Hello everyone, and welcome back to the Middle School Cafe Podcast. I’m so glad you’re here.
Can you believe we’re already nearing the end of July? It feels like summer just started, and somehow back-to-school season is already right around the corner.
One of the things I enjoy about summer is looking back through old pictures. Just the other day, photos from our trip to Italy two years ago popped up in my memories. It was so much fun to look back and remember the places we visited, the food we ate, and all of those little moments that we’d forgotten until we saw the pictures again. It’s amazing how a single photo can instantly take you back to a memory you haven’t thought about in months—or even years.
Just this week, I sent an email to the teachers on my social studies email list reminding them to take pictures. It’s so easy to get caught up in the day-to-day that we forget to capture the moments that eventually become memories. Pictures preserve our stories. They become a record of where we’ve been, what we’ve experienced, and how we’ve grown.
This got me thinking about our students and the stories they come to us with.
Not stories they’ve written down, but stories they’ve been telling themselves about who they are as readers.
And it doesn’t take long before they share that story with us. Things like:
“I’m not really a reader.”
“I hate reading.”
“I only like graphic novels.”
“I’ve never finished a book.”
Those comments aren’t really about reading. They’re about identity.
Today, I want to talk about where those stories come from and, more importantly, how we can help students begin to rewrite them. Because students build their reading identity from the experiences we give them—not from what we tell them.
If you’ve taught middle school for any length of time, you’ve probably heard those comments before. And what I find so interesting is how confidently students say them to me. Like I’m supposed to say “Okay, thank you, you’re not a reader. I guess you won’t get anything out of my class.”
Of course I would never respond that way. But sometimes we unintentionally accept that label without even realizing it. We think, “Well, maybe they just don’t like reading.” Before long, we’ve lowered our expectations for how they’ll engage instead of helping them see a different possibility.
That’s why I pay attention to the words students choose. Students don’t usually say, “I struggle with reading sometimes.” They say, “I’m not a reader.” That’s a very different statement.
One statement describes a skill. The other describes an identity.
Somewhere along the way, many students stop thinking about reading as something they do and start thinking about reading as something you either are or aren’t. The way students see themselves shapes the choices they make.
Think about the student who believes they’re an athlete. They expect practice to be challenging. They don’t quit the first time they miss a shot or strike out. They keep showing up because that’s part of who they are.
Most athletes don’t enjoy every practice. Some practices are frustrating. Some days they’re tired. Some days nothing seems to go right. But those difficult days don’t usually make them question whether they’re an athlete. They simply see practice as part of the process.
Reading works much the same way.
Students who see themselves as readers are more likely to stick with a difficult chapter, try another book when one isn’t working, or talk about what they’re reading.
Students who don’t see themselves as readers avoid those same experiences, not because they can’t do them or can’t learn to do them, but because those experiences don’t fit the story they’ve come to believe about themselves.
So if identity shapes behavior, the question becomes: How do we help students begin to see themselves differently?
And I don’t think it starts with motivational speeches or telling students, “Everyone is a reader.”
It starts with experiences and feeling successful.
Students build their reading identity from the experiences we give them—not from what we tell them.
I think that’s an important distinction because, as teachers, we naturally want to encourage our students. We tell them, “You can do this.” We remind them that they can grow as readers, and we try to build their confidence with our words.
Those conversations are important, and I certainly don’t want to suggest we stop having them. Encouragement is an important part of teaching.
But words alone don’t rewrite a student’s story. Experiences do.
Think about a student who has spent the last five or six years struggling through books that felt too difficult, avoiding independent reading whenever possible, or feeling embarrassed when they had to read aloud in class.
Over time, those experiences reinforce the belief that reading just isn’t something they’re good at. By the time they reach middle school, that belief feels like a fact rather than something that can change.
That’s why simply telling a student, “You’re a reader,” usually isn’t enough. If we want students to see themselves differently, they need opportunities to experience reading differently. They need new evidence that challenges the story they’ve been telling themselves.
That’s why I think the first few weeks of school are so important. Every reading experience we create is another opportunity for students to see themselves a little differently. Maybe they find a book they’re excited to come back to tomorrow. Maybe they experience success because the text is a good fit. Maybe they realize they can participate in a discussion without worrying about having the “right” answer. Those early successes begin to challenge the story students have been telling themselves. They may seem like small moments, but they’re often the first pieces of evidence that this year can be different.
Eventually, those small successes start to chip away at the certainty of the old story. Students may still think of themselves as struggling readers, but the story no longer feels quite as absolute. Instead of assuming they’ll fail every time they open a book, they’re a little more willing to give themselves a chance.
Those positive experiences don’t erase years of frustration, but they begin to make room for a different story to take shape.
I think that’s one of the biggest mindset shifts we can make as teachers. Our job isn’t to persuade students that they’re readers. Our job is to create the kinds of experiences that allow students to reach that conclusion for themselves. When they do, the identity starts to change, and once identity begins to change, behavior often follows.
So, if experiences shape the story students tell themselves, then it’s worth asking: What kinds of experiences are we creating during those first few weeks of school?
Those first few days have more impact than you might realize. Students are paying attention to far more than classroom rules or where they’re supposed to sit. They’re also deciding what kind of place this is and whether they belong here.
Sometimes, without even realizing it, we ask students to prove themselves before we’ve given them a chance to experience success. We begin with a reading assessment, assign a grade-level novel, or ask students to complete work that immediately reminds them of everything they find difficult about reading.
I’m not saying we shouldn’t assess students or teach grade-level texts. Both of those things are important, and we need that information to plan effective instruction. But I do think we need to pause and ask if those are the first experiences we want our students to have?
If a student’s very first experience in our class confirms everything they’ve already believed about themselves as a reader, then we’ve unintentionally reinforced the story they walked in with.
On the other hand, if one of their first experiences is finding a book that interests them, participating in a discussion where their thinking is valued, or realizing they can be successful with the right support, we’ve started creating a different story.
We can’t rewrite a student’s reading story in the first week of school. But we can begin writing a new chapter. And sometimes that’s all it takes for a student to start believing this year could be different.
Think about two classrooms during the first week of school.
Both teachers care deeply about helping students become stronger readers. Both have thoughtfully planned lessons, high expectations, and a genuine desire to see every student succeed.
But one teacher spends those first few days making sure students experience success. Students are introduced to books they can connect with. They’re invited into conversations where their ideas are acknowledged. They’re given opportunities to build confidence before being asked to tackle more challenging work.
The other teacher is just as committed and just as caring, but the focus of those first few days is different. Students immediately jump into assessments, challenging texts, and tasks that remind some of them why they’ve always believed reading isn’t for them.
The difference isn’t that one teacher has lower expectations. It’s that one teacher has intentionally planned experiences that prepare students for the challenging work that’s still to come.
That’s what intentional planning looks like. It’s not changing what we teach. It’s being intentional about the experiences students have as they learn.
As we’re thinking about going back to school, setting up our classrooms, and planning those first few weeks, I think there’s one question that’s worth asking ourselves.
What story does my classroom tell about reading?
Not the story I hope it tells. The story students actually experience.
I think most of us would say we want our class to be places where students feel successful, where they’re encouraged to think deeply, ask questions, and grow as readers. But if we looked at those first few weeks of school through our students’ eyes, would they describe it the same way?
Sometimes I think it’s helpful to imagine seeing our classroom for the very first time—not through our own eyes, but through the eyes of a student who has spent years believing they’re “not a reader.”
A student who already believes they’re not a reader notices very different things than we do. They notice whether they feel behind. They notice whether it’s safe to make a mistake. They notice whether someone notices their thinking instead of just their reading level.
Would they leave each day believing that reading is something they can grow into, or would they leave feeling like they’ve simply confirmed what they’ve believed all along?
I don’t ask that question because I think there’s one right answer. I ask because I think it’s worth reflecting on. Sometimes the experiences we create communicate messages we never intended, and taking a step back to look at our class through our students’ eyes can be incredibly valuable.
I also think we put a lot of pressure on ourselves at the beginning of the school year.
We want students to love reading. We want them to build stamina. We want them to become confident readers.
We want them to engage in thoughtful discussions and develop strong comprehension skills. Those are all worthwhile goals, and they’re certainly the direction we want our students to move.
But none of those things happen in the first week of school.
As teachers, we spend a lot of time planning what we want students to learn, and that’s exactly what we should be doing. We think about the skills we need to teach, the standards we need to cover, and the goals we hope students will reach by the end of the year.
But I also wonder if it’s worth considering one more planning question: What experience do I want students to leave with today? Not just what skill do I want them to practice, but what do I want them to feel about themselves as readers when they walk out the door?
When I think about that question, it changes the way I look at a lesson plan. I’m still thinking about the standards and the learning goals, but I’m also thinking about the experience students are going to have along the way.
Will every student have an opportunity to experience success today? Will students have a chance to think, not just answer questions?
Will they have an opportunity to share an idea and have someone else value their thinking? Will they leave with one more reason to believe they can be successful again tomorrow?
I think that’s especially important during those first few weeks of school because we’re setting the tone for everything that comes later.
Confidence doesn’t appear overnight. It grows one successful experience at a time. When students experience success early, they’re much more willing to tackle challenging texts, participate in discussions, take risks, and keep trying when reading becomes difficult. Those early experiences become the foundation for the more challenging learning that’s still to come.
I think when we begin asking ourselves that question, we naturally start designing lessons a little differently. We begin looking for opportunities to build confidence alongside comprehension, to celebrate growth alongside achievement, and to make sure every student has a chance to experience success.
That doesn’t mean every lesson has to be easy, and it certainly doesn’t mean lowering expectations. It means being intentional about creating experiences that remind students they’re capable of meeting those expectations.
Those moments of success may not seem remarkable on their own. In fact, many of them are things students probably won’t even remember by the end of the year.
But together, they become the experiences that help students write a different story about who they are as readers. And I think that’s one of the greatest gifts we can give them as they begin a new school year.
I know many of you are still enjoying your summer break, and I hope you’re soaking up every minute of it. But as your mind naturally begins drifting back to lesson plans, classroom setup, and all the excitement that comes with a new school year, I hope you’ll keep coming back to one question:
What story do I want my classroom to tell about reading?
Because every lesson, every conversation, and every experience contributes to that story. When we intentionally create opportunities for students to experience success, we’re doing more than teaching reading skills.
We’re helping students begin writing a new chapter about who they are as readers. And I think that’s one of the most important things we can do during those first few weeks of school.
Before you go today, I want to let you know that over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing more back-to-school ideas designed to help both you and your students start the year strong.
In our next episode, we’ll continue this conversation by looking at what struggling readers need most during those first few weeks of school and how we can set them up for success.
We’re also wrapping up our summer book study of In the Best Interest of Students in the Building Strong & Confident Readers community. If you’ve missed any of the discussions, don’t worry—you can catch the replays at any time. I’ll include a link in the show notes if you’d like to join us.
Until then, enjoy these last few weeks of summer, and I’ll see you next time.