces them to believe that their success is their own doing, and that if they fall short, they have no one to blame but themselves. This is a heavy burden for young people to bear” (pp. 13-14). Sandel illustrates an underlying, inescapable anxiety in higher education caused by a meritocratic notion that individual success (financial survival) hinges on our measurable academic success. And that success hinges on us and only us. In a world like that, a defensive, penitent tone seems reasonable for student reflections and instructors’ reflective practice in a problem-posing classroom. The goal of this maladaptive reflection is to identify and rectify personal shortcomings (program assessment, student evaluations, grades) before personal perceived harm (job insecurity, graduation, incurring debt, unemployment) ensues. Grant et al. (2002) suggest that solution-based thinking is a necessary part of stimulating changes in behaviors. However, embracing a problem-solving or solutions-based approach isn’t enough to resist ruminatory reflexes or harmful, meritocratic worldviews, especially if the problem you are looking to solve is your own performance and the solution is to perform better. The process of problem-posing doesn’t have to involve placing oneself at the center of the problem. 

Another critique of the “problem-solving” motive of traditional reflective practice is that problems are inherently messy and resist adhering to rigid structures of reflective frameworks. In “Addressing the fiction of reflective practice in teacher education,” Oates and Mynott (2025) put forth several critiques of reflection practice as an approach for career preparation for educators, focusing primarily on the limitations of reflective frameworks to be responsive enough for the unpredictability and messiness of professional life. “The closed, cyclical nature of these models gives the impression that finishing points are achievable, experience is decontextualised, logic is inevitable, and problems are solvable within the boundaries of the steps they provide” (p. 4). There’s a lot of literature out there detailing the ways that learning systems, models, and frameworks are often biased or weaponized, and fall short in guiding, assessing, or representing the complexity of learning. Why do we keep turning to these same tools and approaches? If we apply a meritocratic lens, perhaps we can understand the desire for achievable finishing points, inevitable logic, solvable problems, and models that tell us step-by-step how to reach salvation (oops– I meant, reach academic or professional success). Oates and Mynott paint a more accurate reality of what one might refer to as wicked problems: 

..unresolvable, gnarly problems of practice are non-linear and tangled-up in a holistic, multi-faceted and connected range of personal, social, contextual, and sometimes political, factors that might not be immediately obvious to the student-teacher… These models encourage student-teachers to mould their reflections, no matter how inconveniently messy, to ‘fit’ within them. (p. 4)

We exist in an unpredictable reality touched by uncountable physical and metaphysical influences and, no matter how much the American meritocracy would like to tell us otherwise, our performance in these uncertain situations is also uncertain due to uncountable physical and metaphysical influences. Tidy, structured models meant to simplify processes like learning or reflection have an underlying motive to reduce uncertainty. Oates and Mynott suggest that, since practitioners and learners are assessed by their reflection, their reflex is to revise the story of their experience to fit into the model’s predetermined boxes; uncertainty becomes proof of a personal shortcoming and certainty is proof of success. 

Let’s talk about our relationship with uncertainty and our desire for certainty. To do that, we turn to Being Wrong: Adventures in the Margin of Error where author Kathryn Schulz (2010) attempts to illustrate what we know about truth, certainty, and the phenomena of being wrong by compiling psychological, philosophical, sociological, and historical research and scholarship on the subject. In chapter seven, “Our Minds, Part Three: Evidence,” Schulz breaks down our relationship with observable evidence in making sense of our world, and how it is inextricably influenced by beliefs we already hold. “To exist, to deal with reality, we need a conceptual framework: theories that tell us which questions to ask and which ones not to, where to look and where not to bother… the effect of that bias– of viewing all evidence in light of the theories we already hold– is that we sometimes view the evidence very strangely indeed” (p. 127). Schulz’s observations about frameworks, beliefs, and evidence further support Oates and Mynott’s (2025) critique of reflective practice models. As a student teacher searches for certainty (which they have been told indicates professional expertise), the evidence they gather from their experiences can be easily organized around any reflective framework. But these frameworks are constructions. They don’t hold any more truth or certainty than the experiences themselves; they merely promise the shape of truth or certainty. Oates and Mynott describe the reflective practice as a work of “fiction” because it proposes that doubt in one’s performance can shift into certainty merely through the act of reflection. 

Does it matter if we seek certainty? What’s so bad about that? In chapter eight, “The Allure of Certainty,” Schulz (2010) uses the historical backdrop of the original “Zealots” – a sect of Jews that rebelled against the Roman Empire and Jewish complicity in Roman rule – to describe the tendency for humans to seek and rally behind certainty, even when it is wielded with murderous intent. Schulz points to examples of other extremist groups, but also discusses the “every day” human’s reflex to scorn another person’s certainty or double-down on personal errors to resist the discomfort of being wrong. 

This is one of the most defining and dangerous characteristics of certainty: it is toxic to a shift in perspective. If imagination is what enables us to conceive of and enjoy stories other than our own, and if empathy is the act of taking other people’s stories seriously, certainty deadens or destroys both qualities. When we are caught up in our own convictions, other people’s stories– which is to say, other people– cease to matter to us. (p. 164) 

In particular, from the perspective of an instructional designer and teacher attempting to leave behind a “banking model” of education and embrace a problem-posing approach, imagination and empathy are some of the most important qualities in a learning environment. Students at the helm need to have the imagination to consider pathways to tackle a problem, discipline, or area of study. They need empathy to consider other perspectives and engage in productive dialogue with others. I want to help students face the reality of uncertainty head-on and move in this world with the humility required to take in new information that may disprove an already-held belief. If I ask my students to turn around and measure their performance up against a model or approach that centers certainty, I am discouraging the mindset that feeds imagination, empathy, and humility. Schulz concludes:

Certainty might be a practical, logical, and evolutionary necessity, but the simplest truth about it is that it feels good. It gives us the comforting illusion that our environment is stable and knowable, and that therefore we are safe within it. Just as important, it makes us feel informed, intelligent, and powerful. When we are certain, we are lords of our maps: the outer limits of our knowledge and the outer limits of the world as one and the same. (p. 169)

Certainty is an impossibility. A desire for certainty is a desire for safety and power. A quest for certainty (comfort, safety, proof of our goodness) then, seems more like a goal aligned with maladaptive reflection that focuses on solving shortcomings and neutralizing personal insecurity. And I can tell you that an OCD brain can easily run off with this kind of reflection simply because of its anxious core.

Adaptive reflection has several key elements. The primary motive for reflection should be genuine curiosity or epistemic interest in the self, rather than fear, perceived threats, or a desire for absolute certainty. An adaptive reflector is not limited by reflective frameworks or procedures that attempt to fictionalize reality; instead, they embrace a responsive approach. Adaptive reflection is an empathetic process that requires self-compassion, perspective-taking, dialogue, and self-efficacy. An adaptive reflector proceeds with the open-mindedness and humility needed to learn new information that might challenge pre-existing beliefs. These key elements become hurdles in a meritocracy that puts insurmountable pressure on certain, quantifiable achievement. I propose that we turn to an embodied approach to strengthen the metaphorical muscles needed to jump these hurdles. 

Exploring an ‘embodied’ reflection

So enough problematizing and theorizing; how do instructors make concrete moves toward and help students build the skills and mindsets they need to engage in adaptive reflection? I am, again, inspired by my therapy journey and learning to cope with OCD. I used a somatic or embodied approach to therapy that required me to leave the confines of my cognitive cycles and listen to what my body was telling me. Since I see everything through a lens of teaching and learning, this prompted me to look into the field of embodied learning and how educators can apply embodied practices in the design of their learning environments. I discovered that some practitioners were already thinking about an “embodied” reflection. 

In “Reflection, reflective practice and embodied reflective practice,” Leigh and Bailey (2013) illustrate the multidimensionality of human experience; it is formed from meaning derived from thought, but also from the body’s actions, movements, and sensations. Embodiment, the act of turning attention to all parts of the body and not just internal experience, can allow for a deeper mindfulness simply because there is more data to draw conclusions from. For Leigh and Bailey, the benefits of an embodied approach is the prevention and limitation of ruminatory thought, the promotion of empathy and positive self-talk, and the strengthening of our in-the-moment practice as educators and learners. According to Nathan (2022), In Foundations of Embodied Learning: A Paradigm for Education, current learning science research supports the importance of embodiment and grounding in the learning process:  

[Embodied learning] highlights the ways that direct experiences are meaningful to learners, while learners struggle to make meaning from formal descriptions of those experiences. [It offers a replacement for] Formalisms First views of learning and teaching by first demonstrating that it is usually the formalisms, rather than the ideas that those formalisms depict, that students most struggle with. This is needed because it is so difficult for learners, during their early stages of conceptual development, to derive meaning when formalisms are not inherently grounded in meaningful objects or actions. (p. 36)

Nathan provides the example of young students being able to use their bodies to represent the mathematical concept of a balanced equation before any formal algebra education, then, during formal algebra education, struggling to understand the mathematical symbols that depict the same concept their bodies already knew. The mathematical symbols in this instance are the “formalisms” that students struggle to conceptualize because they are ungrounded in meaningful actions, movements, or objects. If we are to apply the principles of embodied learning on the reflective process, then our bodies become the vehicle for conceptualizing change.

Leigh and Bailey are explicit that embodied reflection starts with simply observing physiological information from the body: “A focus on bodily sensations in the moment (e.g. awareness of breath, tightness in muscles, posture and heart rate) and thoughts, feelings, emotions and images that are also present can allow an individual to become simultaneously aware of the self and their embodied experience” (p. 165). As previously explored, rumination is an emotional processing avoidance tactic. In an embodied reflection process, it begins with processing one’s emotions. Leigh and Bailey write, “One way to combat the spiral of self-rumination is to focus on the underlying negative feelings, accessing those by awareness of an embodied self-awareness” (p. 165). The body delivers us physiological information that informs the brain’s sense of safety. A maladaptive approach to reflection involves ignoring those physiological cues in favor of using logic to work out the internal deficiency that led to the physiological response. An embodied self-awareness is curious and observational, rather than judgemental. An embodied self-awareness is grounded in the senses, preventing a loss of connection to self, the environment, and others. 

Embodiment is an effective tactic against a compulsion for the impossible reality of certainty because it forces the embodier to focus on tangible reality. Leigh and Bailey differentiate self-conscious thoughts as “thinking of the self without relation to any awareness of bodily state.” The authors explain that self-conscious thoughts are usually based in generalized statements that evaluate the self and are disconnected from “the lived condition of the body.” They provide the examples of “I’m too fat” or “I’m not worthy of love” (p. 166), but we can’t easily think of the generalized statements instructors or learners might find themselves focusing on: I’m not reaching everyone. My evaluations are going to be bad. I can’t learn this. I’m not as smart as everyone else. What would it look like if our reflective practice started by observing and capturing our physiological reactions to a particular experience? Not explaining or rationalizing them. Not connecting them to a conclusion about ourselves or our capabilities. Not using them to rationalize a shift in our practice. But rather, observing and working through our emotions, reactions, and actions before attempting to understand.  

Another benefit of embodied reflection is the de-emphasis of frameworks and the emphasis on cultivating an emergent, highly individualized purpose and approach. Leigh and Bailey conclude:

Reflection in this [embodied] sense is not a search for solutions, nor a linear process of problem solving, although that is often how components of teacher education programmes present it with lists of questions, tasks or elements to be completed to achieve reflection. Although such frameworks may be useful in certain settings, they do not encourage reflection that is intuitive and emerges from the self. (p. 168)

Informed by a constructivist approach to learning— that meaning is made by an individual’s experiences, background, identities, and social interactions— I am particularly interested in the claim that embodied reflection “emerges from the self” and not from frameworks. If reflective frameworks encourage learners to fit their experience within pre-determined boxes to arrive at necessary changes in self to achieve success, then an emergent embodied reflection is informed and shaped by an individual’s lived experiences and contexts. If it looks different for everyone, how can we possibly teach embodied reflection? What does a reflective process that emphasizes bodily experience even look like? 

I looked at two very different sources to get a sense of what embodied reflection can look like. Neither are exact fits for academic reflection as we have been discussing in this post, but both can be used to inform a burgeoning approach. In “Embodied curriculum mapping as a foundation for critical self-reflection and culture change,” Basu (2024) set out to better understand the curricular strengths of her university’s introductory STEM classes by auditing them as a student, and explores her embodied experience of taking Introduction to Cellular and Molecular Biology, Atoms & Molecules, Calculus 1, and Introductory Physics 2. The reflective process for Basu involves four actions: observe, empathize, apply, and identify. Basu observes her physiological reactions to certain academic experiences such as studying, social learning, test taking, and receiving evaluation. Basu empathizes with her own experiences and uses that as a basis for building empathy for introductory STEM students’ experiences. From there, Basu applies the larger context of anti-racist pedagogy to identify pedagogical moves that can be made to improve students’ STEM experiences, particularly students of color. 

An example Basu provides is her experience interacting as a student with graded exams. “I experienced resurgences of stressful emotions and sensations whenever it came to getting back or reviewing the marked exam. The heart rate and perspiration started up again when the instructor was passing papers back in front of the class, and even when I was alone and it was time to pull a marked exam out of my bag and review it” (p. 8). Basu describes the self-doubt she felt and her dismay in how many of her reflexive, reassuring thoughts were based in a meritocratic ideal that she had already earned her prestige by graduating from MIT and Harvard. Basu used this experience to empathize with students at the beginning of their academic journeys and facing systemic disadvantages. In considering her teaching practice, Basu writes:

Since this experience, I have become more attentive to methods for introducing more hope into how students can look at exams and use them as learning tools. I am less likely now than I was before to assume apathy on the part of a student who might seem to avoid picking up or going over an old exam, as I am less likely to assume anything about the quality of their effort or the strength of their underlying motivation based on their grades. I am more curious about an individual student’s experiences in the course, and this is now the first question I ask, with holistic intent, when I meet with them one-on-one. (p. 8)

For Basu, an embodied approach results in reflection that focuses on the mindset shifts she needed and the design barriers that needed to be removed to create a more equitable learning environment. Particular weight is placed on removing barriers that cause psychological and physiological distress to the detriment of learning and growth. The embodied reflective practice that emerges from Basu’s work is self-attentive, not self-conscious. She acknowledges her individual experience and privilege, but after processing the emotions precipitated, she applies an anti-racist pedagogical lens to arrive at tangible changes in future practice. Blame, shame, and a desire for certainty (Am I doing good?) isn’t part of Basu’s embodied reflection. 

Another source of inspiration for embodiment is in the field of therapy. I’m including findings from ““A definite feel‐it moment”: Embodiment, externalisation and emotion during chair‐work in compassion‐focused therapy” by Bell, et al. (2019) with a big ol’ acknowledgment that teachers aren’t therapists and therapeutic methods for reflection can inadvertently stimulate intense emotions in the reflector. I hope to connect the therapeutic findings to practical reflective strategies that can be appropriately adapted for classroom use. Bell, et al. illustrate a therapeutic approach known as “compassion-focused therapy” (CFT) that aims to help people experiencing high levels of self-criticism and shame develop self-compassion and compassion for others. In particular, Bell et al. explore something called “chair work” which involves physically using chairs to assume different parts of the self that are in conflict. Therapy patients physically move into the chairs and assume the perspective of the compassionate self, the self‐critic, and the criticised part of the self. In the study, clients start by embodying the self-critic and expressing their opinion to an empty chair. Then, the client takes on the role of the criticized self who was receiving the criticism. Finally, the client moves to the final chair and embodies a compassionate self that responds to the dialogue from a place of compassion for both the critic and the criticized.

Bell, et al. write, “Rather than seeking to eject or soothe away the self‐parts that are in conflict, the compassionate self works with them as important voices: this involves engaging with the critic to understand its functions, fears, needs and history.” They explain that often the “critic” is a result of an internalized, “competitive, rank-based mentality” and “the CFT chair‐work intervention offers an experiential means of shifting from a harsh, internal competitive mentality, linked to threat monitoring, to an internal care‐based mentality and the associated role that compassion has on emotional regulation and threat management” (p. 144). Ruminatory thinking is an attempt to soothe and explain negative feelings by giving conflated value to the voice of our inner critic. However that inner critic has been molded by a meritocratic culture. If we work in conversation with the compassionate self and the critic, then we can build awareness of the harmful messages that we’ve internalized, identify where those messages come from, and work to resist them. 

Participants in the study particularly emphasized the importance of the physicality of the method to “provide… a novel means to differentiate, symbolise, organise, and explore their inner experience” (p. 150). For example, by presenting self-criticism to an empty chair (and then moving to that chair to assume the role of the criticized self), the criticized self becomes “other.” In the study, the language shift of speaking criticism in the third person instead of in the first person increased self-empathy in participants because it quickly became evident that they’d never talk to another person like that. Another example of the importance of the physicality of the exercise is that some participants “mapped” the three different parts of themselves to chairs in their mind’s eye, allowing them to more readily access the different parts of the self and use the chair method outside of a therapeutic setting for everyday emotional regulation. 

Can we translate this approach to reflective practice? Can we work in dialogue with the critic, the criticized, and the compassionate parts of ourselves? Can we imagine a method to embody these parts of the self that feels true to our individual bodily experience? I imagine asking some of my more cerebral colleagues to determine a yoga pose for each part of the self and I giggle a little bit to myself; not all of us respond to the same kinds of movement. In determining the movement of your reflective practice, I urge you to consider the kinds of movement that your body already craves or responds to. The same goes for bringing an embodied reflection to our students; we can’t assume that all students will respond to the same kind of embodiment (or that all of our students can move their bodies at all). An embodied practice emerges from the reflector’s own body and instinctual movement.  

(Reflector’s note: Talk about metaphorical embodiment too. Connecting symbols to personal meaning.)

Elements of Adaptive Reflection	Embodied Reflection Practice to Develop/Support
Motive: genuine curiosity or epistemic interest in the self rather than fear, perceived threats, or a desire for absolute certainty	-non-judgmentally observe and process physiological and emotional cues before using them as “proof” to support any conclusion -resist immediate judgement or categorization of experience -ground  experience in tangible reality
Method: not limited by reflective frameworks or procedures that attempt to fictionalize reality; instead, embraces a responsive approach	-develop an emergent, highly individualized reflective approach and purpose -follow instinctual movement to develop approach and purpose, rather than relying on external structures
Method: reflector engages in an empathetic process that requires self-compassion, perspective-taking, dialogue, and self-efficacy	-engage in empathetic dialogue between conflicting parts of the self-phrase self -criticism in the third person to illuminate how it would sound if directed at another -identify sources of fear, pressure, or harmful biases that feed the self-critic and respond with compassion for the critic -seek outside perspectives and experiences and use same compassionate approach to empathize with them -apply a broader social/ pedagogical lens to translate insights into observable changes
Mindset: reflector proceeds with open-mindedness and humility needed to learn new information that might challenge pre-existing beliefs.	-let go of ego and move beyond personal insecurities by processing emotions and empathizing with the self first -engage with the inner critic instead of shaming or silencing them

Embodiment as a compassionate response  

In the “banking” model of education in which the act of learning is considered a transaction of knowledge between teacher and student, the evidence of learning is the successful repetition of that knowledge. Traditional learning and reflection frameworks, models, and structures support this approach because well… It’s a structural approach to learning. Structure plays well with structure. Structured design allows teachers to have pretty clear expectations for how day-to-day class will go. It provides clear metrics for determining instructor success based on the quantitative grades of our students. When we step away from the banking model and embrace a “problem-posting” model, suddenly our frameworks don’t hold up. As a critical pedagogue, not being able to rely on my trusty design structures introduced me to a new world of uncertainty. 

Even when teachers make moves to facilitate non-transactional learning, we work within meritocratic contexts where the “final sum” (assessment) still determines the wellbeing of students and teachers both. It’s more than reasonable for both of those groups to feel uncertain and anxious about their “final sum” (assessment/ performance). We have received the clear message that uncertainty is proof of shortcoming, so why wouldn’t the unfamiliar self-reflective assessment of a problem-posing class cause anxiety? Reflection is a strong tool for the development of cognitive flexibility, self-efficacy, and empathy. It elucidates new pathways for us to take in how we react and interact with our reality. However, given the thin line between maladaptive and adaptive reflection, there is great need for the development of an embodied reflective practice that prioritizes the non-judgmental observation and processing of physiological and emotional cues, thereby grounding experience in tangible reality and resisting immediate judgment or categorization of experience. With an embodied approach, reflectors develop their own emergent approach and purpose by relying on instinctual movement rather than external structures. Embodied reflection fosters self-compassion, perspective-taking, and empathy through inner and external dialogue, thus allowing the reflector to identify unhelpful sources of fear, pressure, or harmful biases. It enables the individual to seek outside perspectives and experiences, let go of ego and personal insecurities, and apply a broader social or pedagogical lens to translate insights into observable, desirable changes. An embodied reflection is based on acceptance, not inner turmoil. Uncertainty simply becomes another reality to accept. 

Embodied reflection example

Setting: an AOL chat room on a flickering, old “cube” mac screen. 

PrincessCutieCritiqué [with a snotty looking poodle for an icon]: You have about three resources that you didn’t even use. 

Xxx_sadloseriguessx [with a tattooed emo disney peter pan icon]: You just made my heart skip a beat, THANKS. I know I have three more resources and more points to make. I don’t need you to tell me. I’m nervous I forgot something obvious. I could keep researching and getting ILL books forever; I gotta stop somewhere. Stopping now makes me anxious and a little itchy, like hearing unfinished tune. 

PrincessCutieCritiqué: Ew. I don’t need to hear about your weird skin problems. It’s cringey enough that you overshared about your OCD diagnosis. Oh, and, speaking of oversharing, you really didn’t need to be a weirdo English nerd and get into… Calvinism? Like, girl, who cares? Also. 18 pages? This could have been an email. Hell, this could have been a text.

Xxx_sadloseriguessx: Ugh, I want to crawl under a blanket to think about people perceiving me as “the OCD” one. (Reflector’s note: as a response to this fear of mine, I adjusted the title of this piece to remove what meant to be a self-teasing subtitle “Tales from an obsessive-compulsive professor”). I don’t get to be an English nerd very often. I’m a multidisciplinarian, ok? Which sometimes feels like being a jack of all trades… master of none. 

PrincessCutieCritiqué: Yeah. You write about psychology and statistics like you have any expertise in those fields. And you forgot my last point.

Xxx_sadloseriguessx: STOP. I’m already itching to write 17 more disclaimers about very much not being a psychologist… 

PrincessCutieCritiqué: Stop. Talking. About. ITCHING. EW! Weirdo. And you are still forgetting my last point!!!!!!

Xxx_sadloseriguessx: I’M NOT FORGETTING. I just refuse to respond to your insinuation that I’m wordy. I already know I’m wordy. I learn through the act of writing. Of collecting and interpreting quotes. Of revising. Of storytelling. Like it or lump it. 

C0mpassion81 [with a sensible picture of their smiling face as their icon] has joined the chat. 

C0mpassion81: Hey, woah. Let’s slow down here. @PrincessCutieCritiqué, no one other than us has read this article yet. What informs this negative feedback you already have?

PrincessCutieCritiqué: I can already hear it. No one even needs to read it for me to know.

C0mpassion81: Well, if no one has been negative yet, then you are being self-critical through this audience that doesn’t exist yet. AKA you are just being mean to yourself. 

PrincessCutieCritiqué:…

C0mpassion81: You are presenting a topic you’ve been researching for the past six months. Give yourself some credit. I’m sure people will even be interested to hear about Calvinism! When do you get to talk about that in everyday conversation? You work with nerds just like you. 

C0mpassion81: @Xxx_sadloseriguessx, you seem ashamed of two identities that you hold in this piece.

Xxx_sadloseriguessx: uhhh… being sad? And a loser? 

C0mpassion81: No! “Neurodivergent individual” and “teaching scholar.” Meanwhile, you didn’t take any shit about being a verbose storyteller. You are proud of that identity. 

Xxx_sadloseriguessx: Yes, I am! 

C0mpassion81: Well, this storyteller is a neurodivergent teaching scholar. We need those in the world. Stories convey individual experience and encourage empathy. Also you can’t change your identity even if you want to. What action can you take to change something unchangeable? 

Xxx_sadloseriguessx: Well, if it’s unchangeable, I can’t do anything concrete.

C0mpassion81: There you go. Let’s tackle something concrete that we have the skills to tackle. Does anyone have any constructive criticism?

PrincessCutieCritiqué has logged off.

Xxx_sadloseriguessx has logged off. 

C0mpassion81: …Okaaaaay. Here, I have a few things that the boss can think about in a revision:

• Re-review the three unused resources and see if there’s anything that can strengthen the section of the methods and motives of embodied reflection. This section isn’t as developed as the rest.
• Speaking of, discuss metaphorical embodiment (explored in the Embodied Learning textbook)
• Try to find an example of an embodied reflection in academia. 

References

Basu, A. C. (2024). Embodied curriculum mapping as a foundation for critical self-reflection and culture change. Frontiers in Education, 9, 1244750. https://doi.org/10.3389/feduc.2024.1244750

Bell, T., Montague, J., Elander, J., & Gilbert, P. (2020). “A definite feel-it moment”: Embodiment, externalisation and emotion during chair-work in compassion-focused therapy. Counselling and Psychotherapy Research, 20(1), 143–153. https://doi.org/10.1002/capr.12248

Grant, A. M., Franklin, J., & Langford, P. (2002). THE SELF-REFLECTION AND INSIGHT SCALE: A NEW MEASURE OF PRIVATE SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. Social Behavior and Personality: An International Journal, 30(8), 821–835. https://doi.org/10.2224/sbp.2002.30.8.821

Joireman, J. A., Iii, L. P., & Hammersla, J. (2002). Empathy and the Self-Absorption Paradox: Support for the Distinction Between Self-Rumination and Self-Reflection. Self and Identity, 1(1), 53–65. https://doi.org/10.1080/152988602317232803

Leigh, J., & Bailey, R. (2013). Reflection, reflective practice and embodied reflective practice. Body, Movement and Dance in Psychotherapy, 8(3), 160–171. https://doi.org/10.1080/17432979.2013.797498

Nathan, M. J. (2022). Foundations of Embodied Learning: A Paradigm for Education. Routledge.

Oates, C., & Mynott, J. P. (2025). More-than-human centred reflection: Addressing the fiction of reflective practice in teacher education. Research in Education, 00345237251317373. https://doi.org/10.1177/00345237251317373

Sandel, M. J. (2020). The Tyranny of Merit: What’s Become of the Common Good? Penguin Books Ltd.

Schön, D. A. (1987). Educating the Reflective Practitioner. Jossey-Bass Inc., Publishers.

Schulz, K. (2010). Being Wrong: Adventures in the Margin of Error. Granta Publications.

Alloy, L. B., & Smith, J. M. (2009). A roadmap to rumination: A review of the definition, assessment, and conceptualization of this multifaceted construct. PubMed, 29(2), 116–128. https://doi.org/doi: 10.1016/j.cpr.2008.10.003

Trapnell, P. D., & Campbell, J. D. (1999). Private Self-Consciousness and the Five-Factor Model of Personality: Distinguishing Rumination From Reflection. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 76(2), 284–304.

Trowler, V., Allan, R. L., Bryk, J., & Din, R. R. (2020). Penitent performance, reconstructed rumination or induction: Student strategies for the deployment of reflection in an extended degree programme. Higher Education Research & Development, 39(6), 1247–1261. https://doi.org/10.1080/07294360.2020.1712678