Welp, despite my best intentions, I haven’t managed to post a thing. I haven’t really been journaling on my own much either. The start of each school year feels akin to what I’ve heard about childbirth: you forget the pain enough to want to do it again.
Every August I wonder why last year I didn’t just wake up earlier to start the day with a healthy morning routine. Why I didn’t leave campus at the end of my daily contracted hours to go for a walk while the sun was still shining. Why I abandoned my writing practice, my yoga practice, and ultimately abandoned myself. I vow that this year, all that will change. I write my intentions and sage my room and start off the year with a clean slate.
And then I remember. For at least the first six weeks back at school, my only hobby is work. I spend 8-10 hours every day on campus, my only breaks quickly running to the bathroom, and somehow I still bring home grading. I am not a stranger to working in helping professions, to working with children, and to jobs with intense hours. Still, I’ve never worked at anything quite so consuming as teaching.
It’s really hard to understand the intensity unless you’ve also taught at a school. The sensory overload, the myriad of ways that you’re needed, the innumerable hats you wear in a day… It’s relentless. And I certainly didn’t grasp it fully until I had my own classroom.
Honestly, I went into this midlife career change feeling confident. I assumed that my prior experience and my Type B+ way of navigating the world would help me avoid a lot of the perfectionism that I’ve seen trip up other teachers. I was planning on temporarily retiring from my nomadic lifestyle and cruising through a school year, enjoying the short daily contract hours and long holiday breaks I’d always envied.
I could not have been more wrong. It’s a lot, in ways nearly impossible to describe. Going into my 4th year it continues to be a lot, even now that I have my feet under me. Every teacher I know feels the same way- there’s just no real way to get ahead of the work. I am still grappling with whether or not this actually a sustainable profession.
So why do it? It pains me to say that despite all of the above, I fear I may love it. And without a doubt, teaching is making me a better person.
After all my griping, there is a lot to love about this impossible profession:
First, as a ‘words of affirmation’ girlie, there’s nothing quite like the love you get in teaching. Students write me sweet cards, thank me in their graduation speeches, praise me when my ‘fit is on point (the highest form of compliment possible from a 12 year old) or come in to class fired up about something new that I was able to introduce them to. Today someone came in knowing more than I do about Australopithecus afarensis, explaining how all weekend they researched Lucy because they were so into the hominid unit we just finished. There’s also appreciation from families. Just last week I had a parent tell me, after volunteering on a field trip, that watching me teach was a gift. How it’s rare to see someone doing exactly what they’re meant to be doing, and that I make it look effortless. My grandma always told me that compliments keep her young, and those must have shaved a couple years off, at least.
Teaching is also a powerful creative outlet. I wish it didn’t come at the expense of all my other creative outlets, but alas. It’s an all-consuming exercise in finding inspiration and generating ideas like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Middle schoolers, somewhat famously, are resistant to expressing awe and delight. So planning a lesson creative enough to grab even the most recalcitrant 12 year old? Or planning a lesson where I get to watch even my struggling math learners light up with an a-ha moment? It’s hard not to feel powerful.
Finally, 6th grade is just an all-around fantastic age. Despite my memories of being miserable in middle school, I love working with this age demographic. I see it a bit as a chance at redemption, to help these kids hopefully not leave middle school with the same stories of bullying and loneliness that so many of my friends have. I also don’t take for granted the privilege it is to help shepherd these kids through a year of many firsts, and to be there for them at such a pivotal time in life. Also, they’re just funny. They make me laugh, a lot, every day. And I’m not sure you get that with many jobs.
Now, onto why teaching is making me a better person:
I have to find something to love about everyone. Loving my students? That’s easy. There is something redeemable and joyful and sweet and creative in every child. I could go on and on, and anyone who has worked with kids knows this as well. Loving their parents on the other hand? This can prove more challenging.
When I am having friction with a parent, I can’t just run away from confrontation. Instead of my normal avoidant approach, I have to instead find the patience and the requisite empathy to understand where they are coming from. I then have to change my wording or approach to something they can recognize, so they can also understand me. A friend passed along the wisdom that “The cost of community is extreme irritation.” I feel this deeply- and yet it’s so worth it to push through the discomfort. What lies on the other side is shared humanity. I’m really proud that when I see parents I’ve had conflict with in years past at a school event, we hug and chat and have found mutual respect for one another. I’ve worked hard in this area, and can feel myself growing the best parts of me as I practice this process.
Teaching also means that I’m extremely present. I started my yoga and meditation practice in 2012, alongside my study of Buddhism. Every New Years or birthday my goal is usually some form of being in the present moment, and operating in the now. Mindfulness in most other aspects of my life I still find to be a challenge (see my last post!), but teaching almost aggressively forces me into the present. In fact, I’m so present that sometimes I get home and can’t remember what happened that day. I really am living each moment fully awake to it, and experiencing that is a gift.
So, do you see? I got to work at 7:45 this morning, and left at 5:45. Mondays are always crazy- grading all the Friday homework, uploading assignments and printing for the week, making sure my lesson plans are solid, setting the tone in class when kids come in dysregulated from screens or x/y/z thing that happened that weekend. Still, I realized around 10am that my cheeks hurt from how much I’d been smiling. I realized it again around 1pm. Then again at the end of the day around 3pm.
And it’s hard to put a price on that.
