Abstract: In the field of teaching and learning, “reflective practice” is underdefined and, as a result, practitioners overemphasize self-monitoring and evaluation which reinforces anxious habits of mind. Underpinning this teaching and learning anxiety is a more complex socio-political system. The American concept of meritocracy is briefly discussed as a way to explain a belief that most American learners have– the belief that there is a possible perfect ideal to strive for, and when one is unable to meet this unattainable standard, it is a result of personal shortcomings. Situated in a meritocratic cultural standard of success, reflective practice in teaching and learning does not support healthy self-monitoring, but rather rumination as a result of being assessed. Psychological studies on self-attentiveness are utilized to understand how to build healthier methods for monitoring and assessing our learning progress. Finally, embodied learning strategies utilized by curriculum developers and mental health counselors working with obsessive-compulsive clients are used to develop an embodied approach to reflective practice.
Note from the author: The content of this article has been written without the use of AI. The author enjoys using em dashes on their own volition. Notepad LM was used as a tool to edit citations and identify errors in grammar/ syntax at the end of the writing process.
As a college instructor and the Learning Developer for the Open Learning & Teaching Collaborative at Plymouth State University, working to facilitate a problem-posing approach to learning that puts students at the helm, I believe in reflection as a tool to build the metacognition needed to empower humans to be change agents. However, after studying and working in the field of education for almost fifteen years, and getting formally diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), I propose that very few of us know how to reflect in a mentally healthy way.
After having to unpack my own experience in academia in therapy, I started noticing that, like me, students’ and instructors’ reflections often focus on shame because of their perceived shortcomings. In fact, I noticed that students and instructors searched for evidence of their shortcomings upon being asked to reflect. I noticed this especially in students and faculty engaging in an environment where emergence is embraced, students are at the helm, and instructors take on a facilitating role, rather than a sagely “keeper of knowledge” role. In other words: learning environments where uncertainty is the norm– a feature, not a bug. It seemed to be some sort of unspoken agreement between all of us that reflection meant zeroing in on what was done wrong and how it can be done better the next time. I propose that this is not reflection; this is rumination.
If you’re a teacher, maybe you relate to some of the following statements: I don’t know if students are getting what they need to get out of this class. I feel guilty when students struggle. Students are resentful when I do not give them answers or tell them how a problem should be solved. I worry about the students who are disengaged. I am stressed that my teaching is causing their disengagement. I don’t know what any given day of class is going to look like and it gives me anxiety.
Or maybe you identify with some of these learner statements: I feel ashamed when I make a mistake or get something wrong. I would rather not do something at all than risk doing something wrong. I feel ashamed when I struggle. I want my teacher/ leaders to just tell me the answers or the right way to find the answers. I worry about looking stupid or incapable. It gives me anxiety if I don’t know how I’m doing in class.
Since beginning my career as an instructional designer in 2019, I have heard these statements from both instructors and learners a thousand times over. I have repeated most of them myself. When people seek to self-reflect from a place of anxiety or shame, the observations that one makes about themselves are doomed from the start.
Reflection as a method of metacognition that is centered around the self and our experience of the world is an invaluable tool. It allows us to consider and revise our thoughts and behaviors to progress toward particular outcomes. It empowers us to engage in dialogue and seek new perspectives to the end of adjusting the ways we experience and participate in our world. However, healthy, adaptive reflection is a complex cognitive process that needs to be learned, practiced, and refined, and there’s a thin line between reflection and cycles of anxiety-driven rumination. Encouraging learners and teachers to practice ill-defined reflection centered around personal shortcomings is downright psychologically dangerous.
A personal anecdote: Blame, shame, and uncertainty in my teaching history
In January 2017, I began student teaching. This was the last semester of my undergraduate degree and, as long as I lasted the semester, I would come out of the experience with a BA in English and teacher certification in secondary English education. For a long time, I had dreamed of being the kind of teacher I needed in those developmentally difficult days of adolescence. I attended Plymouth State University for English education, and thrived in the program– a pedagogically progressive experience that was experiential, critical, and equity-minded. Assessment in the program was almost entirely based on individual and group reflection, as well as portfolio work. Despite my strong foundation and a progressive pedagogical experience, standing on the precipice of my teaching career in January 2017, all I could feel was the tremendous, suffocating weight of expectation and dread.
On paper, my student teaching experience went great. I was placed in a well-resourced high school with a highly supportive mentor teacher. My mentor teacher was hands-off by the second week of my placement. I had great rapport with students. Behavior management was a beast, but every teacher knows that behavior management is very much a skill that needs to be developed in the line of fire. However, my reflective practice was obsessive and, as a result, I was a mental and physical wreck. I agonized over every decision, every grade given. I worried about students on the fringes— students I wasn’t connecting with, students with IEPs, students who had already decided they were going into the trades and nothing I was going to teach them would be of value. I had been trained to observe, measure, judge, and surveil my students to make sure that I measured up. I never felt a sense of satisfaction in my performance or labor. Instead, my brain latched onto the idea that there is always something more that can be done, and, maybe worse yet, that nothing I did would ever be enough.
When I finished student teaching with flying colors and a strong recommendation from my mentor teacher, I had a patch of grey hair that hadn’t been there before, and I knew that I would give myself stomach ulcers if I went back to teaching. I pursued my passion for helping others learn through new avenues in the field of higher education. When I got the chance to teach my first college class in 2024, my fingers were crossed that time and age had allowed much-needed space to develop tools for coping, but my mental health took a steep decline almost immediately. I began my therapy journey and I received my OCD diagnosis in 2025. Since formal teaching seemed to be somewhat of an OCD trigger for me, I had to go back into my teaching history and unpack the damage that had been done.
Along the way, I discovered harmful mindsets and practices that had enforced self-deprecating worldviews. My reflective practice made me blame and shame myself, and agonize over uncertainty, believing that if I could only understand where I had gone “wrong,” I could control the outcome next time. These self-critical anxieties disguised as proof of my shortcomings were cycled through my brain by means of my reflective practice.
According to Tannebaum et al. (2013), scholars disagree on an exact definition of reflective practice, but can agree that it is used to improve problem-solving and thought processes. In particular, in the field of education, reflective practice promotes “knowledge construction,” “self-regulation,” “improved education,” and a more “effective classroom experience to students” (p. 244). How much has the vague definition of reflective practice contributed to practitioners’ misuse of it? Anecdotally, for this OCD individual, I assumed that reflective practice involved looking back on my mistakes and changing my behavior to prevent another mistake. This isn’t reflection. This is rumination. Rumination, in self-attentive reflection, according to Smith and Alloy (2009),
…is best characterized as a stable, negative, broadly construed way of responding to discrepancies between current status and target status. Specifically, rumination may be triggered by both the realization that one is not where one desires, and the negative affect that is likely to accompany that realization. Further, the content of rumination is likely to center on themes of discrepancies between actual and desired status. Finally… rumination is an emotion regulation strategy that is driven by positive metacognitive beliefs about its efficacy in remediating perceived discrepancies, but ruminative thinking serves to effectively avoid processing of negative emotion. (p. 14)
There’s a lot there. Smith and Alloy suggest that, in self-attentive reflection, rumination is a response triggered by one’s focus on their personal shortcomings, as well as the painful emotions that might accompany this realization. As a way to avoid these emotions and “neutralize” the perceived harm of being less than, the brain ruminates on the personal shortcoming and how to solve it.
At its core, ruminatory thinking is an emotional processing avoidance tactic, not a method that supports observable change or growth. In some cases, rumination can become obsessive when the significance of these thoughts are overemphasized. Smith and Alloy write: “[obsessions focus] on the likelihood of harm coming as a result of the belief, and the necessity of neutralizing the potential harm” (p. 11). Obsessively focusing on one’s shortcomings suggests that they are true, meaningful, and based in reality. Action taken based on obsessive ruminatory thinking is intended only to “neutralize” the potential for harm, not to edify oneself.
Here’s a handy chart to illustrate both rumination and obsessive rumination in self-attentive practices (this isn’t meant to be a symptom list or an exhaustive list of descriptors):
| Self-Attentive Rumination | Obsessive Self-Attentive Rumination |
| 1. Rumination is triggered by the realization of a personal shortcoming and the negative emotions precipitated | |
| 2. Ruminatory thinking is centered on a personal shortcoming | 2o. Obsessions are centered on the potential for harm as a result of a shortcoming |
| 3. Ruminator believes the act of ruminating will help solve the shortcoming | 3o. Ruminator believes that obsessive thoughts are based in reality |
| 4. Rumination is considered an emotional processing avoidance tactic | |
| 5. Action taken as a result of rumination is intended to solve the shortcoming | 5o. Action taken as a result of obsessions is intended to “neutralize” the potential for harm by solving the shortcoming |
What can we learn from the study of self-attentiveness?
In the field of psychology, attempts have been made to measure self-attentiveness, which seems like a great place for us to start when determining when reflection becomes rumination. According to Trapnell and Campbell (1999), the gold standard for measuring self-attentiveness called the “Self-Consciousness Scale” (SCS) was developed by Fenigstein, Scheier, & Buss in 1975. Through statistical analyses of responses from their self-report questionnaire, Fenigstein et al. suggested that there are two types of self-attentiveness, private self-consciousness (PrSC) and public self-consciousness (PbSC). PrSC is consciousness of one’s inner feelings, thoughts, and physical sensations, and PbSC is consciousness of one’s appearance to others.
Additional empirical testing with the SCS scale revealed that higher levels of self-consciousness were linked to higher levels of neuroticism, anxiety, and depression, as well as better self-awareness, interpersonal relationships, open mindedness, and decreased loneliness (Joireman et al., 2002). I’m sure we’ve all heard the phrase “sadder but wiser.” This discovery alarmed researchers. It seemed that increased levels of self-attentiveness were bad for one’s self image and anxiety levels, but it simultaneously improved overall metacognitive abilities. How could both of these things be true? Was it unavoidable for self-reflective people to simply be more anxious?
When Trapnell and Campbell (1999) explored the limitations of the SCS, they named this phenomena the “self-absorption paradox,” and suggested that it wasn’t that all self-attentive people were destined to be neurotic, but that this indicated a major issue with the scale itself. The main limitation of the SCS scale, they pointed out, is that it conflated rumination and self-reflection under the same banner of “self-attentiveness.” Trapnell and Campbell write:
[there is a] motivational distinction relevant to dispositional self-focus that bears a family resemblance to another dichotomy of long-standing utility in psychology: fear and curiosity. Rumination provides a summary conception of self-attentiveness motivated by perceived threats, losses, or injustices to the self. Reflection provides a summary conception of self-attentiveness motivated by curiosity or epistemic interest in the self. (p. 297)
They emphasize the importance of the motive of a person’s self-reflection. Rumination is motivated by fear, and reflection is a result of genuine curiosity around learning about oneself. They conclude that the “motivational ambiguity” of the SCS meant that it had limited accuracy when measuring someone’s ability to adjust their behaviors based on what they observe in themselves.
Grant et al. (2002) sought to eliminate rumination from the scale and developed the “Self-Reflection and Insight Scale” (SRIS). They suggested that simply engaging in self-reflection didn’t guarantee clarity of insight. They suggest that there are two types of self reflection: “problem-solving self reflection” (PS-SR) and “self-focused self reflection” (SF-SR). A person can engage in SF-SR all day without ever gaining insight into what behaviors need to shift to enact change, especially because this type of reflection is focused on looking inward and focusing on aspects of the self that bring about negative emotions. For example: a student looking back on the completion of a project and focusing on all the times they felt shame when something didn’t go the way they planned. This process doesn’t build cognitive flexibility, perspective-taking, or self-efficacy, which are all necessary skills in adaptive reflection which brings about real observable change. Instead, it provides endless evidence for personal shortcomings.
The work of Grant et al. expanded our understanding of adaptive vs. maladaptive reflection and suggested that motive and method are paramount. They write that adaptive self-reflection is determined by “the extent to which an individual actually consciously engages in acts of self-reflection, the psychological mechanisms and behaviors that they use in the process of self-reflection, and the reason that they engage in self-reflection” (p. 830). We must be intrinsically motivated to deliberately reflect. Healthy reflection is driven by personal meaning and a desire for attainable change. Grant et al. describe this reflection as “problem-solving” focused but there’s some critique in the reflective practice world around framing it in this way. (More on that later).
As teachers and learners, can we describe the motives and methods in our own reflective practice beyond identifying a supposed shortcoming? Can we identify the difference between self-focused reflection and problem-focused reflection? Is our reflection motivated by fear of loss or punishment, or by curiosity? Do we help others develop skills and methods for adaptive reflection or do we simply ask them to reflect? If motive and method are important in the adoption of adaptive reflective practice, what should motivate us? What kinds of strategies should be used?
Unpacking “motive” for reflection: American academic motive embedded in centuries-old meritocracy
In their article, “Reflection, reflective practice and embodied reflective practice,” Leigh and Bailey (2013), explore the limitations of traditional reflection. They suggest that motivation for reflection is particularly fraught in an educational setting. Certain factors like audience and assessment “inhibit reflection.” Similarly, Oates and Mynott (2025), write about the emotional performativity on the part of the student and surveillance on the part of the instructor in the evaluation of mandatory reflective practice, and Trowler et al. (2020) even go so far as to call it a “penitent practice.” Forgive me teacher, for I have sinned. I didn’t use the correct number of peer-reviewed resources.
If adaptive self reflection is partially determined by motive, we are starting on shaky ground when ours and our students’ reflections are judged, quantified, and used to determine summative success. I am reminded that, despite our attempts to utilize self-reflection as a more empowering assessment method informed by problem-posing practices, we still very much work in the context of a meritocratic America where grades and degrees determine economic success for students, and our students’ performance often determine our employment status as instructors. Assessment is deeply embedded in our systems of education, and because of that, it’s easy to feel defeated or that “this is just the way it is.” However, it’s important to remember that we made it this way.
Sandel (2020) in The Tyranny of Merit, illustrates the religious, social, and political shifts in American history that led to the modern American meritocracy, perhaps illustrated most commonly by the phrase “pull yourself up by the bootstraps.” In chapter two, “Great Because Good”: A Brief Moral History of Merit,” Sandel explores the impact of Christianity on the American meritocracy, pointing to Calvinist predestination as a significant building block for the American work ethic. One might think that predestination (the belief that God had predetermined those individuals who were going to heaven) would absolve individuals of the need to strive for individual merit, however, it had an opposite effect. Sandel writes, “The Calvinist notion of work in a calling evolved into the Puritan work ethic… it was hard to resist its meritocratic implication– that salvation is earned, and that work is a source, not merely a sign, of salvation” (pp. 39-40). Proof of salvation became something you could observe in others; you just had to look at their work ethic, material possessions, and good fortune. Misfortune, although usually unavoidable, became something to conceal because it could be evidence that one was not predestined for salvation. Even as the original religious connotations dissipated, the original belief, that our labor could lead to good fortune (and that bad fortune was a result of moral failing), remained firmly embedded in American culture and institutions.
Sandel connects the American meritocracy to the education system in a few ways, one of them being college admission:
A degree from a name-brand university has come to be seen as the primary vehicle of upward mobility for those seeking to rise… The years of strenuous effort demanded of applicants to elite universities almost forces them to believe that their success is their own doing, and that if they fall short, they have no one to blame but themselves. (pp. 13-14)
Sandel illustrates an underlying, inescapable anxiety in higher education caused by a meritocratic notion that individual, financial success hinges on our measurable academic success, or that success hinges on us and only us. This self-obsession ignores the socioeconomic advantages and disadvantages that position or prevent people from entering or succeeding in academia. In a world where the blame is on your shoulders, a defensive, penitent tone seems reasonable for student reflections and instructors’ reflective practice. Please don’t fail me; I am good and don’t deserve to be punished. For students, they fear the bad grade proving what they’ve always feared to be true– that they fall short. For teachers, they fear being held responsible for not giving students what they need to succeed. In students, maladaptive habits in self-reflection develop because students must use grades and assessment to catch and rectify personal shortcomings before personal harm ensues, like failing out of school, incurring debt, or unemployment. Similarly, in teachers, a bad assessment could mean personal harm like job insecurity or unemployment, so reflective practice is ruminatory or even obsessive to try to “catch” pedagogical failings and prevent misfortune.
Grant et al. (2002) suggest that solution-based thinking is a necessary part of stimulating a change in our behavior. However, embracing a problem-solving or solutions-based approach isn’t enough to resist ruminatory reflexes or harmful, meritocratic worldviews, especially if the problem you are looking to solve is your own performance and the solution is to perform better. The process of problem-posing doesn’t have to involve placing oneself at the center of the problem. Another critique of the “problem-solving” motive of traditional reflective practice is that problems are inherently messy and resist adhering to rigid structures of reflective frameworks. In “Addressing the fiction of reflective practice in teacher education,” Oates and Mynott (2025) put forth several critiques of reflective practice as an approach for career preparation for educators, focusing primarily on the limitations of reflective frameworks to be responsive enough for the unpredictability and messiness of professional life. “The closed, cyclical nature of these models gives the impression that finishing points are achievable, experience is decontextualised, logic is inevitable, and problems are solvable within the boundaries of the steps they provide” (p. 4).
There’s a lot of literature out there detailing the ways that learning systems, models, and frameworks are often biased or weaponized, and fall short in guiding, assessing, or representing the complexity of learning. Why do we keep turning to these same tools and approaches? If we apply a meritocratic lens, perhaps we can understand the desire for achievable finishing points, inevitable logic, solvable problems, and models that tell us step-by-step how to reach salvation (oops– I meant, reach professional and financial success). Oates and Mynott paint a more accurate reality:
..unresolvable, gnarly problems of practice are non-linear and tangled-up in a holistic, multi-faceted and connected range of personal, social, contextual, and sometimes political, factors that might not be immediately obvious to the student-teacher… These models encourage student-teachers to mould their reflections, no matter how inconveniently messy, to ‘fit’ within them. (p. 4)
We exist in an unpredictable reality touched by uncountable physical and metaphysical influences and, no matter how much the American meritocracy would like to tell us otherwise, our performance in these uncertain situations is also uncertain due to uncountable physical and metaphysical influences. We know this to be true. How many of us have gone into a learning experience expecting one outcome and life comes at us hard, bringing about an entirely different outcome? To name a few possibilities: we get sick, a loved one passes away, we lose a significant relationship, our hometown gets hit by a natural disaster… there’s a worldwide pandemic.
Tidy, structured models meant to simplify processes like learning or reflection have an underlying motive to reduce uncertainty. Since practitioners and learners are assessed by their reflection, their reflex is to revise the story of their experience to fit into the model’s predetermined boxes and place themselves at the center of the problem. Uncertainty becomes proof of personal shortcomings and certainty is proof of success. But certainty is a fallacy.
Our relationship with uncertainty and certainty
In the book Being Wrong: Adventures in the Margin of Error, author Kathryn Schulz (2010) attempts to illustrate what we know about truth, certainty, and the phenomena of being wrong by compiling psychological, philosophical, sociological, and historical research and scholarship on the subject. In chapter seven, “Our Minds, Part Three: Evidence,” Schulz breaks down our relationship with observable evidence in making sense of our world, and how it is inextricably influenced by beliefs we already hold. “To exist, to deal with reality, we need a conceptual framework: theories that tell us which questions to ask and which ones not to, where to look and where not to bother… the effect of that bias– of viewing all evidence in light of the theories we already hold– is that we sometimes view the evidence very strangely indeed” (p. 127). Schulz suggests that we use our preconceived theories of life to organize observable evidence, not the other way around. Schulz’s observations about frameworks, beliefs, and evidence further support Oates and Mynott’s (2025) critique of reflective practice models. If a student teacher is taught to believe that reflective frameworks can tell them where they went wrong in their teaching, then they will fit their experiences into the proper boxes. But these frameworks are constructions. They don’t hold any more truth or certainty than the experiences themselves; they merely promise the shape of truth or certainty. Oates and Mynott describe the reflective practice as a work of “fiction” because it proposes that doubt in one’s performance can shift into certainty merely through the act of reflection.
Does it matter if we seek certainty? What’s so bad about that? In chapter eight, “The Allure of Certainty,” Schulz (2010) uses the historical backdrop of the original “Zealots” – members of a Jewish political movement who rebelled against the Roman Empire and Jewish complicity in Roman rule – to describe the tendency for humans to seek and rally behind certainty, even when it is wielded with murderous intent. Schulz points to examples of other extremist groups, but also discusses the “every day” humans’ reflex to scorn another person’s certainty or double-down on personal errors to resist the discomfort of being wrong.
This is one of the most defining and dangerous characteristics of certainty: it is toxic to a shift in perspective. If imagination is what enables us to conceive of and enjoy stories other than our own, and if empathy is the act of taking other people’s stories seriously, certainty deadens or destroys both qualities. When we are caught up in our own convictions, other people’s stories– which is to say, other people– cease to matter to us. (p. 164)
In particular, from the perspective of an instructional designer and teacher attempting to leave behind a “banking model” of education and embrace a problem-posing approach, imagination and empathy are some of the most important qualities in a learning environment. Students at the helm need to have imagination to consider pathways to tackle a problem, discipline, or area of study. They need empathy to consider other perspectives and engage in productive dialogue with others. I want to help students face the reality of uncertainty head-on and move in this world with the humility required to take in new information that may disprove an already-held belief. If I ask my students to turn around and measure their performance up against a model or approach that centers certainty, I am discouraging the mindset that feeds imagination, empathy, and humility. Schulz concludes:
Certainty might be a practical, logical, and evolutionary necessity, but the simplest truth about it is that it feels good. It gives us the comforting illusion that our environment is stable and knowable, and that therefore we are safe within it. Just as important, it makes us feel informed, intelligent, and powerful. When we are certain, we are lords of our maps: the outer limits of our knowledge and the outer limits of the world as one and the same. (p. 169)
Certainty is an impossibility. A desire for certainty is a desire for safety and power. Self reflection with the intent of achieving certainty (comfort, safety, proof of our goodness) is maladaptive because it suggests both that eliminating one’s personal shortcomings is possible and also that harm can be prevented by eliminating one’s shortcomings. These beliefs aren’t supported by reality. We engage in this kind of reflection because it gives us the illusion of control, and we can avoid processing the underlying feelings of fear, guilt, and sadness.
Defining an ‘adaptive’ reflective practice
To summarize what we’ve learned so far, adaptive reflection has several key elements. The primary motive for reflection should be genuine curiosity or epistemic interest in the self, rather than fear, perceived threats, or a desire for absolute certainty. An adaptive reflector is not limited by reflective frameworks or procedures that attempt to fictionalize reality; instead, they embrace a responsive approach. Adaptive reflection is an empathetic process that requires self-compassion, perspective-taking, dialogue, and self-efficacy. An adaptive reflector proceeds with the open-mindedness and humility needed to learn new information that might challenge pre-existing beliefs. These key elements become hurdles in a meritocracy that puts insurmountable pressure on certain, quantifiable achievement.
How does one make concrete moves toward and help others build the skills and mindsets they need to engage in adaptive reflection? I am, again, inspired by my therapy journey and learning to cope with OCD. I used a somatic or embodied approach to therapy that required me to leave the confines of my cognitive cycles and listen to what my body was telling me. Since I see everything through a lens of teaching and learning, this prompted me to look into the field of embodied learning and how educators can apply embodied practices in the design of their learning environments. I discovered that some practitioners were already thinking about an “embodied” reflection.
In “Reflection, reflective practice and embodied reflective practice,” Leigh and Bailey (2013) illustrate the multidimensionality of human experience; it is formed from meaning derived from thought, but also from the body’s actions, movements, and sensations. Embodiment, the act of turning attention to all parts of the body and not just internal experience, can allow for a deeper mindfulness simply because there is more data to draw conclusions from. For Leigh and Bailey, the benefits of an embodied approach is the prevention and limitation of ruminatory thought, the promotion of empathy and positive self-talk, and the strengthening of our in-the-moment practice as educators and learners. According to Nathan (2022), In Foundations of Embodied Learning: A Paradigm for Education, current learning science research supports the importance of embodiment and grounding in the learning process:
[Embodied learning] highlights the ways that direct experiences are meaningful to learners, while learners struggle to make meaning from formal descriptions of those experiences… it is usually the formalisms, rather than the ideas that those formalisms depict, that students most struggle with. This is needed because it is so difficult for learners, during their early stages of conceptual development, to derive meaning when formalisms are not inherently grounded in meaningful objects or actions. (p. 36)
Nathan explains that embodiment is powerful because humans need physical experiences to construct meaning. Abstract concepts presented without a connection to one’s bodily experience are much more difficult to grasp. Nathan provides the example of young students being able to use their bodies to represent the mathematical concept of a balanced equation before any formal algebra education, then, during formal algebra education, struggling to understand the mathematical symbols that depict the same concept their bodies already knew. The mathematical symbols in this instance are the “formalisms” that students struggle to conceptualize because they are ungrounded in meaningful actions, movements, or objects. Mathematicians made up the symbols used in algebra. They symbolize concepts. They are removed from physical reality. In a reflective process, it becomes necessary, then, for people to focus on the body first, not on the formalisms of reflection.
Embodied reflection de-emphasisizes structural frameworks or formalisms removed from reality and emphasizes cultivating an emergent, highly individualized purpose and approach. Leigh and Bailey write:
Reflection in this [embodied] sense is not a search for solutions, nor a linear process of problem solving, although that is often how components of teacher education programmes present it with lists of questions, tasks or elements to be completed to achieve reflection. Although such frameworks may be useful in certain settings, they do not encourage reflection that is intuitive and emerges from the self. (p. 168)
Informed by a constructivist approach to learning— that meaning is made by an individual’s experiences, background, identities, and social interactions— I am particularly interested in the claim that embodied reflection “emerges from the self” and not from frameworks. If reflective frameworks encourage learners to fit their experience within pre-determined boxes to arrive at necessary changes in self to achieve success, then an emergent embodied reflection is informed and shaped by an individual’s lived experiences and contexts. If it looks different for everyone, how can we possibly teach embodied reflection? What does a reflective process that emphasizes bodily experience even look like?
Embodied reflection begins with the processing of one’s emotions within the body. The body delivers us physiological information that informs the brain’s sense of safety. A maladaptive approach to reflection involves ignoring those physiological cues in favor of using logic to work out the “internal deficiency” that led to the physiological response; emotions are used as evidence that something is wrong. An embodied self-awareness is curious and observational, rather than judgemental or self-conscious; emotions are not good or bad, but rather neutral signals that indicate that our bodies need attention.
Leigh and Bailey differentiate self-conscious thoughts as “thinking of the self without relation to any awareness of bodily state.” The authors explain that self-conscious thoughts are usually based in generalized statements that evaluate the self and are disconnected from “the lived condition of the body. They provide the examples of “I’m too fat” or “I’m not worthy of love” (p. 166). Embodiment is an effective tactic against a compulsion for the impossible reality of self-conscious certainty because it forces the embodier to focus on tangible reality (I am having emotions), rather than an imagined fantasy (I am having emotions which means something is wrong with me). Leigh and Bailey are explicit that embodied reflection starts with simply observing physiological information from the body: “A focus on bodily sensations in the moment (e.g. awareness of breath, tightness in muscles, posture and heart rate) and thoughts, feelings, emotions and images that are also present can allow an individual to become simultaneously aware of the self and their embodied experience” (p. 165).
What would it look like if our reflective practice started by observing and capturing our physiological reactions to a particular experience? Not explaining or rationalizing them. Not connecting them to a conclusion about ourselves or our capabilities. Not using them to rationalize a shift in our practice. But rather, observing and working through our emotions, reactions, and actions before attempting to assign them meaning. To understand what this process can look like, we must look at embodied reflection practitioners.
In “Embodied curriculum mapping as a foundation for critical self-reflection and culture change,” Basu (2024) set out to better understand the curricular strengths of her university’s introductory STEM classes by auditing them as a student, and explores her embodied experience of taking Introduction to Cellular and Molecular Biology, Atoms & Molecules, Calculus 1, and Introductory Physics 2. The reflective process for Basu involves four actions: observe, empathize, apply, and identify. Basu observes her physiological reactions to certain academic experiences such as studying, social learning, test taking, and receiving evaluation. Basu empathizes with her own experiences and uses that as a basis for building empathy for introductory STEM students’ experiences. From there, Basu applies the larger context of anti-racist pedagogy to her own experience, using a particular epistemic approach to better understand her and her students’ experience. Finally, Basu identifies pedagogical moves that can be made to improve students’ STEM experiences, particularly students of color.
An example Basu provides is her experience as a student with graded exams. “I experienced resurgences of stressful emotions and sensations whenever it came to getting back or reviewing the marked exam. The heart rate and perspiration started up again when the instructor was passing papers back in front of the class, and even when I was alone and it was time to pull a marked exam out of my bag and review it” (p. 8). Basu describes the self-doubt she felt and her dismay in noticing how much her internal experiences involved soothing herself that she needn’t worry about her grades because she already earned her prestige by graduating from MIT and Harvard. Basu laments the way her worldview reflects the meritocracy in which she lives, works, and learns. Basu uses this experience to empathize with students at the beginning of their academic journeys and facing systemic disadvantages. In considering her teaching practice, Basu writes:
Since this experience, I have become more attentive to methods for introducing more hope into how students can look at exams and use them as learning tools. I am less likely now than I was before to assume apathy on the part of a student who might seem to avoid picking up or going over an old exam, as I am less likely to assume anything about the quality of their effort or the strength of their underlying motivation based on their grades. I am more curious about an individual student’s experiences in the course, and this is now the first question I ask, with holistic intent, when I meet with them one-on-one. (p. 8)
For Basu, her embodied reflection focuses on moments of her own physiological activation as a way to empathize with her students and better understand how to promote a shift in mindsets for her students, as well as design barriers that need to be removed to create more equitable learning environments. Particular weight is placed on removing barriers that cause psychological and physiological distress to the detriment of learning and growth.
The embodied reflective practice that emerges from Basu’s work is self-attentive, not self-conscious. She acknowledges her individual experience and privilege, but after processing the emotions precipitated, she applies a scholarly lens to arrive at tangible changes in future practice. Blame, shame, and a desire for certainty (Am I doing good? Am I good? How do I do good?) isn’t part of Basu’s embodied reflection. Physiological stress indicators aren’t used as evidence of her shortcomings, they are identified as moments of personal significance (I felt bad, so this is a moment to take note of). She takes those moments and, after allowing herself to feel them, applies empathy and curiosity. Another element that is significant in Basu’s embodied reflection is that it is situated in an epistemological context that is consciously identified by Basu herself. She applies an anti-racist/universal design lens that provides a guiding structure for her observations. An embodied reflector is better equipped to resist the over-simplified, maladaptive approach because they take the time to take care of themselves in the face of physiological distress. Once those feelings are processed and frantic self-consciousness is filtered out of the experience, there is room for non-judgemental, scholarly consideration of those moments of activation.
Another source of embodiment study is in the field of therapy. I’m including findings from ““A definite feel‐it moment”: Embodiment, externalisation and emotion during chair‐work in compassion‐focused therapy” by Bell, et al. (2019) with an acknowledgment that teachers aren’t therapists and misplaced therapeutic methods for reflection can inadvertently stimulate intense emotions in the reflector. I hope to connect the therapeutic findings to practical reflective strategies that can be appropriately adapted for classroom use. Bell, et al. illustrate a therapeutic approach known as “compassion-focused therapy” (CFT) that aims to help people experiencing high levels of self-criticism and shame develop self-compassion and compassion for others. In particular, Bell et al. explore something called “chair work” which involves physically using chairs to assume different parts of the self that are in conflict. Therapy patients physically move into the chairs and assume the perspective of the compassionate self, the self‐critic, and the criticised part of the self. In the study, clients start by embodying the self-critic and expressing their opinion to an empty chair. Then, the client takes on the role of the criticized self who was receiving the criticism. Finally, the client moves to the final chair and embodies a compassionate self that responds to the dialogue from a place of compassion for both the critic and the criticized.
Participants in Bell, et al.’s chair work study particularly emphasized the importance of the physicality of the method to “provide… a novel means to differentiate, symbolise, organise, and explore their inner experience” (p. 150). For example, by presenting self-criticism to an empty chair (and then moving to that chair to assume the role of the criticized self), the criticized self becomes physically separate from themselves. In the study, the language shift of speaking criticism in the third person instead of in the first person increased self-empathy in participants because it quickly became evident that they’d never talk to another person like that. Another example of the importance of the physicality of the exercise is that some participants “mapped” the three different parts of themselves to chairs in their mind’s eye, allowing them to more readily access the different parts of the self and use the chair method outside of a therapeutic setting for everyday emotional regulation.
Bell, et al. write, “Rather than seeking to eject or soothe away the self‐parts that are in conflict, the compassionate self works with them as important voices: this involves engaging with the critic to understand its functions, fears, needs and history.” They explain that often the “critic” is a result of an internalized, “competitive, rank-based mentality.” This suggests that an embodied experience involves sitting with (pun intended) the overly critical self because they represent the part of ourselves that is hurting as a result of wanting to be good. If this part of the self is over-active, it is demanding to be noticed and cared for. According to Bell, at al., “the CFT chair‐work intervention offers an experiential means of shifting from a harsh, internal competitive mentality, linked to threat monitoring, to an internal care‐based mentality and the associated role that compassion has on emotional regulation and threat management” (p. 144). Ruminatory thinking conflates the message of the self-critic as evidence that something is wrong with us. Chair work instead invites us to approach our self-critic with compassion. This is different from soothing– it involves asking the self-critic questions and listening to the answers. It involves digging into those things that are painful or scary. If we work in conversation with the compassionate self and the critic, then we can build awareness of the harmful messages that we’ve internalized, identify where those messages come from, and work to resist them.
Developing a personal embodied approach to self-reflection
How do we translate what we’ve learned about embodiment to our reflective practice? How can we work in dialogue with the critic, the criticized, and the compassionate parts of ourselves? How can we design a method to embody these parts of the self that feels true to our individual bodily experience? If an embodied approach emerges from the reflector’s own body and instinctual movement, how do we teach this approach? Below, I have attempted to summarize what I’ve learned into a map of the habits of mind and body that support the development of an adaptive, embodied approach to self-reflection. This map provides steps that one might take, but the practitioner might need additional steps and will most likely engage in the steps non-linerally or iteratively. It’s important to note that this is a process that must be developed over time, through practice. It’s not enough to create an embodied reflection assignment to give to our students at the end of the semester.
Embodied Reflection Map
- Observe: Notice moments of physical activation in the body (heart rate, sweating, changes in temperature, pain, discomfort, physical urges). Notice moments of emotional activation (feelings, negative thinking, repetitive thoughts). These coincide with moments of physical activation.
- Process: Allow yourself to feel bodily changes and emotions without judgement, categorization, or rationalization. This is a highly individualized process that looks different to everyone, but can be learned and refined through various physical practices.
- Empathize: Engage in dialogue with yourself (especially the self-critic); respond to your observations with self-compassion and perspective-taking.
- Motivate: Consider an epistemic interest in the self that can guide your reflection. If working within a scholarly or disciplinary context, this can guide the epistemic lens used. For example: a critical pedagogue’s reflection might be guided by the oppressive power structures at play in a particular interaction.
- Analyze: Apply a broader scholarly lens to understand the experience or gain insights. Use the same scholarly lens to identify specific behavioral goals.
- Conclude: Summarize the experienced reality and connect it back to the original epistemic interest that you identified. If relevant, consider and suggest changes to your behavior connected to the behavioral goals identified.
Author Example using the Embodied Reflection Map:
- Observe: After missing significant class time and opting to transition to online halfway through the semester, a student came into my office hours during the last week of school and asked what he could do to improve his grade. He also told me that he felt disconnected from his online group and had suggestions for me as the instructor to improve the online experience in the future. My heart rate increased, my face heated up, and I felt my hands begin to shake. His offer of advice made me angry. Without smiling or reassurance, I told him that I accepted all late work, and suggested ways to connect with his online group. I didn’t acknowledge his invitation to provide feedback on the online experience. He looked frightened, as if he could tell I was upset. He responded affirmatively that he would attempt to finish as much missing work as possible, and added that this wasn’t the time to discuss my online teaching methods. My heart rate increased again and I felt the urge to either apologize or escape and run. I did neither and continued to answer questions about his work. After the interaction, my mind raced. I felt angry, frustrated, and nervous that I had made him upset.
- Process: Since I had the physical urge to escape, I went on a walk. When I came back, I journaled without censorship to get all of the raw thoughts out on the page. I noticed a repeated fear that he would report me to my administration. I wrote a lot about feeling disappointed in myself for showing a negative emotion like anger toward a student. I agonized over the impact of that moment of “weakness.”
- Empathize: I tried out a dialogue between my self-critic, the criticized self, and the compassionate self. Here is a portion of it:
Self critic: I am so angry that you would do something so unprofessional like not smile at a student and let yourself be so obviously angry that he immediately back pedalled. That was a huge mistake and it’s definitely going to have consequences.
Criticized self: I don’t like being called unprofessional just because of one moment where I felt an emotion. Sometimes I feel emotions, and it hurts to feel like all of my worth is defined by a human reality. You are making me scared that I am going to lose my job.
Compassionate self: It seems like you are both scared and trying to take care of yourselves. I think it’s important for all of us to remember that we have no idea what the “consequences” (cause/ effect) of this moment will be. We can’t control that.
- Motivate: I am curious why the student’s suggestion that he had feedback felt like an attack to my nervous system. Why did it cause me to react with anger? I am also curious why it felt so scary that he could tell I was angry.
- Analyze: There are multiple things at play that caused my initial reaction of anger. I know that I have a hard time with criticism, and I was already feeling frustrated by the student’s lack of time management. He was coming to me with an emergency as a result of his inaction. I wasn’t open to hearing his feedback about the online experience because I perceived it as a way for him to escape accountability for his actions. It felt like a way to blame my design as a teacher, rather than for him to acknowledge that he had waited until the last minute. Additionally, I feel particularly sensitive to receiving feedback from male students because there is a measurable difference between how female and gender non-conforming academics are treated by students vs. male academics. Was it an appropriate time for this student to bring up feedback for me when also asking for help to fix a problem that he created? However, I would like to be someone that can accept criticism and respond to my students in a way that makes them feel safe to bring things to me or ask questions. I would also like to not be controlled by anger, but have the ability to notice when I need to take a moment.
- Conclude: I have valid reasons for my emotions, and, in the future, I would like to notice when I am feeling activated and communicate this to the person that I am speaking with and suggest a follow-up to address their concerns. I would like to communicate to the student that the moment they chose to offer me feedback wasn’t appropriate. I would also like to use this as an opportunity to illuminate the power structures that both he and I operate within as a male student and gender non-conforming teacher that both of us should be aware of. His offer for feedback was timed so that it came across more as blame for his struggles. I would like to communicate to him that I still encourage his feedback, but I would like to direct him to a more appropriate time/ method for him to express these opinions.
Embodiment as a compassionate response
In the “banking” model of education in which the act of learning is considered a transaction of knowledge between teacher and student, the evidence of learning is the successful repetition of that knowledge. Traditional reflection frameworks, models, and structures support this approach because well… It’s a structural approach to learning. Structure plays well with structure. Structured design allows teachers to have pretty clear expectations for how day-to-day class will go. It provides clear metrics for determining instructor success based on the quantitative grades of our students. For students, structure gives students a clear picture of how to succeed. When we step away from the banking model and embrace a “problem-posing” model, suddenly our frameworks don’t hold up. As a critical pedagogue, not being able to rely on my trusty design structures introduced me to a new world of uncertainty.
Even when teachers make moves to facilitate non-transactional learning, we work within meritocratic contexts where the “final sum” still determines the wellbeing of students and teachers both. If a student fails a test or class, there are very real consequences– they have to drop their major, they’re academically separated, they have less employment opportunities. If a teacher doesn’t measure up, their teaching load might be decreased, they might be fired or their contract might not be renewed, they could lose their tenure. Operating under this context, it’s more than reasonable for both of those groups to feel anxious about their “final sum.” It’s more than reasonable to adopt an overly self-conscious reflective practice because it gives us the feeling of certainty. Because I make mistakes, I am not worthy. I need to strive for a world where I don’t make mistakes so that I can eventually be worthy. We have received the clear message that uncertainty is proof of shortcoming, so why wouldn’t a problem-posing experience cause anxiety? Suddenly, mistakes are touted as part of the learning process, while the worthiness of students and teachers are still measured according to how many mistakes they make.
It’s clear that reflection is a strong tool for the development of cognitive flexibility, self-efficacy, and empathy. It elucidates new pathways for us to take in how we react and interact with our reality. It is worth teaching and learning. However, given the thin line between maladaptive and adaptive reflection, there is great need for the development of an embodied reflective practice that prioritizes the non-judgmental observation and processing of physiological and emotional cues, thereby grounding experience in tangible reality and resisting immediate judgment or categorization of experience.
With an embodied approach, reflectors develop their own emergent approach and purpose by focusing on their reality rather than external structures. Embodied reflection fosters self-compassion, perspective-taking, and empathy through inner and external dialogue, thus allowing the reflector to identify unhelpful sources of fear, pressure, or harmful biases. It enables the individual to seek outside perspectives and experiences, let go of ego and personal insecurities, and apply a broader, scholarly lens to translate insights into observable, desirable changes. The goal of an embodied reflection is to accept reality, not fictionalize it. As a result, uncertainty becomes another reality to accept.
As I finish the second revision of this article, I have been informed that, due to budget cuts at my university, my last day at Plymouth State University will be July 31st, 2026. I have been let go for reasons that have nothing to do with my performance. I think back on all the reflective moments in my career when my self-critic was terrified to make a mistake and be responsible for professional consequences, and I am struck by the realization that the thing I feared for so long happened on a random Monday and there was ultimately nothing that I could do about it. I spent years thinking that I could prevent it by being better, by being worthy. But ultimately, the certainty and sense of control granted was an illusion. Embodied reflection is a compassionate choice that I am making for myself going forward. I choose to see moments of my own physiological activation as moments to notice. I choose to let myself feel– to cry, shake, run, or hide. I choose to hear the words of my critical self and, instead of ignoring them or taking those words as fact, care for and hold that part of myself because they are clearly hurting. I choose to pursue the source of that hurt through scholarship and personal exploration. I choose to put away the fiction that was handed to me as a child: I am not enough and I must work my whole life to be enough. I choose to instead acknowledge reality, in all its uncertainty: I am. I choose to change what I can. I choose to let go of what I can’t change. I choose to be present and loving to myself when the cycle starts again. I encourage you to choose the same.
References
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