At last year’s Mentoring Institute Conference, I presented a paper entitled “Dipping into Autonomy: The Other Side of the Student Support Story,” in which I detailed the special challenges I faced as mentor and supervisor to a group of high-achieving, intelligent, and compassionate undergraduate STEM tutors. Their high standards of personal accountability and zeal for success led them to place significant pressure on themselves as mentors, further leading me to assess my own role as mentor myself. One year later, I return to the Mentoring Conference forum to present the techniques utilized to assist these students as they navigate their jobs and work to develop their own autonomy.
The Peer Learning Facilitators (PLFs)
The students with whom I work are academically qualified undergraduates who support STEM instructors to facilitate active, collaborative learning during class time. PLFs work 10-12 hours per week with tasks varying in consultation with instructors, including in-class activities with students, and preparatory time under guidance from instructors. PLFs may review student in-class work and summarize problem points and misconceptions upon which instructors can then focus. PLFs receive intensive pre-semester training and complete 1-2 hours of Professional Development training each week during the semester. My job consists of hiring the PLFs, pairing them with appropriate courses and faculty, training them, overseeing their payment and workload, and offering feedback in the form of reviews and observations. Essentially, my main responsibility is to aid their success within their academic mentoring roles in the classroom, as well as help prepare them for later jobs as academic professionals.
As I wrote last year (2012), my students, like many others in roles of peer academic support, are “smart and innovative. They care about their academic and personal communities to such a degree that it becomes difficult to separate the two. In short, these students invest seriously in the work of mentoring” (p. 2). In addition to their deep commitment to their own students, the PLFs took higher than average course loads and often were members of multiple extracurricular organizations, including the Greek community (Cianflone Romero, 2012, p.3). They were extensively obligated to many groups, occasionally to the detriment of their own well-being. To best mentor them, I identified three initiatives that could help develop their autonomy and strengths as mentors and students: (re)define success, trust their judgment, and let them go (Cianflone Romero, 2012, p. 5-7). (Re)defining success meant checking in with students often to be sure their standards and expectations were appropriate. Trusting their judgment meant encouraging them to stay confident in their mentoring choices, and when mistakes were occasionally made, discuss them rationally and compassionately to keep the goal of learning always in the forefront of our minds. Letting them go meant that, as a supervisor, I needed to know when it was best for the students to move on to other work in order to ensure their forward motion toward greater personal goals. Together, my students and I worked on these initiatives in groups during weekly Professional Development trainings, using individual written reflections, and one-on-one meetings with me.
In their Professional Development trainings, PLFs learn about, discuss, and brainstorm both discipline-specific and broad mentoring methodology. However, because most of the PLFs are young undergraduates, these gatherings tend to be the first time they encounter the responsibilities, joys, and frustrations of being a supporter in the classroom. These needs presented a challenge for me, as I wondered how best to make them feel as if they had a support system both in and out of the classroom, as well as feel that they had the tools to exercise their own autonomy. Though I had identified the initiatives, I wondered at the methodology to enact. My undergraduate work was in English and Linguistics, while my Master’s in Dance History. While my personal work tied me firmly to the arts and humanities, my professional positions were more fluid, taking me across UNM’s campus in tutoring, grant facilitation, faculty outreach, and finally back to student support in the form of Program Specialist for the Title V grant, STEM Gateway. As I reflected on my three initiatives from last year, I decided to re-visit skills I learned at a time in my life when I possessed the strongest mentors and most solid community: when I was a dancer.
Motivation and Individuality
In every dance class I have ever taken, one of the first things each professor does is hand out a self-interest survey for each student. These questionnaires include standard personal and academic information, such as contact information and major/minor. There are also more detailed questions on past and current injuries, training history, and personal motivations, such as “How many years of ballet training have you had?” and “How does this class fit in to your dance career goals?” One other common question for dance instructors to ask is “What do you want to accomplish in this class?” This question is both practical and philosophical in that it helps the instructor get a sense of the appropriateness of her curriculum (Will the planned choreography meet the needs of the dancers?) but also gives insight into the students’ mentality on their personal expectations (Based on the answers to the injury and history questions, are the stated goals viable? Are the dancers aiming too high? Too low?).
When I approached my science and math students in their first trainings of the semester, I used a similar survey to gauge their needs. Even though all PLFs go through an interview process, the relaxation of knowing they are, in fact, hired often led to a more frank honesty in their responses at this time. Many of the PLFs have also been employed with me for several semesters, and so re-submitting their answers to me allowed me to monitor changes in their goals, as well as to help me assess if I am meeting their needs over the long term. These inquiries into STEM students’ motivations serve almost exactly the same purpose as with dancers. There can often be a huge difference between where students think they are and where they actually are. The feedback I get from these questions tells me where their mind is in the first weeks of the semester. Are they thinking of graduate school or career opportunities? If so, I tend to see answers like, “Networking with faculty” and “Becoming more confident with course material.” Are they feeling overwhelmed? I occasionally receive joking responses like “To pass my classes” or “To make it through the semester.” Jesting aside, I make a note to check in more often with these students on their personal academics as well as their time management.
Even though something as simple as a brief questionnaire at the beginning of the semester may seem innocuous, it has proved exceptionally helpful for me in conducting work like pairing PLFs with each other and with faculty, monitoring their workload, and giving them productive feedback. I also do check-in surveys about halfway through the semester, which is another technique I learned from my dance instructors. These follow-ups look much like the first, asking students how they view their progress, if they feel they are on track to their goals, and what new goals have arisen in the past months. As a supervisor of undergraduates, it is critical for me to always keep in mind their temporal status. My job is to train them, support them, and then allow them to move onto their other fields. In this way, I am able to revisit the definition of success, both in their everyday tasks and in the greater role that this job plays in their lives. My first initiative from last year, (re)defining success, can stay in the forefront of my mind as I plan for continued trainings in this and future semesters.
Embodiment and Active Learning
The PLF role is as support for faculty implementing active learning in the classroom. The basis behind active learning is that actual practice, rather than simply passively receiving a verbal lecture, is what solidifies content and theory for students. I am constantly struck by how innovative this methodology can be to STEM constituents, since, from a dance perspective, active learning is the only real option. To watch the instructor perform proper methodology may be a vital element of conveying knowledge, but it is only one component. The dancers must learn to observe, note, and process what they see and hear into action manifested in their own bodies. This is not to say they will acquire the movement perfectly the first time, or even the fiftieth, but the only way to learn is by doing. To just lecture in a dance, theatre, or any type of studio course would appear silly.
In much the same way that a dancer must try out new moves for herself, my students need to actively experiment with their mentoring work in a safe, low-risk space. This experimentation includes activities based on real-world problems, small group discussion, and even guided role-play. Several improvisation techniques I learned in the dance and theater world have come into play here. For example, many of my students feel nervous when challenged by students their age. They often struggle with how to diffuse conflict and maintain their confidence in the face of other students not behaving appropriately in the classroom. We have played games in which small groups of about four or five PLFs act as students in the classroom and one takes her turn as the PLF. Each “student” has secret instructions handed to them on a piece of paper, such as “Don’t stop playing with your phone,” “Gossip about the instructor,” or “Whenever the PLF tries to move onto another student, ask her another question and pull her back in.” I encourage the PLFs to play each role to almost silly extremes, which often encourages feelings of play. To keep the PLF from feeling frustrated, we switch the roles often, usually after about five minutes. That way, each of my students has a chance to “act out,” which has the added benefit of releasing some pent-up frustration at some of their less well-behaved students. At the end of the training, we come back as a larger group and talk about what happened. I encourage them to talk about how it felt to embody a “problem” student and what their motivations were in each situation. The behavioral issues are based on real complaints I have had from PLFs, and so the discussions evolve into constructive tips from more experienced PLFs and fresh ideas from the newer ones.
Activities like these in which PLFs can actively embody in a group of their peers the work they do on their own encourages confidence and reinforces trust. I tell them that, in the moment, there is often no “right” answer and when we play games like the one detailed above, they can really see that there are several pathways to an effective resolution. Often in my dance classes, improvisation allows us to experience the boundaries of our own bodies and learn what feels natural to us. When the PLFs work together to act out their problems, new solutions often come to light. As long as I work to maintain a non-judgmental and compassionate space, just as in a good dance studio, my students can feel free to try new things with less risk. In this way, I can also emphasize to them that, though I may not be in the classroom with them each day, I support their work and development, ultimately trusting their judgment.
Community
The dance work that happens in a studio is often difficult, painful (both physically and mentally), and can feel overwhelming at times. Will I ever display the correct choreography? How do I appear to my instructor? Will I be good enough to move on to more advanced work with my peers? The friends I made while studying dance are those that experienced the same trials with me and encouraged me like few others have. We all understand just how poorly a bad day in the studio can feel when it seems our own bodies let us down, seeing that look in your instructor’s eyes when your best was simply not enough that day or faltering during a critical performance in front of dozens of onlookers. The women and men I danced with are the ones who can truly identify with me. I carry their support and the admiration I have for their diligence and creativity with me wherever I go.
In the same way, I hope that my students feel both challenged and supported in their work as PLFs. The people they meet as mentors understand especially the difficulties of their particular academic work. Also, the PLFs themselves create networks and friendships with each other that live on outside of this particular work space. My hope is that, like myself, they find that their work as mentors and the friends they have made in doing it are lifelong. As their time to move on arises, I encourage them to keep in touch with myself and other PLFs, in much the same way my dance instructors do with me. Their reflections on life as a PLF and how mentoring impacted their current work are always incredibly valuable to me as I train a new set of PLFs.
Overall, the work of mentoring is not simple or easy in any capacity. As I work with students over the years, I begin to see that content area becomes less and less important in the sense of a boundary. My STEM students seek the same guidance, need the same practice, and have mirrored goals as my fellow dancers did. In a sense, mentoring crosses these divides, allowing someone like me to receive the privilege and honor to work with brilliant math and science students. Together, we offer each other much and, in turn, can offer more to students of all disciplines.
REFERENCES
Cianflone Romero, Mary and Elizabeth Robinson. (2012). Dipping into Autonomy: The Other
Side of the Student Support Story. Proceedings from 5th Annual Mentoring Conference: Facilitating Developmental Relationships for Success. Albuquerque, NM.
