I’m good at hiding. Squirreling away pieces of Dove dark chocolate and almond slivers and just disappearing into the edges of my covers. I’m good at slouching and wiling away hours binge-watching Narcos, Doctor Foster, and any number of documentaries on Netflix. I know I have somewhat of a penchant for writing, though probably not a gift. I’m good at finding a certain slant of light to photograph moments and memories. I’m an okay listener and a halfway decent friend on a good day, when the wind is just so.
What I’m quite sure of these days…is that I’m probably not the best teacher. Perhaps I shouldn’t teach anyone. I don’t know if it was the right decision to come to a predominantly white, Southern, private institution. I don’t know if I can ever overcome this sense of feeling so inadequate in a space I cannot ever call my own. I don’t know if the classroom can ever be called a home, especially when all attempts to speak out are silenced. Why is it that all modern teachers must be loud? “Work on your teacher voice.” My favorite instructors have been the ones who don’t scream in my ear, who earn my respect with wise words, not loud ones. “It’s just a first year teacher problem.” But…I’ve already worked a year. Also, I don’t think numbing yourself to the humanity of your students is a “solution” to whatever problem you’re imagining. Something about this whole process just feels wrong and contrived. Maybe this isn’t who I was meant to be all along.
All the courage and bluster I managed to conger up from idealism and 24-year-old hopes has dissolved in the well worn grooves of the school I work at and the university I attend. I feel less sure of myself and more aware of my faults. I feel like my faith has been tested, and I feel alone. The worst of it all is…none of this makes any of the education system better. Feeling badly about something, even voicing an opinion about it…will not change much with rampant stubbornness. One of my superiors said this week, “The system is not going to change for you.” Is the system going to change for anyone?
We are policing people of color in metro schools. I am a person of color who is forced into a surveillance role, and I have forsaken my creativity. I don’t believe engaging teaching should be neglected in pursuit of test prep, but what can I do in the position I am in? I have always felt like I had some sort of agency as a student, but the illusion is gone as an adult. The system rules in hierarchy and madness. It is measured in spoonfuls of coffee and administered daily. Why is it that I look forward to being alone these days instead of being in the classroom?
I have more questions than answers. I have more disillusionment than optimism. I don’t know what life looks like past this M. Ed., or if this too shall pass without a degree at all. I don’t know if I chose the right path, one where I teach ELA but barely have time to enjoy the pleasures of a good book. I feel like my soul has grown old. I don’t know if this will get better or if the gnawing, sinking feeling in my chest will sink into itself.
Growth mindset and grit are weapons of mass distraction, as a famous education professor so eloquently presented. I am measured by my weight in efficiency. I am not a naturally efficient person. I have always wandered in the garden or the greenhouse or the museum. I have never taken a straight path anywhere and prefer to explore rather than seek out. I believe it is a Western notion to cut through bluntly. It is not in my nature to splice and split and force. I do not know who I am when I yell and glare and punish.
This is not me. Students: I promise you this. My work will not punish you, I mean to nurture. My work will not put myself first. I will not complain about you to other teachers. I will treat you no less than another human being. I promise to care and to not value you against the point systems implemented against you.
I am tired. I think this vein of education is depressing. I grow weary of measuring life out in lunch breaks and stale coffee. I am tired of gossip and pseudo-mediating, negotiating over the best way to whitewash my statements.
Maybe this isn’t for me.