By Nikki Wineera
I was once the kind of teacher who followed all the rules. I delivered lessons the way I had been trained: structured, sequenced, predictable. I didn’t question it—after all, I’d completed a Master’s of Teaching, not a Master’s of Education. The emphasis was on methodology, not philosophy. It was all about how to teach content well, not how children actually learn.
But somewhere along the way, I started noticing the limits of that approach. The more I stuck to the structure, the less engaged my students seemed. I was doing everything “right,” but felt that the spark just wasn’t there. I wanted them to be motivated, to care, to take ownership of their learning. But how could they, when every part of it was being handed to them?
So, I decided to break a few rules—nothing revolutionary, just small shifts. And to my surprise, everything started to change.
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Letting Students Lead (Just a Little)
It started with a simple decision: I told my fifth-grade class that they were old enough to take charge of their own learning.
Instead of telling them exactly what to do, I shared what we had to cover—according to the program—and then gave them freedom over how and when to do it. I’d list the required topics on the whiteboard, and they’d walk into class knowing what needed to be done. They could work in pairs or small groups, or on their own if they preferred. Some dove straight in. Others took a moment to figure out their rhythm.
I also taught them how to organize their notes in a way that made sense to them. Some preferred bullet points. Others created mind maps. A few transformed their notebooks into creative masterpieces—colourful pages filled with drawings, diagrams, and handwritten summaries. It wasn’t about uniformity anymore. It was about understanding.
Goal Setting and Self-Reflection
One of the most effective tools we used was something incredibly simple: personal goal setting. At the beginning of each class, students would write a goal on their mini whiteboards—either academic or social-emotional. Something they wanted to work on during that lesson.
Their goals were things like “stay focused,” “take better notes,” or “listen more.” At the end of class, we’d take a few minutes to reflect. Did they meet their goal? If not, why? What could they do differently next time?
Sure, some of them failed gloriously at sticking to their intentions—especially when it came to focus. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that they were noticing and thinking about how they learn. They were beginning to build self-awareness and take responsibility for their role in the classroom.
From Compliance to Curiosity
Textbooks still had to be covered, but instead of assigning the same pages to everyone in the same way, I encouraged students to divide them up. They assigned chapters to each other, summarized their sections, and then came back together to share what they’d learned. It was their idea, and it worked.
What really changed the energy, though, were the projects. These weren’t traditional “assign a topic, write a report” kind of tasks. They were student-led, student-organized, and full of imagination.
One example I’ll never forget came from a unit tied to the Mexican Constitution. We’d been learning about rights, laws, and the structure of government—but the energy was flat. The textbook felt distant. So, I asked the class a question that cracked everything open: If you could build your own society, what would it look like?
Silence. Then grins. Then finally, sparks.
From that moment, they were off. Each group created their own civilization, starting with an island location, complete with latitude and longitude coordinates. They used recycled materials to build 3D models—some with lush forests and beaches, others with volcanoes or futuristic architecture. One group’s island had dinosaurs. Another invented an entirely new language, complete with a written alphabet.
They outlined systems of government. Wrote laws. Created currency. Assigned jobs. Some even designed clothing for their citizens.
And they did it all in English—even though it was their second language. Because they wanted to.
They weren’t just learning about civics. They were living it.
They were motivated, excited, and deeply engaged. The textbook material became something to get through so they could return to the work they truly cared about. It became clear that once they had ownership, they didn’t need external motivation. They just got on with it.
Managing the Chaos
Of course, it wasn’t perfect. The classroom was loud. It was messy. Sometimes students argued over how things should be done. But they figured it out. They learned to compromise, to listen, to problem-solve together.
And while it may have looked like organized chaos to anyone walking by, what I saw was something far more powerful: Confidence. Independence. Teamwork. Intrinsic motivation.
Students became more responsible—not because I told them to, but because their learning had become theirs. They knew they were trusted. And they rose to meet that trust.
During this project, I stepped back from the front of the room. I wasn’t the expert anymore—I was a facilitator, a mentor, a co-explorer.
For Teachers Who Are Curious (But Cautious)
If you’re reading this and thinking, “That sounds great, but I don’t have time for it,” I get it. I wasn’t running a free-for-all. We still had to meet deadlines, finish chapters, and tick boxes. But within that structure, there was room to breathe.
This isn’t about overhauling your whole teaching style. It can start with something as small as asking your students to set a goal at the beginning of the lesson. Let them think about how they’re learning, not just what they’re learning.
It could be as simple as inviting students to divide up textbook content and summarize it in their own way. Let them use skills they already have—creativity, collaboration, leadership—and bring those into the classroom.
And if you can, give them a bit of time to explore something that matters to them within the subject. You might be surprised at what comes out of it. Giving students choice doesn’t lead to chaos. It leads to connection. They feel seen. Trusted. Capable. And that changes everything.
A Final Thought
When I stopped trying to control every part of the learning process, something unexpected happened: my students stopped fighting me. They stopped resisting. They started showing up—not just physically, but emotionally and mentally. They were present. Engaged. Alive.
And I got to see them more clearly. I saw the quiet leaders, the natural mediators, the brilliant question-askers, and the kids who always stepped in to help a teammate. I saw their strengths—not because I was assessing them, but because they were using them.
Giving students voice and choice doesn’t have to be radical. It just has to be real. Start small. Trust them a little more. And then, watch what happens when they realize the learning belongs to them.
Nikki Wineera is an educator, writer, and founder of a holistic learning community in Mexico. With a background in traditional schooling and a heart rooted in Indigenous wisdom, mindfulness, and play, she now advocates for education that honours children’s autonomy, emotional well-being, and natural love of learning.
