Lindsay Grubin Wong
Georgia State University Library – Dunwoody
Learning & Engagement Librarian
lwong11@gsu.edu

Abstract

Many academic librarians enter instructional roles without formal training in education, often leading to feelings of anxiety, self-doubt, and imposter syndrome. This reflective article explores the process of developing confidence as a librarian instructor through lived experience rather than formal pedagogical training. Drawing on personal experiences, it examines common early challenges such as overpreparing, overexplaining, and focusing on performance over student learning. It also highlights key shifts that supported growth, including redefining instructional roles, prioritizing student-centered learning, embracing reflection, and seeking mentorship and community. By emphasizing vulnerability, authenticity, and gradual skill development, this article offers practical insights and encouragement for new librarians navigating instruction for the first time.

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The first time I stood in front of a classroom as a librarian instructor, I remember thinking, I’m not ready to do this. Yes, I had earned a graduate degree in library and information science, gained experience with reference and research, and had a genuine desire to help students succeed. However, I had no formal background in education. Like many academic librarians, I found myself teaching anyway.

In those early sessions, I overprepared, overexplained, and often second-guessed myself. I found myself focusing more on how I was coming across, for example whether I sounded “credible” enough or was covering the “right” material, rather than on what students were taking away from the session.

After my first session, my supervisor asked how it went. I told her honestly that I had blacked out throughout most of it (luckily, I had prepared thoroughly). The professor, however, still seemed very happy with the session. That moment stayed with me. It was not just because it was a bit humorous in hindsight, but because it revealed the disconnect between how I felt internally and how the session was actually received. Over time, something shifted. Not all at once, not perfectly, but gradually through experience, reflection, and a lot of practice.

This article is not a comprehensive guide to pedagogy, nor is it rooted in formal education theory. Instead, it is drawn from lived experience: what it feels like to step into instruction without a teaching background, and what helps build confidence along the way. For those entering academic librarianship who feel unprepared to teach, I want to offer reassurance and a few practical strategies that have made a meaningful difference in my own practice.

Teaching seems to be one of the few professions where people ask whether someone is a “natural” at it. As if the depth of knowledge, skill, and intentionality required to teach well could simply be instinctive rather than developed. While there may be rare cases of individuals who take toteaching quickly, I would argue that most effective instructors have learned how to become so. Like any other complex skill, teaching requires practice, reflection, and a willingness to learn through trial and error.

This was one of the first lessons I had to internalize. Without a formal background in education and without feeling like a “natural”, I often entered the classroom feeling like an imposter. Despite having the qualifications for my role, including an MLIS degree and careful preparation, I still questioned whether I truly belonged in that space.

I could have listened to that self-doubt and stepped away from instruction. Instead, I chose to continue showing up. A significant factor in that decision was the support of my supervisor and mentor, who provided opportunities to practice through both sandbox sessions and real classroom experiences. Just as importantly, they fostered an environment where mistakes were expected, not penalized, allowing me to grow without the pressure of needing to be perfect.

Another aspect of imposter syndrome that is less often discussed is how it can function as a form of self-protection. In addition to feelings of inadequacy, it can reflect a fear of potential embarrassment or failure if we do not perform “correctly.” Over time, I began to notice a contradiction in my own teaching: I encouraged students to take risks, to make mistakes, and to approach research with curiosity; yet I struggled to extend that same grace to myself. When we ask students to embrace vulnerability but resist it in our own practice, we limit not only our growth but also our authenticity as instructors.

Creating space to learn, reflect, and make mistakes was essential in developing confidence. I would strongly recommend that new librarians seek out a mentor, whether a supervisor or a trusted colleague, who can help cultivate that kind of supportive environment early in their careers.

Now let’s go back to the part where I mentioned I overprepared. At first, this might not sound like a bad thing, because it seems like it would be better to be overprepared than underprepared, right?  But in my case, it wasn’t actually helping students learn more.

In my early library instruction sessions, I created slide decks packed with so much information that students weren’t always sure what they were supposed to take away, other than “Contact me or another librarian for help!” I would also create research guides for the same session, and both were filled with nearly everything I could think of that students might need to know, not just for their assignment, but in general.

I found myself including details that, in hindsight, just weren’t necessary. I would point out things during database demos that students didn’t need to complete their assignment, or add information “just in case” like where the save button was, or listing hours for every campus, or including detailed circulation policies in what was supposed to be a focused session.

I also tended to overexplain concepts to the point where students were left trying to sort through what probably felt like a giant word salad. Instead of leaving with a few clear takeaways, they were left figuring out what they were actually supposed to remember.

At the same time, I was trying to “perform” what I thought a professor was supposed to sound like, instead of teaching in a way that felt natural to me. My intentions were good, and the content itself was useful, but my focus was off. I was more concerned with covering everything than with asking a much more important question: Are students really getting this?

That question marked a turning point. My thinking began to shift from “How can I cover everything under the sun?” to “What do students need to take away from this session?”

That shift became more concrete when I worked on my first conference presentation with a colleague who has a background in teaching. Our presentation focused on the effects of learning loss from COVID. It addressed not only academic performance, but also broader areas like confidence and social development. Reflecting on that work, and on my own students, many of whom are first-generation, pushed me to think more intentionally about what students come into the classroom needing and what they do not.

It also reinforced how important it is not to do this work in isolation. Having a mentor and colleagues I trust has been essential. They’ve pointed out things I didn’t initially see and helped me shift my approach in ways that better support student learning.

Over time, this has led to more intentional teaching practices: starting with clear learning objectives, building structured lesson plans, and focusing on how information literacy skills connect directly to the assignments students are working on (something I’m still actively refining). I’ve also started incorporating more active learning by reading, sharing ideas with colleagues, and attending conferences, like my first LOEX this year.

If this kind of support system doesn’t already exist in your workplace, I encourage you to seek it out or even start building it yourself. Sometimes it is as simple as asking a colleague for feedback, inviting collaboration, or starting a conversation about teaching. Beyond your institution, professional organizations like the American Library Association, state library associations, and teaching-focused groups can also offer valuable space for growth and connection.

As you learn and grow in your teaching, you will begin to develop your own instructional style. It took me a long time to fully understand what that meant. If you had asked me early in my career what my teaching philosophy was, I would have pointed you to my lesson plans and learning objectives.

Over time, however, I realized that a teaching philosophy goes beyond structure. It reflects your beliefs about how students learn and how you support that learning. Mine has been shaped through experience: what has and has not worked in my own sessions, as well as what I have observed from my colleagues. Of course, what works for one person does not always work for another. For me, consistent reflection after teaching has been essential in figuring out what works and what does not.

For new librarian instructors, I strongly recommend building in time to reflect on your own sessions and on those you observe to help you develop your voice and begin shaping your approach to teaching.

It is equally important not to fall into the trap of comparing yourself to others. While it is natural, and even helpful, to feel inspired by colleagues, comparison often leads to self-doubt, something many new librarians already experience in abundance. Comparison is not only a thief of joy, but of growth as well. Learning something new requires vulnerability, and vulnerability requires courage.

I remember how anxious I felt when I first started teaching, and it reminds me that students often feel something similar. They are learning new concepts, new systems, and sometimes even how to navigate a library for the first time. Because of that, I try to create an environment where students feel comfortable being a little vulnerable. I want them to feel able to ask questions, try things out, and not worry about getting everything “right.”

As I have progressed in my career, my focus has shifted from “Did I cover everything?” to a more meaningful question: Is the environment I have created, and the way I am teaching this content, truly helping students learn?

I have also come to accept something important. You cannot make students learn. They have to choose to engage with the material. What you can do is create a session that makes them want to. That idea has become a guiding principle in how I approach instruction.

Instead of comparing yourself to others, focus on your strengths. And if you are not sure what those are yet, ask. We are often our own toughest critics, and it is easy to overlook the skills we naturally bring to the classroom. It is also worth remembering that you were hired for a reason. You already have strengths that contribute value to your library and your students. When you lean into those strengths, rather than trying to imitate someone else’s, your teaching becomes more authentic. That authenticity is something students notice.

In my own work, I primarily teach one-shot sessions, which means I do not always get to know students as deeply as embedded librarians or course instructors might. Even so, I make it a point to learn what I can about them. When I receive an instruction request, I do not just ask about the assignment. I ask about the students as well. For example, I ask about accommodations ahead of time, prioritize accessibility, and intentionally use clear, plain language, especially knowing that many of my students are first-year undergraduates, some of whom have never been in a library before.

When I focus on creating an environment where students feel comfortable and supported, I notice that my own anxiety, while still present, begins to ease. My attention shifts away from questions like “Am I coming across the right way?” and back to what matters most: the students.

So, when you earn your MLIS degree and step into teaching as part of your role, know that feeling nervous, or even experiencing imposter syndrome, is completely normal. Every instructor has taught sessions that did not go as planned before learning how to teach more effectively. That uncertainty does not fully go away, and in many ways, that is a good thing. It means you are continuing to grow.

What helps you move through that discomfort is community, practice, reflection, curiosity, and taking time to recognize your progress along the way.

The first time I taught an instruction session, I essentially blacked out from the anxiety. Since then, I have taught hundreds of sessions, presented at library and teaching conferences, and I am preparing to go up for promotion from librarian instructor to library assistant professor.

The anxiety is still there, but I have learned not to let it make decisions for me. When it resurfaces, I return to my reflections, the small wins I have recorded in what I call my “joynal” (a joy journal recommended by my mentor), and, most importantly, the students who come up to me after class to say thank you or continue reaching out for help throughout their academic careers.

Those moments are what make it worth it.