This Is Not a Regular Classroom (And That’s Okay)

There’s a moment in nearly every correctional educator’s journey when we look around our classroom—maybe mid-lockdown, mid-lesson, or mid-crisis—and think: This is not a regular classroom.

And it’s true.

It’s a classroom where the “bell schedule” is dictated by security. Where students might be pulled out for court, for a search, or for no reason anyone will tell you. Where pencils are counted, paper is limited, staples aren’t allowed, and Wi-Fi is… well, let’s not even talk about Wi-Fi.

It’s a classroom where trauma walks in every morning, sometimes wearing anger, sometimes apathy, and sometimes a smile so guarded you know it’s been carefully practiced.

Where students have been told they can’t learn. That school isn’t for them. That they’re just doing time.

It’s not a “regular” classroom.

And that’s okay.

Because correctional education isn’t about regular. It’s about real.

In this space, teaching isn’t just about content—it’s about connection. It’s about understanding that if a student can’t focus today, it might not be because they don’t care. It might be because their bunkmate overdosed last night. Or their child was adopted out. Or a long fought-for appeal was denied. Or they’re just trying to survive another 24 hours.

And yet—despite all of this—real teaching (and real learning) happens here.

Real reading comprehension. Real math fluency. Real career planning. Real behavior change.

Correctional educators are masters of adaptation. You write lesson plans with backup plans for your backup plans. You pivot when a classroom is relocated with five minutes’ notice. You teach one lesson to a student reading at a third-grade level and another who’s ready for college—all in the same room, at the same time, while someone keys the door every five minutes.

You don’t get classroom libraries, but you create book bins from donations and make them feel like gold.
You can’t assign homework, so you teach learners to make the most of every moment.
You don’t get to use the latest EdTech, so you find a way to turn a worksheet into a Socratic seminar.

And you do it with heart.

There’s nothing to apologize for in that. Correctional classrooms may not be “regular,” but they are remarkable. They’re filled with educators who see beyond charges and case files, who believe in growth even in the hardest places, who show up every day and say, “You can learn. You matter. You’re more than what you’ve done.”

So if no one has told you lately, let me say it loud:

You are doing real teaching in a very unreal space.

And it matters.

☕ Until next Sunday,
Amy