Compassionately Held High Standards

Years ago, I worked with a high school student I’ll call Bryce. Bryce had a reputation that preceded him...and not in a good way.

According to the faculty room chatter, Bryce was a problem.  He consistently refused to do work.  He was disrespectful.   When pushed, Bryce would either act out, or simply get up and leave.  There were power struggles.  Many.  He collected detentions like some kids collect Pokemon cards.  By all accounts, Bryce was a BAD KID.

Except…Bryce wasn’t a bad kid.  Bryce was a kid who was struggling to read.  And when Bryce finally found a teacher he trusted, he confided something quite brilliant: “It’s better to be the bad kid than the dumb kid.”

Bryce’s confession reveals something that is often misunderstood.  At the root of challenging behavior is often a student trying to protect themselves from something that feels even worse than getting in trouble: being exposed as incapable. 

Bryce did not need another detention.  He also did not need his teachers to simply lower the bar.  What Bryce needed was adults who could see beyond his behavior without excusing it. He needed teachers who believed he was capable of meeting high expectations, but who also understood that simply believing he could wasn’t enough. 

He needed high expectations with support.  This is the space between punishment and pity.  And this is where compassionately held high standards live.

Compassionately held high standards are built on three promises we make to students:

I believe you can.

I will help you get there.

You belong here, even when you struggle.

Each promise matters, and none can stand on its own.

High Expectations: I believe you can.

In education, we love to say that we have high expectations for our students.  Take a look at any school district website and you will see a mission statement that proudly proclaims, “We believe all children can learn.”  Yet, our practices reveal a fairly long list of exceptions.  We move students to separate classrooms when they're identified as disabled. We assume students learning English won't perform well on the state test. We quietly lower expectations for students experiencing poverty. It turns out that our belief in “all” comes with quite a bit of small print.

The deceiving thing about these practices is that they are often rooted in kindness.  We don’t want students to become frustrated.  We don’t want them to be unsuccessful.  So we simplify.  We remove.  We excuse.  We protect.  

The problem is that in protecting students from the possibility of failure, we also protect them from the possibility of success. We spare students temporary discomfort while simultaneously robbing them of opportunities to discover what they can do. And perhaps even more importantly, our actions communicate what we believe they can do…which apparently, isn’t very much.

There is a difference between compassion and pity. Compassion says, "This may be hard, but I'm going to help you do it." Pity says, "This may be hard, so I won't ask you to do it."  Our students deserve compassion.

On the flip side, there are educators who view high expectations as unyielding standards – the bar is set high and it remains there.  Period.  Students either rise to meet the expectation or suffer the consequences when they don’t.  In this approach, support is viewed as “watering things down,” or giving some students an unfair advantage. 

Unyielding standards is not the same as high expectations with support.  One is pressure without a path. The other is a challenge with a way forward.

Support: I will help you get there.

Students need more than beliefs or mission statements.  They need teachers committed to understanding what is standing between them and the expectation. Providing support involves recognizing when the demands placed on students exceed their current ability to meet those standards independently.  It doesn’t mean that a student will never be able to achieve the task, nor does it mean lowering the bar to make success easier.  Rather, it requires providing instruction, tools, and support.  In other words, we may alter the path but we don’t change the destination.

Let’s return to Bryce for a moment.  Bryce knew the bar was there. He was reminded of it constantly. What he didn't have was a reliable way to get over it.  When students repeatedly encounter expectations they cannot reach, something predictable happens. They stop trying. Or they become dependent on adults to do the difficult parts for them. Or they comply just enough to get through the day. Or, like Bryce, they find another way to protect themselves.

When we set the bar, point to it, and expect students to figure out how to get over it, we are placing the responsibility for success solely on the student. Compassionately held high standards turn that responsibility around with a commitment that says, "I believe in you AND I will support you."

But even high expectations paired with excellent support are not quite enough.  A student can be challenged, supported, and even successful, but still wonder, "Do I really belong here?"

Belonging:  You are valued here.

Belonging is more than simply having friends at school or a teacher who greets you at the door.  True belonging is the sense that "This is my place, these are my people, and I am valued in this community."  Those feelings make it safe enough for a student to engage in productive struggle.

Think again about Bryce. Imagine walking into a classroom every day knowing that everyone has heard the stories about you, discussed your behavior, and watched you repeatedly experience failure.  Now, imagine that the weakness you are trying to hide could become exposed at any moment.  You might put your head down.  You might make a joke.  You might leave.  You might decide it is better to be the bad kid than the dumb kid.

Struggle requires vulnerability. Asking students to attempt something difficult means asking them to risk being wrong, confused, unsuccessful, or exposed in front of other people. Students are much more willing to take that risk when they trust that failure will not change how others see them.

This is why the third promise matters.  “I believe you can,” and “I will help you get there,” also requires: “You are safe and valued here, even when you struggle.”

Compassionately Held High Standards: The Framework

It is only when all three elements of compassionately held high standards – high expectations, support, and belonging – are present that we create the conditions for true student growth and agency. We can get surprisingly close to doing everything “right” and still miss something essential. 

For example, a student can experience high expectations and receive excellent support, yet never feel like they truly belong. Another can feel deeply known and valued by a teacher who asks very little of them. And a student can have a teacher who genuinely believes in their potential but fails to provide the support necessary to turn that belief into success.

This is what led me to think about compassionately held high standards as a framework rather than simply a philosophy. The chart below illustrates the different experiences we create depending on how these three elements intersect.

COMPASSIONATELY HELD HIGH STANDARDS FRAMEWORK

Only one combination on this chart creates the outcomes we are truly seeking: student growth and agency.  The other permutations can be deceiving because, from the outside, many of these classrooms appear successful.  Yet, a high-achieving student can perform, but lack connection.  A classroom can be warm and welcoming without expecting much from students.  A compliant student can appear successful without actually learning independence.  Good intentions do not always produce good outcomes.

Back to Bryce

Nearly 15 years later, I still think about Bryce’s confession that it was "better to be the bad kid than the dumb kid.”  Teachers saw a student refusing to work; Bryce saw a way to preserve his dignity.  Teachers saw disrespect; Bryce saw an escape route.  Teachers saw a kid who needed consequences; Bryce needed someone to recognize what was hidden beneath his actions.

None of these facts excuse Bryce’s behavior.  Two truths can be held simultaneously: We can hold high expectations while also holding compassion.

Compassionately held standards require three promises:

I believe you can.

I will help you get there.

You belong here, even when you struggle.

Because believing you means I’m not letting you do it alone.