The Myth of the Best Teacher

It’s become common for people to look back on painful, even devastating experiences and say, “It was my best teacher.” If that framing genuinely resonates with you, power to you. But I propose you pause and consider:

Is that truly what you mean—or is it something you’ve absorbed because it’s repeated so often? And more importantly, is there a more accurate way to describe what happened?

I’ll be honest: when I hear that phrase—especially when it’s generalized to include others, like “these circumstances are our best teachers”—I want to gag. Especially with death and loss, or any type of trauma.

Some of these circumstances may be abusive, dehumanizing, and deeply harmful. And some may be excruciatingly heartbreaking. Death and loss. I won’t describe those kinds of behaviors or circumstances as “good teachers.”

Think about what we mean when we talk about a good teacher. A real teacher is a someone who is patient, compassionate, and invested in your growth. They challenge you, yes—but not by tearing you down. Not by harming you. Not by stripping away your dignity. Not a circumstance that took someone you love more than life itself. We wouldn’t call that good teaching. We’d call it what it is.

So if I’ve learned anything from those experiences, like the death of my son and the unfathomable thirty-eight day search for him with little to no help from authorities, it’s not because they were inherently valuable or instructive. It’s because I chose to take something from them. It’s because I refused to let them be meaningless. It’s because of my own resilience and determination not to let these experiences control me. That doesn’t make the experience a “good teacher.” It means I was determined enough to become a good student in spite of it. The credit belongs with me, in this case.

There’s an important distinction in that. Growth can come from pain, but that doesn’t mean the pain deserves praise. We can acknowledge resilience without crediting the circumstances that demanded it. Turning post-traumatic stress into post-traumatic growth is not a gift from trauma—it’s a testament to the person who endured it.

Sometimes, calling suffering a “teacher” is a way of reclaiming control, of making sense out of something that felt senseless. I get that. But it can also unintentionally give credit to the very thing that caused harm.

Maybe a more honest way to say it is something like this: That experience didn’t teach me—I taught myself how to survive it, and how to grow beyond it.

The difference may seem subtle, but it matters. It shifts the focus away from the harm and back onto the strength it took to overcome it. And that’s where the credit belongs.

Is grief a good teacher? Maybe so. Surely, the courage to honestly, authentically, and fully experience our grief can result in a powerful growing experience. But you own your grief. You choose how to experience it. That doesn’t mean that it can’t ambush you at times. But at least you choose the meaning you make of it. You pace yourself according to your truth. So, once again, the credit belongs with you, certainly not with the loss that offered you the opportunity.

So next time that phrase of the best teacher comes up, it might be worth reconsidering. Not necessarily to reject it outright—but to ask whether it reflects your truth, or just a familiar way of speaking about it.

At our Sacred Journey With Grief Retreat, February 21-28, 2027 at Chaa Creek in the luxurious rainforest of Belize we invite you to pace your own lessons. We invite you to a deep experience, a personal sacred journey with grief where you are both the teacher and the student. Where the sounds of nature, the wildlife, the wisdom of the land, and the lush green canopies of the rainforest become our teachers. Where the modalities we offer--ceremony, ritual, guided meditations, yoga and so much more become containers in which growth is unavoidable.

The courage, love, and fullness of heart that it takes to embrace such a journey already reflects characteristics of an extraordinary student, and a compassionate teacher. You are both.

We were honored to witness profound transformation this past February and look forward to walking alongside many others on this path.

If you are feeling an inkling, please reach out for your discovery call. We welcome all connections as sacred.