When we work out, our trainers often encourage us to do exercises that push rather than pull. As a general rule of physics, pushing is almost always better than pulling. Pushing creates more demand on our strongest muscles and helps protect us from injury by not engaging our weaker muscles as deeply. I think that, in many ways, the same concept applies in our language classrooms.

I like to end my school year with a little reflection. I blog my thoughts here because by the time August rolls around, everything I was feeling at the end of the school year gets lost somewhere between summer rest, pool days, and curriculum mapping. During those first few days of summer, I always find myself sketching out a tentative scope and sequence for the next school year while also quietly reflecting on how the current year went in my classroom. This year had me thinking about pushing and pulling!

My level 2 students were not comfortable nor confident in their production when they came to me this year. They needed more input, more experience in the classroom before they were ready to find their voices. I could have chosen to pull. I could have spent the year dragging output out of them before they had the language, confidence, or comfort to sustain it. I could have designed more forced speaking activities, more performances, more “everybody share right now” moments. I could have spent my energy trying to pull them toward proficiency before the foundation underneath them was strong enough to support it.

I chose to take a different path. Pulling is a strain on the teacher and a strain on them. It isn’t engaging their strongest muscles, their interpretive skills, it’s engaging their weak areas. The time I spent in class pouring into them instead of pulling (think of the expression it’s like pulling teeth) them forward before they’re ready.

As the year went on, they built more skill. They felt more confident, and I could push them to produce a little, then more, and then even more. Pushing helps them become more brave and more confident but, don’t forget, it doesn’t teach them more language.

When we pull too hard too early, students rely on survival skills instead of language acquisition (like memorization). They panic and/or shut down. Or they learn how to “perform school” in place of acquiring language. Our classrooms begin to feel like a place where they are constantly called out for what they cannot yet do instead of supported for what they are in the process of learning.

In level 2 this year, we listened more, read more, and built interpretive skills. We laughed a lot (at a lot of dumb things). We clarified meaning with gestures and written translations on the board. We circled old school TPRS style and we just slowed down. We spent time building comprehension and trust without demanding production before they were ready.

Little by little, something changed. As the year went on, their confidence grew. Their language grew too but, more importantly, their willingness grew. Students who would barely risk a one-word answer in August were volunteering fuller thoughts by spring. Students who once froze during interpersonal tasks began navigating them more naturally. They still weren’t perfect speakers or writers, but they were braver. Brave is what we are after in a language classroom! The bravery to try something they may not be perfect at.

This was the point I knew that I could begin pushing. I didn’t want to push aggressively or constantly, just gently encouraging them to do their best. So with a little more output here and there, a little more risk taking, and a few more opportunities to speak and write, they had the opportunity to discover that they actually could communicate.

Over and over again this year I came back to the idea that pushing students to produce does not teach them language. The acquisition happened long before that moment. The things we did to build a feeling of safety in the classroom were where the language was built. Note to self: Remember that production is often just the evidence that the growth already happened.

Sometimes as teachers, we confuse visible performance with learning itself because performance is easier to measure. We can grade it and point it out to others, but confidence to perform well cannot be pulled out of students on demand. Confidence grows slowly out of exposure to language, safety, and time.

The longer I teach, the more I believe that our strongest classrooms are not the ones where students are constantly being pulled toward output before they’re ready. They’re the classrooms where teachers spend time building strong interpretive muscles first, trusting that eventually students will be strong enough to push themselves forward. In those pushing moments, the growth feels a whole lot less forced.

Have an amazing summer! Hopefully this post isn’t pulling you to an idea before you are ready. I want it to be nothing more than a gentle push toward centering on what students are confident doing so that we can keep their interest high and their affective filters low!