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Being honest with oneself is challenging. One might think that academics, committed to intellectual pursuits, would have an easier time being honest with themselves. I fear this is not the case, at least for me.Frustration and rejection abound in academia. Whether it be the rejection of a piece of writing, an unsuccessful grant proposal, or, more commonly, a teaching difficulty, academics face a smorgasbord of possible sources of strife. Some become defiant phoenixes, rising above disappointment and angst, sometimes becoming hyperconfident egoists. Others ignore the positives and engage in a Sisyphean pursuit of perfection, morphing into self-flagellating pessimists. Others are more even-keeled, particularly those who can separate a sense of self from their job, although I suspect this level of equanimity takes years, if not decades, to develop. Let me tell you what I hope is my first lie of this essay:If a professor is sufficiently skilled, all students will be motivated to learn, will put forth their best effort, will be completely attentive in class, will accept the professor’s judgment of their assessments, and will not violate academic integrity.At every educational level I have attended or worked at, some of the instructors were spoken of reverentially. Their pedagogical acumen was mythical, captivating their students and guiding them to produce work of remarkably high quality. I assumed that their teaching ability was not just better than mine, but categorically superior. To employ a baseball analogy, if they were Major League quality, I belonged in Little League. Although many of my students were graciously engaged, showed up prepared, behaved attentively, and accepted my assessment judgments, the fact that not all my students can be described as such reflected a deficiency on my part. Not only was I letting myself down by not being a better teacher, but I was also doing my students and my institution a disservice. I had to improve somehow. I could always explain course material more clearly. Perhaps I should grade even more generously. No, I should grade more strictly, then students would be more motivated to focus in class and to prepare for their assessments. It was so simple for the great teachers about whom I had been hearing my entire life.Let’s try to be honest.Even though I fall into the self-flagellating pessimist category outlined above, do I really think that every student issue was my fault? Let’s try another question. Do I blame my colleagues when they report struggling with a student who habitually shows up late or violates academic integrity? I would not, just as I would not blame other people who receive subpar treatment.So, why am I unable to excise the lie mentioned above from my psyche? It comes back to the mythically great teachers. They, certainly, have solved the problems I am having. Thus, a perfect, or nearly perfect teacher exists; I ought to work to be as strong an instructor as they are. Do I have empirical evidence that these instructors are, in fact, universally beloved? I suppose I do not, but that has not shaken my belief in their mythology. Here’s a second lie I’m going to tell that underlies the first one:You should want everyone to like you and you have the capacity to get everyone to like you.I’ve never been comfortable with anyone, let alone students, not liking me. I have been told that getting everyone to like you is like trying to fit a rug that is too big for a room—whatever you do, there will be a corner in which the rug won’t fit or lie flat. Even in classes in which most students reported on their evaluations that they would recommend me as a teacher, if it wasn’t 100 percent of them, I felt as if I had failed to live up to standards. This takes me to a final lie: Student satisfaction is a direct reflection of quality teaching.I accept this as a lie, despite institutional pressure to return high student satisfaction scores. If I acknowledge this, then the fact that I am not universally beloved by students does not entail that I am an inadequate teacher. The hard truth is that I would likely be a better teacher if I focused less on my perception of how my teaching is received. There is likely nothing I can do to make everyone like me. Perhaps the mythically great teachers are just that—myths I’ve held on to as a way of magnifying the negative at the expense of the positive.

On rotation, I teach a graduate-level course entitled “Introduction to Early Christian Thought.” And every year — in the week of course evaluations — I have a conversation with my students that has become an important feature of their education: a conversation about how teaching evaluations are gendered.Once you’ve seen the pattern, you can’t unsee it. Men are routinely described as “brilliant,” “authoritative,” or “the best lecturer I’ve ever had.” Women, by contrast, are “kind,” “caring,” “approachable,” “compassionate,” or “pastoral.” Men “really know their stuff.” Women “really care about students.” Expertise attaches to men; emotional labour attaches to women.The same holds for grading. Students often expect women to be gentler, more flexible, more indulgent. A male lecturer who grades firmly is “rigorous” or “serious.” A woman who does the same may quickly become “harsh” or “unfair.”Having taught in three different academic institutions over the past decade, I have several examples which have made this very clear. I’ll mention just one here: a student received a B from me and a B from a male colleague. The student challenged my grade — not his. Same work, same outcome, different reaction. Nearly every woman in academia has a version of this story.I speak openly with my students, then, about gender bias before they write evaluations. Not because I want to avoid critique — I value thoughtful critique — but because evaluations stick. Many evaluations I receive are positive and thoughtful. Some are wonderfully memorable. My personal favourite is “Professor Thomas is a badass.” But, it is hard to forget that I “grade like a man.”ResearchRecent work in higher-education research confirms what many women have long observed:A large-scale experimental study found that female instructors receive significantly lower evaluations than male instructors for identical teaching, even when students never interact with the instructor in person (MacNell, Driscoll & Hunt, Innovative Higher Education, 2015).A 2025 analysis using natural-language processing on tens of thousands of comments showed that men are more frequently praised for “competence” and “authority,” while women receive comments about warmth and personality, regardless of teaching quality (Zamora & Ayllón, 2025).A comprehensive review argues that student evaluations often reflect biases — including gender — more than they reflect actual learning or teaching effectiveness (Uttl, White & Gonzalez, Studies in Educational Evaluation, 2017).These are not small effects; they are systemic patterns. What I Ask of My StudentsSo I ask students to pause before they complete an evaluation and consider a few questions:Am I using different language for a woman than I would for a man?Am I expecting more emotional labour — more nurturing, more availability — from this instructor?Am I reacting to discomfort about standards or grades by labelling them “unfair”?Am I evaluating teaching, or evaluating whether this lecturer fits my image of what authority looks like?Honest evaluations are essential. Students should say what worked, what didn’t, what could be clearer or more engaging. But fairness requires noticing our assumptions. It asks us to evaluate teaching rather than gender stereotypes.If we care about justice and equity in higher education, one simple starting point is here: noticing the words we use, the labels we reach for, and the people we instinctively challenge first. Notes & BibliographyMacNell, L., Driscoll, A., & Hunt, A. N. (2015). “What’s in a Name: Exposing Gender Bias in Student Ratings of Teaching.” Innovative Higher Education, 40, 291–303.Uttl, B., White, C. A., & Gonzalez, D. (2017). “Meta-analysis of faculty gender and teaching evaluations.” Studies in Educational Evaluation, 54, 22–42.Zamora, C., & Ayllón, S. (2025). “Gender Bias in Qualitative Course Evaluations: Evidence from NLP Methods.” (Open-access working paper).

At the end of semesters, I often share a joke with my colleagues: “I love teaching – except for the grading!” There’s a truth hidden in that humor. Grading involves a host of emotions: joy, frustration, pride, disappointment, even confusion. Then, once we’ve finally completed the grading marathon, another emotional rollercoaster begins: student evaluations of teaching (SET).The Emotional Weight of Student FeedbackPlease don’t misunderstand. I genuinely appreciate constructive feedback from students. Their insights reveal my blind spots, push me to be more creative, and encourage me to grow. However, there are also times when I’m unsure how to engage with critical remarks, which can sting and leave me feeling disheartened. In these moments, I worry that my passion for teaching might be overshadowed by hurt or frustration.You’re Not AloneDo we, as faculty, have a safe space to process our emotional responses to student evaluations? How do we take care of ourselves – and each other – when we feel vulnerable? How do we hold on to our calling and commitment to our students during these tense times?During my days as an adjunct faculty member teaching at multiple institutions the anxiety over student evaluations often kept me awake at night. A string of negative comments could threaten my already precarious job situation and some remarks carried undertones of bias regarding my accent or background. I often wondered, “Will these comments jeopardize my chances of being hired again?” and I even tried to guess who might have written them. It was tough not to take things personally.Later on, as an early-career professor, I spent countless hours designing courses, clarifying assignments, and perfecting deadlines. So when a student mentioned that my instructions were confusing, I felt deeply frustrated. I asked myself, “Where is this coming from? Did I overlook something in my teaching?” I ended up spending even more time reflecting, revising my approach, and working hard to address any real gaps in my pedagogy.Finding Balance Amid CriticismSometimes I notice only the critical comments, letting them overshadow the many notes of affirmation and thanks. Other times I skim over the praises too quickly, missing opportunities to celebrate successes and build upon effective practices.If you’ve ever felt torn about how to use student feedback constructively – without losing heart – please know you’re not alone. Feeling this tension can actually be a sign of how deeply you care about your vocation and your students. Many of us go through these emotional swings but remain silent for fear of appearing unprofessional or overly sensitive.Seeking Support and Sharing StoriesAt this moment, I hope you seek trusted colleagues, mentors, or friends to debrief painful comments and interpret them with empathy and deep care. Allow yourself to feel the disappointment without dismissing it. Processing these responses can bring perspective and prevent lingering resentment or burnout.Engaging with feedback can be an opportunity to refine lesson plans, improve communication, or sharpen pedagogical skills. It’s not easy work! But sharing our stories and learning from one another is one way we can practice self-care as educators. We stand in solidarity with each other, striving to grow and thrive in our teaching.I remember a conversation with a first-generation Korean scholar with over thirty years of teaching experience. She confessed that she still faces hurtful biases in student evaluations. After honest reflection, her final piece of advice was: “Sometimes, you just have to delete it and let it go.” We both recognized we had already processed and learned from the feedback. Knowing when to let go continues to be a meaningful form of self-care.Moving ForwardDear colleague, when you next receive that email with student evaluations, take a moment. Recall your passion for teaching, your calling, and your commitment to growth – both your own and that of your students. Let all those emotions guide you toward reflection and learning. And remember, once the feedback has served its purpose, it’s okay to let it go (yes, you can delete it!).