How Not Knowing Builds Teacher Resilience

If there is one sentence that can make educators uncomfortable, it’s this: I don’t know.

We’re trained to have answers. Students expect them, and parents demand them. We answer questions about student progress, our curriculum, and human development. We derive satisfaction from being able to provide answers, and knowing the answers helps us feel more secure. Somewhere along the way, we may start believing that our competence is tied to our certainty. Not knowing an answer feels wobbly, and it can elicit stress and anxiety. But what if not knowing isn’t a weakness? What if the words I don’t know are a doorway to peace, perspective, and even resilience? Let’s talk about why saying I don’t know can be a powerful mindset shift for teachers.

Not Knowing Is a Gift, Not a Gap

As educators, we’re constantly thrown into the unknown: New curriculum, new policies, new leadership, new students. Our instinct is often to scramble for certainty. What’s the plan? What do I do now? What’s going to happen next? Living in a constant state of reaction and anxiety isn’t sustainable. That’s where I don’t know comes in. Those three little words can stop the exhausting chase for control. Admitting to ourselves that we don’t know what’s going to happen, that we don’t have all the answers, provides a moment of acceptance.

In fact, research on resilience consistently points to flexibility and acceptance (not rigid control) as key traits of those who thrive through adversity. When teachers allow themselves to admit they don’t know something (yet), they shift from performance mode into learning mode. That’s where growth happens.

Things can change in an instant, which is not always a bad thing. For every unpleasant surprise, there are unexpected good things. Opportunity often arises in unexpected ways. By admitting you don’t know what’s going to happen, you stay open to whatever the day brings. There’s peace and joy in that stance of acceptance and curiosity. Saying I don’t know helps you recognize that you’re human, and being a human is a messy, uncertain adventure.

Not Knowing Cultivates Curiosity

The desire to give a quick answer can also limit us in the classroom. Instead of relying on your own knowledge, try starting from the assumption that you don’t know. What subtleties do you discover? What nuances would you have missed? For teachers, admitting when you don’t know something can be an opportunity to engage your students. In response to a student question, try I don’t know, what do you think? or I don’t know. Can you help me figure it out?  Your willingness to admit when you don’t have all the answers and your curiosity will lead to deeper exploration. Admitting what you don’t know and asking questions to find the answers will also enhance your students’ trust in you as a teacher.

Not Knowing Without Fear

So how do we make this mindset work for us, not against us? Here are three ways to put it into practice.

1. Reframe Uncertainty as Opportunity

Instead of associating I don’t know with being unprepared or incompetent, try seeing it as evidence that you are in the process of learning. You wouldn’t shame a student for not knowing something; you’d see it as an opportunity to teach them. Give yourself the same grace.

2. Model Curiosity, Not Perfection

When students ask something you’re unsure about, say, “That’s a great question—I don’t know the answer, but let’s find out together.” You’re not just saving your sanity—you’re teaching students how to navigate ambiguity with curiosity instead of fear.

3. Respond Instead of React

You don’t need to solve every problem the second it arises. Feeling overwhelmed by a tricky parent email or a new district initiative? Pause and say, “I don’t know how to handle this yet. I’ll take time to think and respond.” Give yourself permission to pause and room to contemplate.

Ms. Martin and the Parent Email

Ms. Martin, a 4th grade teacher, provides an example of the power of not knowing.

On a Thursday afternoon, she gets a long, frustrated email from a parent who feels their child isn’t being challenged enough. Ms. Martin’s heart races. She drafts a response immediately, trying to cover every base, defend every decision, and explain every minute of her instruction.

But halfway through typing, she stops. She’s exhausted. Defensive. Unsure. And then she remembers a new practice she’s been working on… I don’t know.

She doesn’t know what’s happening in the lives of this parent and student. She’s unsure of what the parent really wants or needs. So instead of hitting send, she writes:

Thank you for sharing your concerns. I want to make sure I understand your perspective fully and respond thoughtfully. I’m going to take some time to reflect, gather more information, and follow up tomorrow. I appreciate your patience and partnership.

She gives herself space. She breathes. She talks with a trusted colleague the next morning. And when she finally replies, her tone is calm, her message is clear, and she’s not emotionally drained. She wasn’t sure how to respond in the moment. But instead of forcing herself to know immediately, she gave herself time. And, she’s accepted the fact that she may not know for sure what this student (and parent need), but she’s open to exploring.

Not Knowing Is an Act of Courage

In a culture that values certainty and instant answers, I don’t know can feel radical. But for teachers, it can be a lifeline. It takes courage to admit you’re still learning. It takes strength to pause before answering. And it takes wisdom to know that not knowing is not failing—it’s being fully human. So the next time you feel the pressure to have it all figured out, take a breath and say, I don’t know. Things aren’t falling apart, and you’re not falling behind. You’re just growing. And that, dear teacher, is enough.

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