When I Froze—and It Had Nothing to Do With Spanish

What is that sound? It was the first day it had rained since I arrived in Málaga, but the noise was coming from inside the apartment. I rushed toward it and realized water was pouring through the light fixture in the laundry room.

There was no time to process it. I grabbed a bucket, towels—anything—and started cleaning. Four floors above me… there was no way this was from the rain. Something else was wrong.

I messaged my landlord and the liaison as quickly as I could in Spanish, trying to explain what was happening. The landlord responded and said I needed to tell the person in the apartment above mine.

I didn’t know who lived there, but I took the elevator up one floor and knocked on both possible doors. No answer. I went downstairs to the front desk, explained it all again, and the woman there came up with me to try. Still no answer. We exchanged information, and I rushed out the door to school—just barely arriving on time.

My mind was still in the laundry room.

The moment I walked in and sat down, the instructor turned to me first. He wanted me to introduce myself to the new students—something I can normally do without much trouble. But my brain was still spinning. I hesitated.

He interpreted that hesitation as difficulty with Spanish and began encouraging me, offering support—assuming I needed linguistic help.

But I didn’t need help. I just needed a moment.

He had no idea what my morning had been like. He couldn’t have known. He simply saw silence and read it as inability.

I took a deep breath and explained— in Spanish—what had happened at my apartment and that I simply had a lot on my mind. Then I gave my basic introduction, the same one I’ve practiced many times.

But something stayed with me long after that moment:

We often interpret silence in our students.

But how often are we really correct?

How many times have I seen a student hesitate and assumed it was because they didn’t know the answer? How often have I interpreted silence as confusion, disinterest, lack of preparation, or avoidance? How many times did I forget what else they were carrying into the room?

My hesitation that morning had nothing to do with Spanish. I just needed a second to breathe. To reset. To arrive mentally.

And our students need that too—more often than we realize.

At the same time, sometimes hesitation does mean a student needs help. So how do we tell the difference?

Maybe we need:

• a simple signal a student can use that means, “I need a moment,” without having to explain why

• a classroom norm where passing is allowed sometimes, but not used to avoid learning

• slower transitions between tasks

• a gentle check-in before assuming the reason for silence

• a breath from the teacher before filling the silence with interpretation

Because sometimes silence is a sign of struggle. But sometimes silence is simply the sign of a human being with a lot on their mind.

Being a learner again reminded me of something I had forgotten: Students don’t just bring their language skills to class. They bring their whole lives.