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Guest Author: Oliver Grant

Oliver Grant is a primary school teacher and PE lead in Surrey, previously teaching for over five years at an international school in Thailand. @teacheryear6pe

t’s the end of a long week. The kind where focus wavers and energy dips. You can feel it before it happens. The quiet chatter that spreads, the chair that rocks, the sudden test of boundaries. These are the moments that show whether behaviour systems work or whether they simply exist on paper.

Behaviour has become one of education’s most divided topics. Between calls for “no excuses” and the rise of “understanding everything”, it can feel as though teachers are forced to take sides. You are either strict or soft, traditional or progressive. In reality, good behaviour management lives somewhere between the two, built on structure, respect and relationships.

The problem with the extremes

The zero-tolerance approach promises control, but too often confuses compliance with respect. It creates quiet rooms, not calm ones. When empathy is treated as indulgence, children may follow rules, but they do not learn self-control.

At the other end, there are classrooms where excuses outweigh expectations. When every incident is justified by circumstance, boundaries blur and accountability fades. It starts from compassion but ends in inconsistency. Teachers are left feeling powerless, pupils uncertain of where the line truly is.

Both extremes fail for the same reason. They forget that behaviour, like learning, must be taught. It cannot simply be enforced or explained away.

The view from elsewhere

Before returning to the UK, I taught for over five years at an international school in SE Asia. The contrast was striking. Classrooms were calmer, pupils more respectful, and serious incidents were rare. Whether that came from cultural expectations or the fee-paying nature of the setting is open to debate. What mattered most was the shared understanding that behaviour was everyone’s responsibility and that learning came first.

Coming back to the UK, I noticed how much time and emotional energy behaviour can consume. Many pupils thrive on consistency, but when that consistency is not mirrored across classrooms, they learn which rules matter and which do not. The issue is not that children have changed, but that the culture around behaviour has become uncertain. Expectations vary, and pupils are quick to spot the gaps.

What works in the middle

The most effective classrooms are not the quietest, but the clearest. Predictable routines, calm correction and fairness build a sense of safety. Children feel secure when they know how adults will respond.

Behaviour improves when it is addressed consistently, not dramatically. Quiet follow-up conversations often do more good than public reprimands because they preserve dignity and trust. The aim is not to win a confrontation but to maintain a culture where expectations are fair and predictable.

Behaviour should be taught in the same way as any other skill. We model what we want to see, explain why it matters, and give pupils chances to put it right. Boundaries exist so everyone gets to learn. They are not there to restrict, but to protect.

Finding the balance is not about being soft. It requires control, patience and clarity. It asks for both accountability and understanding. That middle ground takes more skill and energy than either extreme allows for.

The cost when we get it wrong

Behaviour challenges wear teachers down when they are handled badly. Too harsh, and the relationships that make teaching joyful disappear. Too lenient, and order fades until every lesson feels like survival. The emotional cost is real. Every teacher who has gone home replaying an incident in their mind knows how heavy it can feel.

Sometimes we lean towards extremes because we are tired or unsupported. Sometimes because systems reward visibility over impact. The outcome is the same. Teachers lose confidence, and pupils lose the stability they need most.

What we can reclaim

Reclaiming behaviour from the extremes means remembering that firmness and kindness are not opposites. It means treating behaviour as something to be learned and practised, not as evidence of character. It means holding the line while keeping your humanity intact.

We cannot control everything children bring into school, but we can shape what they walk into each morning. That culture is built in the small moments: the greeting at the door, the follow-up conversation, the consistency from one adult to the next.

The best schools I have seen share one defining quality. They feel calm. Not silent, not fearful, just calm. Pupils know the boundaries. Teachers know they are backed. There is trust in both directions.

The goal is not obedience. It is ownership. When pupils begin to do the right thing because they believe in it, not because someone is watching, behaviour no longer belongs to policy. It belongs to the classroom again.

This reflection draws on experiences across different settings rather than any one school.