During my first class of the quarter, I had a student who showed up to class late, kept an earbud in his ear after I specifically articulated my “zero-tolerance” policy for unauthorized technology in the classroom, left twice to use the restroom, and kept up side chatter for the entirety of the class period.

I went back to my office afterwards fixated on this student, immediately labeling him as a possibly problematic student and preparing ways in which I could “deal with him.” However, after he submitted his “info about me” letter, and after receiving a letter from the DAC, I became aware that my student manages ADHD. He took the time to tell me that music in one ear calms him down, and that teachers in the past have disciplined him or labeled him as “difficult” simply for needing to get up and stretch his legs.

I went into class without considering my students’ bodies—I could blame this on first-day jitters, but in reality it was my own ignorance and privileged assumptions that almost ruined a student’s classroom experience. It doesn’t take any extra effort to walk into a classroom and set up an experience that benefits all students: since learning this, my student and I have met to brainstorm successful classroom structures/group work that will not only allow him to move around and learn in a way that benefits him, but also a way that makes the learning experience accessible and exciting for all of my students.

I feel that my students are trying to figure me out as a “body” in the sense that they don’t always give me the respect that as an instructor, I think I should receive. One student questioned my authority to teach on the first day, and I felt obliged to list out my qualifications and my experiences to justify my body at the front of the classroom. I wore a ring to class one day, and a student asked me aggressive questions about my personal life. When I didn’t answer the question, I felt as though I was being scrutinized in a way that differs from how a professor or even a male instructor might be scrutinized. I am constantly self aware of how I am dressed, how I am speaking, how I am being received—honestly, I’ve never been as self-scrutinizing upon my own body as I have been in the past few weeks as an instructor.

These are the bodies in my classroom that make me uncomfortable as a teacher: they present themselves as too cool to be present, they slouch in the back of the classroom and sometimes mock the excitement that other students express for certain assignments or projects. They roll their eyes and whisper back and forth to one another, and I’ll admit that when they haven’t attended class, it was on those days that I felt more comfortable and successful as a teacher. When I showed up, being younger and more relaxed as an instructor, I think they associated me as a friend. However, when I started assigning grades, explaining my class, and enforcing the penalty points program, they began to see me as an instructor and are, as I am, trying to navigate how to relate to me as a body in their classroom.