In my classroom, I am watching something shift.

Students are not just struggling with difficult conversations. They are struggling to know whether those conversations should happen at all. The question is no longer only what do I think, but is it safe to say it out loud?

That hesitation changes everything.

I teach future social workers through the lenses of relational-cultural theory and interpersonal neurobiology. We examine how human beings grow through connection and how the nervous system responds when we perceive threat. Polarization is not only ideological. It is physiological. When we feel unsafe, our thinking narrows. We move toward certainty, simplicity, and division.

The classroom is not immune to this.

In my classroom, we continue to practice engaging perspectives that may not align with our own. What once felt like a standard exercise in critical thinking now carries a different weight. Students are not only analyzing ideas. They are navigating identity, belonging, and the risk of being misunderstood.

To support this, I developed trauma-informed communication guidelines grounded in NASW ethical principles. The intention is not to remove discomfort, but to create enough stability for students to remain engaged in it. We center relationship over being right, listen to understand rather than respond, and practice holding multiple perspectives at once. These structures allow students to participate even when the material feels personal or activating.

This work is demanding.

It is uncomfortable. It is mentally and emotionally taxing. At times, it challenges deeply held assumptions. And yet, many students stay with it. They remain in the conversation. They wrestle with complexity. They practice understanding without defaulting to agreement.

At the same time, the social dynamics in the room are real.

Students often fear not being accepted by their peers. Engaging a different perspective, even as part of an assignment, can feel like a risk to belonging. In those moments, some students align with the loudest or most certain voices. Others choose a more difficult path. They stay engaged, ask questions, and tolerate the tension.

That is the development of cognitive flexibility.It is also the practice of relational courage.

In the current campus climate, however, I see a growing tension. We teach students to be trauma-informed, to prioritize psychological safety, to recognize lived experience, and to avoid harm. These are essential commitments. But at times, discomfort and harm become conflated.

That distinction matters.

Discomfort is often the starting point of learning. When we encounter ideas that challenge our beliefs, our nervous system responds. We may feel activated, defensive, or unsettled. These reactions are real, but they are not inherently harmful.

When discomfort is treated as harm, something important begins to shift.

Students withdraw from difficult conversations. Curiosity diminishes. Dialogue becomes increasingly fragile. Rather than building the capacity to engage across difference, we begin to avoid it altogether.

And avoidance does not create safety. It produces silence.

If hate defines what happens in the classroom, then we have already lost the purpose of education. The goal is not to eliminate conflict, but to ensure it does not come at the cost of our shared humanity.

Interpersonal neurobiology teaches us that growth requires a range of emotional experience. Not overwhelming threat, but not constant ease either. Without that middle ground, integration cannot occur. We either shut down or disengage.

Neither leads to learning.

For social workers, this is not abstract. It is an ethical responsibility.

The NASW Code of Ethics calls us to uphold the dignity and worth of every person and to prioritize human relationships. These principles do not depend on agreement. They depend on our ability to remain present, especially in moments of tension.

If we cannot navigate discomfort in a classroom, it raises an important question about how we will show up in practice.

Trauma-informed communication is not about avoiding difficult moments. It is about staying grounded within them.

It asks us to notice our internal responses without being directed by them. To listen with the goal of understanding. To hold complexity without rushing to resolution.

This feels especially relevant now.

Conversations about identity, conflict, and belonging carry real emotional weight. But when these conversations are avoided, or reduced to certainty, we lose opportunities for growth.

I think back to my own learning. Before October 7, I was involved in DEI committees and did not question who was included and who was not. I am what many now call an “October 8th Jew,” and that shift brought a deeper awareness. I began to recognize that Jewish identity was often left out of these spaces, sometimes shaped by assumptions about race and privilege that did not reflect the full complexity of Jewish experiences.

I also recognize that I was not always engaging in the level of critical thinking I now ask of my students. At times, I found myself repeating what I heard within these spaces without questioning it more deeply. That realization has stayed with me.

I wish I had asked more questions then. Not because I had all the answers, but because questioning is part of the work.

That capacity to remain curious, even when it is uncomfortable, matters.

Relational-cultural theory reminds us that growth happens through connection. But connection does not require sameness. It requires the ability to stay engaged across difference.

When discomfort is equated with harm, we risk limiting that engagement. We risk creating environments where participation becomes cautious, where dialogue is constrained, and where learning is reduced.

Because in social work, and in a world this divided, when we mistake discomfort for harm, we do not create safety.

We lose the very conditions that make growth possible.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)