Too Scared To Learn: From Scarred to Sacred

The spine of Jenny Horsman’s book, Too Scared to Learn, is in my direct line of sight when I start my workday. This is intentional. I want to start my day in good company. And by that, I mean with an author who understands brave adult learners I’ve seen show up despite pretty awful past experiences in the classroom when they were children. I think of Tania, Yvonne, Nichole, Barry, Saila, Braden, Jessica, Nathan, Kara, Carolina… They were, at first, too scared to learn. I could write 100, 200, names. In future Musings, I’ll say more about the importance of Jenny Horsman’s book. For now, I start my days by settling my gaze on its spine, wrap my hands around the warmth of my coffee cup, open email, start doing the day.

Here’s the thing. You just can’t learn if you are scared. I love all things brain-research, but fight-flight-freeze is really not rocket science. If you are a kid growing up scared — scared about who is coming into your room at night, about getting hit, about how to get food, or If you feel like you are a stupid person and your stomach is in knots when you head to school — it is tough to perform cognitive functions related to information processing, memory, or being curious. In any of these scenarios, your brain is in survival mode. Not creative mode. The left brain is running the day, and for good reason. It is doing the best it can, and what it knows how to do is to protect by fighting or fleeing. There is much at stake. You are too scared to learn.

I’ll share a representative story about a brave learner. No real names. Gillian worked her recovery hard at Servants Anonymous, the agency she showed up at when she was at her bottom. She kept showing up, and after a year, graduated: liking herself, and solidly clean and sober. She applied to college, only to find she was flagged as a person who would never receive student funding because of an assessment done in grade 5; the assessment determined she did not have the cognitive abilities to learn at a post-secondary level. Rewind to Gillian’s life at age 10 and 11. Actually, let’s not. What I will say is that she is now a nurse and is proud of her life. She was scared when she was in 10 years old: scared in her life at home and, inevitably, bringing her trauma to school with her every day, and her backpack full of incomplete homework; taking her seat in the back row of desks facing the teacher, skeptical about adults with authority. No doubt her learning abilities were challenged. No doubt she appeared unengaged, or oppositional. Her brain was on high alert to survive. She was not curious about how to learn fractions or how to choose adverbs and adjectives.

What I learned from Gillian, and Tania, Yvonne, Nichole, Barry, Saila, Braden, Jessica, Nathan, Kara, Carolina. is that we just have to be there for adult learners who show up. Even when they are scared. Same holds true for us. We are all scared of something, I think. Showing up with compassion invites our higher brain, our right brain, to start making the decisions. If we don’t show up, scared and all, no one can help and nothing will change. But we need a safe place to show up.

It is fall 2021. Community programs are starting up for adult learners, adults who are likely scared. New to Canada. Hiding the fact that they are enrolled in a course from a spouse whose own story resulted in the back of hand. Paralyzed by memories of school that are associated with shame. But they are showing up.

And so, a nod to all the adults showing up to programs this fall, pushing back against crappy old self narratives. And a nod to all those educators and program coordinators working to create the welcoming learning space needed for those narratives to transform.

As I got ready to close off on this Musing for now, I spotted a typo. I’d intended to write “scared” and instead had typed “scarred.” One detail changes everything. The yellow and blue spine of Jenny Horsman’s book reminds me of how being scared is a pretty big determinant of how things will go, and that paying attention to the details about what a scared learner might be feeling, how they project their fear when they are on automatic left-brain pilot, matters.

I started playing around with the words. Scarred. Scared. Sacred. Interesting, right? Switching up two letters as in an anagram. It is my strong belief that when we pay attention to someone or something, we communicate to them that they are valuable. To me, being seen is a sacred thing. Consider the meanings associated with the word sacred: regarded with great respect and reverence; considered to be deserving of respect. Coming alongside adult learners with this in mind is a big deal. It allows for the possibility that adults who have experienced trauma might be able to turn down their left brain, and become curious, when the learning environment communicates to them that they are seen with respect. That their teachers believe they are deserving of respect and will pay attention to the details that matter. From scarred and scared, to sacred. Back to what was, before spotting the typo, was to be the last sentence of the Musing: And a nod to all those educators and program coordinators working to create the welcoming learning space needed for those narratives to transform.

From scarred and scared, to sacred.