How learning a language transformed my teaching

By Olya Pushchak

As a student, I devoted almost all my time to learning English. I completed every assignment, eagerly did extra reading, and looked for opportunities to immerse myself in the language, attending events where only English was spoken. Learning a language never seemed particularly difficult to me. In fact, I partly chose a career in teaching because I had enjoyed the process of learning English so much.

I have now been teaching for more than ten years. During that time, I have experimented with countless methods and approaches to make language learning a smoother and more enjoyable experience for my students. Yet one experiment I embarked on this year has challenged many of my assumptions about teaching. In some ways, it has changed the way I see my learners and myself.

For some time, I had been toying with the idea of putting myself in my students’ shoes. As teachers, we often encourage our learners to step outside their comfort zones, but we rarely do the same. Quite unexpectedly, my interest in Japanese cuisine led me to sign up for a beginner’s Japanese course. I thought I was simply taking up a new hobby. Instead, I found myself rediscovering what it feels like to be a language learner.

Learning humility

It’s 6:58 pm, and I log in. Everyone is already there, waiting silently, microphones muted and cameras off. Then the sensei joins, and the class begins.

Once a week, we have a lesson that focuses mainly on grammar. It always starts with a sentence-building exercise, which I find particularly challenging. Putting together full sentences in Japanese simply isn’t my thing yet. I look at the task and silently pray that I won’t be asked to translate or transform another long, complicated sentence because I just know I’ll get stuck halfway through.

The class moves on. We take turns listening to dialogues, reading short texts, and completing grammar exercises. Some lessons seem to fly by; others feel endless, even though they all last exactly ninety minutes.

Then we’re sent into breakout rooms. We do the task, maybe crack a joke or help a partner who’s got confused. Once we’re done, silence takes over. We check our phones, stretch, or simply stare at the screen. After all, most of us are squeezing this class in after work or school. Everyone is tired.

Next, the teacher asks me to read a sentence containing kanji. I recognise the characters. I know I’ve seen them in class before, but their pronunciation has completely slipped my mind. I pause for what feels like an eternity. The longer I hesitate, the more anxious I become. Eventually, panic takes over, and I start guessing, blurting out random readings and desperately hoping I’ll get lucky.

When teachers experience the struggle to remember words, understand fast speech, or feel nervous while speaking, they experience exactly what their students feel. Capturing the emotional experience of being a language learner leads to more patience, realistic expectations, and kinder feedback. Here are some questions I started asking myself before my classes:

• Am I patient with my students?
• How tolerant am I of the errors they make?
• Do I realise how tiring long classes might be for my students?

The teacher becomes the student

No student likes homework. Apparently, that doesn’t change when a teacher becomes a student.

The look on my face probably says it all whenever the sensei asks whether we’ve done our assignments. The first thing I ask after getting homework is, “When’s the deadline?” Without one, I know I’ll never make myself do it. Even with a deadline, there are times when I’m rushing to submit an assignment on Google Classroom just minutes before it’s due.

As an adult with a full-time job and a household to run, I often find myself falling behind with the coursework. Reflecting on it, I realise that this is the reality for many adult learners, who are constantly juggling work, overtime, family responsibilities, and whatever is left of their personal lives.

Of course, there are days when the teacher forgets or perhaps decides not to assign or check the homework. Part of me feels relieved. Another part is thrown into confusion. Did they simply forget? Was the assignment not that important after all? Should I ask about the questions I didn’t understand, or should I quietly consult ChatGPT later?

Questions for reflection:

• Have I developed more realistic expectations of learner behaviour?
• How are homework assignments given and checked?
• How much time is dedicated to controlled practice, work in pairs/groups and to revision?

Small details – large impact

The course follows a coursebook, but the students are not given a copy. Instead, after each lesson, the teaching assistant sends us the PowerPoint slides used in class. Unfortunately, the teachers and assistants do not always seem to work in sync, so the slides sometimes arrive long before the lesson and other times well after it. The audio materials are available online, but even finding them proved to be a challenge. It took me several attempts to locate the right website because another one with an almost identical domain name kept appearing in my searches.

As a learner, I was surprised by how much these small organisational hiccups affected my motivation and confidence. As a teacher, they made me wonder how often my own students face similar frustrations without ever mentioning them.

• Do I aim for a clear and organised system?
• How often and when do I send email or other messages?
• Can my learners access class materials easily?
• Is there a digital/printed handout? How can my students access and use it?

Assessment anxiety

The course is logically organised into units, and we have both mid-term and end-of-term tests. I found the first one particularly nerve-racking. I was equally anxious about the written paper and the oral component. When one of my classmates asked about the exam, though, I remember the sensei simply smiling and saying, “Oh, you’ll pass.”

As it turned out, the test was far less intimidating than I had imagined. The teacher trusted us to be our own invigilators: we didn’t have to switch our cameras on, and we were even given twenty-four hours to submit the test to accommodate students affected by power cuts and other disruptions. As a learner, I appreciated the trust. As a teacher, I couldn’t help wondering whether a little flexibility might reduce anxiety without compromising the learning experience.

Now I regularly ask myself:

• How do I treat assessment in my classrooms?
• Do I give my students a chance to consult the coursebook?
• Do I administer the test in class or set it for homework?
• How much time do I give students to complete the test?

Conclusion

Learning Japanese has not introduced me to a revolutionary teaching method or a new classroom technique. What it has changed is the way I see my students.

Being a learner again has reminded me what it feels like to hesitate before answering a question, to dread homework after a long day at work, to worry about an upcoming test, and to celebrate finally remembering a word or reading a sentence correctly. It has shown me that progress is rarely linear and that confidence can disappear the moment a teacher calls your name.

Perhaps the most valuable lesson has been rediscovering how difficult language learning really is. As teachers, we spend so much time thinking about what and how to teach that we can easily forget what it feels like to learn. My experience has made me more patient, more flexible, and more willing to accept that the strategies I rely on will not work equally well for every student.

At the same time, it has reminded me why people choose to learn languages in the first place. Despite the uncertainty, the mistakes, and the occasional panic when faced with an unfamiliar kanji, there is something deeply satisfying about making sense of a new world, one word at a time.

I started learning Japanese because I was curious about the language and the culture. I didn’t expect the experience to change my teaching. Yet, of all the lessons I’ve learned this year, the most important one may be this: teachers who continue to be learners are less likely to forget what learning feels like.

Biography