I Thought I'd be Teaching-Turns out, I'm Learning Too

Brent Roi Gutierrez, Tourism and Hospitality Instructor, the University of Batangas

Through this article, Brent Roi Gutierrez reflects on the vulnerable, often overlooked reality of being a young university instructor. He shares how self-doubt, imperfection, and authenticity have shaped not just his teaching but also his growth alongside his students. It’s a story of presence, humility, and learning by walking the journey together.

When I was hired as a university instructor, I thought I was supposed to be the adult in the room who had the answers. The one who had life, learning, and leadership all figured out.

But let me tell you something real. Most days, I feel like I’m still the student.

It’s strange. I stand in front of students just a few years younger than me, calling me Sir and asking me for advice about careers, life decisions, and even love. And while I nod and give the best answers I can, deep inside, I still have moments where I think, “What if I’m just guessing, too?”

This guilt started early in my teaching career. It wasn’t the kind of guilt that came from making mistakes, but the kind that came from feeling like I wasn’t enough. I thought I was expected to be some kind of role model—confident, calm, sure of every lesson plan, every grade, every word I say in class. But the truth is, I’m still trying to find my voice, still learning how to deal with pressure, still figuring out who I am outside of school hours.

There are times I look at my students—bright, curious, hopeful— and I feel like I’m failing them. Because I’m not that “established professor” with a PhD and a wall full of plaques. I’m not the person who walks in with decades of experience and speaks with authority that never shakes. I still get nervous before presentations. I still mess up my slides. I still Google things before lectures. I still ask myself, Am I even qualified for this?

And yet, every day, I show up.

And so do they.

Being a young instructor is weird. You’re old enough to be called “professional” but still young enough to be mistaken for a student. Sometimes, drawing the line between being friendly and firm is hard. You want to connect with them, but you also want to earn their respect. You want to be relatable but feel pressured to act like you’re already “made.”

Some students overshare with me because they see me as a big brother or sister figure. Others challenge me more than they would an older professor, maybe because they think we’re “just the same.” There are days I love the rawness, closeness, and honest conversations. But there are also days when I go home exhausted, emotionally drained, and wondering if I’m doing this right.

And when I hear them say, “Sir, how did you find your passion?” or “How did you overcome your self-doubt before?”

I smile.

But part of me wants to say, “I’m still trying to find out, too.”

Despite the guilt, the self-doubt, and the pressure, some moments keep me going.

A student once waited after class to say, “Sir, thanks. You made me feel seen today.” I don’t even remember what I said that day. But maybe it wasn’t the content that mattered; it was the way I showed up, how I treated them like they mattered, how I reminded them that grades aren’t the only thing that defines their worth.

Another student told me, “Sir, you’re inspiring because you’re not pretending to be perfect.” That hit me. All this time, I thought my imperfections made me less of a teacher. But to them, it made me real. And in this generation, realness matters more than perfection.

Some days, we laugh over memes related to deadlines. Other days, we sit in silence as someone breaks down in the middle of class because life just got too heavy. And every single time, I’m reminded that this job isn’t just about PowerPoints and grading rubrics. It’s about presence. It’s about being human, even when you’re expected to have it all together.

I used to think that to teach, you had to be ahead. You had to be “done” growing. But I’m learning now that teaching isn’t just about leading from the front. Sometimes, it’s about walking beside someone. Growing with them. Admitting that you don’t know everything, but being willing to learn and unlearn.

And in a way, that makes the classroom a more honest space. When I share my own experiences of rejection, failure, and uncertainty, they listen—not because I’m their teacher, but because I’m being authentic. They realize they’re not alone, that even those they look up to are still figuring things out.

If you’ve ever felt like an impostor in your own class, you’re not alone. If you’ve ever gone home wondering if you did enough, said enough, or were enough… I feel you. But here’s what I’ve learned:

You don’t have to be the “perfect professor” to make an impact. You just have to be you. Present. Open. Honest. Human. You’re not behind just because you’re still growing.

Maybe you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. Maybe, just maybe, your students don’t need someone who’s “finished.” Perhaps they need someone brave enough to grow with them.

So yes, I should be guiding them. But truthfully, they’re guiding me too. We’re not walking on separate paths. We’re walking this journey together. And I’m finally okay with that.

ROI