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Interview with Mike Flynn: “Showing that we are still learning completely changes classroom culture”
Mike Flynn, educator and international leader in mathematics education, has dedicated much of his career to transforming how teachers teach and how students experience math. His work challenges the idea that speed equals intelligence and promotes classrooms where mistakes are normalized, struggle is productive, and mathematics is built through conversation and guided discovery.
What has been your personal story with mathematics? Have you always loved math?
Not at all. And that surprises people sometimes.
As a child, I was a very compliant student. I was good at memorizing rules and following steps, so I earned decent grades in math. But I wouldn’t have called myself a “math person.” I didn’t really understand what I was doing — I was just doing what the teacher told me to do.
It wasn’t until I became an elementary school teacher that I realized how fragile my own understanding was. I had to teach these concepts and discovered that I only knew the algorithm — I didn’t know why it worked.
Mentorship changed everything for me. Colleagues introduced me to a way of teaching where math is about exploration and sense-making. I began working with manipulatives and visual models, and I had profound realizations: That’s why we carry the one. That’s what division actually means.
I fell in love with mathematics as an adult. And that drives my work today. I want students to have that experience in elementary school so they don’t have to wait until they’re 25 to realize that mathematics is beautiful, creative, and completely accessible.
You started as an elementary school teacher and later shifted toward training educators. What experiences were key in making that transition?
One of the key moments was having a colleague across the hall who was a leader in professional learning. She mentored me, and as I grew as a teacher, she invited me to lead professional learning with her.
I was terrified at first. I knew I could teach children, but I didn’t feel confident teaching adults. Over time, I realized that the teachers I was working with were in the same place I had been before I had strong mentorship.
I remembered how impactful that support had been for me. I saw that I could empower teachers who lacked confidence in teaching math and help them shift their classrooms.
What made the difference was recognizing the magnitude of impact. When you help a teacher change their practice, they affect many more students. That realization led me fully into that direction. And I found that I enjoyed working with adults just as much as working with students — there are many parallels.
What differences are there between teaching children and training adults?
There are many similarities because learning math is universal. We want both children and adults to experience mathematics, visualize it, make connections between strategies, and engage in conversation.
However, adult learning theory — andragogy — reminds us that adults have different needs. They want solutions to problems and immediate application. When designing professional learning, you must build their understanding while also giving them practical tools they can try right away. When teachers experience success from that application, they are motivated to continue learning.
Another key element is transformative learning theory, which addresses beliefs. Some educators believe traditional math instruction worked for them, so it should work for students. Transformative learning requires disrupting that belief system through what’s called a disorienting dilemma — an experience that challenges existing assumptions.
For example, I might have teachers solve problems in base five without telling them. They struggle when working numerically. Then I introduce base-five blocks. Suddenly, things make sense. Teachers who believed manipulatives were a waste of time experience firsthand the immense power of those tools.
With children, I help them build connections with content. With teachers, I do that too — but I am also intentionally working to shift beliefs and empower them with practices they can immediately use.
After so many years working with educators, what makes a great math coach different from a teacher who simply explains well?
As my colleague Deborah Schifter once said, no matter how patiently and clearly a teacher explains, they cannot understand for their students.
Rather than looking for someone who explains well, I look for someone who facilitates experiences that allow understanding to develop.
A strong coach listens carefully to a teacher’s challenges and designs experiences that help the teacher discover what needs to shift. Instead of telling a teacher how to improve classroom discourse, a coach might co-plan questions, analyze them together, and then model or observe a lesson so the teacher can see the impact of specific moves.
When teachers see that structuring questions differently leads students to talk more, or that giving more wait time improves discussion, they make those connections themselves. That’s what distinguishes a strong coach.
You often say fluency should not be equated with speed. How do you help teachers rethink that belief?
If you want someone to change a belief, it’s not enough to make them think something — you have to make them feel something.
Pressure and anxiety can block working memory and prevent access to knowledge we already have. I simulate this with teachers by asking them to count by twelves under time pressure with intense music playing. The stress is immediate. They struggle to think clearly.
Then we repeat the task in a relaxed environment, charting numbers publicly and looking for patterns. The difference in learning is immense.
The goal of fluency is to notice patterns and regularity, to devote full attention to thinking — not to operate in panic. When teachers experience that contrast themselves, they understand why speed should not define fluency.
The idea of productive practice has gained attention in recent years. How do we make practice meaningful rather than repetitive?
For learning to stick, students need time to linger productively with ideas. But repetitive practice leads to autopilot — students stop thinking.
Practice should be varied. One day it might be a game, another day an exploration, another day a puzzle requiring multiple rounds of computation. Each experience provides meaningful engagement with the math.
Spacing is also critical. I love the idea of productive forgetting. When students step away from a concept and return later, their brains must reconstruct the learning, strengthening neural pathways and supporting long-term retention.
Interleaving is equally important. Practice should connect ideas rather than isolate them. Students begin to see how concepts relate across operations. When practice is varied, spaced, and connected, it supports deep, lasting understanding.
What role does mathematical conversation play in this process?
Mathematical discourse is essential.
To understand deeply, we need to encounter ideas from multiple perspectives. When students explain their thinking, listen to peers, compare strategies, and discuss similarities and differences, their understanding broadens.
Conversation builds engagement and what some describe as knowledge mobility — ideas travel across groups and contexts. Students learn from one another.
For teachers, discourse provides real-time assessment. Listening to students reveals misconceptions and informs instructional decisions in the moment.
In teacher-centered classrooms, knowledge flows from teacher to student. When discourse becomes central, ideas are generated within the class. The teacher becomes the facilitator and orchestrator of those experiences. That shift is foundational to a strong math classroom.
How can we shift classroom culture so mistakes are valued as learning opportunities?
It starts with how we handle our own mistakes.
If I say mistakes are valuable but react with frustration when I make one, students notice the contradiction. If I misspell a word on an anchor chart and tear it down to start over, I communicate that mistakes are unacceptable. If I cross it out and move on, I normalize error.
I once coached a teacher who feared trying a new routine because she didn’t want to “look like a fool.” I wrote that sentence on the board and replaced the word fool with learner. That shift reframed everything.
When we model vulnerability and openly acknowledge mistakes, we communicate that learning is ongoing. Normalizing mistakes transforms classroom culture.
Today’s students are immersed in instant gratification. How do we help them embrace productive struggle?
Modern environments often over-scaffold learning. In many games, hints appear automatically. Students rarely have to persist through uncertainty.
The first step is naming productive struggle explicitly — even with young children. I tell kindergarteners that there will be moments when something doesn’t make sense and we discuss what they can do: ask a peer, use a tool, try another strategy.
We also need to find the “just right” zone — challenging enough to engage, but not so difficult that frustration overwhelms. That requires knowing our students well and providing both challenge and support.
The way we respond to struggle matters. Instead of praising intelligence, we can acknowledge persistence and strategy: noticing when a student stayed with a complex problem or chose a helpful tool.
When we normalize stepping away, regrouping, and returning to a task, students learn that productive struggle is a natural and valued part of learning.
What advice would you give to a new teacher who feels overwhelmed?
Give yourself grace. Do not try to be perfect.
The first years of teaching are incredibly challenging. You are learning classroom management, curriculum, communication with families — all at once.
Lean on mentors. Use the teacher’s manual. You do not need to invent everything from scratch to be effective. Focus on being curious about how your students think.
With time, systems settle into place, the curriculum becomes clearer, and the work becomes deeply rewarding. Every strong teacher was once a struggling first-year teacher.
