Building a Unit From What They Already Know

I remember sitting in a windowless training room in 2014, staring at a glossy PowerPoint that promised a “revolutionary, non-linear pedagogical framework” for curriculum design. The presenter was talking about complex cognitive load theories and multi-layered scaffolding, but all I could think about was the fact that I had a Year 9 group in twenty minutes who would likely spend the entire hour trying to find ways to throw glue sticks at each other. We are constantly sold these high-concept, expensive models of how to sequence a unit of work, as if the secret to learning is just a more complicated way of ordering your lesson plans. It’s exhausting, and frankly, most of it is designed for a classroom that doesn’t actually exist.

I’m not here to give you another theoretical framework that falls apart the moment a student forgets their pen or a fire drill interrupts your “flow.” Instead, I want to talk about what actually works when you’re tired, under-resourced, and teaching thirty kids in a room that’s far too hot. We’re going to look at the practical reality of building a sequence that sticks—the kind that survives a rainy Wednesday and doesn’t require a PhD to implement. This is about building a logical thread that holds together even when the school day inevitably goes sideways.

Practical Curriculum Mapping Strategies for Tired Teachers

Look, I know when you hear “curriculum mapping strategies,” you probably picture a sleek, color-coded spreadsheet being manipulated by a consultant in a suit. In reality, for those of us staring at a pile of half-marked books, it’s much more about survival. If you try to build a massive, interconnected web of every single concept from day one, you’ll burn out by October. Instead, I’ve found that a simplified version of the backward design framework works best. Don’t start with the daily activities; start with the end of the term. Ask yourself: what is the one thing they actually need to be able to do when the exam or the end-of-unit test rolls around? Once you have that anchor, everything else becomes a lot easier to slot in.

From there, it’s about building a bridge, not a skyscraper. This is where scaffolding learning progressions becomes your best friend rather than just another bit of jargon. You aren’t just throwing information at them; you are layering it. If you’ve got a Year 9 class that struggles to stay in their seats, you can’t expect them to tackle a complex essay without the structural support of sentence starters or worked examples. The goal is to make the leap from “I have no idea” to “I can do this” feel like a series of small, manageable steps rather than a terrifying jump into the dark.

Using Backward Design Frameworks to Save Your Sanity

Now, I know the term “backward design framework” sounds like something cooked up in a leafy university seminar to make us feel inadequate, but there is a practical kernel of truth in it. Most of us plan chronologically: “On Monday we do this, on Tuesday we do that,” and then we spend the rest of the term frantically trying to patch the holes when the kids realize they haven’t actually grasped the core concept. Instead, try starting with the end. Ask yourself what they actually need to know by the final lesson, and work your way back from there.

When you commit to this, you aren’t just making a list of topics; you are ensuring learning objectives alignment actually exists between your first lesson and your final assessment. It stops that frantic, mid-unit scramble where you realise your “fun” activity on Wednesday has absolutely nothing to do with the exam requirement on Friday. It’s about intentionality over activity. If you know exactly where the finish line is, you won’t waste precious time on fluff that doesn’t move the needle.

Five Ways to Sequence Without Losing Your Mind

• Stop trying to build a perfect, unbroken chain of logic. In a perfect world, Lesson A leads seamlessly into Lesson B. In the real world, Lesson A is interrupted by a fire drill, a broken photocopier, or a sudden bout of flu sweeping through Year 9. Sequence with “buffer lessons” in mind—short, high-impact review sessions that act as shock absorbers when the schedule inevitably falls apart.
• Prioritise the “Big Ideas” over the trivia. When you’re mapping out a six-week unit, don’t get bogged down in the minutiae of every single sub-topic. If you try to sequence every tiny detail, you’ll run out of time by week three and spend the rest of the term rushing through the most important stuff. Pick the three or four concepts that actually matter and build the sequence around them; the rest is just decoration.
• Build in “Retrieval Anchors” every few lessons. Don’t just sequence new information; sequence the opportunity to remember the old stuff. If you teach a concept on Monday, don’t assume it’s safe just because you’ve moved on to something new on Wednesday. A good sequence intentionally loops back to previous topics, forcing the students to pull that old knowledge forward before it disappears into the ether.
• Check your “Cognitive Load” before you commit to a sequence. I’ve seen many a well-meaning department head design a unit that looks brilliant on paper but is a cognitive death trap in practice. If you follow a massive, complex concept with another equally heavy one, you aren’t teaching; you’re just watching them drown. Sequence a “heavy” lesson with a “lighter,” more application-based one to give their brains a chance to settle.
• The “Friday Reality Check.” Before you finalise your sequence, look at it and ask: “Could I actually deliver this on a Friday afternoon when the heating is broken and the kids are restless?” If your sequence relies on high-level, sustained independent research or complex group debates every single day, it’s a fantasy. A real-world sequence includes the easy wins and the low-stakes activities that keep the wheels turning when morale is low.

The Reality Check: What Actually Sticks

Stop trying to map out every minute of the next six weeks; instead, focus on the ‘big ideas’ that need to survive the journey from Monday to Friday, because if the core concept isn’t solid, the fancy activities won’t save you.

Sequencing isn’t about following a textbook’s table of contents—it’s about building a ladder where each lesson is a sturdy enough step for the kids to stand on before you ask them to reach for the next one.

If a sequence looks perfect on a spreadsheet but requires you to spend three hours every Sunday night prepping resources, it’s a bad sequence; real curriculum design has to be sustainable enough to survive a Tuesday afternoon when the heating has gone off.

## The Reality of the Sequence

“We spend far too much time obsessing over whether our curriculum follows a perfect, theoretical spiral, when in reality, sequencing is just the art of making sure the kids don’t walk into Tuesday completely blindsided by what you’re asking them to do after Monday’s chaos.”

Ellery Mwangi-Selkirk

The Reality of the Long Game

At the end of the day, sequencing isn’t about building a perfect, airtight museum exhibit of a curriculum that looks beautiful in a folder but fails in practice. It’s about making sure that when you walk into that classroom on a Tuesday morning, the kids aren’t staring at you with blank expressions because the jump from last week to this week was a canyon they couldn’t cross. We’ve talked about mapping, backward design, and trying to keep your sanity intact, but it all boils down to one thing: building a ladder that actually has enough rungs. You don’t need a PhD in pedagogical theory to see that if the sequence is broken, the learning stops, and no amount of fancy “engagement strategies” will fix a fundamental gap in what they actually know.

I know it feels like the goalposts are constantly moving, and sometimes it feels like we’re just rearranging deck chairs on a sinking ship of endless initiatives. But please, don’t lose sight of why we bother with the planning at all. We do it because when a student finally makes that connection—when the lightbulb actually flickers on because the sequence finally clicked—it makes the exhausting, unglamorous work worth it. You aren’t just delivering content; you are building a foundation. Do it well, do it simply, and do it for the kids who need that structure more than anyone else.

About Ellery Mwangi-Selkirk

Most educational advice is written for a classroom that does not exist — twenty motivated pupils, unlimited preparation time, no behaviour to manage. I write for the room you are actually in. What retrieval practice looks like when marking is already three weeks behind, why the seating plan matters more than the starter activity, and which of the last decade's initiatives left anything behind. Nineteen years taught me that the good ideas survive contact with a wet Wednesday and the rest do not.