The Formation of Broken Multilingual Learners Stem Identities

 

The Data:

According to research and data from the U.S. Census Bureau and educational studies, approximately 13.6 million students in the United States speak a language other than English at home, with Spanish being the most common heritage language. Among these, about 4.5 million students (as of 2023) are classified as English Learners (ELs), and the majority of these are heritage Spanish speakers. This means millions of students enter the school system as heritage Spanish speakers each year.

These students often come from homes where Spanish is spoken, but their proficiency in Spanish varies, particularly in academic vocabulary. Their ability to succeed in both English and Spanish depends heavily on the educational supports they receive, as well as the type of program—such as dual-language, English-only immersion, or transitional bilingual education—they are enrolled in.

The research of Thomas and Collier indicates that dual-language programs are most effective for these students, significantly improving their academic achievement and closing performance gaps in later grades.

A Tale of Two STEM Identities:

*This is a fictional story, but is written from many similar shared student stories over the past decade.

Imagine walking into a classroom where everything—the language, the lessons, the conversations—feels like a riddle you don’t have the key to solve. That’s where my school journey began.

When I first started school, I didn’t understand a single word my teacher said. English swirled around me in a blur, moving so fast that I couldn’t even hold on to bits and pieces. I tried, of course. I learned to catch a word here or there, stitching them together in my mind, trying to figure out what was expected of me. But it was exhausting. It felt like running a marathon with no finish line in sight.

I found comfort in the few peers who spoke Spanish like me. But even that was complicated. Some of them didn’t want to translate—they were embarrassed about their own Spanish skills, especially when it came to the school stuff, like math or science. They didn’t know the right words in Spanish to explain things, and their insecurity sometimes came off as frustration or impatience. I didn’t blame them, but it felt like I was losing my lifeline.

As the years went on, I started to pick up more English. By second or third grade, I could have conversations with my classmates. I finally felt like I was fitting in, at least a little. But when it came to academics, I was still so far behind. People don’t tell you this, but learning the language you need for socializing is different from the language you need to succeed in school. The research says it can take five, six, even seven years to catch up academically. I was living that truth.

At home, my parents did the best they could. They worked long hours to give me and my siblings a better life, but they didn’t have the time or resources to help me with school. They told me over and over how important it was to learn English—that it was the key to success in this country. I believed them. But that focus on English meant that my Spanish fell behind, too. I didn’t have a strong foundation in either language, and it showed.

Growing up as a student with parents who didn’t have documentation added another layer of fear and uncertainty to my life. I was born here—I am a citizen—but that didn’t shield me from the constant worry that my family could be torn apart at any moment. I lived with the fear that one day I’d come home and my parents wouldn’t be there, taken away to a country I’d never even seen. Mexico wasn’t my home—it was my parents’ homeland, a place they left for a better life. I spoke Spanish, but not well enough to navigate life there. I didn’t fully understand their traditions or feel like I belonged to their culture, but I didn’t feel like I truly fit into American culture either. I was caught in a strange limbo, floating between two identities, not fully rooted in either one.

That fear weighed on me every day. It shaped how I saw the world and how I interacted with people. It was like living under a shadow—always there, lurking in the back of my mind, especially when I heard about raids or deportations on the news. Sometimes the anxiety was so overwhelming that it followed me into my dreams, where I’d wake up panicked from nightmares of my family being taken away. Other nights, I’d lay awake in the dark, praying silently that we could stay together. This wasn’t something I could share with my classmates or even my teachers. It felt like a secret I had to carry alone.

Even as a child, I felt the heavy burden of responsibility to protect my family in any way I could. I worked hard in school, not just for myself but for my parents, who sacrificed so much to give me a better life. But the constant fear and uncertainty made it hard to focus sometimes. I wanted to believe in a future where we could all be together, free of this fear, but it was hard to hold onto that hope when the reality of our situation loomed so large. It’s hard to explain what it feels like to be a citizen of a country that doesn’t always feel like home, while fearing the loss of the only home you’ve ever known.

By middle school, I started to notice something else. There were “smart kids” who just seemed to get everything. They answered questions quickly, aced their tests, and acted like school was easy. I wasn’t one of them. I worked hard, but math and science especially felt like walls I couldn’t climb. I didn’t understand how some kids made it look so simple while I was so confused.

Still, I had good teachers. They wanted to help me, and they did. I figured out that if I told them I didn’t understand, they would sit with me and go through the problems step by step. It made things easier, but looking back, I realize they weren’t pushing me to think for myself. I wasn’t building confidence—I was learning to depend on their help. My teacher calls it “learned helplessness,” but at the time, I thought it was just the way school worked.

My best friend in middle school was different. He was brilliant at math—better than me, for sure—but he didn’t want anyone to know he was struggling. He didn’t want to look dumb. Instead, he became the class clown. He made people laugh, and everyone loved him for it. Teachers were frustrated with him, but he didn’t care. He told me once that there was no point in trying so hard in school when he couldn’t do it anyways. He also told me he wanted to feel safe, not be hungry,  have people to hang out with, and always have a ride. He had found a group that helped him with all these things so why try so hard at school most of them had not finished themselves. This was not the dream we had shared as kids, and I worry how long he will maintain this lifestyle before something catastrophic changes his life forever.

By the time high school started, we had drifted apart. He stopped coming to school regularly, and I kept trying. In eighth grade, they split us up—“smart kids” went to high school math, and I stayed behind. It confirmed what I already believed: I wasn’t one of the smart ones.

But something changed in high school. A math teacher noticed me. He said I should be in advanced math. Me? Advanced? I didn’t believe him, but I gave it a try. Geometry wasn’t so bad, and Algebra was manageable, but Algebra 2 was hard. I kept expecting to fail, but then something incredible happened—I didn’t.

I started doing better than some of the kids I thought were smarter than me. My teacher told me I was good at math. He showed me data from tests that said I was in the top percentiles. For the first time, I started to see myself differently—not as someone who was just trying to survive, but as someone who could actually succeed.

That year, I did a project on STEM careers. I learned about engineering, computer science, and teaching. I couldn’t believe how many opportunities there were—and how much those jobs paid. But even as I dreamed about the possibilities, I couldn’t shake the doubts. Was I really good enough? Could someone like me, who had always felt behind, belong in a field like STEM?

My teacher talked about mindset, about how the way we see ourselves can shape our future. He said the doubt I felt was called “impostor syndrome,” and that lots of people feel it, even the smartest ones. It helped to hear that, but the doubts didn’t disappear overnight.

I thought about my best friend sometimes. He had so much talent, but the system wasn’t built for him. It wasn’t built for me, either. But I had my mom, who reminded me every day why education mattered. I had teachers who believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. And slowly, I started to believe, too.

Now, as I look ahead to college and beyond, I still have questions. Will I wash out like my friend who was actually way better at math than me? Can I really pursue a career in STEM? Or maybe I want to teach, to help kids like me who feel invisible in the system. Whatever path I choose, I know one thing for sure: I am not the same person I was when I walked into that first classroom, lost and unsure, but do I really belong, that remains to be seen.

Fostering STEM Identity in Multilingual Learners

In the journey of shaping STEM identities for multilingual learners (MLLs), stories like the one shared above are both inspiring and heartbreaking. They reflect resilience in the face of systemic challenges but also illuminate where we, as educators, can do better. This post delves into the creation of STEM identity for MLLs, supported by research, and challenges us to reflect on how our practices influence outcomes for these students.

A Tale of Two STEM Identities

In the story, we meet a young girl navigating a school system that often felt foreign and overwhelming. Her struggles with language acquisition masked her potential in STEM, and she internalized a narrative of inadequacy for years. Her best friend, brilliant in math, became the class clown, hiding his insecurities behind humor and disengagement. Their diverging paths—one eventually excelling in STEM and the other disengaging—prompt us to ask:

• What systemic factors led the girl to continue to question her abilities?
• What role did her best friend’s experiences play in his eventual disengagement?
• How can we create environments where multilingual learners thrive in STEM from the start?

The Role of Language Acquisition in STEM Identity

The research of Collier and Thomas (2017) provides critical insights into the intersection of language acquisition and academic achievement. Their longitudinal studies show that it takes 5-7 years for multilingual learners to reach academic language proficiency in English—longer for complex subjects like math and science. Students in dual-language programs often outperform their peers in English-only immersion programs, with gains in both academic achievement and self-efficacy.

However, the journey of MLLs in STEM is fraught with challenges. The cognitive load of learning content and language simultaneously often places them at a disadvantage compared to their monolingual peers. Many MLLs are placed in remedial classes, where they are denied access to rigorous STEM curricula. These decisions inadvertently shape students’ beliefs about their abilities, often fostering a sense of inadequacy that can persist for years.

STEM Identity Formation in K-8 Education

STEM identity begins forming in early childhood and is deeply influenced by students’ perceptions of their abilities, their sense of belonging, and their exposure to role models in STEM. Studies reveal that traditionally underserved minority MLLs are less likely to see themselves reflected in STEM fields or in advanced coursework.

Barriers to STEM identity creation for MLLs often include:

• Deficit-based mindsets: Teachers may see language barriers as deficits rather than assets, limiting students' opportunities for growth.
• Limited access to advanced STEM programs: Early tracking often excludes MLLs from rigorous coursework, which restricts their exposure to challenging STEM content.
• Lack of culturally responsive teaching: Curriculum and instruction that fail to connect with students’ lived experiences can make STEM feel irrelevant or inaccessible.

Rewriting STEM Identity Through Competency

Research shows that individuals who eventually reach competency in STEM often rewrite their STEM identities as they achieve success. This process involves:

• Experiencing success in rigorous tasks: When MLLs succeed in advanced coursework or STEM-related projects, their self-perception shifts.
• Receiving consistent feedback and affirmation: Teachers who highlight progress and affirm students' potential help counteract internalized doubt.
• Engaging in real-world applications of STEM: Project-based learning and STEM competitions provide opportunities for students to see the relevance of their skills and build confidence.
• Access to mentors and role models: Seeing someone from a similar background succeed in STEM inspires students to believe in their potential.

Reflections and Probing Questions

The story challenges us to reflect on our practices:

• How often do we consider language barriers when assessing students’ abilities in STEM?
• Are we creating opportunities for MLLs to engage in advanced coursework, or are we unintentionally gatekeeping those spaces?
• Do our teaching strategies highlight the assets of multilingualism, such as problem-solving skills and diverse perspectives?
• How can we ensure culturally responsive pedagogy that makes STEM relevant and accessible to all students?

Building a Foundation for STEM Identity

As educators, we play a crucial role in shaping how MLLs see themselves in STEM. The research and stories shared here highlight a clear path forward:

1. Adopt an asset-based approach: Recognize the strengths multilingual learners bring to STEM, such as their adaptability, perseverance, and diverse perspectives.
2. Provide equitable access: Ensure that all students, regardless of language proficiency, have access to challenging STEM curricula.
3. Leverage dual-language programs: Advocate for models that promote both language development and academic success.
4. Cultivate culturally responsive classrooms: Create learning environments where students see themselves reflected in the curriculum and feel their voices matter.

Final Thought

The girl in the story found her way into STEM, but it took years of overcoming barriers and reshaping her identity. Her best friend’s story reminds us of what’s at stake if we fail to act. The question isn’t whether multilingual learners belong in STEM—they do. The real question is: What are we doing to make sure they know it?

By understanding the research and reflecting on our practices, we can create classrooms where all students, especially MLLs, feel seen, supported, and inspired to pursue their full potential in STEM.