contributed by Tasnim Tazkia
There is a quiet force that hums beneath the surface of every school.
You won’t find it listed in curriculum guides or measured on a standardized test. This is the power of teachers: the invisible, enduring force that holds classrooms, communities, and the future together. Teachers are often praised for what they do, but rarely for the invisible ways they are.
Their influence reaches far beyond the walls of the classroom into the hearts, homes and lives of students who carry their lessons with them long after the school year ends. I taught high school science for several years in a public school that served a beautifully diverse community—students who arrived each morning bringing stories, languages, and dreams that didn’t always fit neatly into the curriculum box.
My classroom is buzzing with the energy of ninth graders discovering the structure of atoms, mixing chemicals for the first time, and learning that curiosity can be stronger than fear.
Each day begins with a quick warm-up question on the board, something to spark a connection:
“What is one thing in the natural world that you would like to understand better?”
Their answers, from “why lightning bolts zigzag” to “how plants know which way is up,” shape our discussions more than any textbook ever could. I use project-based learning, hands-on inquiry, and visual models to make chemistry real—turning abstract ideas into experiences that students can touch and question.
Teaching to me is equal parts science and storytelling. It’s about designing lessons that go beyond formulas, connecting molecular reactions to students’ own resilience and creativity. Whether it’s guiding them through a messy lab or encouraging them to rewrite their own learning narrative, every moment becomes a chance to remind them that mistakes are data, not failures.
Yet no amount of planning or creativity can prepare you for the moments that truly redefine what it means to teach
A moment that changed my view of teaching
I will never forget one student I will call Jalen. He was bright and quick with answers, sharp in debate, but he had built a wall around himself after a difficult year at home. He stopped handing in work and began to sit silently at the back of the room, disengaged and defiant.
One afternoon, instead of lecturing him about missed assignments, I asked a different question: “What would make school feel worth showing up for?”
This simple question opened a door. In the following weeks, Jalen began sharing project ideas related to his interests, designing sneakers and exploring how geometry is applied to shoe designs. I adapted the lessons to allow him to create, design and analyze. Slowly his confidence returned. Months later, he told me, “You made me feel like my ideas mattered.”
This moment reminded me that teaching is not just about delivering content; it’s about restoring faith in learning and in yourself.
Beyond content knowledge
Teachers are not just instructors of knowledge; they are builders of courage and curiosity. The lessons students remember most are rarely about formulas or historical dates—they’re about the teacher who made them feel capable, noticed, and valued. The unseen power of teachers lies in their ability to turn empathy into action: noticing the quiet student, rethinking a strict plan, or showing grace when a child needs it most.
These small acts of connection ripple far beyond the moment. They show students that education is not just a series of answers, it is a relationship built on trust and humanity.
The emotional and moral labor of teaching
Every day, teachers take on an invisible job that few people see. They absorb students’ fears, frustrations, and hopes while maintaining stability and compassion. They teach through personal challenges, through policy changes, through moments of doubt, and still find ways to encourage others.
This kind of endurance is not accidental, it is emotional labor rooted in caring. This is what makes classrooms safe spaces, places where students feel brave enough to ask questions, make mistakes, and grow. Teachers don’t just manage behavior, they model empathy, patience, and moral courage in real time.
The ripple effect of the invisible
Years after Jalen left my class, he emailed me from college. He was an industrial design major and wrote, “You were the first person to tell me I could create things that mattered.”
His message was a powerful reminder that the real results of teaching often arrive long after the bell has rung. A teacher’s impact is not measured in test scores, but in the quiet tenacity, creativity, and compassion that their students bring forward into the world.
Teaching is a generational job. It shapes who people become as thinkers, neighbors, and leaders. The invisible labor of a teacher today can reverberate through decades of lives tomorrow.
Why seeing the unseen matters
In an age when education is often reduced to metrics, much of what defines excellent teaching remains invisible. The ability to connect deeply, to inspire curiosity, to meet diverse needs – these are human strengths, not numerical data points. Acknowledging this invisible power is not just an act of appreciation, it is an act of truth.
To fully appreciate education, we must appreciate the humanity of teachers, their empathy, adaptability and quiet resilience. Their work is not only educational, it is the basis of the well-being and progress of the society itself.
A call to see the invisible
Every teacher has a story like Jalan’s. Sometimes students never come back to say thank you, but the impact is there, woven into what they become. The strength of teachers is not in perfection, but in the persistence of choosing, every day, to believe in the possibility of growth and the power of connection.
Teaching may not always seem visible, but it is always vital. Its power resides in the invisible moments that change everything.
