I have had one of my worst anxiety weeks I think since college. As in when my anxiety gets this bad, I cease to really function like a normal human being. I kind of self-destruct. I implode. I think it's because my anxiety triggers are so intertwined with the everyday. Right now this means school. So anytime I attempt to do any schoolwork, I can't focus because I feel so anxious about school. Which means that basically nothing has gotten done for a week now. Even with the unexpected 3-day weekend, I haven't managed to get anything done. Because doing schoolwork means that anxious brain kicks in and after feeling like crap and getting nothing done for a couple of hours, I give up and let avoidance mode kick in. At least then when I'm not getting things done I can feel okay for a short while. And forget keeping my apartment reasonably cleaned up. There are some days that I look at it and think, "Man, I can't wait 'til I have the time and energy to clean this place up." But when anxious brain kicks in, it's more of a "Man, I don't even give a crap that I have to climb over piles of school stuff to get to my couch or that I ran out of cups/spoons/bowls/etc three days ago." I cease to care.
And anxious brain doesn't just mean that I cease to care about the items on my to-do list. It also means I lose all will to do the daily things to take care of myself. I cease to sleep. Sometimes it's because I can't make my brain shut down well enough to sleep. But most of the time it's because I feel this deep-seated need to just not sleep for no other reason than I just don't want to. Because somehow I feel better staying up doing mindless, time-wasting kinds of things than to actually go to sleep. I stop eating too. Sometimes it's because my stomach is just in too many knots to handle eating anything. But more often it's because I've simply lost the desire to eat. I just don't feel like it. So I stop. And I cease to shower. I'm slightly more likely to right now because at school people will notice, but if I'm not going to see anyone I know on a particular day? Showering won't happen.
Anxious brain also deems particular locations or events unsafe. It's the reason that I stepped out of or skipped choir rehearsals multiple times a week for the rest of the school year after the time I had a massive panic attack on choir tour. It's the reason I don't know that I'll ever go back to camp. It's the reason that I avoid ever returning to the church I grew up in. It's the reason that I have no desire to return to my old school for anything and the reason I didn't feel comfortable in my old apartment by the time I left. And right now it's the reason that every time I go near my current school I completely fall apart. It doesn't feel safe anymore. Or, more accurately, it never really felt safe, and now it feels 100% unsafe.
Anxious brain means I can't manage to hold it together. I've about fallen apart in the middle of teaching countless times in the last week. Usually even on bad days I can hold it together from the time I step into the school building to the time I leave it, but not last week. Last week I was usually in tears in between classes and occasionally during student work time, all while attempting to hide it in the corner by my desk. During my prep period I was a wreck. Every single day. I was also a wreck anytime that I wasn't physically inside the school building. And have been a wreck anytime I've thought about school all weekend. I usually feel anxious on Sundays, but today I've had four panic attacks, one of which was the worst I've had since sometime last summer and was the first panic attack I've had in ages that I was convinced wasn't ever going to end.
Anxious brain means I catastrophize. But even though I know that the outside world would say that I'm being pessimistic and worrying about worst-case scenarios that are never going to happen, those scenarios feel very real and very likely to me. Like right now I'm fairly convinced that if all continues as it has been, I'm going to lose my job and probably never get another job in teaching at this rate. Because I'm not a fully functional teacher right now. I can't accomplish as much in as little time as the other teachers that I work with. And I know that my anxiety is getting in the way of certain aspects of my job; I try to do the best I can, but I'm not perfect. I'm trying to work through some of these things with my therapist, but it's a process. Unfortunately this past week I got in trouble for these shortcomings and it was made very clear to me that I had to jump from 0 to 100 in an instant because students' futures are on the line and it's all supposed to be part of my job in the first place. (And the fact that this district puts a massive focus on being good at something that is one of my greatest weaknesses made me extremely uneasy from the time I interviewed for the job, but by the time I got the job offer I was so desperate that desperation won over anxiety - at least for then). It all feels impossible and no matter how many times people say that they want to be supportive and try to help or ask how they can help. The truth is that there is nothing they can do. What I really need is time and understanding, but it's been made pretty clear to me that time to work through things isn't an option and because the majority of the population doesn't really understand anxiety, I don't foresee finding anyone who understands either. After having a panic attack in my principal's office last week, when I then wound up sharing briefly about my mental health stuff and that I am seeing a therapist to try to work through it, he asked me if I'm going to be able to work through it in order to make teaching a career. My response? That I'm trying. That I'm hoping to get there. And that's the truth. Because in the midst of all my anxiety in the past week, I realized for the first time in ages that I really do love working with kids. But I can't take the pressure. I'm trying to get to a point where I can, but I don't know that I can hit that point fast enough, not just for my own sanity in hopes of feeling less stressed out, but also fast enough for others' time tables. Because when your job involves working with kids, you have to have yourself together in the immediate future, not in the distant future at a time that you can't really predict. And suddenly I no longer feel like whether I continue to teach is even my choice - I feel like I'll get let go once again. Because my experience dictates that as soon as people have learned that I have mental health issues, which by definition take time to work through, they don't really want me working with kids anymore. With the exception of the time that I worked for a family that I'm technically blood-related to and who understood mental health issues. So when I catastrophize? My experience makes it feel entirely rational.
And people don't understand anxious brain. Or perhaps I shouldn't generalize too much because some people do. But only the ones who have had close personal experiences with mental illness in some way, shape, or form. The reason that I enjoy blogging is because it allows me to express all of this somewhere that people can see it in what feels like a non-threatening arena. But in the rest of life? The people that I see every day? They don't get it. Sure, they get the basics. But they don't understand what I have to do to cope to get through everyday tasks. They don't understand that how much extra work I have to do mentally to work through the extra roadblocks my brain sets up. And most of all they don't understand that the biggest factor in me getting better. After the panic-attack-in-the-principal's-office incident last week, he asked me how I was doing the next time I saw him, and I fell apart all over again. Which doesn't help how I'm feeling at school right now. I tried to explain that after a really bad day, it just takes me time to get better, but I don't think I had him convinced. And he wants to find ways to fix me. Actually, fixing struggling teachers is kind of a big focus at my school. For a normal person, this is a helpful thing. If a teacher is stressed out or searching for new tools or struggling to find techniques that work, given them the tools to move forward in a more positive direction. But for someone with anxious brain, or, possibly more accurately, anxious/depressed brain, offering teaching tools and advice only makes things worse. Because anxious brain feels overwhelmed by all the new information and depressed brain felt like a failure already and social anxiety brain feels panicked because now everyone knows about the failure. I know that others have this amazing picture of what a great teacher looks like, and I'd like to get there someday. But usually the times that people are trying to give me all the advice are the times that it's taking me every ounce of energy to get through the next five minutes (or less) without completely falling apart emotionally. What anxious brain needs most on the bad days is someone who will be there to listen to the fact that I'm struggling, affirm that in my head the anxieties are real, and above all else to not offer advice and accept it when I'm saying that I'm working through things and in time will be okay. But it's not work that others, outside of trained psychology professionals, can help with. The people that are the most helpful are the ones who realize that they can't help and are just there. No advice, just a non-judgmental listening ear.
I spend most of my life wishing that people understood anxious brain better. How it makes everyday tasks that are easy for the rest of the world feel nearly impossible. How it can't be fixed the way that other problems can be. How what it needs most is support of people who aren't trying to fix it. How it really just needs people to understand what they experience because of it. The word is slowly finding its way out. I think I've seen more articles circulate around the internet about anxiety in the last year than I have any other time in my life (like this article I ran across last week). But it still doesn't feel like enough. The word isn't making it to the right places. A few months ago I sat through a lunch conversation that belittled a co-worker's daughter for her anxiety. So the information still isn't making it out to enough people. There are many days that I wish I could make a career out of being an advocate for mental illness. I know there are volunteer positions like this, and I hope to someday get involved. But for now I write. Because my life would be so much easier if people understood my anxious brain. And I know I'm not the only one.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Monday, February 17, 2014
Conflicted... and Trapped
Today I feel the need to begin with a disclaimer. I write because it's cathartic. It's how I process things. It's how I attempt to come to peace with them. And I write online in hopes that someone might read it and understand - or even relate. (I used to pick trusted people to write "letters to never be sent," but sometimes it's nice to get a response, even if it's seeing that one person at least viewed what I had to say). And I write to express what I can't always manage to say to anyone out loud. When I write, I'm honest. And the honest truth is that I'm not often a super positive and uplifting person, at least not in recent years. It's been a long time since I've managed to be happy more than a day or two at a time. And I can only manage a relaxed, neutral contentment for extended periods of time when I spend days straight binge-watching TV shows on Netflix completely ignoring the existence of the outside world. There was a time in recent months when it felt like I had forgotten how to be happy for more than moments at a time, when the best I remembered feeling for months on end was mild discontentment. My life doesn't feel like a particularly positive experience lately. So if you're looking for something that's positive and uplifting, you're not going to find it here. At least not today. So get out now before I rain any further on your parade. You have been warned.
My life this year seems a sea of opposing emotions - all of which lead nowhere good. And when these are the only thoughts and emotions running through my head, I feel constantly trapped in nearly all aspects of my life.
It probably starts with my job. I miss my old school, but I no longer trust them enough to consider even applying if a position were to open up again. So I took a job at my current school despite a serious feeling of uncertainty regarding it being a good fit because it's a district that most teachers would love to be in and, let's face it, with less than one month of summer left I needed to find a job before the school year started. And it seems that my gut instinct may have been right, but it doesn't leave me with good options now. The idea of looking for a different job is in and of itself is a daunting task, probably because of the less-than-pleasant job-hunting experience I had last summer. And I don't know that switching schools every year until I find the right one will get me anywhere in life either. It's not an ideal option to stay but it's also not an ideal option to leave. So I'm trapped.
I don't know that I'm in the right career path. As much as I love teaching, the only way it's helped my mental health is by providing the benefits and income I need to see a counselor. Most of the time it only makes my anxiety and depression worse. And my anxiety and depression make it increasingly difficult for me to be the kind of teacher I'm supposed to be. And while the improvement of my mental health is a work in progress that has slowly but surely been improving, it's not improving as quickly as it needs to for me to do all aspects of my job, and as long as kids' futures are on the line, my mental health doesn't really mean anything to anyone but me. So maybe I shouldn't be a teacher right now. But that's letting the anxiety win, which I'm told is a bad thing. I've thought about other careers - photography, writing, film music analysis, and mental health awareness advocate are all hobbies that I'm greatly interested in, but none of them bring a stable job with reasonably comfortable income and benefits, likely bringing me greater stress in the long run. No good way to stay. No good way to leave. And while my eventual goal is to be a stay-at-home mom, that option is still years away seeing as I'm not even dating anyone right now... So I'm trapped.
I've about had it with teaching math. It's exacting and cold and feels meaningless most days. I know it's useful, and I spout of the reasons why to my students every time they ask. But it feels meaningless. And with the emphasis on math these days, there's way too much pressure. I miss the arts. I miss including heart and soul and the human experience in everything I teach. I'd much rather talk about symbolism in poetry, the effectiveness of music in film, the framing within a photograph, the realism of a work of literature. I want to share with them the human experience, to talk about experiencing different walks of life through art in any form. To give them a place to express their true emotions and identity without fear. I want to sing patriotic songs with them to honor American soldiers past and present on Veteran's day. I want them to express their thrill to see me after a performance and then ask me if their intense scene made me cry. I miss the moments. I've nearly lost the desire to instill my students with hard, cold facts but instead long to shape them as human beings who appreciate the subjective expressions of other human beings. I miss the arts. But I can't really afford to go back to school to teach literature or photography or film. And finding a full-time music teaching job is difficult most anywhere but especially in the limited region where I want to stay in an attempt to keep the small support system I have. And, having never really fit in with the music crowd, I don't know that I can even get a foot in the door for an interview. As much as I deeply want to teach music, my gut tells me that I probably never will. I don't know how to continue to be passionate with my current subject, but I don't know how to realistically get a position teaching in the arts. So I'm trapped.
And my job isn't the only place I'm feeling conflicted, though it certainly tends to consume my life. I miss my faith being the most important part of my life. I miss when my faith gave me hope, when I found comfort in God. And I miss the extended families that I found in my faith communities. But more often than not, my faith brings me more pain than hope. I look for God's comfort and can't find it (and don't tell me that he's still there because right now it means nothing to me if I can't feel it). And I've lost all trust in faith communities as a whole. The faith community I grew up with, whom I considered my extended family, has pretty well dissipated (at least partially under stress of and in frustration with church politics). And I've felt betrayed by nearly all faith communities I've been a part of since that time. While there are still many Christ-people in my life whom I love and who always support me, I feel no desire to find a church home. Too many politics, too many betrayals. I've built up enough trust issues in recent years of my life, and too many of them have started with church people. I long to attend worship but fear being noticed as a newcomer (which, let's be serious, tends to happen at basically any Minnesotan church, even the big ones - thank you, Minnesota nice...) So I don't show up at all. I never pictured myself as one of the many young adults who have left the church but still feel a connection to God, and I don't identify with all of the reasons that many reasons that people of my generation are leaving the church, but I somehow find myself among them and somehow getting it. I know that Christians are just as human as anyone else, but somehow the bad experiences I've had with Christian communities have left some of the deepest scars - perhaps because I had trusted them more deeply to begin with. And I know that some quality faith communities still exist - I have a great one to return to every time I head back north, but with where I am right now, I don't think I can handle risking trying a new place and learning that it's not one of the good ones. I feel guilty for non-attendance on top of feeling guilty because I'm completely rejecting the idea of being an active part of a church community at this point in my life on top of feeling guilty for having a problem with the imperfections of other Christians. I want my faith to mean what it once did, to bring to my life what it once did, but I don't know how to find my way back - or maybe it just hurts too much to get there. So I feel trapped.
And feeling trapped makes me feel hopeless. Most people say that either high school or college were the best years of their lives. But my first two years of high school pretty much sucked and despite how much better my senior year was, it was rather stressful and sleep-deprived. And outside of fantastic classes my junior year and a truly phenomenal music student teaching experience, college was one of the most emotionally and socially painful experiences of my life. So I feel like I missed out on something. And everyone tells me that being an adult doesn't really get any better. So then I feel even more trapped. And I can't find a way out.
My life this year seems a sea of opposing emotions - all of which lead nowhere good. And when these are the only thoughts and emotions running through my head, I feel constantly trapped in nearly all aspects of my life.
It probably starts with my job. I miss my old school, but I no longer trust them enough to consider even applying if a position were to open up again. So I took a job at my current school despite a serious feeling of uncertainty regarding it being a good fit because it's a district that most teachers would love to be in and, let's face it, with less than one month of summer left I needed to find a job before the school year started. And it seems that my gut instinct may have been right, but it doesn't leave me with good options now. The idea of looking for a different job is in and of itself is a daunting task, probably because of the less-than-pleasant job-hunting experience I had last summer. And I don't know that switching schools every year until I find the right one will get me anywhere in life either. It's not an ideal option to stay but it's also not an ideal option to leave. So I'm trapped.
I don't know that I'm in the right career path. As much as I love teaching, the only way it's helped my mental health is by providing the benefits and income I need to see a counselor. Most of the time it only makes my anxiety and depression worse. And my anxiety and depression make it increasingly difficult for me to be the kind of teacher I'm supposed to be. And while the improvement of my mental health is a work in progress that has slowly but surely been improving, it's not improving as quickly as it needs to for me to do all aspects of my job, and as long as kids' futures are on the line, my mental health doesn't really mean anything to anyone but me. So maybe I shouldn't be a teacher right now. But that's letting the anxiety win, which I'm told is a bad thing. I've thought about other careers - photography, writing, film music analysis, and mental health awareness advocate are all hobbies that I'm greatly interested in, but none of them bring a stable job with reasonably comfortable income and benefits, likely bringing me greater stress in the long run. No good way to stay. No good way to leave. And while my eventual goal is to be a stay-at-home mom, that option is still years away seeing as I'm not even dating anyone right now... So I'm trapped.
I've about had it with teaching math. It's exacting and cold and feels meaningless most days. I know it's useful, and I spout of the reasons why to my students every time they ask. But it feels meaningless. And with the emphasis on math these days, there's way too much pressure. I miss the arts. I miss including heart and soul and the human experience in everything I teach. I'd much rather talk about symbolism in poetry, the effectiveness of music in film, the framing within a photograph, the realism of a work of literature. I want to share with them the human experience, to talk about experiencing different walks of life through art in any form. To give them a place to express their true emotions and identity without fear. I want to sing patriotic songs with them to honor American soldiers past and present on Veteran's day. I want them to express their thrill to see me after a performance and then ask me if their intense scene made me cry. I miss the moments. I've nearly lost the desire to instill my students with hard, cold facts but instead long to shape them as human beings who appreciate the subjective expressions of other human beings. I miss the arts. But I can't really afford to go back to school to teach literature or photography or film. And finding a full-time music teaching job is difficult most anywhere but especially in the limited region where I want to stay in an attempt to keep the small support system I have. And, having never really fit in with the music crowd, I don't know that I can even get a foot in the door for an interview. As much as I deeply want to teach music, my gut tells me that I probably never will. I don't know how to continue to be passionate with my current subject, but I don't know how to realistically get a position teaching in the arts. So I'm trapped.
And my job isn't the only place I'm feeling conflicted, though it certainly tends to consume my life. I miss my faith being the most important part of my life. I miss when my faith gave me hope, when I found comfort in God. And I miss the extended families that I found in my faith communities. But more often than not, my faith brings me more pain than hope. I look for God's comfort and can't find it (and don't tell me that he's still there because right now it means nothing to me if I can't feel it). And I've lost all trust in faith communities as a whole. The faith community I grew up with, whom I considered my extended family, has pretty well dissipated (at least partially under stress of and in frustration with church politics). And I've felt betrayed by nearly all faith communities I've been a part of since that time. While there are still many Christ-people in my life whom I love and who always support me, I feel no desire to find a church home. Too many politics, too many betrayals. I've built up enough trust issues in recent years of my life, and too many of them have started with church people. I long to attend worship but fear being noticed as a newcomer (which, let's be serious, tends to happen at basically any Minnesotan church, even the big ones - thank you, Minnesota nice...) So I don't show up at all. I never pictured myself as one of the many young adults who have left the church but still feel a connection to God, and I don't identify with all of the reasons that many reasons that people of my generation are leaving the church, but I somehow find myself among them and somehow getting it. I know that Christians are just as human as anyone else, but somehow the bad experiences I've had with Christian communities have left some of the deepest scars - perhaps because I had trusted them more deeply to begin with. And I know that some quality faith communities still exist - I have a great one to return to every time I head back north, but with where I am right now, I don't think I can handle risking trying a new place and learning that it's not one of the good ones. I feel guilty for non-attendance on top of feeling guilty because I'm completely rejecting the idea of being an active part of a church community at this point in my life on top of feeling guilty for having a problem with the imperfections of other Christians. I want my faith to mean what it once did, to bring to my life what it once did, but I don't know how to find my way back - or maybe it just hurts too much to get there. So I feel trapped.
And feeling trapped makes me feel hopeless. Most people say that either high school or college were the best years of their lives. But my first two years of high school pretty much sucked and despite how much better my senior year was, it was rather stressful and sleep-deprived. And outside of fantastic classes my junior year and a truly phenomenal music student teaching experience, college was one of the most emotionally and socially painful experiences of my life. So I feel like I missed out on something. And everyone tells me that being an adult doesn't really get any better. So then I feel even more trapped. And I can't find a way out.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
The Things I Miss
When you start teaching at a new school, everyone asks you if you like it there. Who's ever going to answer "No."? The truth is that I've never quite settled in to my new school. Maybe I just got spoiled when I got to spend my first year teaching at a school that would have been one of my top 5 choices if I could have chosen anywhere to teach. My current job I chose more out of desperation than anything else - it was July 31 and I'd had no other offers all summer. But the district had good benefits and the school is considered one of the top-notch public high schools in the state, so I figured myself lucky. Plus I would get to teach higher-level classes, which I considered a perk. But I have yet to settle in. People keep asking me if I'm happy and if I feel like it's a good fit. What am I supposed to say? I seem to be the only person who doesn't think it's the most amazing place in the world to be. So I attempt to be convincing when I politely respond that I enjoy being there, and quickly attempt to end the conversation or at least change the topic. My new district is the kind of place where most teachers dream of being able to teach. So why am I so unhappy? A couple of months ago a mentor whose wisdom I greatly value and trust told me that the first school you teach at will still feel like home long after you've left, and it takes years to adjust to your new school. I tried to hold on to this to survive, but lately I'm finding it less convincing.
You see, I came up with a new analogy last weekend. When I was looking at colleges, in particularly ELCA Lutheran colleges in and around Minnesota, someone once said that if you want a formal environment, you should go to St. Olaf, but if you want to be somewhere where people and faculty are more approachable, you should go to Concordia. This only affirmed and solidified my long-time plans to attend Concordia. The environment was a fit. Now, last week was our "Winter Week" that ended in a Friday afternoon pepfest. As I sat in my assigned supervisory row of bleachers before the pepfest began, I noticed our principal walking through the gym in a full suit on the school spirit day where all were encouraged to wear school colors. This was a far cry from my last school's principal who was known to sport zubaz that displayed the school colors on our school spirit day. It was then that it struck me. My old school was like Concordia. My new school is like St. Olaf. I don't know that it'll ever be a fit. And with that realization, and, honestly, the pepfest that followed, I realized all of the things that I've come to miss.
I miss pepfests, or "community celebrations" as they were called, that existed to celebrate student achievements, share student talent, and make students aware of just all that was going on around the school as compared to pepfests where half the point is for students to act completely crazy. I miss pepfests where teachers didn't have to be assigned to specific rows of bleachers for the purpose of crowd control. To be honest, I miss pepfests where I got to watch a repeat state champion dance team, because I've always admired people who can dance, and once you've seen the best, you also know when what you're watching isn't the best (entirely superficial, but at least I'm being honest). And I miss pepfests where I at least recognized most of the kids involved because the school community was such that I recognized and/or knew names of tons of students who had never stepped foot in my classroom.
I miss the community. Not just the school, but the city. I miss the feel of modern suburbia. I miss the parks and the paths connecting all parts of the neighborhood I lived in. I miss the feeling of "home" that I felt just driving through a neighborhood near the school before my first interview there. And I miss the tradition. I miss the community that wanted to hold on to all of its traditions of over a hundred years (the school as an entity was over 100 years old) while still offering all of the opportunity of the modern world. I miss being part of a community where people still sing the national anthem at sporting events rather than letting it be a diva kind of performance. I miss the tradition that led to the recognition of Veteran's Day at a pepfest which included recognizing staff and community veterans as well as students who were enlisting in the military after graduation. And when the honor guard brought the flags to center court of the gym, you could have heard a pin drop; the kids understood what it was all about.
I miss the school focus. While academics were important, academic excellence wasn't the be-all-end-all. Achievements in academics, athletics, arts, and activities were valued at an equal level. It was made known almost daily what types of activities were going on around the school; at my new school it seems to be an afterthought that I never learn of until the day of when it's too late to plan for it. I miss a place where value was placed on nurturing the whole child. Where, while academics were emphasized as a priority, there was a general consensus that students should be allowed to be kids while they could and not be overburdened with academics. Where students weren't allowed to take AP classes until sophomore year, and even then they were only allowed to take one where they learned the study skills that helped them be successful in future ones. At my new school, many of my freshman and sophomore students are dying under their self-imposed AP/Honors everything course loads, dropping nearly all of their activities and getting minimal sleep in an attempt to keep up. I miss being in a school that supported giving less homework that was more meaningful. Actually, I miss being in a school that supported innovative ways of approaching homework that made life easier on teachers and students alike. I miss the school where kids were allowed to be kids every day because they have the rest of their lives to work. I miss the school where they had counselors who supported not only students' academic/registration needs but also their mental, emotional, and social needs (as well as sometimes my own).
I miss the opportunities to be different. I miss being somewhere where there was support for trying new ideas ideas. My department colleagues were trying all sorts of new things that intrigued me and that I wanted to try before I wound up in a school where those ideas wouldn't be accepted. I miss feeling like I was allowed to be an individual teacher who taught the same objectives and gave the same assessments but wasn't expected to teach nearly identically to others who taught the same course (which is where it feels like my new school is headed). I miss the themed professional development: at the time a multi-year focus on grading practices that started dozens of impromptu conversations among teachers. I miss the opportunity for daily collaboration; given, not all teachers were able to do this, but I miss my common-course prep where two of my Algebra 2 colleagues and I got to share instructional strategies daily and from whom I received daily mental/emotional support as a first-year teacher.
I miss the dumb little things. Like being allowed to make my own copies without getting a guilt-trip for using the expensive copier. Like not having to by things like paper clips and staples out of my own pocket. Like the tablet laptop that I got to use. Like having a large classroom with high ceilings, two walls with windows, and right next to a stairwell surrounded by windows. Like being surrounded by people who had shared the experience of being in a real lock down for over 3 hours. Like having two prep periods. Like having a modified block schedule. Like not being allowed to wear nice flip flops on a casual Friday in warmer months. Like the staff potluck at lunch the day before winter break. Like Turkey Bingo put on for school staff by student council which was one of the must-be-there staff social events of the year. I miss not starting school until after 8am. I miss having a communal teacher office that allowed me to escape from my classroom during my prep or even before or after school when I wasn't working with students (or when I had work to do before working with students who showed up unexpectedly an hour before school started...)
I miss the kids. I miss how they called me by my shortened last name rather than insisting on using my mouthful of a full last name. I miss how they frequently requested that I come support them in their activities. I miss the solid relationships that I built with them that I can't manage to even find a foundation for with my new students.
And I miss the people I worked with. I miss working in the same building as a mentor who'd already known me for over 5 years and who I swear sometimes knows me better than I know myself. I miss the secretary I saw most often who always brightened my day. I miss the colleague that usually stuck her head in my classroom if I was still at school more than an hour after the official school day was done and told me that I needed to go home. I miss the colleague who gave me a hard time for the many (empty) Triscuit boxes on my desk and then gifted me with one box of every type of Triscuit in existence when I left at the end of the year. I miss the colleague who was unafraid to tell it like it was yet who was still open to trying new and different things and who had a huge heart. I miss the colleague who understood that pets are family and with whom I could then share stories about my dog. I miss my office buddy with whom I bonded over a love of chocolate, a shared need to just vent some days, and with whom I always felt comfortable sharing when I was having a rough mental health day without any fear of judgment. And I missed my assigned mentor who helped keep my afloat when I was drowning and who supported not only content-support and task-support but emotional support. Really, I miss the solid support system that I had without even having to try.
Now, I know my year last year was extremely stressful, too. And some of the experiences that I had in the last weeks of the school year made a lot of my positive feelings about my old school come crashing down to a point that if they were to have an opening, I don't know that I'd feel comfortable going back at this point. So is this a case of "the grass is always greener"? Perhaps. Does my new school have things I do prefer? Definitely. For instance, given my personal background, I love that there exists an accelerated math track for students separate from students in regular classes in my new school. I also preferred the new teacher workshops and like actually having new teacher meetings on a periodic basis at my new school. And with a different website service, updating my website takes about a quarter of the time that it did at my old school. Even so, I'm unhappy where I am. Despite my high stress levels last year, I never felt the need to pack up my classroom and leave (which I've felt on numerous occasions in the last two months). So I've got to start wondering, is this really the right fit for me? Though I don't see going back to my old school, I also figure that there has to be another school that fits that environment more closely than the one where I am right now.
But where do I go from here? I feel trapped. I don't feel like another school will want to hire me if I've only ever stayed at a school for one year. And I don't know that I can handle another year in a new school, with a new curriculum, and having to move to another new apartment (I'm still working on unpacking boxes in my current one). But I also don't know if I'm really going to settle into a school where, halfway through the school year, I have no emotional support system and where I'm not sure I quite align with the educational philosophy.
I'm not really sure where I'll go from here. But at least I'm starting to figure out why I feel as miserable as I do where I'm at now.
You see, I came up with a new analogy last weekend. When I was looking at colleges, in particularly ELCA Lutheran colleges in and around Minnesota, someone once said that if you want a formal environment, you should go to St. Olaf, but if you want to be somewhere where people and faculty are more approachable, you should go to Concordia. This only affirmed and solidified my long-time plans to attend Concordia. The environment was a fit. Now, last week was our "Winter Week" that ended in a Friday afternoon pepfest. As I sat in my assigned supervisory row of bleachers before the pepfest began, I noticed our principal walking through the gym in a full suit on the school spirit day where all were encouraged to wear school colors. This was a far cry from my last school's principal who was known to sport zubaz that displayed the school colors on our school spirit day. It was then that it struck me. My old school was like Concordia. My new school is like St. Olaf. I don't know that it'll ever be a fit. And with that realization, and, honestly, the pepfest that followed, I realized all of the things that I've come to miss.
I miss pepfests, or "community celebrations" as they were called, that existed to celebrate student achievements, share student talent, and make students aware of just all that was going on around the school as compared to pepfests where half the point is for students to act completely crazy. I miss pepfests where teachers didn't have to be assigned to specific rows of bleachers for the purpose of crowd control. To be honest, I miss pepfests where I got to watch a repeat state champion dance team, because I've always admired people who can dance, and once you've seen the best, you also know when what you're watching isn't the best (entirely superficial, but at least I'm being honest). And I miss pepfests where I at least recognized most of the kids involved because the school community was such that I recognized and/or knew names of tons of students who had never stepped foot in my classroom.
I miss the community. Not just the school, but the city. I miss the feel of modern suburbia. I miss the parks and the paths connecting all parts of the neighborhood I lived in. I miss the feeling of "home" that I felt just driving through a neighborhood near the school before my first interview there. And I miss the tradition. I miss the community that wanted to hold on to all of its traditions of over a hundred years (the school as an entity was over 100 years old) while still offering all of the opportunity of the modern world. I miss being part of a community where people still sing the national anthem at sporting events rather than letting it be a diva kind of performance. I miss the tradition that led to the recognition of Veteran's Day at a pepfest which included recognizing staff and community veterans as well as students who were enlisting in the military after graduation. And when the honor guard brought the flags to center court of the gym, you could have heard a pin drop; the kids understood what it was all about.
I miss the school focus. While academics were important, academic excellence wasn't the be-all-end-all. Achievements in academics, athletics, arts, and activities were valued at an equal level. It was made known almost daily what types of activities were going on around the school; at my new school it seems to be an afterthought that I never learn of until the day of when it's too late to plan for it. I miss a place where value was placed on nurturing the whole child. Where, while academics were emphasized as a priority, there was a general consensus that students should be allowed to be kids while they could and not be overburdened with academics. Where students weren't allowed to take AP classes until sophomore year, and even then they were only allowed to take one where they learned the study skills that helped them be successful in future ones. At my new school, many of my freshman and sophomore students are dying under their self-imposed AP/Honors everything course loads, dropping nearly all of their activities and getting minimal sleep in an attempt to keep up. I miss being in a school that supported giving less homework that was more meaningful. Actually, I miss being in a school that supported innovative ways of approaching homework that made life easier on teachers and students alike. I miss the school where kids were allowed to be kids every day because they have the rest of their lives to work. I miss the school where they had counselors who supported not only students' academic/registration needs but also their mental, emotional, and social needs (as well as sometimes my own).
I miss the opportunities to be different. I miss being somewhere where there was support for trying new ideas ideas. My department colleagues were trying all sorts of new things that intrigued me and that I wanted to try before I wound up in a school where those ideas wouldn't be accepted. I miss feeling like I was allowed to be an individual teacher who taught the same objectives and gave the same assessments but wasn't expected to teach nearly identically to others who taught the same course (which is where it feels like my new school is headed). I miss the themed professional development: at the time a multi-year focus on grading practices that started dozens of impromptu conversations among teachers. I miss the opportunity for daily collaboration; given, not all teachers were able to do this, but I miss my common-course prep where two of my Algebra 2 colleagues and I got to share instructional strategies daily and from whom I received daily mental/emotional support as a first-year teacher.
I miss the dumb little things. Like being allowed to make my own copies without getting a guilt-trip for using the expensive copier. Like not having to by things like paper clips and staples out of my own pocket. Like the tablet laptop that I got to use. Like having a large classroom with high ceilings, two walls with windows, and right next to a stairwell surrounded by windows. Like being surrounded by people who had shared the experience of being in a real lock down for over 3 hours. Like having two prep periods. Like having a modified block schedule. Like not being allowed to wear nice flip flops on a casual Friday in warmer months. Like the staff potluck at lunch the day before winter break. Like Turkey Bingo put on for school staff by student council which was one of the must-be-there staff social events of the year. I miss not starting school until after 8am. I miss having a communal teacher office that allowed me to escape from my classroom during my prep or even before or after school when I wasn't working with students (or when I had work to do before working with students who showed up unexpectedly an hour before school started...)
I miss the kids. I miss how they called me by my shortened last name rather than insisting on using my mouthful of a full last name. I miss how they frequently requested that I come support them in their activities. I miss the solid relationships that I built with them that I can't manage to even find a foundation for with my new students.
And I miss the people I worked with. I miss working in the same building as a mentor who'd already known me for over 5 years and who I swear sometimes knows me better than I know myself. I miss the secretary I saw most often who always brightened my day. I miss the colleague that usually stuck her head in my classroom if I was still at school more than an hour after the official school day was done and told me that I needed to go home. I miss the colleague who gave me a hard time for the many (empty) Triscuit boxes on my desk and then gifted me with one box of every type of Triscuit in existence when I left at the end of the year. I miss the colleague who was unafraid to tell it like it was yet who was still open to trying new and different things and who had a huge heart. I miss the colleague who understood that pets are family and with whom I could then share stories about my dog. I miss my office buddy with whom I bonded over a love of chocolate, a shared need to just vent some days, and with whom I always felt comfortable sharing when I was having a rough mental health day without any fear of judgment. And I missed my assigned mentor who helped keep my afloat when I was drowning and who supported not only content-support and task-support but emotional support. Really, I miss the solid support system that I had without even having to try.
Now, I know my year last year was extremely stressful, too. And some of the experiences that I had in the last weeks of the school year made a lot of my positive feelings about my old school come crashing down to a point that if they were to have an opening, I don't know that I'd feel comfortable going back at this point. So is this a case of "the grass is always greener"? Perhaps. Does my new school have things I do prefer? Definitely. For instance, given my personal background, I love that there exists an accelerated math track for students separate from students in regular classes in my new school. I also preferred the new teacher workshops and like actually having new teacher meetings on a periodic basis at my new school. And with a different website service, updating my website takes about a quarter of the time that it did at my old school. Even so, I'm unhappy where I am. Despite my high stress levels last year, I never felt the need to pack up my classroom and leave (which I've felt on numerous occasions in the last two months). So I've got to start wondering, is this really the right fit for me? Though I don't see going back to my old school, I also figure that there has to be another school that fits that environment more closely than the one where I am right now.
But where do I go from here? I feel trapped. I don't feel like another school will want to hire me if I've only ever stayed at a school for one year. And I don't know that I can handle another year in a new school, with a new curriculum, and having to move to another new apartment (I'm still working on unpacking boxes in my current one). But I also don't know if I'm really going to settle into a school where, halfway through the school year, I have no emotional support system and where I'm not sure I quite align with the educational philosophy.
I'm not really sure where I'll go from here. But at least I'm starting to figure out why I feel as miserable as I do where I'm at now.
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