Navigating Unwritten Phrases: Trauma-Informed Teaching in the University Studio
University and conservatory teaching isn’t what it used to be. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Our students are changing. Their needs are different. Their nervous systems are overwhelmed, under-supported, and aching for safety. And whether we realize it or not, many of us are overwhelmed, under-supported, and aching too. We are all in various states of high-functioning anxiety and survival, and we are not talking about it.
As music faculty, we're trained to cultivate artistry, to strive for excellence, to perform with integrity and precision. But we’re not trained in the invisible curriculum of trauma-informed care. We’re not taught how to hold space when a student begins to cry in a lesson, or how to respond when their bodies shut down mid-rehearsal. We aren’t taught how to support the dysregulated nervous systems that walk into our studios every day, asking—begging—to be enough, to be safe, to belong.
In a world where student mental health needs are growing at an exponential rate, and faculty are stretched thinner than ever, we need a new skillset: one rooted in Somatics, nervous system awareness, and relational boundaries.
Why Trauma-Informed Teaching Matters (Now More Than Ever)
The American college student of 2025 is not just learning Mozart and scales. They are navigating complex trauma histories, rising anxiety rates, and a post-pandemic world that has shaken their sense of safety, belonging, and identity.
Our studio spaces often become mirrors, and what gets reflected back isn’t always about music—it’s about the body, the story, and the relationship to oneself.
Trauma-informed teaching isn’t therapy. It’s not about fixing or absorbing our students’ emotional lives. It’s about understanding that the nervous system is the first instrument. It’s about creating spaces where our students can show up whole and imperfect, and not feel shamed or punished for it.
Safety Is the First Technique: A Somatic Lens
When we teach from a trauma-informed perspective, we are not only attuning to the sound our students make, but also to the tone of their nervous systems.
The body’s capacity for connection, creativity, and learning is intimately tied to a sense of neuroception—the subconscious detection of safety or danger. If the student’s system detects a threat (even subtle cues like facial tension or unpredictable emotional responses), the body will enter fight, flight, freeze, appease, and dissociate—our survival responses. Our senses and perception reorganize around threat, and technique and creativity disappear. We lose access to these pathways in our brain.
Learning cannot happen without safety.
Somatics teaches us to listen TO and WITH our bodies, to notice the subtle signals of our students—shallow breath, frozen posture, and glazed-over eyes. It teaches us to model regulation, not just teach it. And perhaps most importantly, it helps us discern when we are being pulled into someone else's storm instead of offering the stillness of the shore.
Boundaries Are Compassion
Let’s be clear: compassion does not mean enmeshment.
Brené Brown, in The Gifts of Imperfection, reminds us that compassion is “a relationship between equals.” It's not about fixing. It's not about absorbing. In Daring Greatly, she writes: “Empathy is feeling with people. Sympathy is feeling for people. Empathy fuels connection. Sympathy drives disconnection.”
When we witness a student unraveling, we must ask: Can I offer my presence without losing myself in their experience? Can I stay rooted so that they can find their way back?
Too often, we confuse being a “good teacher” with being endlessly available. But boundaries are the architecture of care. As Brown says in Braving the Wilderness, “True belonging doesn’t require us to change who we are; it requires us to be who we are.” That includes us, the teacher.
Connection Without Over-Identification
A trauma-informed music studio is one where connection does not require emotional fusion.
We can co-regulate without co-dysregulating.
This means:
Holding firm to boundaries (emotional, physical, relational).
Teaching from a place of regulation and embodiment.
Noticing when your own nervous system is overextended and modeling the strategies we teach to our students.
Referring students to mental health professionals when needed.
Co-regulation is a biological need. When students feel seen, heard, and safe in our presence, their nervous systems begin to settle. This is the soil from which expressive artistry grows.
But remember: we are not their therapist. We are not their savior. We are their guide, on a journey together.
The Cost of Not Knowing
Here’s the hard truth: most university music faculty have never been trained in trauma-informed pedagogy. We are experts in repertoire and technique, not in holding space for trauma, grief, and nervous system collapse.
And yet, that is what our students bring us every day. And we, as studio professors, see our students every day. We are the first responders, the ones who can have the most significant impact.
Without training, we risk:
Burnout and compassion fatigue.
Boundary violations—either by becoming too distant or too involved.
Missing vital signs of trauma or dysregulation.
Reinforcing perfectionism, shame, and fear under the guise of “rigor” and “grit.”
As demands on faculty rise—recruitment, performance, research, teaching, and committee work—the need for embodied, trauma-aware practices becomes not just an ethical choice, but a sustainable one for us and our students alike.
So What Do We Do?
We begin with somatic literacy, starting by learning about our own nervous systems. We recognize our habits, our triggers, and our thresholds. We build the skills to stay present in the discomfort of not knowing, to lean in without shutting down or taking on what isn’t ours.
We normalize rest. We model boundaries. We recognize the presence of shame and orienting from scarcity in our traditions. We choose to, instead, lead with integrity, curiosity, and embodiment.
We build studios where the music isn’t the only thing that matters—where the musician matters, too.
And we advocate for training, support, and structural change in our departments, institutions, and the field. Because the truth is: we are all in this together. But not all of us have the tools to navigate it.
A Final Note
The work of trauma-informed teaching is not about being perfect. It’s about being present. It’s about choosing courage over comfort, as Brown reminds us.
It’s not about holding everything. It’s about knowing what is yours to hold.
And it’s about remembering that our students are not fragile or broken—they are becoming. Our job is not to protect them from difficulty, but to walk alongside them in a way that honors their capacity, their story, and their authenticity.
The demands on us as music faculty are immense. We are asked to perform at the highest level, recruit with fervor, manage full studios, and somehow maintain a semblance of work-life balance. Integrating a trauma-informed lens might initially feel like one more thing on an already overflowing plate. However, I propose that embracing these principles can actually make our teaching more effective, more rewarding, and, ultimately, more sustainable. When students feel safer and more connected, they are more receptive to learning, more resilient in the face of challenges, and more likely to reach their artistic potential.
This is not about having all the answers. It’s about being willing to ask the questions, to learn, and to approach our students – and ourselves – with a greater degree of understanding and compassion. It's about recognizing that the pursuit of musical excellence and the nurturing of human wholeness are not mutually exclusive, but deeply intertwined. As we navigate these uncharted waters, let us do so with courage, curiosity, and a commitment to fostering environments where both the music and the musician can truly thrive.
Let’s teach like belonging matters.
Let’s teach like safety is technique.
Let’s teach like our bodies know the way.
If you're ready to integrate these tools into your studio, department, or faculty development programming, mBODYed offers coaching, training, and customized workshops specifically designed for music educators and institutions. Explore trauma-informed pedagogy through a somatic lens, deepen your understanding of nervous system regulation, and build the skills to teach with both rigor and compassion.
Learn more or schedule a consultation at www.mBODYed.com—because teaching music shouldn’t cost your well-being, and learning music shouldn’t require leaving your body behind.