Teaching evaluations shook my confidence—until I learned to filter the critiques

From ScienceMag:

It’s my least favorite time of the year: a few weeks after class ends, when I read anonymous online evaluations of my teaching—and, seemingly, everything about me as a person. One student calls my tone of voice “sarcastic and condescending” while another complains I’m “too positive and enthusiastic.” I’ve been judged for my clothing choices—“too casual” if I wear jeans and a sweater, “unnecessarily intimidating” if I wear business attire. Some students have faulted me for assigning too much work, whereas others claim I don’t assign enough for them to learn anything. Even my facial expressions aren’t safe—one evaluation said I didn’t smile enough, another accused me of being “too happy and cheerful.” It takes its toll. But I have come to realize that no matter how hard I try or how much I care, I won’t be universally liked—and that’s OK.

I love teaching and want to empower my students to unlock their full potential. And I have received positive feedback: thoughtful emails, handwritten thank you cards, and gratitude gifts from students who tell me how I’ve inspired them to grow into the best versions of themselves.

But as a new professor I took the negative feedback personally. Every harsh word was a blow to my spirit, leaving me hurt and questioning my worth. For years, I had believed being a good professor meant being universally liked. Each time I read through student evaluations, that goal seemed to slip away.

As I gained experience teaching different classes across different institutions, though, I started to notice patterns—not just in the feedback itself, but in my reactions to it. The same qualities that made me some students’ “best professor” were exactly what others found “annoying” or made my class “a waste of time.” The evaluations were as much about students’ diverse preferences and expectations as about me. I realized I may not be for everyone, but I can keep teaching in a way that is true to my values.

About 10 years ago, a handwritten card from a former student hammered that lesson home. To my shock, they admitted they had once hated my class, and even me. Nothing I could have said back then would have changed their mind, because they were wrestling with their own darkness. Yet in that same note, the student thanked me—for refusing to let them fade into the background, for challenging them even when they pushed back, and for holding onto hope for them when they’d lost it themselves.

Reading those words, I understood that I don’t have to carry the weight of other people’s challenges, opinions, or biases. My focus should be on staying true to myself and being the best professor I can be—not on trying to change how others perceive me. By shifting my focus away from being liked, I can invest my energy into meaningful work.

In learning to take critical feedback less personally, I’ve also developed the ability to distinguish constructive input from gratuitous attacks or irrelevant comments. For example, I have always been dedicated to integrating teamwork into my courses, convinced that it enriches students’ learning by exposing them to diverse perspectives and fostering essential collaboration skills. Yet some students have told me group projects are stressful and unnecessary. Early on, I gave this type of feedback the same weight as comments about my personality, treating both as equally significant reflections on my competence.

With more perspective, experience, and reflection, I have come to realize I don’t need to take all feedback equally seriously. Thoughtfully considering each comment is important, but so is discerning which ones support my growth and effectiveness as an educator and which do not. Comments about my “bubbly” nature, how much I smile, or what I wear do not help me grow, and I can treat them as noise. In contrast, feedback about how team assignments affect students’ stress motivates me to improve—for example, by explaining the value of teamwork and collaboration and designing lower stakes projects.

Now in my 25th year as an academic, I am certain the true legacy of an educator isn’t written in glowing evaluations or universal approval. It’s etched in the lives we touch, the minds we challenge, and the hearts we inspire.

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