Ungrading Guilt

It’s not all roses and sunshine

Photo by Nik on Unsplash

This post is part of an ongoing series of reflections completed during my Spring 2023 writing course. While the post is being published in September of 2023, it was originally written on May 5, 2023.

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This week’s post will be a little more glum than usual. These last few weeks have left me pretty drained, to be honest, and I wanted to acknowledge that as part of the emotional journey of teaching. And take account of some of the things I wish I had done differently this semester.

Everything I wrote about the successes of ungrading in my previous posts has been true, and I remain enthusiastic about the practice. But these posts have occasionally been rosier than I actually felt about my general experiences this term, for a few reasons. Partially because I have an optimistic temperament, but also because I want to respect my students and protect their privacy by not airing the dirty laundry of our course. I don’t want any negativity I have about the course to reflect badly on them, because I do deeply care about them and their success. Additionally, I think a lot of problems that I’ve had in the course this semester are not strictly due to the policies around grading that this blog is meant to discuss. 

At the same time, I’m not sure I can really separate ungrading from those other factors. And I think it’s important for us to be honest about what teaching is like now. 

While a lot of good things have happened in the course over the past few weeks, there have been definite failures as well. Some students have continued to struggle with attendance and timely submission of assignments and have put themselves almost irredeemably behind. A few are trying to make up lots of work in the final week—despite my repeated attempts to connect with them sooner. A few have submitted first drafts of major assignments so late that I won’t be able to give them any feedback before their final portfolio is due—despite the fact that the last major assignment was due in mid-April. And all of this is, of course, deeply demoralizing. 

While many of these problems seem to be the result of circumstances that are outside my control, I’m definitely kicking myself for not having more safeguards in place that might have helped the students who are struggling. Why didn’t I have a course checklist sooner? Why didn’t I have a better incentive structure for submitting assignments on time? Why wasn’t I clearer about the importance and benefits of regular attendance—or more insistent about the consequences of poor attendance?

As final self-assessments are rolling in, I’m also starting to see some ways I could have better prepared students for our final grade conversations. These self-assessments are good for the most part, and contain a lot of useful information. But despite my work with them, students still struggle to evaluate themselves based on the growth in their writing skills rather than their compliance with course policies. And while the vast majority of students have final grade expectations that align with my own, a small number do not, despite our regular practice in aligning expectations. I should have accounted for what might happen if students simply do not complete the self-assessments I ask them to do throughout the semester, that are designed to get us on the same page. 

And these are just the things that have to do with, or are related to, my grading policies. I have a whole other slew of other things to feel guilty about in terms of my approaches to teaching writing skills, specifically. 

I generally feel I should have been more vigilant in anticipating these difficulties. But because I didn’t really encounter them at this scale in my previous ungraded course, I didn’t bother to account for them this time around. More importantly, I’m trying hard to keep the faith and avoid a defensive stance in my teaching and course design. I really, really don’t want to begin every semester by attempting to anticipate and head off all the ways that students will try to put off their work or shirk their attendance or abuse my flexibility or misuse AI or disingenuously haggle over their final grades. I would much rather spend the time thinking about how to create structures that encourage them to take ownership of their learning, that incentivize real engagement in the work over the performance of schoolishness, and that might even, God forbid, bring a little joy to our weary lives. 

But we’re living in so many systems that work against the incentive structures I put in place for my course. A student who has been doing fine all semester suddenly turns to dishonest means of completing a capstone assignment during a stressful finals period. A student who has faced personal challenges throughout the semester drops off the map despite my repeated attempts to reach out to them. A student who otherwise cares about the class puts all the assignments off until the last minute because of inflexible deadlines in other courses. A student who has been remarkably honest in assessing their own performance all semester is suddenly less honest when they perceive the real stakes of the final grade on their transcript. 

I want to emphasize that these occurrences are rare enough—for the most part, my systems work well—but they have all happened in ungraded courses I’ve taught. 

Next week, or the week following, I’ll think more constructively about how I can make changes to my course that will mitigate these challenges. But this week, I just want to acknowledge the tiredness and guilt I’m feeling as, I think, a common part of the teaching experience. And wallow just a little bit. If you don’t have a joyous final week of classes, that’s okay. Teaching, like all human interaction, is messy, and it can’t be all happiness all the time. 

Despite some potentially awkward conversations, I’m generally looking forward to final grade conferences next week and hearing from my students about their learning this semester. And I’m excited to tell you more about them.