It’s been over a year since I started teaching at BCIT, and just a few weeks since I pulled off my first class at the Fraser Valley Real Estate Board.
When I first set out to become an instructor, I thought it would be a fun thing to do. I imagined standing in front of a classroom, sharing the knowledge I’d accumulated over the years. I pictured myself lecturing on topics I loved, cracking a few jokes, and watching eager minds soak it all in.
But that’s not what happened.
When I stepped into my first classroom, I found a room full of people using their scarce free time to learn something meaningful. These weren’t people looking to be entertained—they were real people, carrying emotional weight, financial pressure, and complex learning journeys. I realized quickly that I had a responsibility not just to teach, but to serve. To offer something of value. To help guide them into the next chapter of their lives.
Suddenly, it became clear: my job was not to be impressive.
It was to be of service.
I had to find out what my students already knew, uncover what they still needed, and build a scaffold to support their growth. Every group of learners was different. What worked for one class might flop in another. Teaching became a process of constant adaptation—learning their needs, reshaping my materials, and showing up with the best version of myself, again and again.
And showing up once wasn’t enough.
The real work was in the repetition—showing up week after week, sometimes with energy, sometimes running on empty, but always with care.
Over time, I learned that being an instructor required far more than subject matter expertise. It demanded depth and precision, yes—but also the ability to anticipate emotionally charged and financially nuanced questions. It required fluency in learning theory, awareness of institutional policies, and—above all—a deep understanding of my students. Not as a monolith, but as individual human beings.
It’s an incredible responsibility.
Somewhere along the way, it stopped being a fun thing I wanted to try. It became part of who I am. And it made me better—not in the “more impressive” way I once imagined, but in the ways that actually matter: more empathetic, more patient, more attuned to the people I serve.
I thought I wanted to be an instructor so I could be someone others looked up to.
Instead, I became someone who shows up—over and over again—for others.
And I’m deeply grateful to be standing in that space.
