Productive Struggle

Everything in me wants to intervene, to show my 3-year-old grandson where the flat-edged puzzle piece that he’s trying to fit into the middle of the puzzle really goes. Of course, I would narrate for him how I know and how he could figure it out: “You see this edge here? Do you know what that means? Where do you see other flat edges? What do you see on the sides of these other pieces?” But I sit on my hands and chew on my tongue as he tells me, “This is a really tricky puzzle, but I can do it.” I count to five in my head, and—viola!—he slips the piece into its place on the boarder. He grins up at me, and I praise him for his tenacity. I’ve tried the explaining thing before—it just got a bewildered look from him while he sat back and let me make the puzzle.

This is a perfect picture of the productive struggle that is an important part of learning not only for 3-year-olds but also for my high school students, and even for myself. Productive struggle requires identifying the Goldilocks sweet spot of learning—not too easy and not too hard, but just the right amount of challenge to be interesting but not discouraging. It also needs investment in the learning (I want to struggle through for some reason), problem-solving tools, and a risk-friendly environment—because if the struggle is real, the possibility of failure is real, too. 

This 12-piece puzzle is in my grandson’s Goldilocks sweet spot. He’s beyond the peg puzzles my 1-year-old grandson is just beginning to get, and not yet ready for the 1000-piece puzzles that I enjoy. An important part of teaching is identifying where that sweet spot is for students, designing learning opportunities that put them in it, then standing back and letting them struggle. Swooping in to “help” too soon can actually disempowering. 

It’s like the adage about giving a person a fish or teaching her how to fish. Douglas Fisher and Nancy Frey recount a vignette about a piano teacher watching a student struggle with fingering (Better Learning through Structured Teaching: A Framework for the Gradual Release of Responsibility).The student complained, “If you were a good teacher you would tell me what to do!” The teacher replied, “And because I’m a great teacher, I’m letting you figure it out yourself.” 

What does this look like in a writing classroom? Penny Kittle and Kelly Gallagher address this in 180 Days: Two Teachers and the Quest to Engage and Empower Adolescents. In one of the accompanying videos, they discuss when to give advice on student revisions and when to ask students what they’re struggling with and how they’re going to address it. It’s the tension of helping students make this piece of writing better vs. helping students become better writers. When do I let a student struggle, and when do I tell her what to do? Penny seemed more on the side of student struggle; Kelly raised the question What if the student hasn’t even learned the move that would make this piece of writing better? 

I actually find it encouraging that the experts don’t always agree. It’s part of a teacher’s productive struggle. As long as I’m aware that there is a balance to keep and I’m providing a toolbox of writing moves via mini-lessons, mentor texts, teacher modeling, and the opportunity to struggle. And when I’m modeling the struggle—with the risk of sometimes failing—because life and learning and writing are like that—I’m most likely to be creating a classroom community where students also value writing and struggle and feel safe to take writing risks.   

I’m thinking of putting this picture of my 3-year-old grandson on my desk to remind me of the value of productive struggle—for my students, for myself in my classroom, and for myself in life. For all the times I wish God would just tell me what to do, it will remind me that God knows exactly how to not be a helicopter parent or teacher, but allows me productive struggle so that I can grow.