3 Feuerstein Moves That Make Growth Mindset Real

A growth mindset poster won’t change how students handle failure on their own. Here are three Feuerstein mediation moves that actually build that habit.

Pedagogy · Mindset

3 Feuerstein Moves That Make Growth Mindset Real

A growth mindset poster tells students effort works. It never teaches them how.
⏱ 6 min read · By Matt Faulkner · Pedagogy / Mindset
A teacher leaning in with a warm smile to talk through a primary school student's work, a moment of growth mindset mediation in action.

 

You have put the growth mindset poster up. “Not yet,” not “I can’t.” You have said it in front of the class, probably more than once. And you have still watched a capable student stare at a hard maths problem, write nothing, and tell you it’s “too hard” the second it stops being easy.

That gap is not a sign growth mindset is wrong. Carol Dweck’s research on how students respond to difficulty is some of the most replicated work in educational psychology. The gap is between naming the belief and building the habit that makes the belief true. A poster can tell a student what to think about effort. It cannot show them what to actually do the next time a task gets hard.

That is where Reuven Feuerstein’s work becomes useful, and where most classroom mindset language quietly stops. Growth mindset says ability can grow. Feuerstein spent a career building the actual mechanism for how.

What Dweck’s Growth Mindset Research Actually Showed

Dweck’s best-known finding did not come from asking students what they believed. It came from watching what happened after they were praised. In one influential study, students who were praised for being smart chose easier follow-up tasks and performed worse under pressure. Students praised for their effort and strategy chose harder tasks and kept improving. The praise itself changed the students’ behaviour, not just their mood.

The mechanism matters. A fixed mindset treats every task as a test of a trait you either have or don’t. A growth mindset treats a task as a process you can get better at. Students with a fixed mindset protect their self-image by avoiding anything that might expose them. Students with a growth mindset lean into difficulty, because struggle is evidence of learning, not evidence of a limit.

None of that is in dispute. What is missing from most classroom applications is the part Dweck herself was clear about: mindset shifts through experience, not slogans. Telling a student “you can grow your ability” without ever showing them how to work through a hard problem is asking them to trust a claim they have no evidence for.

The Missing Mechanism: Mediated Learning

Feuerstein’s core claim, Structural Cognitive Modifiability, is close to Dweck’s growth mindset research in spirit: the structure of a person’s thinking can change at any age, given the right conditions. Where Feuerstein goes further is in specifying what those conditions actually are.

He called it a Mediated Learning Experience. Instead of a child encountering a hard problem alone and forming their own conclusions about what it means, a mediator, meaning you, steps between the child and the task. You do not just present the problem. You shape how the child takes it in: what to notice, why it matters, and how this moment connects to something bigger than itself.

A growth mindset poster tells students to believe effort works. Mediation is what actually teaches them how.

This is not a call to run a formal Instrumental Enrichment programme. Most teachers will never need to. It is a call to notice that “not yet” is a belief statement, and beliefs change through repeated, structured experience, not through repetition of the phrase.

The Three Moves That Make Growth Mindset Real

Feuerstein identified several criteria for a mediated interaction, but three do almost all of the work in an ordinary classroom moment. Used together, in the sixty seconds after a student gets stuck, they turn “not yet,” the core growth mindset phrase, from a slogan into an experience the student has actually lived through.

🧠 Three Moves of Mediation
  • Intentionality and reciprocity. Name what you are doing and why, out loud, then wait for the student to engage back. “I’m going to show you how I check my working, watch this part” is mediation. Silently correcting the page is not, even if the content taught is identical.
  • Transcendence. Push the moment past the single task in front of you. Once a student solves one problem, ask where else the same strategy would work. A student who only ever hears “well done” learns that this problem is finished. A student asked “where else could you use that” learns the strategy travels.
  • Mediation of meaning. Say why the struggle matters, and say it like you mean it. “This is the exact skill you’ll need for the assessment next week, and I’ve watched you do harder things than this” carries more weight than “keep trying.” Students recalibrate their effort based on what an adult they trust tells them the moment is for.

None of these three moves take long. What they require is deliberately slowing down the sixty seconds after a student gets stuck, instead of rushing to either rescue them or move on. That pause is the actual intervention. Everything else is context for why the pause matters.

Where This Overlaps With What You Are Already Doing

If you have read our post on designing tasks for productive struggle, this will sound familiar, because it is the missing half of that argument. Task design gets students into a moment of genuine difficulty. Mediation is what you do once they are there. A well-designed task without mediation still leaves plenty of students stuck and unsupported. Mediation without a task worth struggling over has nothing to attach itself to. The two need each other.

The same logic connects to higher-order questioning. A mediated response to a stuck student is not “here’s the answer” and it is not “keep trying.” It is a question that hands the thinking back: what have you tried so far, what does this remind you of, what would happen if you started from the other end. The questioning moves you already use for stretching thinking are the same moves that make mediation work in the moment a student hits a wall.

Building It In, Not Bolting It On

The three moves work best when they are not left to whatever you remember to say in the moment. When you are planning backwards from the outcome you want, build in where a genuine struggle point sits in the lesson, and plan your language for it the same way you plan your success criteria. Decide in advance: what will I say to name the strategy, what will I ask to push it further, and what will I say about why this moment matters.

That small shift, from reactive encouragement to planned mediation, is the difference between a classroom where “not yet” is something students hear and a classroom where it is something they have actually experienced enough times to believe.

Try this in your next tricky lesson: pick one moment where you know a few students will get stuck, and plan your intentionality, transcendence, and meaning language for it ahead of time. Tell us in the comments how it changed the sixty seconds after they hit the wall.

References

Dweck, C. S. (2006). Mindset: The new psychology of success. Random House.

Feuerstein, R., Feuerstein, R. S., & Falik, L. H. (2010). Beyond smarter: Mediated learning and the brain’s capacity for change. Teachers College Press.

Feuerstein, R., Rand, Y., & Hoffman, M. B. (1979). The dynamic assessment of retarded performers: The learning potential assessment device, theory, instruments, and techniques. University Park Press.

Mueller, C. M., & Dweck, C. S. (1998). Praise for intelligence can undermine children’s motivation and performance. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 75(1), 33–52. pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov

Structural Learning. (2024). Feuerstein’s mediated learning: A guide for teachers. structural-learning.com

4 Proven Steps to Fix Your Student Choice Problem

Pedagogy · Student Agency

4 Proven Steps to Fix Your Student Choice Problem

Student choice doesn’t fail because students can’t handle freedom. It fails because we hand it all over at once.
⏱ 6 min read · By Matt Faulkner · Pedagogy / Student Agency
Students working on different self-chosen projects as part of scaffolded student choice.

Student choice sounds great, right up until it goes wrong. You have seen it happen: Genius Hour, passion projects, “pick your own topic” Fridays. The first year you try it, half the room lights up and the other half sits there for 40 minutes doing nothing, or quietly finishing maths homework because at least that has instructions. By week three you have quietly stopped mentioning it.

The instinct after that is to conclude students weren’t ready, or that choice doesn’t work with this particular class. That conclusion is almost always wrong. The problem is rarely the students. It is the size of the jump.

Handing a class complete autonomy in one step is the same mistake as handing them a cold-open essay question with no modelling. We would never do that with content. We do it constantly with choice, then act surprised when it collapses.

What Actually Goes Wrong With Wide-Open Student Choice

Educator John Spencer has written honestly about his own “epic fail” running Genius Hour early in his teaching career. He gave students full ownership on day one: pick a topic, pick a question, go. Within weeks it had collapsed. High achievers defaulted to homework because at least homework had a clear finish line. Everyone else drifted into conversation. His own diagnosis was blunt: “This was too much choice and ownership without any actual guidance. I had failed to provide a vision for these projects or a road map.”

That is worth sitting with, because it names the actual failure point. It was not that students lacked interests worth pursuing. It was that nobody had built the scaffolding that lets students act on an interest productively: no checkpoints, no criteria, no model of what a finished piece of work looks like. Freedom without structure does not feel like empowerment to most students. It feels like being dropped somewhere with no map.

Borrow the Model You Already Use for Everything Else

Here is the useful reframe: you already know how to scaffold this. It is the same logic behind gradually releasing responsibility for higher-order questioning — you model a skill, practise it together, then hand it over once students can carry it alone. Student choice is not a different category of teaching decision. It is the same gradual release model, applied to ownership instead of content.

The “I do, we do, you do” structure works for choice because it treats independence as a skill, not a switch. Students do not arrive able to self-select a topic, plan their own research, and manage their own timeline. They build that capacity in stages, the same way they build capacity to answer a why-question instead of a what-question.

🪜 The 4-Level Choice Menu
  • Level 1 — Embedded Choice (mostly teacher-directed). Everyone works on the same task, but chooses how to complete a sub-part of it. Same maths problem, choice of solving it with a diagram, an equation, or manipulatives.
  • Level 2 — Simple Choice Menu (somewhat student-directed). One shared learning objective, several assignment options. Students pick their own novel, then choose from a set of book-report formats you provide.
  • Level 3 — Advanced Choice Menu (mostly student-directed). Students select which learning target to focus on and find their own resources, then choose how to present what they have learned.
  • Level 4 — Independent Project (entirely student-directed). Students choose their own groups, set their own questions, source their own research, and design their own product. This is Genius Hour done properly — after the earlier levels have built the muscle for it.

The point of the ladder is not that Level 4 is the goal for every task, every time. Some units genuinely call for Level 1. The point is that you cannot skip from “no choice” to Level 4 in one lesson and expect it to hold.

Two Skills Students Need Before They Are Ready for More

Spencer draws a distinction worth borrowing directly into your planning for student choice: self-starters and self-managers are two separate skills, and students can be strong in one without the other.

A self-starter takes initiative without waiting for permission — driven by “why not?” rather than “what do I do?” A self-manager is the one who sticks to a deadline once the excitement has worn off, who pushes through the messy middle of a project instead of abandoning it for something easier. This overlaps directly with what we covered in designing for productive struggle: a student who has never been asked to sit inside difficulty on a teacher-set task is unlikely to manage that difficulty alone, on a task they chose themselves.

Choice is not a lesson you switch on. It is a skill you build, one level at a time, the same way you build every other skill in the room.

Before moving a class up a level, it is worth asking which of the two skills is missing. A class full of self-starters who abandon projects halfway needs more structure around follow-through — checkpoints, exit tickets, a visible progress tracker. A compliant class that never volunteers an idea needs more low-stakes practice generating options, before you ask them to generate an entire project.

Building This Into Your Planning, Not Bolting It On

This only works if it is a planning decision, not an improvisation on the day. When you are planning backwards from the outcome you actually want, choice level is one of the variables you set deliberately, alongside the learning intention and the success criteria — not something you default into because open tasks feel more engaging on paper.

In practice, that means deciding up front: which level does this unit warrant, given what this particular group has already shown you they can manage? What is the checkpoint that tells you they are ready to move up a level next term? What does the rubric or success criteria look like at this level, so “choice” does not quietly become “no expectations”?

None of this removes the appeal of student agency. It just stops treating agency as something you either grant or withhold, and starts treating it as something you teach.

Where does your class currently sit on this ladder? Tell us in the comments — and if a choice-based lesson has ever collapsed on you, we would love to hear what you changed the second time around.

References and Further Reading

Fisher, D., & Frey, N. (2014). Better learning through structured teaching: A framework for the gradual release of responsibility (2nd ed.). ASCD.

Pearson, P. D., & Gallagher, M. C. (1983). The instruction of reading comprehension. Contemporary Educational Psychology, 8(3), 317–344.

Spencer, J. (2024, August; updated 2025, April). Phasing in student choice with the gradual release of responsibility model. Spencer Education. spencereducation.com

4 Proven Steps to Fade Support Across Lessons

Pedagogy · STEAM

4 Proven Steps to Fade Support Across Lessons

Fading isn’t just a single-lesson skill — you fade support across lessons too.

⏱ 6 min read · By Matt Faulkner · Pedagogy / STEAM

Part 2 of this series looked at fading inside a single lesson. It covered the signals that tell you when to pull back support moment to moment. Even so, some fading decisions don’t happen in a moment. They happen between lessons, and they’re easy to miss — this post is about how you fade support across lessons.

Once you’re teaching a sequence rather than one lesson, the question changes. It’s no longer just “should I help now?” Instead, it becomes “is this class ready for the next stage?” Or does it need another lesson at this level first? That’s how you fade support across lessons, not just within one.

Here’s what that looks like across four lessons of a real Science sequence.

A teacher steps back to fade support across lessons while a small group runs a science investigation together

Why You Fade Support Across Lessons, Not Just One

The gradual release of responsibility model — I do, we do, you do — was built for a single lesson. In practice, most worthwhile learning takes longer than one lesson to land. From there, the same three phases need to stretch across several.

Even so, the mechanics don’t change. You’re still watching for the same signals from Part 2. They show up as questions turning exploratory, errors turning careless instead of conceptual, and students finishing before you do. Put simply, the unit of decision changes. For example, instead of asking whether to fade in five minutes, you’re asking whether to fade in the next lesson.

This isn’t just intuition. It echoes Rosenshine’s principles of instruction, which found that reviewing previous learning before releasing new independence improves retention. That’s a bigger, slower-moving decision. It deserves its own checkpoint, planned in before the sequence starts.

A Four-Lesson Fade in Science

For example, take a Year 4 forces sequence — how push and pull forces change an object’s motion. Four lessons, each one releasing more responsibility than the last.

Lesson 1 (I do): You run a full guided friction test aloud — including the parts you’d get wrong first. In addition, students watch and record, not design.

Lesson 2 (we do): Second, the class runs a similar investigation together. At the same time, you still frame the method, but students choose the materials to test and predict the results.

Lesson 3 (you do, supported): Third, small groups design their own fair test using a partially worked checklist. The variables are named; the steps aren’t. You circulate, watching for the same signals from Part 2.

Lesson 4 (you do, independent): Finally, groups plan and run an investigation on a new but related question. No checklist. No template. Just the habits built across the first three lessons.

As a result, this is what it looks like to fade support across lessons. Each lesson releases one more piece of the method. By lesson four, nothing about the process is being handed to them anymore.

🪜 4 Signs Your Class Is Ready for the Next Lesson
  • Exit tickets show fluency, not just participation. Students can explain the “why,” not just complete the steps.
  • Independent work has few careless errors. Mistakes are about precision, not the underlying idea.
  • Questions shift toward planning, not procedure. “What if we tried…” replaces “What do I do next?”
  • Peer helpers start emerging on their own. Students you didn’t assign are already checking each other’s work.

When the Sequence Doesn’t Go to Plan

Sometimes a class isn’t ready to move on schedule. Even so, that’s useful information, not a failure. If lesson two’s exit tickets show shaky fluency, repeat lesson two’s shape with a new context before releasing further.

That said, some classes are ready to compress two stages into one. That’s especially true if the content connects to something they’ve already practised. As a result, the four-lesson shape is a starting plan, not a fixed script.

Beyond that, the decision to fade support across lessons stays visible and evidence-based. You’re not guessing whether to move on — you’re checking the signals against what the last lesson actually showed.

Planning the Whole Arc Before Lesson One

This is where backward design earns its keep again. If you know the independent task you want by lesson four, you can plan backward from there. Each earlier lesson needs to release one more piece to make that possible.

First, build your checkpoints into the plan itself. What evidence from lesson one tells you lesson two can begin? What would tell you to slow down instead? Answering those questions before teaching starts means the mid-sequence decision is already half made.

In other words, this is how you fade support across lessons. You design it, then confirm it against the evidence as you go.

A sequence doesn’t fade support by accident — it’s designed to, one checkpoint at a time.

💬 Over to You — How many lessons does your unit take to move from “I do” to independent? Tell us below — the shape of other teachers’ sequences is always worth comparing against your own.

References

Pearson, P. D., & Gallagher, M. C. (1983). The instruction of reading comprehension. Contemporary Educational Psychology, 8(3), 317–344.

Rosenshine, B. (2012). Principles of instruction: Research-based strategies that all teachers should know. American Educator, 36(1), 12–19, 39.

Vygotsky, L. S. (1978). Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes. Harvard University Press.

5 Proven Signs It’s Time to Fade the Scaffold

Pedagogy · New Teachers

5 Proven Signs It’s Time to Fade the Scaffold

Fading isn’t a feeling you talk yourself into — it’s a decision you can plan for.

⏱ 6 min read · By Matt Faulkner · Pedagogy / New Teachers

A student finishes the worked example, tries the next one alone, and stalls. You’re three metres away, marking book in hand. The moment asks a genuine question: do you step in, or fade the scaffold and wait ten more seconds?

A teacher pauses to decide whether to fade the scaffold, watching a student write independently at his desk

Most of us know the gradual release of responsibility model well: I do, we do, you do. What it doesn’t tell you is when, inside that “you do” moment, to actually let go. That judgement call happens dozens of times a lesson. In practice, it’s rarely taught explicitly.

This is where Vygotsky’s zone of proximal development (ZPD) earns its keep. It isn’t another framework to memorise. By contrast, it’s the diagnostic tool. It tells you whether a student is ready to work without you, or still needs the scaffold.

GRR Sets the Stage, ZPD Tells You When to Move

The gradual release of responsibility model comes from Pearson and Gallagher’s 1983 research on reading comprehension instruction. They found that comprehension improved when teachers deliberately shifted cognitive responsibility from themselves to students across a sequence. In other words, that sequence — I do, we do, you do — is the structure.

Fading is what happens inside that structure. It’s the technique of reducing support in increments: fewer prompts, shorter sentence stems, more open questions. As a result, a student moves from needing you to not needing you in stages, not all at once. In other words, GRR tells you the phases exist; fading is how you move through them.

That’s where ZPD tells you when to fade the scaffold. The zone of proximal development is the gap between what a student can do alone. It’s also what they can do with support close by. For example, fade too early and you’ve asked them to work outside that zone, unsupported. Fade too late, and they stay inside it long after they were ready to leave. That has its own cost, too.

The Two Ways Calibration Goes Wrong

We’ve covered the most common GRR misfire before. It’s an “I do” phase so thorough that “you do” becomes copying, not struggle. Put simply, that’s fading too slowly. The scaffold stays up well past the point a student could carry their own weight. As a result, the task stops asking anything of them.

By contrast, the opposite failure gets less attention. Fade too fast, and you haven’t created independence — you’ve created guesswork. That happens when the worked example, sentence stem, or check-in disappears before “we do” has landed. As a result, what looks like “productive struggle” up front is often just confusion with better posture.

Even so, both are calibration errors. Neither is solved by scrapping GRR — both come down to knowing when to fade the scaffold, not whether to.

🪜 5 Signals It’s Time to Fade the Scaffold
  • Their questions change shape. “How do I start?” becomes “What if I tried it this way?” — that shift from procedural to exploratory is a reliable ZPD marker.
  • Errors move from conceptual to careless. Getting the method right but rushing the last step means the concept has landed; only precision is missing.
  • They finish the “we do” example before you do. Hands go up, pencils move — students are already a step ahead of your modelling.
  • They start correcting each other. Peer correction only happens once a student trusts their own grasp enough to check someone else’s.
  • The room goes quiet in a different way. Not confused-quiet — working-quiet. That’s a felt cue, and it’s worth trusting alongside the others.

How to Fade the Scaffold, Move by Move

Fading rarely works as an all-or-nothing switch. In practice, it’s a series of small withdrawals, each testing whether a student can hold the next level of responsibility.

For example, a worked example becomes a partially worked example — the first two steps shown, the rest left blank. Beyond that, sentence stems shrink from full frames to a single connective word. At the same time, questions move from closed (“What’s the next step?”) to open (“What would you try next?”). Each version removes one layer of support while the task itself stays constant.

As a result, you’re never asking a student to jump from fully supported to fully independent in one move. You’re testing the edge of their ZPD in small enough steps. That way, you can pull back if the gap turns out to be wider than expected.

Planning the Fade, Not Just Reacting to It

In-the-moment judgement matters, but it’s easier to trust when it’s backed by planning. If you’ve already set up your lesson using our backward design approach, the same thinking applies to fading. For this reason, decide your checkpoints before the lesson starts, not during it.

First, mark two or three points before the lesson where you’ll deliberately step back and watch rather than help. For example, good checkpoints include after the first worked example, halfway through practice, or at a new question type. Second, at each checkpoint, look for the signals above rather than the clock. That way, the decision to fade isn’t a feeling you’re second-guessing mid-lesson — it’s a checkpoint you already built in.

This matters even more once lessons stop being single, standalone events. From there, planning shifts from one lesson to a sequence built around learner variability. When it does, the question of when to fade the scaffold travels with it too. Part 3 of this series answers that next.

Fading isn’t a feeling you talk yourself into — it’s a decision you can plan for, checkpoint by checkpoint.

💬 Over to You — Which signal do you already watch for without realising it? Which one are you going to add this week? Tell us below — the best classroom cues on this site always come from teachers who’ve already tested them.

References

Pearson, P. D., & Gallagher, M. C. (1983). The instruction of reading comprehension. Contemporary Educational Psychology, 8(3), 317–344.

Vygotsky, L. S. (1978). Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes. Harvard University Press.

5 Easy Ways to Plan for Every Learner With UDL

Differentiation isn’t something you bolt on after the lesson is built. It’s a decision you make before you write a single activity.
⏱ 6 min read · By Matt Faulkner · Pedagogy / Planning

Picture the lesson plan taking shape on your screen. Content descriptor pasted in. Learning intention written. Main activity mapped out for the class. Then, right at the end, you add a line: “adjustment for Sarah,” or “extension for the early finishers.”

It feels like good practice. In practice, it’s also the wrong order. To illustrate, you built the lesson for an imagined average student, then patched it for everyone who didn’t fit. The patch usually works, for a while. As a result, you solve the same problem lesson after lesson — instead of solving it once at the planning stage.

Universal Design for Learning (UDL) flips that order. Instead of building one pathway and adjusting it afterwards, you plan multiple ways in from the very first decision. Beyond that, it sits neatly alongside the backward design framework we’ve covered before. Same starting point — one extra lens over every choice that follows.

Why “Adjustments Later” Never Quite Works

The trouble with retrofitting isn’t the intent. It’s the timing. Every adjustment gets made under pressure, at the end of a planning session. In practice, that’s when your energy for creative problem-solving is lowest and the deadline is closest. Consequently, the graphic organiser gets left out — or the extension task becomes “read on quietly.”

At the same time, there’s a quieter cost. When adjustments arrive last, they read as exceptions to the “real” lesson. In other words, they’re not part of the plan — just a patch on it. Even so, students notice that framing, whether anyone says it aloud or not.

For example, we’ve covered low-prep differentiation moves elsewhere — the kind you reach for once a task is already built. UDL asks an earlier question instead. What if the task already worked for the widest range of learners, before any adjustment was needed?

What UDL Actually Asks You to Plan For

UDL, developed by CAST, organises planning around three questions rather than one. First, multiple means of engagement. Why would this student care — and does that reason hold for more than one kind of student? Second, multiple means of representation. Is the content available through more than one channel — text, image, spoken explanation? Third, multiple means of action and expression. Can students show what they know in more than one way, while still being judged against the same success criterion?

Put simply, none of those questions ask you to lower the learning intention. Instead, they ask you to widen the road leading to it.

UDL is not about lowering the bar. It’s about building more doors into the same room.

Where UDL Fits Inside Backward Design

If you already plan backwards from the learning intention, UDL doesn’t replace that process. In practice, it sharpens it. At Stage 1, ask whether the intention can be reached — and cared about — through more than one entry point. At Stage 2, ask whether your formative evidence has to look identical for every student. Even so, a spoken explanation can count as evidence too — just as validly as a written one. At Stage 3, build the variety in before you teach the lesson, not after you notice it’s needed.

That’s the shift in one sentence. Instead of asking who will struggle with this activity after it’s built, ask which students the design already leaves out.

A Year 4 Worked Example

For example, here’s what that looks like against a real content descriptor, rather than in the abstract.

🎯 UDL in Action — Year 4 Persuasive Writing
  • Curriculum anchor: AC9E4LY06 — Plan, create and revise written and multimodal texts, including persuasive texts.
  • Learning intention: “We are learning to persuade a reader using reasons and evidence.”
  • Engagement: Students choose their topic from a short, locally relevant list — not one topic assigned to everyone.
  • Representation: The teacher models the structure through a think-aloud, a labelled example, and a simple graphic organiser.
  • Action and expression: Students meet the same success criterion by writing a paragraph, recording a spoken pitch, or building an annotated poster.

In other words, notice what stayed constant — the content descriptor, the learning intention, and the success criterion. Only the entry points changed.

This Isn’t Differentiation Downward

For this reason, it’s worth being explicit here, because the two ideas get confused constantly. Differentiating downward means changing what a student is expected to learn — a simpler text, a lower target, a smaller ask. By contrast, UDL keeps the expectation identical for everyone and changes how students reach it.

Beyond that, this distinction matters for AITSL Standard 1.5 — and for the students in front of you. Planning for variability is not the same as planning for less.

Finally, once a lesson is built this way, a second question follows naturally. How do you adjust support in the moment, as students actually work through the task? That’s where frameworks like the Gradual Release of Responsibility come in — and it’s exactly where this series goes next.

💬 Your Turn! Think about your last unit plan. Where did the “adjustments” get added last — and what would it look like to build them in first instead? Share your experience below.

References

Australian Curriculum, Assessment and Reporting Authority (ACARA). (2023). Australian Curriculum v9.0. https://v9.australiancurriculum.edu.au

Australian Institute for Teaching and School Leadership (AITSL). (2018). Australian Professional Standards for Teachers (Standard 1.5). https://www.aitsl.edu.au/teach/standards

CAST. (2024). Universal Design for Learning Guidelines (version 2.2). https://udlguidelines.cast.org

Novak, K. (2022). UDL now! A teacher’s guide to applying universal design for learning (2nd ed.). CAST Professional Publishing.

Rose, D. H., & Meyer, A. (2002). Teaching every student in the digital age: Universal design for learning. ASCD.

Wiggins, G., & McTighe, J. (2005). Understanding by design (2nd ed.). ASCD.

3 Easy Ways to Spot What Assessment Really Costs You

Assessment · Honest Trade-Offs

There is no assessment strategy that gives you time, consistency, and depth all at once. Every choice trades one for another — the trick is choosing on purpose.

⏱ 7 min read · By Matt Faulkner · Assessment / Honest Trade-Offs

Somewhere around the fifteenth persuasive writing piece on a Sunday night, most of us have had the same thought: could I just use a checklist instead? The rich rubric felt right in the planning meeting. At 9pm, with thirteen scripts still in the pile, it feels like a decision someone else made on your behalf.

That moment is worth sitting with, because it’s not really about tiredness. It’s about a trade-off nobody named out loud when the assessment was designed. In Part 2 of this series, we looked at matching assessment strategies to record-keeping systems. This final part asks the harder question: what does each strategy quietly cost you, and is that cost one you’d choose if someone made you say it out loud?

Three costs show up again and again in the research: time, consistency, and depth of insight. No strategy escapes all three. The honest move isn’t finding the mythical assessment that avoids every trade-off — it’s knowing which one you’re carrying, for which task, and why.

Trade-Off One: Time

Let’s start with the cost every teacher already feels in their body. Australian Education Union data puts full-time teachers at an average of 49.3 hours a week, with marking and planning dominating the hours beyond the timetable. A 2022 AEU South Australian survey found teachers were doing 30 hours a week beyond face-to-face teaching alone. Richer assessment — detailed rubrics, portfolios, oral check-ins — produces better evidence of learning. It also produces more hours you don’t have.

This isn’t an argument against depth. It’s an argument for honesty about the exchange rate. A five-minute exit ticket and a forty-minute portfolio conference both tell you something real about a student. They do not cost the same, and pretending otherwise is how burnout starts. For quick formative checks that protect your time without sacrificing useful data, the formative assessment approaches we’ve covered before are worth revisiting — they’re built for exactly this trade-off.

In practice, the fix isn’t cramming more hours into the week. It’s matching assessment weight to decision weight. A task that shapes tomorrow’s teaching deserves a fast, low-cost check. A task that reports a term’s learning to families deserves the time it takes. Treating every piece of work as if it needs the same depth is what makes the Sunday night pile unmanageable.

Trade-Off Two: Consistency

Here’s the uncomfortable one. Even careful, experienced markers are not as consistent as they believe themselves to be. A 2023 experimental study found that a student’s grade in one subject was significantly influenced by how that same student had performed in an entirely unrelated subject — the classic halo effect, and it held even after researchers controlled for gender and status (Schmidt et al., 2023). This isn’t a character flaw in individual teachers. It’s a known feature of how human judgement works under load, and it’s exactly what assessment for, as, and of learning tries to guard against when it separates the purpose of a judgement from the moment it’s made.

There’s a useful nuance here, though. Experienced teachers are better than novices at reading both the obvious “surface” signals — hands up, eyes down — and the harder “deep” signals, like a quiet student who might be disengaged or might just be thinking. That skill develops. It doesn’t develop by accident, and it doesn’t fully protect against bias on its own — structure still matters more than good intentions.

🎯 Moderation Moves That Actually Fit a School Week
  • Check the extremes first. Re-read your highest and lowest grades before anything else. That’s where halo effects and fatigue errors cluster.
  • Mark one question across all scripts, not one script across all questions. This keeps your internal standard consistent instead of drifting as you tire.
  • Run a five-minute calibration before you start. Grade one sample together with a colleague before marking solo. It costs almost nothing and catches drift before it happens, not after.
  • Blind-mark when the stakes are high. Covering the name is a small step that removes a documented source of bias for borderline or subjective work.

This is also the territory AITSL Standard 5.3 points to directly — making consistent and comparable judgements isn’t a bonus skill, it’s a named professional standard. Worth remembering next time moderation feels like an add-on rather than the job itself.

Trade-Off Three: Depth of Data

The third cost is the one we talk about least, possibly because it’s the hardest to see from inside a busy term: what a grade actually tells you about a student’s understanding.

Recent research has raised real doubt about that link. Comparisons between teacher-awarded grades and external, course-aligned tests have found meaningful mismatches — evidence that a grade can look confident and still not accurately describe what a student understands. That gap widens when assessment rewards compliance — submitting on time, following the format, filling every box — over genuine thinking. AJ Juliani’s phrase for this, “doing school,” captures it well: students becoming skilled at producing what a task asks for without the underlying understanding ever being tested.

A grade that’s easy to collect and a grade that’s true to what a student understands are not always the same grade. Depth is the trade-off we notice last, because it’s the one that doesn’t show up until much later.

The fix isn’t abandoning efficient assessment formats. It’s building in occasional deeper checks — a follow-up question, a brief verbal explanation, a second look at borderline work — before a grade goes into the record permanently. Even one extra “tell me how you got there” question can surface whether a correct answer reflects understanding or a lucky guess. This connects directly to performance of worth: tasks that ask students to apply learning somewhere real are far harder to complete through compliance alone.

Choosing Your Trade-Off on Purpose

No single assessment strategy solves time, consistency, and depth simultaneously. A quick multiple-choice check is fast and reasonably consistent, but shallow. A rich portfolio conference is deep and genuinely revealing, but slow. A shared rubric with clear criteria protects consistency, but only if you also protect the time to moderate it properly.

That’s not a flaw in your planning. It’s the actual shape of the problem. The teachers who manage assessment well aren’t the ones who’ve found a loophole — they’re the ones who’ve stopped expecting one, and instead ask a simple question before choosing a strategy: for this task, which cost can I afford, and which one matters most?

🪜 A Quick Decision Check Before You Design a Task
  • Low stakes, shapes tomorrow’s teaching? Choose speed. A fast formative check beats a slow, perfect one you never get to use.
  • Reported to families or used for placement? Choose consistency. Build in moderation time even if it means assessing less often.
  • Central to whether real understanding happened? Choose depth. Add one verbal or applied check before the grade is locked in.

That’s the honest version of assessment design. Not a search for the perfect tool, but a series of deliberate choices about which cost you’re willing to carry, task by task, term by term.

💬 Your Turn! Which of these three trade-offs do you find hardest to accept — time, consistency, or depth? Tell us what you’ve changed (or given up trying to fix) in the comments below.

References

Australian Education Union. (2023). The heavy hours: Work intensification for teachers and school leaders. aeufederal.org.au

Australian Institute for Teaching and School Leadership (AITSL). (2018). Australian Professional Standards for Teachers — Standard 5.3: Make consistent and comparable judgements.

Juliani, A. J. (2026). The game of school is out of control. ajjuliani.beehiiv.com.

NSW Department of Education. (2024). Assessment practice — consistent teacher judgement. education.nsw.gov.au

Schmidt, F. T. C., Kaiser, A., & Retelsdorf, J. (2023). Halo effects in grading: An experimental approach. Educational Psychology, 43(2–3), 246–262.

5 Easy Ways to Match Assessment and Record-Keeping

Assessment · Record-Keeping

5 Easy Ways to Match Assessment and Record-Keeping

A brilliant assessment strategy means nothing if your record-keeping can’t hold onto what it found.

⏱ 6 min read · By Matt Faulkner · Assessment / Record-Keeping

Last week we mapped the chain that good assessment planning follows: content descriptor, learning intention, success criteria, assessment strategy. That is where most professional learning stops. In practice, one link is still missing — the record-keeping device that actually holds what you found.

Here is the scenario. You run a genuinely good practical assessment. Students are engaged, you are watching closely, and you form clear impressions about who has got it and who hasn’t. Three weeks later, at report-writing time, those impressions are gone. What is left is a gut feeling and a grade you can no longer fully justify.

That is not a memory problem. It is a mismatch between your assessment strategy and how you recorded it. This post works through five record-keeping devices, when each one earns its place, and two worked examples — English and Science — to show the pairing in action.

Why the Record-Keeping Device Isn’t an Afterthought

Susan Brookhart’s research on rubrics makes a useful starting point. She argues effective rubrics need two things: criteria tied to the actual learning, not the task, and performance levels described clearly enough that two teachers would score the same work the same way. A rubric that fails either test isn’t really a record — it’s a rough impression with a score attached.

The same logic applies to every device, not just rubrics. James Popham’s classroom assessment framework treats each record-keeping tool as matched to a specific assessment purpose. A checklist works well for binary, observable skills. In contrast, a rubric works better for quality that sits on a continuum. Use the wrong device and even excellent assessment data becomes unusable later.

Put simply, the assessment strategy and its record-keeping device are answering two different questions. The strategy asks, “what will I see or collect?” The device asks, “how will I hold onto it accurately enough to use later?” Skip the second question and the first one’s answer evaporates.

📋 Five Record-Keeping Devices at a Glance
  • Checklist. A yes/no list of observable behaviours or skills. Fast to use, easy to update. Best for binary, procedural skills — did the student do this or not.
  • Rating scale. Like a checklist, but with a range (e.g. rarely–sometimes–consistently). Adds nuance without the full weight of a rubric.
  • Analytic rubric. Separate criteria, each scored against clear performance-level descriptors. Best for complex, multi-part tasks like extended writing.
  • Anecdotal record. Short, dated observational notes. Best for capturing context a checklist can’t — the “why,” not just the “what.”
  • Portfolio or work sample collection. A curated set of student work over time. Best when the strategy itself allows varied formats or products.

Worked Example: Year 4 English — Persuasive Writing

Take a persuasive writing unit built around AC9E4LY06 — planning, creating, editing and publishing a persuasive text using visual features, linked ideas, complex sentences and correct punctuation. The assessment strategy is an extended piece of writing with several moving parts. Consequently, the record-keeping device needs to hold multiple criteria at once, not just a single quality judgement.

✏️ Matching the Method — Year 4 Persuasive Writing
  • Assessment strategy: Students plan, draft and publish a persuasive text on a self-chosen issue.
  • Record-keeping device: An analytic rubric with four criteria — argument structure, use of persuasive language, sentence complexity, and mechanics.
  • Why this device: A single overall grade would hide which criterion needs re-teaching. Reporting “structure: developing, mechanics: consistent” tells the next lesson’s story far better than one number.
  • Practical tip: Score the rubric during drafting, not just at publication. That gives you formative evidence you can act on before the final piece is due, not just a summative record afterwards.

Worked Example: Year 5 Science — Working Scientifically

Now compare that with a practical investigation built around AC9S5I02 and AC9S5I03 — planning a fair test and using equipment to observe and measure with reasonable precision. Here the assessment strategy is observational: you are watching students work in real time, not marking a finished product. That changes which record-keeping device fits.

🔬 Matching the Method — Year 5 Working Scientifically
  • Assessment strategy: Teacher observation during a small-group fair test investigation.
  • Record-keeping device: A checklist for the procedural skills (identifies variables, uses equipment safely, records data), backed by short anecdotal notes for anything unexpected.
  • Why this device: A rubric is overkill for genuinely binary skills — a student either identified the controlled variable or didn’t. The anecdotal layer catches the student who reasoned brilliantly but fumbled the equipment, which a checklist alone would miss.
  • Practical tip: Clip the checklist to a board and move between groups. Anything worth a note goes in the margin, dated, in under five words.
Choosing the assessment strategy is the easy half of the job. Choosing a record-keeping device that survives contact with report-writing time is the half most planning skips.

Where Digital Tools Fit — and Where They Don’t

Most Australian schools now run assessment records through a platform like Sentral or Compass, and both can genuinely help. Digital gradebooks hold rubric scores and checklist data centrally, track them across the year, and generate the longitudinal view a single lesson’s notes never could.

That said, the platform should follow the pedagogy, not the other way around. Beyond that, this connects to Miriam Plotinsky’s point about relying on a single, first impression of a student — one data point, however confidently recorded, can still mislead. A digital system makes it tempting to enter one tidy score and move on. Resist that. If your assessment strategy genuinely needs a rubric plus an anecdotal note, enter both — even if the system’s default view only surfaces the score.

For this reason, before you commit a strategy to any platform, ask one question: does this device capture what I actually need to know, or just what’s easiest to type in? If it’s the second, the record-keeping has quietly started driving the assessment instead of serving it.

Closing the Loop

Put the whole chain together and it reads: content descriptor, learning intention, success criteria, assessment strategy, record-keeping device. Each link only holds if the one before it does. A well-matched device isn’t extra admin — it’s what lets the assessment for, as and of learning you’re already doing actually inform what happens next, from tomorrow’s formative check to the report you write in Term 4.

That leaves one honest question still open: even with the right device, every one of these tools carries some bias, some time cost, and some risk of telling an incomplete story. That’s exactly where backward-designed planning earns its keep — and it’s also where Part 3 of this series picks up next.

💬 Your Turn! Which record-keeping device do you reach for most — and has it ever let you down at report-writing time? Tell us what you’ve learned in the comments below.

References

Brookhart, S. M. (2013). How to create and use rubrics for formative assessment and grading. ASCD.

Jorgensen, E. (2026, July 10). Giving students a choice in how they will demonstrate their learning. Edutopia. edutopia.org

Plotinsky, M. (2026, July 10). Working to see the full picture. Edutopia. edutopia.org

Popham, W. J. (2020). Classroom assessment: What teachers need to know (9th ed.). Pearson.

5 Easy Steps to Fix the Missing Link in Assessment

Assessment · Planning

Assessment isn’t the last decision in a lesson plan — it’s four more decisions, and they only work as a chain.

⏱ 5 min read · By Matt Faulkner · Assessment / Pedagogy

Ask a room of preservice teachers what comes after “learning intention” and “success criteria” in a lesson plan, and most will say “the activity.” Ask what comes after that, and the answer gets vaguer — a formative check, added somewhere near the end, almost as an afterthought.

That’s not really anyone’s fault. Backward design tells you assessment comes before activities. What it doesn’t spell out is that assessment is not one decision. It’s a chain of decisions, and each link depends on the one before it.

Skip a link, and the chain still looks fine from a distance. It’s only when you go to use the evidence — for reporting, for grouping, for next week’s planning — that you notice something’s missing. This is the first of three posts unpacking that chain, starting with the two links most planning conversations skip.

The Missing Link in Backward Design

In our post on backward design, Stage 2 — “determine acceptable evidence” — sounds like a single step. In practice, it’s five separate decisions, and they only work as a chain.

Get the content descriptor right, and the learning intention should follow. Get the learning intention right, and the success criteria should follow. From there, though, teachers routinely stall. The assessment strategy gets chosen on instinct, and the record-keeping device gets chosen even later — often on the walk to the photocopier, five minutes before the lesson starts.

That’s the gap this post is about. Not the first three links, which we’ve covered in detail already, but the two that come after — and the discipline of choosing them together, not separately.

🧍 The Five-Link Assessment Chain
  • Content descriptor — what the curriculum actually requires
  • Learning intention — what students will know or be able to do
  • Success criteria — what meeting the intention looks like, in student language
  • Assessment strategy — how you’ll gather evidence
  • Record-keeping device — how that evidence is captured for later use

A Quick Primer: For, As and Of Learning

Before you choose a strategy, it helps to know which purpose you’re actually serving. Lorna Earl’s framework names three: assessment for learning, assessment as learning, and assessment of learning (Earl, 2003).

Assessment for learning is diagnostic and formative. It’s evidence you, the teacher, use in the moment to adjust what happens next. Assessment as learning hands that job to the student — self-monitoring against criteria they understand well enough to apply themselves. Assessment of learning is summative. It’s the judgement that gets reported, once the learning is done.

We’ve explored the for/as/of distinction in more depth before, so treat this as the short version. What matters here is simpler: know which purpose you’re serving before you pick a strategy. A strategy built for one purpose rarely does justice to another.

This isn’t just conceptual housekeeping. AITSL Standard 5 — assess, provide feedback and report — assumes you can name which purpose each piece of evidence serves. When for, as and of learning blur together, so does your evidence trail.

Worked Example: Extending Year 5 HASS Into Record-Keeping

Take the Year 5 HASS example from our backward design post. The content descriptor is AC9HS5K03 — the impact of colonial settlement on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples. The learning intention: explain how colonial settlement affected Aboriginal Peoples’ lives, using specific evidence. The success criterion: describe at least two impacts, each supported by evidence from a source.

The assessment strategy was already chosen there — an exit ticket, collected before students leave the room. That’s assessment for learning: formative, immediate, used to shape tomorrow’s grouping. But an exit ticket from 25 students produces 25 individual pieces of evidence. Without a record-keeping device, all of it disappears the moment it’s read and set aside.

📋 Closing the Chain — HASS Example
  • Assessment strategy: exit ticket, two sentence starters
  • Purpose: assessment for learning — informs tomorrow’s grouping
  • Record-keeping device: a simple class checklist, one row per student
  • What it captures: who has two impacts with evidence, who doesn’t yet
  • What it misses: the quality of reasoning behind each impact — a limitation worth naming, not ignoring

Why Skipping a Link Breaks the Chain

A checklist works here because the question is genuinely binary — did the student meet the criterion, or not yet. Use the same checklist for something that needs to capture reasoning quality, and you’ll end up with a tidy spreadsheet that tells you almost nothing useful.

Compare that same lesson if the goal had been reasoning quality instead of two impacts. An anecdotal record — a few sentences noting how a student justified their answer — would have captured what the checklist could not, at the cost of more of your time. Neither device is wrong. The mismatch is choosing one without asking what the evidence actually needs to show.

That’s the trap. Record-keeping devices aren’t interchangeable, and a device that suits one assessment strategy can quietly undermine another. The mismatch rarely shows up until report-writing season, when the evidence you kept turns out not to answer the question you’re being asked. We’ll get into exactly which device suits which strategy in the next post in this series.

For now, the discipline that matters is simpler: choose your record-keeping device at the same time as your assessment strategy — not afterwards, once the marking pile has already landed on your desk. The same logic applies to a summative performance of worth, where the stakes for getting the record right are even higher.

“A learning intention without an aligned assessment strategy is a promise you can’t keep. A strategy without a record-keeping device is evidence you’ll never use.” — TeacherTalk

💬 Your Turn! When you’re planning, do you choose your record-keeping device deliberately — or does it get decided by whatever’s already open on your desk when the bell goes? Share what’s worked below.

References

Australian Curriculum, Assessment and Reporting Authority (ACARA). (2023). Australian Curriculum v9.0. https://v9.australiancurriculum.edu.au

Australian Institute for Teaching and School Leadership (AITSL). (2018). Australian Professional Standards for Teachers (Standards 1, 2, 3 & 5). https://www.aitsl.edu.au/teach/standards

Earl, L. M. (2003). Assessment as learning: Using classroom assessment to maximise student learning. Corwin Press.

Wiggins, G., & McTighe, J. (2005). Understanding by design (2nd ed.). ASCD.

7 Proven Phrases That Actually Stop the Battles

Week 19 · Classroom Management · The Language of Correction

7 Proven Phrases That Actually Stop the Battles

The words you use in the moment of correction matter as much as the rule you wrote on the wall.

⏱ 6 min read · By Matt Faulkner · Classroom Management / Pedagogy

Last week’s post ended with a challenge, not an answer. Procedures handle the routine moments. Regulation handles the moments a student’s nervous system has taken over. The real skill sits in between — reading the room well enough to know which problem you’re actually looking at.

Even once you’ve read it correctly, you still have to open your mouth and say something. Get that wrong, and a thirty-second correction turns into a five-minute standoff in front of the whole class. That’s the piece nobody’s covered yet in this series, and it’s the one most new teachers get the least training in.

Bill Rogers, the Australian behaviour management researcher whose work has shaped practice here for three decades, built an entire framework around one deceptively simple insight: how you correct a student matters as much as whether you correct them.

This is the final post in our Classroom Management series. We started with Wong and Wong’s procedures, moved to the Berry Street regulation-first approach, and now we finish where the rubber actually meets the road — the words you choose the moment a rule gets broken.

Why Rules Need to Be Co-Constructed

Rogers’ first move happens well before any correction is needed. Rules handed down by the teacher on day one — no talking, no calling out, put your hand up — invite testing. Students had no say in them, so they feel no ownership of them. By contrast, rules built with the class in the first week create something closer to a shared agreement than an imposed list.

In practice, this takes one lesson. Ask students what helps everyone learn, and what gets in the way. Turn their answers into four or five positively phrased rules — we listen when others are speaking, not don’t interrupt. Consequently, when you correct a student later, you’re not enforcing your rule. You’re reminding them of theirs.

🪑 Building Co-Constructed Rules in One Lesson
  • Ask, don’t tell. “What do we need from each other to learn well in this room?”
  • Cluster the answers. Group similar responses into four or five broad rules, not fifteen specific ones.
  • Phrase them positively. State what to do, not what to avoid.
  • Display and revisit. Put them up, and refer back to them by name during corrections — not just at the start of term.

The Least Intrusive Intervention Wins

Rogers is firm on this point: match the correction to the size of the behaviour. A raised eyebrow or a tactical pause handles most low-level disruption. Save the directed, public correction for behaviour that’s actually disrupting learning. Overcorrecting minor moments — what Rogers calls sweating the small stuff — is exactly how ordinary corrections turn into the battles this post is named after.

In other words, there’s a hierarchy: non-verbal cue, then a tactical pause, then a quiet word directed at the individual, then a clear directed choice — only then a consequence. Most calling-out, fidgeting, and off-task chatter never needs to go past step one or two.

Correct the behaviour, not the child. A good correction leaves the lesson running and the relationship intact.

Language That Corrects Without Shaming

The core of Rogers’ framework is a distinction between describing behaviour and directing it. “Why are you doing that?” invites a debate you don’t want mid-lesson — and debate is how a thirty-second correction becomes a battle. “Facing this way, thanks” names the expected behaviour and moves on. The first puts a student on the spot in front of peers. The second gives them a face-saving way back into the lesson.

That said, this isn’t about being soft. It’s about being precise. Directed language is often shorter and clearer than the question-and-justification exchange it replaces — and it keeps the correction between you and the student, not the whole class.

💬 Bill Rogers’ Go-To Correction Phrases
  • “Facing this way, thanks.” Names the expected behaviour, not the unwanted one.
  • “You’re okay to finish that after the lesson.” Offers a choice, not an ultimatum.
  • “Thanks for…” stated before compliance, not after — it assumes cooperation rather than demanding it.
  • A first name, said once, said calmly. No lecture attached. The name alone is often enough.

Even so, tone carries as much weight as wording. The calmest voice in the room during a correction is usually the teacher’s — not because the behaviour doesn’t matter, but because a calm correction is one a student can hear.

Bringing the Series Together

Three posts, three layers of the same classroom. Wong and Wong’s procedures give students a structure for how the day runs. Berry Street’s regulation-first approach gets students into a state where they can actually access that structure. And Rogers’ correction language is what holds it together in the moment something goes off track.

None of the three works well in isolation. A beautifully co-constructed set of rules means little without procedures to back it up. A regulated class still needs corrected in the moment. As a result, the strongest classrooms tend to have all three running at once, and each one covers for what the others can’t.

Over to You — Which correction phrase are you going to try this week? Or if your class already co-constructed its rules this year, how’s it held up under pressure? Share below — three posts in, this series has been shaped as much by what you’ve told us as by the research.

References

Rogers, B. (2011). Classroom behaviour: A practical guide to effective teaching, behaviour management and colleague support (3rd ed.). SAGE.

Rogers, B. (2015). Classroom management: The language of discipline. Scholastic.

5 Proven Ways to Calm Your Classroom Before Trouble Starts

Classroom Management · 5 Proven Strategies

5 Proven Ways to Calm Your Classroom Before Trouble Starts

A routine only sticks in a room that already feels safe. Safety has to come first — not as a nice-to-have, but as the actual mechanism.

⏱ 6 min read · By Matt Faulkner · Classroom Management / Pedagogy

Last week’s post set out seven procedures worth teaching in the first days of a new class. How to enter the room, how to get attention, how to pack up. Useful, practical, Monday-morning stuff. But here’s the catch nobody tells you in your teaching degree.

You can teach a procedure perfectly. Model it, rehearse it, reinforce it for a fortnight. And it will still fall apart, instantly, for one particular student on one particular afternoon. Not because the procedure was badly taught. Because that student’s body isn’t in a state where any procedure can land.

This is where the Berry Street Education Model picks up the thread. It doesn’t replace what we covered last week. In other words, it explains the layer underneath: the part that has to be in place before a routine can hold.

What Berry Street Actually Argues

The Berry Street Education Model (BSEM) grew out of work with traumatised young people, many in out-of-home care. It’s now used in more than four hundred schools across Australia, mainstream and specialist alike. Even so, its central claim travels well beyond trauma-specific settings.

The model organises classroom practice into five domains: Body, Stamina, Engagement, Character, and Relationship. Relationship sits underneath all the others as the foundation, not just one item on the list. The first domain, Body, is also the one BSEM training starts with. That ordering is deliberate.

The underlying idea draws on what’s sometimes called the “reptilian brain” framing. Before a student can reason, follow an instruction, or rationalise a threat, their stress-response system has to settle. As a result, a dysregulated nervous system cannot access higher-order thinking, no matter how clear your procedure was.

You cannot procedure your way past a nervous system that doesn’t yet feel safe. Regulation has to come first, every time, for every student — not as an exception you make once.

Why This Isn’t a Contradiction of Last Week’s Post

It would be easy to read this as walking back last week’s argument for procedures. It isn’t. Procedures and regulation solve different problems, and most classrooms need both.

A procedure tells a regulated student exactly what to do. It removes ambiguity and friction for the eighty or ninety per cent of moments where a class is functioning well. By contrast, regulation work is what makes the other ten or twenty per cent survivable. These are the moments where a student’s stress response has taken over, where no procedure is going to reach them.

Skip procedures, and you get chaos in the easy moments. Skip regulation, and your best-taught procedures collapse the instant a student is genuinely dysregulated. BSEM doesn’t ask you to throw out structure. It asks you to notice which problem you’re actually looking at, in the moment, before reaching for a fix.

What This Looks Like in an Australian Primary Classroom

BSEM’s full training runs across several days and covers far more ground than one blog post can hold. What follows are entry points — small, evidence-aligned practices a classroom teacher can start using without a Berry Street accreditation.

🌿 5 Regulation Practices Worth Starting With
  • Brain breaks and positive primers. A short burst of movement or a brief mental challenge between activities. Use it proactively, not only after things go wrong. The aim is readiness, not reward.
  • A named de-escalation space. Somewhere in the room, even a corner, a student can go to regulate without it being treated as a consequence. The difference between time-out and a regulation space is entirely in how it’s framed and offered.
  • Noticing the body before the behaviour. Elevated voice, fidgeting, withdrawal, refusal to make eye contact. These are often stress-response signals arriving before the behaviour you’d usually respond to. Catching them earlier gives you more options.
  • A predictable entry ritual. The same calm greeting or settling routine every time a student arrives, regardless of their mood. Predictability itself is regulating, even before anything is said.
  • Co-regulation, not just self-regulation. Your own calm, steady tone does real work here. A dysregulated student often borrows their state from the adult in the room, for better or worse.

None of this requires abandoning the procedures from last week’s post. A brain break can sit inside a transition procedure. A regulation space can be one of the options inside your “getting help” routine. The two systems are meant to run together, not compete.

Relationship Is the Domain Underneath the Domains

BSEM places Relationship beneath the other four, and that’s worth sitting with rather than skimming past. None of the Body-domain strategies work as box-ticking exercises performed at a class instead of with one. A breathing exercise offered by a teacher a student doesn’t trust reads as one more adult instruction to comply with. The same exercise, offered by a teacher the student has a relationship with, reads as care.

This connects directly to formative assessment work you may already be doing elsewhere in your teaching. Noticing which students are regulated and which aren’t, moment to moment, is itself a kind of ongoing assessment. In practice, it’s just aimed at readiness to learn rather than at curriculum content.

For Australian teachers, this also sits inside AITSL Standard 4, specifically 4.1 and 4.4 — supportive environments and student wellbeing. The standard doesn’t separate behaviour management from wellbeing. Increasingly, neither should we.

A Caution Worth Naming

It’s tempting to read trauma-informed practice as a complete explanation for every difficult classroom moment. That temptation is worth resisting. Not every disruption is dysregulation. Sometimes a student is just bored, under-challenged, or testing a boundary in an entirely ordinary way that has nothing to do with trauma.

Treating every behaviour through a trauma lens can be its own kind of mistake. It can excuse what actually needs a clear, calm boundary. Even so, it can be exhausting to apply universally when most of your class, most of the time, is simply regulated and getting on with the day. BSEM’s own framing supports this. Regulation strategies are there for the moments that need them, not a replacement for the procedures that carry the rest of your day.

The skill worth building isn’t choosing one framework over the other. It’s reading the room well enough to know, in a given moment, whether you’re looking at a procedure gap or a regulation gap. Then, responding to the one that’s actually in front of you.

That reading-the-room judgement is exactly where this series goes next. Part 3 turns to Bill Rogers and the language of correction itself. What to actually say, in the moment, once you’ve worked out which problem you’re solving.

Where does this show up for you? Do you have a regulation space, a brain-break routine, or a way of reading the room before you respond? Tell us what’s working in the comments below.

References

Berry Street. (2020). Berry Street Education Model: Trauma-informed positive education [Brochure]. Berry Street. berrystreet.org.au

Stokes, H., Kern, M. L., Turnbull, M., Farrelly, A., & Forster, R. (2019). Trauma informed positive education: Research and evaluation of the Berry Street Education Model (BSEM) as a whole-school approach to student engagement and wellbeing (2016–2018). University of Melbourne Graduate School of Education.

Australian Institute for Teaching and School Leadership (AITSL). (2018). Australian Professional Standards for Teachers (Standard 4). aitsl.edu.au