In the wee hours of this morning, I am awake, suffering from 20/20 Articulation-Induced Insomnia. We’ve all suffered from it at one time or another; the painful restlessness that comes when our mind is compiling concise, direct-but-personable, well-stated responses to questions hours or even days after an actual moment when we fumbled, rambled and spoke like a four-year old with an audience. I can be very articulate. In hindsight.
I interviewed yesterday afternoon, for the first time in probably twenty years. That’s not entirely true. I’ve switched careers within the past twenty years, but each time I interviewed for a teaching position, I was a known entity by my potential employer and the “interview” was little more than kicking the tires and making the process seem impartial. Today I interviewed for a new position, outside of my current district, with people who know my name and a few minor details, but not with any assuredness that I was a shoo-in for the job. In fact, after today, I feel like I am anything but.
I should be able, on a good or a bad day to state in no uncertain terms the value that I bring to my classroom, my school, my district, my world. And while the pandemic has certainly made it more challenging, (How do you share recent examples of how you’ve implemented a literacy strategy in your classroom when, despite reading and writing being your life passions, despite all your degrees and training being literacy based, this year you’ve only taught math because you took one for the team and so it’s been over 15 months since you last taught anything ELA related?) But even in spite of darn COVID and all the ways it has changed instruction this year, I should still be able to state clearly the practices and methods I have used with success before. So perhaps the problem is a deeper one – perhaps the problem is that I don’t feel value in what I do. And I think this is where the rubber hits the road for me. This is why I was interviewing in the first place. It is not that I don’t feel “liked” by my colleagues or administrators. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the people I work with or the place where I spend my days. It’s that I don’t know what unique value I bring to the classroom anymore. Teaching has its moments of sweet assurance and gratitude. Students from time to time will write a cute note reminding me that I’ve done something to make them feel loved and appreciated. Every great now and then a parent might even do the same. There’s an entire week in May devoted to making sure teachers feel appreciated. But day in and day out, it is a thankless, demanding, exhausting job with far more moments of criticism than praise and more often than not, the message from a parent isn’t a kind one of gratitude but a less than sympathetic rant about all the ways I’ve wronged a child.
These negative messages from parents aren’t the only ones we are receiving. I think we have been told, in passive and repeated ways from each other and from administrators and district leaders that our opinions aren’t worth much, and our experience counts for even less. I graduated with a four-point in my major in college. It has never once mattered that I studied that hard, or took all my classes and internships super-seriously. I graduated with a four-point in my Masters program as well, in more recent years. I have never once used a morsel of information from my Masters program in my profession. My opinion has never carried any more weight to it because of the hours, months and years I spent pouring over research, analyzing processes, learning and applying new instructional methods during my Masters studies. I work with people who have Masters in various educational specialties but we never refer to each other as more of an expert in “literacy” or “technology” or even “leadership” because of any of that. When we, as a district have things to learn, an outside “expert” is brought in. Many times, these people have no more credentials or experience than we have within our own current staff.
Additionally, the push by those who can, for all teachers to teach exactly the same thing from the same text using the same practices and methods has quieted my voice of experience. When the “curriculum” is what matters (if only because of the huge price tag the district keeps reminding us about) then what is it that I bring to the table of value except the ability to turn the page in the TE and read from the published materials? (Certainly not all administrators push this agenda, but even those who mean to encourage and support me often leave me with little more than an “Atta Girl!” with no specific, meaningful feedback that I can internalize, take value from and grow out of.)
Perhaps it’s no wonder, then, that I was inarticulate when it came to selling myself yesterday afternoon. But this only fuels my desire for change. This adds momentum to my desire to do more beyond or within the environment I am in. The position I was interviewing for was an opportunity for me to help support teachers, in much the way that I’ve supported students over the years – to guide and encourage, to provide supports, ideas and instructional techniques to help each teacher move his/her practice forward in a very positive way. A path that not only generates the obvious goal of student achievement but also cultivates self-worth and empowerment for teachers. A win for all.
Perhaps this position was the exact right one for me and my inability to answer interview questions with brevity and precision will not keep me from being hired. Perhaps. Perhaps this position is not where I need to be – yet. Perhaps I still have learning to do within my classroom. Regardless of what my official job title is today, tomorrow or in the fall, I hope to find ways to lift up my fellow colleagues (and students!); to remind each other of our worth and our expertise and to help empower those around me to use their experiences, their wisdom, their voices to make positive changes in our school. Teachers know how valuable teachers are. And it’s time we help each other to stop selling ourselves short; to not only know we are appreciated, but to deeply feel our worth.
Teaching at 3am 