One Word 2019

As I brainstormed my word for 2019, it popped into my head out of nowhere.  I knew this was the word.  I sat down to write a blog about it, thinking it would be as simple and short reflection about my goal for the next year.  What came out of my keyboard was a reflection on the last 7 years of teaching and my evolution as a teacher.  While my word for 2019 is a goal for the next year of teaching, it is also a statement of my growth as a teacher in their 13th year in the classroom.

I lost all of my confidence the year that I lost my job.  The line in my cover letter that stated my goal was to be National Board certified?  I deleted it.  I would be lucky to be hired again, I was not the kind of teacher that could do that kind of work.

I was hired in the fall, not by luck, but by three staff members who told me they knew I was the right fit when I walked in.  That couldn't be, I told myself, they just haven't actually seen me in action yet.  The words from the previous year echoed in my head, "you're all talk."

The next school year I was hired into a full time position.  I entered my first evaluation meeting shaking with nervousness to hear positive feedback about my teaching.  This couldn't be right, someone was going to find out that I wasn't a good teacher, I was an imposter.

Because if Neil Armstrong felt like an imposter, maybe everyone did. Maybe there weren’t any grown-ups, only people who had worked hard and also got lucky and were slightly out of their depth, all of us doing the best job we could, which is all we can really hope for. -Neil Gaiman

Imposter syndrome churned inside me.  I tried to ignore the feelings and keep going.  After a few years in my building, and with the coaching of a teammate, I took the leap and started National Board certification.  In December 2017, I opened up the National Board website to fireworks--I certified.  I stared at the screen while my then boyfriend watched me repeat, "No way...no way..."

This school year I found the antidote to my imposter syndrome, a PLN prescription.  From a #twomenandabook book study, I ended up in a Voxer group with a passionate crew of teachers, coaches and administrators.  They grabbed my imposter syndrome and slam-dunked it in the trash can.  They have listened to my story, cheered me on, lamented and brainstormed with me on my failures and next steps and introduced me to new and revolutionary ideas.  Even better than that? They've become my friends.

So what's next?  The word that came to me.  Speak. 

My imposter syndrome has always held my tongue.  In 2019, with the amazing daily conversations with my PLN and the best practices I'm reading about in monthly book studies, I will speak up.  I won't be afraid that I'm not qualified to speak and I'll do my best job to fight for the best possible practices for my kids and their families.  I'm making a goal to wade into my own scary, murky water of presenting to other adults.  I will break down the brick wall I hide behind when I feel like I'm not a good enough teacher.  This is the year that they haven't found me out yet becomes I know what I'm talking about and I'm here to advocate.

Here's to a year of working hard, recognizing that I deserve to be out there and pushing for students and the amazingly bright futures in front of them.

The Goodbye

I was just finishing up moving the classroom tables around for our first publishing party of the year when one of my office managers walked in, followed by a mom and her kids.

My words caught in my throat.  I felt tears coming on.

When you say goodbye to students at the end of the year, it's a bittersweet goodbye.  You've prepared for it, the kids have prepared for it and you are so excited to reflect on the growth they've made.  They are ready to move up to the next grade.  When you say goodbye mid-year, it's hard.  The growth is unfinished, halted in the middle, it's not complete.  While families usually don't plan for a mid-year move, sometimes it just happens.  You give the kids big hugs and send them off to their new adventure. When you don't get to say goodbye, a student has to leave suddenly without closure, it's very hard.  There is no hug, no "keep in touch," the space is full of wondering and oftentimes worry because those sudden moves often come with dark times for the student.

The child ran towards me before I fully realized it was my student who had left suddenly towards the end of the school year last year.  They threw their arms around me and had the biggest smile.  They held out a piece of paper, crayon drawings with candy wrappers taped to the page.

"Sam has been talking about you since I picked him up!" His mom smiled, cradling a younger sibling.

The first feeling that hit me was relief and closure that this student was doing okay.  The second feeling was this powerful feeling that no matter what happened, school was still a place that held happy feelings for this child.  In this moment I felt the love, that I had been able to positively impacted a student who had been through a possibly traumatic experience in the last few months.  They still had joy and hope.

Sometimes we get wrapped up in the curriculum, the standards and the growth of student x. We get wrapped up in changing unwanted behavior, desperately trying behavior charts, point systems and external rewards to get student to comply to school rules.  In this moment, I wasn't thinking about how Sam was doing with his reading level or if he could count to 100...I was wondering if he felt loved and taken care of.

The one question I ask you to think about in your practice today: If your students suddenly had to leave tomorrow, without saying goodbye, would they leave with a love of school and knowing that you love them?