Today was the first day I taught for all 5 periods; my teacher left early to take his son to the dentist, so I taught instead of the substitute. And after an extended weekend (5 days, holla) I’m back at school, attempting to dig myself out of my holiday break mindset. 5 periods really was a jolt to the system and I’ve grown accustomed to having 6 prep periods in one day. It’s like someone pulled the shutters closed over the course of the long weekend, and I’ve forgotten all of their names, what I’m teaching, and even how to teach, so today was an interesting day.
After an extensive and exhaustive day of teaching, I recognized that I walk into work each morning with a feeling of the utmost resignation and I wonder: is this going to be the rest of my life? They say your work isn’t work when it’s your passion; that makes me wonder whether or not any part of me still loves teaching, because it definitely all feels like work. Even the fun stuff, the little stuff, those moments that warm my heart, all feel like work. And I hate it with the utmost and purest of hatred. I want to love this again, and I can’t figure out why it’s so difficult to command the over exuberant passions that used to obsess me to re-enter my heart.
Grading, talking, answering questions, even the simple act of walking to the front door from my car all feel like work. Like, they really feel like work. I can’t stand assigning papers because I don’t want to read and grade them. My first impulses on each paper are feelings that I can’t yet trust, and I always want to read each of my 65 essays again, just to make sure I’m being fair. I’m afraid to answer questions because I don’t want to be wrong. Talking to them is laborious and time consuming and I literally cannot stand the sound of my own “young teacher trying to be cool and funny” voice by the end of the day.
I’m so over myself.
But the worst is that I hate walking out of my car at the start of the day, because I know it’s all just beginning, and I dread the first 3 hours. I dread them, not because I don’t like them—2/3—but because I know it’s SO. FAR. from being over, and I still haven’t figured out how to deal with the stresses associated with starting the day with classes that drain my energy.
Period one: Advanced American Literature (junior level). This course consists of 20 students that are afraid to participate because they’re afraid to be wrong.
Period two: Speech (senior level) is, in the most basic of terms, the worst class on the planet for a student teacher. Their attitudes haunt my dreams, and their negativity sucks all of the joy from my body the second the first student saunters through the door. Every time I look into their eyes, I want to quit this position. I want to go back in time, plead with myself to choose publishing instead, and make my life so much less stressful and depressing. And the worst part, though, is that I don’t think past me would even believe that present me hates teaching, hates my students, and hates English.
Period three: Advanced American Literature (junior level): a fun group of students that my Mentor Teacher wants to keep after I take over because they’re so enjoyable and energetic. It’s interesting, how he wants the best class period and wants to unload all of his angsty, chaotic students onto me. I would say it’s because he respects me and wants me to grow, but I know that’s not true.
And like I said, I don’t hate all of them. I actually really enjoy some of them in each period. But there are enough trouble students in my second period class that there’s no way they can’t tell how over them I am. I’m so acquiescent, so defeated, so just absolutely over their antics and hatred of my expectations. I need for them to try, to let me do my thing so that they can do theirs and the class can be fun. But they’ve become determined to fight me on everything, and I’ve become hell-bent on making their seniors years the most difficult and work heavy I can possibly make it.
It’s amazing how different both sections of senior speech have become already. 6th period is full of fun and interesting conversation and activities, while 2nd period is mostly directive, with me at the front of the room, asking them to take notes and demanding work from them without any kind of compassion. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it.
I had a pipedream that all of my students would walk in, excited for speech, but nervous for public speaking. They’d seen me at the back of the room for an entire semester, the young girl with the makeshift desk, watching their learning environment for 5 months without any kind of interaction. I wanted to believe that they were all anxious for my start date, overly excited for the first time I would stand in front t of the classroom, and because of their excitement, would allow me to assign stupid work that failed miserably, allow for me to make mistakes, and comply with my weird homework demands.
I wish I had been a little more realistic, because a million more miles of realism would have at least somewhat prepared me for their actual beliefs.
Mantra: My students expect me to fail—some of them even want me to fail—but I’ll show them what I’m made of. I have so much to offer them, and I’m going to make sure they learn.
I’m lucky to have an amazing support system to listen to my troubles and my hardships. Keeping in mind that this internship is a constant, year-long job interview, it’s difficult to vent to my Mentor Teacher. And while I hear about his struggles and resignation with specific students on a consistent basis, I’ve decided to keep to myself, venting only to my mother (bless her heart), my doting and perfect boyfriend, and my three best friends. My advice to student teachers everywhere is to recognize who your support system will be and keep them close. While I love the second half of my day—these students support me, raise me up and make me feel like an actual teacher—the first half definitely takes its toll, and without my friends and family I would have surely drowned in the first few days.
Advice from a student teacher: · Don’t let those little bastards tell you who’s boss. It’s you; don’t forget that. · Find a support system FAST—like, before you start teaching. Know who you can call and cry to about how much you hate and, but also who you can tell about how much you love it. There’s good and bad. · Tell the kids that make your life joyous that they’re making a difference; kids need recognition, and they’ll keep it up if they know you’ve notice their efforts.
While I vent frequently about he struggles of this work, and they seem to far outweigh the positives, it’s important that I begin each post with the negatives so that I can build myself back up by ending with the positives from the day.
Today was, overall, a good day. After lunch, my students were all fun, encouraging, and entertaining. One student pulled me aside to ask for an extension, divulging a personal secret because she felt comfortable and safe sharing it with me. Another student gave me a high five in the hallway, while another complimented my outfit—a skirt and an oversized blouse. I laughed through a majority of 6th period, and 7th were all relatively quiet and attentive during my MLA introduction. If I could, I would consistently reward my later classes for making my life so much more enjoyable, but I know it’s not fair to always be hating on my earlier classes when it’s not everyone, just most people.
There’s no right or wrong way to deal with the imbalance between the halves of my day, but I know I need to find a manageable way to maintain my positive attitude during my first section of speech, or they’re going to walk all over me… More ideas on that to come.
A student just dipped into the classroom on his way home—a student I’ve now taught only once—and told me to have a lovely evening.
This is what keeps me coming back. It feels like work, and I’m drowning in hatred and self-loathing, struggling under the weight of a massive identity crisis, but there’s always that one golden moment that shines a ray of sunlight on the rest of my day, illuminating the good and shrouding the rest in darkness, keeping me on my feet instead of flat on my back, suffocating under the weight of this terrifying and stressful job.