When I walked into my first classroom as a new 4th-grade teacher, I was filled with excitement and anxiety. My students were all English language learners, most at an “entering” or “emerging” level in their language proficiency. Many were immigrants, new to the country, some attending school for the first time. They were learning not just how to read and write, but also how to navigate a new language, culture and life in a country that was still unfamiliar to them.

Some of my students were living in temporary housing, moving from place to place. How could they be expected to focus on solving math problems when they weren’t even sure where they’d sleep that night? I often asked myself that question as I tried to make my classroom a place of safety and belonging — a steady anchor in their unpredictable world.

I keenly understood their struggle because I had once lived it. I, too, was once new to this country. When I first came to the United States, I didn’t speak for a year because of culture shock. I remember feeling invisible until one teacher reached out, saw me and changed my life. I became a teacher because I want to be that person for someone else — the one who makes a child feel seen, safe and capable.

One day, during a lesson, one of my students — usually withdrawn and often angry — suddenly broke down crying. I brought him to our classroom's “cozy corner” and gently asked what was wrong.

Through tears, he told me his grandparents in Panama had been killed in a hit-and-run accident. He was devastated and couldn’t even return home for the funeral. I sat with him and said, “I’m so sorry. It’s terrible to lose someone you love. When I miss someone I’ve lost, I think about all the memories that make me smile. You can take as much time as you need.”

The next day, he handed me a note written on a small piece of paper thanking me for caring about him.

That note still sits in my desk drawer. This was from the same student who, at the start of the year, didn’t know how to write. By June, he was reading confidently, answering questions, smiling. Watching him transform reminded me that learning begins with love and trust.

I struggled that first year — staying late, seeking advice from mentors, feeling exhausted — but I also witnessed something incredible. My students, who began with just letter sounds, grew into readers of sentences, paragraphs and books. They discovered their own voices. And I found mine as a teacher.

I learned that teaching isn’t just about instruction — it’s about connection. It’s about meeting students where they are and helping them believe in where they can go. By the last day of school, as I wiped away tears while saying goodbye, I realized that my students weren’t the only ones who had grown. I had, too.

That first class will always stay with me. They taught me resilience, compassion and the power of believing in every child’s story.

The Newcomer is a second-year elementary school teacher in Queens.