Teacher identity and mentoring
As a student, I thought teachers had all the answers. Now I know how much of teaching is about listening, adapting, and showing up with curiosity.
In the early days, I often felt unsure—standing in front of a room full of children, hoping I was getting it right. That’s where mentoring has been essential. I’ve been lucky to have experienced colleagues who’ve supported me, guided me, and reassured me that I don’t have to have it all figured out. Their encouragement helped me find my voice and reminded me that being a teacher is a journey, not a performance.
My background gave me a global lens. But teaching in a UK state primary has grounded me in what education means at a local level. I see it in the friendships between children from different cultures and accents, in the way older siblings protect younger ones, in the little “villages” of grandparents and neighbours that form at the school gates. It reminds me of the strong sense of community I knew growing up internationally—where the school often became family, especially for teachers and their children. For those living far from home, the staffroom became the support network, and other teachers’ children became your weekend playdates. Grannies and neighbours in Walthamstow play a similar role to the “adopted families” we made abroad—just formed differently. One isn’t better than the other, but both show how powerfully schools can become centres of belonging.
Ending & Reflection
I’m still learning what kind of teacher I want to be. But I know this: I want to build on the best of what I experienced growing up—an education that embraced culture, celebrated language, and made learning feel exciting. At the same time, I want to create a classroom rooted in the lives of the children I teach now. One where belonging isn’t something added on for special occasions, but something that’s lived and felt every day.
And perhaps, as new teachers, we need that too. We need mentors who see us, believe in us, and remind us that learning never ends. Because whether you’re teaching with endless resources or making displays out of cereal boxes, one thing remains the same: children thrive when they’re loved, believed in, and given a reason to believe in themselves.
That’s the classroom I’m building. One that honours my past, is grounded in the present, and is shaped by the children in front of me every day.
I don’t have very many of the answers yet—but searching for them is part of becoming the kind of teacher I want to be.