This year, I began my fifth year of teaching in my third school, and looking back at how much has changed, I feel such gratitude for my journey and such concern for the future of education. In many ways, I feel energized and filled with purpose. In others, I feel defeated and lost.
I was fortunate in my childhood to have two college-educated parents who were actively involved in my education. I loved to tell my family about my day at school, and they would help me with my homework, make sure I got extra help when I needed it, came to all of my tennis games, and made sure I had tools to deal with my stress (even when I stubbornly made choices that increased my stress and the frustration of those around me). I was self-motivated to learn and I succeeded, but so much of that success came back to the strong foundations that my parents set for me, the immense love and support I received, and the example of hard work that they set. My dad has always worked two jobs to support my education, and the sacrifices my family made showed me how important my education is. I avoided procrastination because my anxiety would spiral otherwise, and my parents helped me to stay motivated and on top of my work. When I was interested in something, they made it possible for me to pursue my interests. Mom came with me to BookCon and quizzed me through hundreds of Battle of the Books questions for hours and went to the City with me to see Maggie Stiefvater talk after listening to me fangirl over her writing for months. Dad practiced tennis with me even though I was stubborn and hated to compete. I would not be the successful student I was or the caring teacher I am if it wasn’t for my parents. However, as a teacher, I came to learn that the things that were easy for me, the things that came naturally, the things that I was so sure about, were not always so easy and certain and assured for my students. I learned that the world is hard and the environment of learning has changed and that there are obstacles to learning that did not exist when I was a student. In some ways, it makes me more grateful to be a teacher knowing that I can be part of students’ lives in the midst of challenges. In other ways, it makes me feel defeated and lost as I try to be the best teacher I can in a world that is different from the one I went to school in.
I started my career in the height of COVID lockdowns working in a high-need urban public school as an 8th grade English teacher. That job forever changed how I saw education and made me a far better educator and person. On the very first day of school, I set my learning expectations collaboratively with my students to build our class culture. Their one firm request is that I wouldn’t yell at them, and it broke my heart how their first thought was fear, reprimands, and anger when it comes to the classroom. I had a student watching adult material on his laptop. I had a student who thought about hurting herself. I had a student whose reading level was years behind and wanted me to stay on the Zoom call with him because his parents were arguing and it made him upset. I remember him holding his baby sister during class; he was one of the few with a camera on. I had a student who missed weeks of school because he was homeless and did not have access to Wifi, and the school still promoted him to the 9th grade because they didn’t want a child who was a year older in the building. My students were 2 grades or more behind on their reading according to the standardized test scores when they entered my class. We practiced basic grammar over and over again. I felt like a podcast host because I spoke to a mostly empty screen all day long and heard their voices through a text box, for the most part. It was so defeating, so lonely, so isolating.
But there were moments that mattered so much. When the kids could have fun because we had a scavenger hunt, when I read them a story and they were excited to make guesses and find out what happened next, when I would sing “tell me whyyyyyy” to them. I brought in an author for a virtual visit. I checked in on how they were feeling every single week. I set up a self-management weekly schedule that the rest of the school was invited to adopt. The days were hard and my heart hurt, but I felt like I was making a difference. But how could they learn at their best like that? How could students learn when they could have their phone, their TV, their video games, their siblings, their bed, their pets right there all the time? How could students learn when they were on their own for much of the day? How could they learn effectively when they were on a computer all day like they were in corporate meetings? How could I succeed when they were given a state test even though we all knew they were behind on their reading year after year and weren’t going to catch up? My student at a 2nd grade reading level wasn’t going to pass the 8th grade state reading test. I was so proud of what he was able to do, but what good was the state curriculum when he couldn’t spell the word “school?” What kind of a teacher would I be when the students returned in person when I was warned on the first day of school that kids kept razor blades in their cheeks for their fights?
I was in a low place personally and professionally and was desperate for a change. I was accepted to teach 11th grade at a PreK-12th college prep school, and in so many ways it was the polar opposite experience. I went from students who qualified for free and reduced lunch to students who paid $20,000 to attend the school. The biggest improvements in my teaching were my sense of safety and my sense of freedom. There were no razor blades, no fights, no threats of gun shots. There were no state tests, and while I did have to prep students for the AP exam, I was in control of my curriculum. I chose everything: my texts, my projects, my homework, my class activities. My class was my own, and while it was so liberating and reminded me what I loved about teaching, it challenged me to my core. One of my favorite parts of teaching is researching and creating lessons and unit plans, and I loved being able to put all of the pieces together to watch the students grow and get the tools they needed to succeed. This freedom is also a continuing source of stress because I always doubt myself: am I making it too hard, am I explaining enough, am I giving enough support, am I making it interesting? For an anxious overthinker, this job can be a curse.
My most favorite part of teaching, though, is forming those relationships. To have my very first in-person classroom was such a learning curve. I suddenly had voices and lively personalities that I couldn’t just use the mute button to control. I became involved, and, if we are being honest, I became too involved and stretched too thin by my final year. I coached tennis, I led the Youth Volunteer Corps club, I was an advisor, I sponsored the yearbook, I oversaw the Upper School’s community service, I put together a “lunch and learn” speaker series. I loved those moments when I could see the kids being kids and getting to be themselves. I loved seeing them work through problems or take on a big project or learn to be more empathetic. I loved giving them opportunities to explore and challenge themselves and find their voices and their passion. I loved that my class sizes were small enough that I could really get to know my students because those relationships make all the difference.
I noticed each year, however, that my students were a little less prepared to face challenges. My students were a little less prepared to think critically and analyze. My students were a little less willing to put the time and effort into an assignment to make something they were really and truly proud of. I worried in my AP class that their procrastination and struggle to “tell me whyyyyy” a passage was significant would hinder their success in their senior year, in college, and beyond. I worried about their worries. I worried that the Internet had made learning a battle and that I would always lose to Tik Tok in their list of priorities.
And now here I am in Guam, and my challenges and joys continue. I am thriving being back in an 8th grade classroom. I love (most of the time) their energy. They make me laugh, and I love that we can be silly and that so much of learning is still new to them. If you ask students about their screen time, you would be shocked. If you ask students how much preparation and effort they put into their work, many would disappoint you. Attention to detail, critical thinking, note-taking, and annotation are all skills that are essential to success through academia, but many students struggle with these. Each year, we see less students who are enthusiastic readers. The pull of the phone becomes a little bit stronger. The creativity and endurance and resilience and critical thinking and analysis need a little more support. Does that mean that things are hopeless? Far from it! I’m always thinking and reflecting and creating and listening to new ideas, and there are plenty of positive days. But, to be real and transparent, teaching is stressful and so much harder than I thought it would be. I have been praying each Sunday to God to help me find my purpose and to make a good difference in the world, and I know in my heart that education is what is calling me right now. I pray for compassion and passion and wisdom and patience, and I am grateful to my parents and Tom for listening to my challenges and offering their advice.
I fully intended to talk about books, but I seem to have written a small one myself in this reflection!
If you had a teacher that made a positive difference in your life, send me a message or leave a comment! I'd love to hear your story!
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