By Aubrey Faith-Slaker
I was in a Teaching Strategies course—one of the many I’ve taken over the years—and we were watching a ten-minute video of my teaching. I’d submitted a clip I was proud of, working with an intermediate student, and I felt confident in what I was presenting.
At the end, the teacher trainer asked, “Why are you playing so fast in this segment?”
My immediate internal response was defensive: I wasn’t playing too fast! But I paused. I was in the course for exactly this kind of external perspective.
Why was I playing so fast? Was I wrong to be going that fast? Or was there a reason for it that I could articulate? Years ago, I might have taken the feedback as direct criticism and walked away with the rather two-dimensional mental note: Don’t play so fast. But now, with more experience, I was able to reflect: Why was I playing fast in that moment? Was it intentional? Was it right for my student? Did it work? Is it something I wanted to continue doing?
This moment has stayed with me. And since then, observation—especially self-observation has become one of the most valuable tools in my teaching toolkit. It reminds me of the power of self-observation—not as a tool for criticism, but as a way to better understand what our students and their families are experiencing in the lesson. It helps us notice when something didn’t land the way we intended, so we can bring more awareness to similar moments in the future. Just as importantly, it gives us the chance to witness the impact of our best teaching: those small miracles when something we said or demonstrated changes the way a student plays or connects with the instrument.
With today’s technology, recording and reviewing your own teaching is incredibly easy, and surprisingly underused. It’s often uncomfortable. It’s definitely time-consuming. And—let’s be honest—you’ve already survived (or enjoyed!) that lesson once! But this kind of reflective practice is a powerful tool for personal and professional growth.
Self-Awareness and Professional Longevity
Teaching, like anything else, can become reactive. We develop habits, routines, and shorthand solutions that get us through the day—but they can also mask opportunities for deeper connection and more effective teaching.
As teachers, we spend most of our time doing: giving directions, adjusting hand positions, managing parent communication, juggling schedules, listening, responding, adapting. It’s an intense and deeply engaged role. But when we never step back, we miss opportunities to notice what’s really happening in the room—both from our students and from ourselves.
Watching ourselves on video acts like a mirror in so many ways. It allows us to slow down and become more aware—of our tone, our pacing, our physical presence, and our interactions with students and parents. In short, it brings us back to intention.
Over time, this habit of reflection supports professional longevity and reinforces the value of lifelong learning. It keeps us growing, adapting, and refining—not because someone else told us to, but because we’ve built the habit of learning from our own teaching. In a profession where burnout is common and the pressure to do more is real, this kind of gentle, personalized self-review isn’t just a strategy for improvement, it’s a form of self-care and a commitment to staying engaged in the joyful, evolving process of teaching.
Moments—of musical growth, student achievement, missed opportunities, or teaching magic—that we see in our recordings remind us that our growth as teachers is never complete, and that’s something to embrace, not resist.
What to Look For: Gentle Curiosity, Not Critique
When I first started recording myself, I couldn’t get past the sound of my voice. I found myself critiquing my hair, my outfit—anything but the teaching. But once I got past the discomfort of seeing myself, I began to see my students more clearly. I noticed moments of joy and learning I had missed in the moment. And I noticed patterns I wanted to shift.
Here are a few suggestions for making this practice useful and sustainable:
Don’t record the whole lesson. Instead, record a short section you’re curious about: introducing a new piece, prepping for a recital, working closely with a parent. Rewatching is hard enough: don’t make it longer than it needs to be.
Don’t force yourself to watch every video. If nothing useful happened, just delete it!
Use a visual reminder. Leave a sticky note on your binder, instrument case, or keyboard to remind yourself when to hit record—perhaps with a note on what topic or focus you’d like to capture.
Record often enough that students don’t react to the camera. It should feel normal, not special.
Make a short note after recording. Include the focus, anything unusual that happened, and what you were wearing (to help identify the video later!).
When you review, use a two-column note system. One side for what went well (this part is crucial), and one side (smaller!) for areas to adjust. Reinforce your strengths and celebrate what’s working. What we notice and compliment, whether in our students or ourselves, tends to grow. By identifying what we want to see more of in our teaching, we’re already taking steps to make it happen again.
Watch the student, not just yourself. Often, you’ll notice something about their learning that you missed in the moment. Write it down!
Focus on just one insight. Don’t try to change everything at once. In the Suzuki Method, we emphasize the power of the “one-point lesson”: focusing on a single, clear idea to guide the student’s growth. Apply that same principle to yourself. After reviewing your video, choose one meaningful observation or action step to carry forward. That small focus will lead to real, sustainable change over time.
Bringing the Suzuki Spirit to Your Own Practice
One of the things I love most about the Suzuki Method is how it honors observation. We ask our students to listen before they play. We ask parents to sit in on lessons and watch. We ask new teachers to observe. And yet, we don’t often turn the lens on ourselves. In the same way we encourage our students to practice with intention and reflection, we can build those same habits into our teaching lives.
The Suzuki Association offers wonderful enrichment courses like the Teaching Strategies course, providing opportunities for guided reflection. But we can also make space for this growth on our own. Just five minutes of video, paired with gentle curiosity, can tell us so much about the teaching that matters most.
We talk often in our community about nurturing students. But what would it look like to nurture ourselves—patiently, kindly, intentionally—through regular self-observation? What would change if we gave ourselves the same grace and space we offer our students?
You don’t have to wait for the next course. You can start this week. Set up your camera. Hit record. Take a breath. And watch.
You’ll be surprised what you may learn.