The Human Side of Being an Academic

I’ve redesigned assessments, unit and entire courses that didn’t work.
I’ve explained concepts that landed flat.
I’ve walked out of classes knowing I could have done better.

None of these moments made me less of an academic.
They made me a more honest one.

Somewhere along the way, academia adopted the illusion of certainty. Once you earn the qualification, publish the paper, or step into a leadership role, you are expected to know. That you should be confident, composed, and correct. That mistakes are something to avoid, or that you should quietly fix, rather than acknowledge.

But the reality of teaching and learning is far more human.

Academics make mistakes, not because of a lack of expertise, but because teaching is inherently complex, relational, and relying on context. Strategies that work for one group may not be effective for another. What seems simple in theory can look very different in real practice. These situations shouldn’t be seen as failures. Instead, they should be recognised as helpful feedback for improvement.

Vulnerability as Pedagogy

Being vulnerable as an academic does not mean lowering standards or relinquishing expertise. It means being honest about the nature of learning itself. Learning is messy, iterative, and rarely linear. Understanding develops through questioning, revising, and sometimes getting things wrong.

When we incorporate this into our teaching, by saying things like, “That didn’t work as I hoped,” or “I need to rethink how I approached that,” or “Let’s work through this together”, we normalise learning as a process rather than a performance.

This kind of vulnerability fosters trust. It transforms the classroom from a display space to a place of inquiry. Students become more willing to contribute to discussions, test ideas, and express half-formed thoughts when they know perfection isn’t the required standard.

Protecting the Classroom as a Learning Space

The classroom does not exist in a vacuum. We all carry pressures with us. Whether it is workload, restructures, performance metrics, compliance requirements, or the wider politics of the institution. These realities shape academic work, whether we acknowledge them or not.

But the classroom should not be where those pressures are played out.

When institutional anxiety affects the learning environment, perceived risks decrease. Discussions tend to become safer, more superficial, and more transactional. As a result, both staff and students become more guarded. This is not due to the nature of learning itself, but because the environment seems harsh and unforgiving.

Protecting the classroom involves intentionally setting boundaries. It means not letting performance metrics, surveillance, or compliance thinking dictate how learning happens in the moment. It involves creating a space where curiosity is valued more than caution, and where learning is free to be exploratory rather than defensive.

This doesn’t mean ignoring the system’s existence. It means deciding not to let it shape the learning relationship.

For students, this boundary is important. When the classroom feels safe from judgement and performative success, students are more willing to engage honestly. They ask better questions. They take intellectual risks. They focus on learning rather than self-protection.

For academics, this boundary is just as important. The classroom can become a rare space where we teach from values rather than compliance, from purpose rather than pressure. In this sense, protecting the classroom is an act of care. Both for students and for ourselves.

Making Space for Mistakes

Too often, mistakes are framed as something to be avoided. Yet some of the most meaningful learning occurs when something doesn’t quite work.

When students make mistakes, whether in class discussions, drafts, or assessments, it provides us with insight into their thinking. We see the assumptions they are working from, the prior knowledge they draw on, and the reasoning that has led them there.

These moments allow us to slow learning down.

Why did this approach make sense at the time?
What understanding was shaping this decision?
What other pathways were possible?

By unpacking our thinking collectively, we shift from just correctness to genuine understanding. Mistakes become chances for discussion, reflection, and growth, rather than final points.

Creating space for mistakes isn’t about being lenient. It’s about being deliberate. The aim isn’t to make errors for their own sake, but to foster learning that is deep, lasting, and transferable.

Beyond the Polished Answer

If we only value polished answers, we miss the richest learning moments.

We miss the false starts, evolving ideas, and productive uncertainty that indicate true engagement. We miss the moments when students are negotiating new concepts and reshaping their understanding.

This is why portfolios and learning journals are such effective forms of assessment. They document learning over time instead of at just one point. They reveal the process of thinking, revising, questioning, and refining.

Portfolios and journals allow students to record uncertainty, monitor growth, revisit decisions, and reflect on how their understanding has changed. They recognise that learning is not a single moment of performance but a journey of development.

When assessment is designed this way, we send a clear message:
Process matters. Growth matters. Learning unfolds.

Learning Is Not Linear

Students arrive in our classrooms with varying starting points. They bring different educational backgrounds, levels of confidence, and attitudes towards learning. Consequently, the mistakes they make and the support they need will differ.

For some students, a mistake reveals a conceptual gap.
For others, it exposes an unexamined assumption.
For others, it highlights the challenge of transferring knowledge to new contexts.

When we view mistakes as data rather than flaws, we can respond with greater care and accuracy. This perspective fosters more inclusive, responsive, and compassionate learning environments that acknowledge learning as complex and deeply personal.

Risk, Grading, and the Cost of Playing It Safe

If we want students to take intellectual risks, think critically, and learn deeply, we must create environments where mistakes are not feared but explored.

Yet traditional grading systems often undermine this goal.

When grades become the primary signal of success, students quickly learn that taking risks can be dangerous. A mistake might lower a mark. A bold idea that doesn’t quite succeed can cost points. Over time, this teaches students to play it safe and aim for what can be assessed rather than what is truly meaningful.

In this setting, errors are not seen as part of the learning process but as liabilities.

If we genuinely value deep learning, curiosity, and growth, our assessment practices must align with those values. Designing for learning, not just measurement. This requires courage, reflection, and a willingness to rethink long-held assumptions.

The role of the academic needs to be rethought from the perceived flawless expert at the front of the room to the lead learner in the space.

In this role we can be the one that:
Shows that ideas evolve.
That understanding deepens through reflection.
That learning never really ends.

This not only benefits the students’ learning journey, but also us as academics.

Reflection Questions

Where in my teaching do students feel safest to make mistakes? Where might they feel most exposed?
What institutional pressures am I carrying into the classroom (consciously or unconsciously)?
How do I typically respond when a student’s thinking is incomplete, incorrect, or uncertain?
What messages do my assessment designs send about risk, experimentation, and learning from failure?
In what ways do grades influence student behaviour in my unit, and do they foster curiosity or caution?
How might portfolios, journals, or narrative feedback make learning more visible in my context?
When was the last time I openly acknowledged a mistake or rethought in front of my students? What happened?
What would change if I regarded the classroom as a safe space for learning rather than performance?