We often tell students to “trust the process,” but what does that really mean when the process feels overwhelming? A conversation with a student struggling over a grade brought me back to my own journey as a learner.
The other day, while I was out with friends, I received what seemed like a frantic series of messages from a student who was having a panic attack over a grade. He shared the teacher’s feedback with me—feedback that left him confused and unsure why he hadn’t achieved proficiency.
As I read his messages, I could feel his worry and his tears. I have seen this child grow over the past two years as a learner and enjoyed having deep meaningful discussions. He is the type that has always gone above and beyond, dedicating so much of his time to learning. Being an only child, his parents have also poured their heart and soul into ensuring he has “the best” of everything, especially when it comes to his education. While I have my doubts about the private school they’ve chosen for him, their dedication in providing the best educational environment has been admirable.
On my walk this autumn day, reflecting on our conversation, I thought about how I reassured him: that we would look at the feedback given to him together, to find the gap. And as I did, I found myself reflecting on my own journey as a learner. As a young immigrant child with so little support and resources at school or in my community, how did I cope with the challenges I faced? What gave me the perseverance to continue learning when I so often felt unseen and unsure that I had it in me to succeed at anything beyond labor work? It must have been my faith and trust in myself and in the process. That this space of the unknown moving towards the known, is where the feelings of frustration and anxiety brew. And the longer we stay in this space, which is the learning space, we are also building our attribute of resilience and grit.
As I walked along, noticing the trees, I remembered reading that what we see on the surface is not always a reflection of what’s happening inside—or underground. Just as trees lose their leaves in the fall, their roots continue to grow stronger, quietly drawing the nutrients they need to survive. That image reminded me of the balance between trust and hope. Without both, we cannot truly grow. The unseen is much like the learning space that helps us to keep grounded but to also help build our resilience.
When I met with my student the next day, I began to understand why his grade had affected him so deeply. He felt that being labeled “developing” spoke volumes about him as a learner. I asked him: Can this change? Can this process be something you work on and get better at? After 30 minutes of conversation, he began to see that learning is a process—one that involves both the physical and the spiritual. He also began to understand that frustration and discomfort are not signs of failure but essential parts of growth also known as the learning space. This is where resilience is built.
Looking back on my own journey, I realize that resilience was the first thing I learned in life. It carried me through when resources and support were missing, and it still carries me today.
So when I think about trust versus hope, I realize I am still learning to trust—even now, as I continue my own studies in a doctoral program. Am I scared, like my student? Absolutely. But I remind myself daily: if I didn’t have hope in myself, and trust in the process, I wouldn’t be here.
In the end, both my student and I are walking the same path—learning to balance trust and hope. And maybe that’s what education is really about: not the answers we already know, but the courage to keep going even when we don’t.
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