I’ve been a qualified EP for nearly three-and-a-half years now. I’ve worked across four different services, worked in a variety of settings, and met many wonderful families. I would say – tentatively – that I now feel competent as an EP.
Feeling competent as an EP
Competence can be defined as ‘the ability to integrate and apply contextually-appropriate knowledge, skills and psychosocial factors (e.g., beliefs, attitudes, values and motivations) to consistently perform successfully within a specified domain’ (Vitello, Greatorex, & Shaw, 2021).
The way I’ve decided to informally assess my sense of competence is that I feel confident going into a consultation even if I have almost no background knowledge of the situation. It happens fairly often, perhaps because plans change at the last minute so I am asked to work with somebody else, or because the school were so busy that they had minimal time to explain the context in advance of the meeting. This is never ideal, but I get it, that’s just the reality of life.
Whilst I don’t love feeling in the dark about a person’s story before I meet to discuss it with them, I’ve had enough range of experiences now that I can slot what I hear into some sort of preexisting mould. Of course every individual I meet is unique, but there are common threads that I can latch onto and use my knowledge and skills to figure out where to go next.
I’m also very aware of, in the grand scheme of things, still being inexperienced as a practitioner. Plenty of situations trip me up, leaving me stumbling for something relevant to advise or a sensible question to ask. But, on the whole, I feel a sense of competence as an EP.
Feeling incompetent as a skier
Over the winter holiday, I visited my in-laws in Maine, a beautiful state in northeastern USA. In Maine, it snows. It snows so much that the entire place remains covered in white for over four months every year.
One benefit of this is that, wherever you find a hill, there is the possibility of skiing down it. In Maine almost everybody skis. They learn almost as soon as they can walk and, for most Mainers, skiing is second nature – like riding a bike.
I, on the other hand, had never skied before I visited Maine with my wife for the first time a few years ago. My wife loves to ski so I had to learn!
It is a humbling experience to be learning a brand new skill in your mid-twenties as fearless pre-schoolers zip past you down the hill having the time of their lives. There are few other experiences in my life where I can guarantee that most three-year-olds doing the same activity will be far more competent than I am.
As an adult (a relatively tall adult, at 6 foot) I am only too aware of what I have to lose. For a start, I have twice as far to fall as they do. Children are purpose-built to learn new skills. Their brains are still incredibly pliable, whereas mine is far harder to reshape. My instinct is to constantly prepare for the worst that could happen, whereas theirs is simply to have fun. I’m thinking brake; they’re thinking speed.
Having skied a few times, I would now say I feel competent, but only under certain conditions. As an EP, I feel confident I can adapt to most unexpected conditions that I encounter. As a skier, all sense of competence would disappear if I had to go down a steep run through the trees and I’d certainly end up in a heap.
Seeing the value of incompetence
Experiences of such stark incompetence are relatively unusual for me. I imagine they would be for you too. By no means do I feel completely competent in all areas of life, but I don’t normally feel quite so aware of my lack of skill compared with those around me. As people, we are understandably reluctant to engage willingly in activities and situations where we know we will struggle much more than everyone else.
So many of the children and young people we work with, however, will have unavoidable experiences of incompetence piled on top of each other day after day. Going into a lesson dreading the possibility of a teacher asking you a question in front of your classmates when you know you’ll be clueless. Walking out onto the playground desperate to make friends but having no idea how to start a conversation. Feeling desperate for someone to talk to about your uncomfortable feelings but not knowing how to ask for help. All the while being surrounded by people who make it look easy.
I’m choosing to see my experience of incompetence as an opportunity to self-reflect as well as to practise empathising with the families, children, and young people I support. My intention, moving forwards, is not to take my experiences of competence for granted, not to get complacent or lazy, and to see incompetence as having value too. If our lives feel overwhelmed by incompetence, we may be tempted to give up and feel hopeless. But, to develop, we’ve got to try new things and learn new skills. Incompetence can be helpful, even necessary, in the right dose.
I invite you to join me in a few closing reflection points:
- What is your relationship with competence and incompetence, as a practitioner and as a person?
- Would you like a little more of one or the other in your life?
- How do you decide whether you are competent at something and is this a binary judgment?
- Do changing conditions affect your feelings of competence?
- Can you pinpoint a time when you transitioned from feeling incompetent to competent?
- What value could having an experience of complete incompetence bring for you?
References
Vitello, S., Greatorex, J., & Shaw, S. 2021. What is competence? A shared interpretation of competence to support teaching, learning and assessment. Cambridge University Press & Assessment.
