Most people think tutoring is about having the right answers.

That is part of it, of course. Grammar matters. Vocabulary matters. Structure matters. But the longer I teach, the more I notice something else. The real turning point for many students is not a perfect explanation. It is the moment they feel safe enough to try.

Online tutoring can look simple from the outside. Two people. A screen. A topic. Fifty minutes.

But inside those fifty minutes, a lot is happening.

A student is doing mental math in a second language while also trying to sound natural. They are guessing what tone to use. They are scanning for mistakes. They are remembering a word they once knew. They are wondering if they sound childish, too direct, too hesitant, too strange. They are thinking about their accent. They are thinking about time. They are thinking about how they are being seen.

Sometimes, at the beginning of a lesson, a student will say something like, “I have no confidence.”

I used to respond like a teacher. I would jump straight into fixes. Pronunciation drills. Conversation frameworks. Useful phrases. A plan.


Now I take a second before responding. I let it sit in the room for a second and I try to find out what’s underneath it.

When someone says “no confidence,” it can mean many things.

It can mean, “I am afraid of making mistakes.”
It can mean, “I can understand more than I can express.”
It can mean, “People cut me off.”
It can mean, “I sound different from who I am.”
It can mean, “I have tried before and felt embarrassed.”
It can mean, “I need someone to be patient with me.”

And that last one, the need for patience, is where tutoring starts to become something more human than academic.

I have taught students who are executives, parents, nurses, engineers, artists, retirees, university students, and people who just want a hobby that keeps their mind awake. Different lives, different goals, different reasons.

But almost everyone wants the same thing in the room with a tutor.

They want to be treated like a real person, not a speaking test.

They want to speak in a way that still feels like them.

That is why I’ve come to respect the overlooked parts of tutoring.

The moment a student searches for a word and does not panic.
The moment they laugh at a mistake instead of apologizing for it.
The moment they tell a story from their life and do not rush.
The moment they take a breath and keep going.

These are simple instances, but they build something sturdy.

They build trust.

And trust changes everything.

When there is trust, corrections don't feel personal. The student does not hear correction as judgment. They hear it as support. They start to take risks. They start to ask better questions. They stop trying to sound perfect and start trying to sound honest. That is when progress speeds up, even if it still looks slow from the outside.

I think a lot about what students bring into class.

Some carry stress from work. Some carry family worries. Some carry loneliness. Some carry the weight of starting over in a new country. Some carry the pressure of an exam date on the calendar.

And then there is another kind of pressure that is easy to miss.

The pressure of being misunderstood.

In your first language, you can be funny, thoughtful, intelligent, gentle, sarcastic, poetic, serious. You can be all of yourself.

In a second language, you might sound flat. Or too blunt. Or too simple. Or too awkward. You might feel less like yourself.

It's tiring to feel misunderstood when you're trying your best.

So I try to keep one question in the back of my mind during lessons.

“How can I help this person sound more like themselves?”

Sometimes the answer is technical. It is a grammar point. A plain sentence. A better verb. A more natural phrase.

Sometimes it is not technical at all.

Sometimes it is slowing down and saying, “Take your time.”

Sometimes it is letting silence exist for a few seconds while they think.

Sometimes it is asking one follow up question that shows I was really listening.

When I think of the lessons that feel most meaningful, they often do not look dramatic. They look ordinary.

A student talks about their week.
A tutor notices a pattern and offers a simple fix.
They try again.
They laugh.
They try again.

But under that surface, something important is happening. A person is practicing being brave in a new language. Not the loud kind of brave. The everyday kind.

The kind where you show up even when you are tired.
The kind where you speak even when you are unsure.
The kind where you keep going after a mistake.

Tutoring, at its best, supports that.

If you are a student reading this, I hope you remember something simple.

You do not need to feel “ready” to speak. You get ready by speaking.

You do not need to have the perfect sentence. You need a real one.

And if you are a tutor reading this, I hope you remember something too.

Your presence matters.

You might be the only person that week who listens to your student without rushing them. You might be the only place they can practice and not feel foolish. You might be the one person who helps them hear their own progress, because they cannot see it yet.

That is not a small thing.

In the end, language learning is about connection.

It is about being understood.
It is about understanding others.
It is about finding your voice again, one sentence at a time.