Out of the Nest

This was my 6th year as a teacher. In those 6 years, getting along with and having a positive rapport with my administrators was nothing to make note of. It is different now.

The school year 2011-2012, was by far, the worst year of my career. I was going through a divorce, and was basically absent. Not only in body (I missed an embarrassingly high number of days), but even when I was technically present, my head and heart were somewhere else. It didn't help matters that this was my first experience in a general education classroom. While I had been a special education teacher for 4 years prior, I discovered how naive I was about what goes on in a general classroom. To say I was overwhelmed, would be a significant understatement. While this was all happening, my principal was calm and relaxed with me. I remember her having a short, frank, conversation towards the end of that school year with me about how absent I was. I remember feeling incredibly embarrassed, and told her I would try my best to improve, and that I was going through a lot, and I knew that the kids deserved more. This was the only conversation we ever had about it.

I thought about not returning to the same school. I was offered a position in Hawaii, Maui to be exact. I know what you're thinking - "What the hell is wrong with her!?" Trust me, when the winter rains have been going for 6 months, I ask myself the same thing. However, the conversation I had with that principal was so cold, so unwelcoming, and I had such icky feelings from her, that I turned it down. I thought back to my principal... I remember something my cohort leader told us in graduate school, "The principal sets the tone for the building. Find someone you respect and that respects you." My current principal was this person.

That entire shitty year, she had supported me. She wasn't up in my face, she wasn't sending me angry emails. She quietly let me have my shitty year. I respected her, and I wanted her to be proud of me. This sounds silly and juvenile for a professional to say, but it is the truth. I respected her because she was up front, she didn't keep secrets from staff, she trusted us, she valued our opinions, she was a strong leader and didn't back down when faced with difficult decisions. When a parent was unreasonable, she fully supported the teacher. This is the kind of principal you want, the kind a teacher dreams of. Perhaps it is because someone with my background was never supposed to finish high school, certainly not go to college, and the thought that I would have a masters degree was well, insane. I think I don't believe it myself sometimes. I see this woman as a strong, independent, educated, leader! She is my role model. I am sure it is still the scared child that seeks validation, but there it is. Hopefully someday, I can validate myself, but for now, I rely on my leaders.

But, she is moving to a new school. Just as I feel comfortable with her. Just as I completed, what I think to be, my most successful, happy, and productive school year thus far, she is transferring to another school. When she told me, I was stunned. I thought she was joking around. I felt a rush of fear take over, and sadness fill me up from my heart outward. Then the tears came. And the thoughts, "How can I do this without her?" "How can our school survive without this woman?" "Dammit, I am so out of here!""I don't want to be here without her!" I was honestly surprised at my reaction. I didn't realize how much she meant to me. I have never had feelings like this for an administrator.

Thankfully, I have also developed close friends/colleagues also, and we have talked a bit since about this situation. I have realized I feel like a baby bird being kicked out its nest. I don't feel ready. I am terrified of having another shitty year. I am terrified of not continuing the greatness of this past year. I guess, when it comes down to it, I am terrified of disappointing people. I am terrified that a new principal will come in and be the worst. I am terrified I don't have the skills to do this. I am just scared. Change is hard. I wish her the very best. But I selfishly wish she would stay. I need her. Our school needs her. Can we continue this positive energy without her? Only time will tell.

Dance Class

Finally I decided to go. What was it that led me to this decision? I am not really sure, but I think it is as simple as feeling like I finally had "the time" to go. During the school year, I am so bogged down with work and exhausted, that I rarely go out during the week, and as I have gotten older, my weekend ventures have become less and less. This week is the first week off from school, and I decided I better give this PulsePDX place a try.

A dear friend has raved about this place for months, stating that it's the best, and it is so much fun, etc. I had my doubts, obviously, since it took me like a year to decide to check it out. The website is very flashy and cool looking - both attributes I do not have. I expressed my nerves to him, but he assured me I would be fine.

In classic "me" form, I started to get a headache about an hour and a half before class was supposed to start. "Perfect", I thought, "I don't have to go now!" But there was a slightly stronger voice that said, "No, you're going." Fine. I swallowed 3 advils and went on my way.

I pulled up and parked, my heart racing and I observed several beautiful women walking into class. Their tiny little asses perkily bouncing as they entered the building. Shit. More breathing, texted with my sister about what I was going to do, and how I hated being the fat kid in class. Breathe. Let me assure you, big women want to work out, but, at least in my experience, feel so out of place, that running and hiding is far easier. I felt the urge to run, but then I saw a few more people enter, and I just had to give it a go.

The greeting at the door was friendly and felt very genuine and welcoming. I was just so nervous. The dance room was cold, uncomfortable, but I knew it would warm up, so I tried to enjoy it. I watched the instructor close the curtains, which made the room really dark. The disco ball turning, club-like lighting, no mirrors. Dark & no mirrors, this made the space feel very safe. The music (being provided by a live DJ, by the way) started playing and we were on our way.

After a couple songs, I grabbed my water and checked the time, dammit, only 15 minutes in! How was I ever going to make it?! I felt kind of panicked, but continued trying my best to follow the steps. I was getting into it. I have taken Zumba before, and hated it, so the fact that I was enjoying this is note worthy.  Then, however, I hit a wall. The pace was picking up, the moves were getting trickier, I think we were about halfway through. I could feel myself getting more and more frustrated. I kind of stopped and just walked in place, thoughts racing through my mind: "I knew this was going to suck!" "You're going to be fat forever!" "You can't do this!" over and over and over again. But, I remembered what I would tell the women in my dance studio - "Get the fuck out of your head!" Slowly, I breathed, I let the music and rhythm wash over me. Walking in place I felt my heart pumping in my chest, just like the base pumping up against the walls. I opened my eyes to a room full of glorious energy. My body can move!

I stopped thinking so much about the steps, I tried as best I could, and when I couldn't do the moves exactly, I just danced and enjoyed where I was. I could see smiling faces, bodies moving this way and that, we were all here together, sharing an experience.  The music began to slow slightly. We began to slow our pace, our arms and chest open. I had a very chakra like opening. Tears began to rise. I had an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

I was thankful for the darkness, as it allowed me to be in my body. I was thankful for the lack of mirrors, for when I see my body now, it brings me nothing but grief. I was thankful for the music being loud and pulsating to bring me back into my body and out of my head. I am thankful for giving myself this gift.

I can't wait to go back.

End of the School Year

This time, it was different. This time, I felt something deep in my heart. This time, they moved me to tears.

It all came flooding over me at about 2:55pm, 5 minutes before the bell was going to ring, signalling the end of another school year. 6 years, I have been doing this, and the previous 5 had never brought me to tears. Year 6 changed that. Year 6 was the year I finally felt like I knew what I was doing in the classroom. This was the year that I finally felt like a teacher.

Thinking back on what the classroom was like at the beginning of the year: kids that knew their letters, but not how to blend them into words. Kids that could write their name, but not their thoughts. Kids that had basic math skills ready to build their foundation of knowledge. I was scared. The year before, I was so absent. Absent in body and mind. I failed before. This time, we succeeded. And "we" is the word so needed in this business of teaching.

I came to realize, on the last day of school, that this was the first year that I taught and I wasn't married. I didn't have a partner at home. I was on my own this year. With that said, over these last 10 months, I have built the most special, rewarding, exciting, and loving relationships that I have ever had in my life. I feel honored and blessed to call so many of my colleagues friends. We can laugh at ourselves and each other without fear. We can critique one another and grow together without guilt or shame. These friendships have changed me and helped me grow professionally as well as personally.

I can confidently say, that I taught these children how to read. I gave them a gift that no one can take away. I gave them freedom. I gave them hope. Don't misunderstand me, it has taken a village of teachers, counselors, principals, and parents to do this. I do not get all the credit. But I do get to stand proud as one of the contributors of this success.

So, at 2:55pm, I looked over the sea of little faces. I told them I loved them. Many of my kids come from rough homes and backgrounds. I worry that many of them are not told they are loved nearly as often as they should. I wanted them to know that someone loves them, I love them. We don't often talk this way as teachers, but maybe we should. Maybe the world needs us to state our truth of love. I love these children. I want the very best for them. Most importantly, these kids need to hear and know that someone in this world loves them.

With that sentiment being poured out, I saw one of my little ones crying, and then I lost it. Tears flowing down my face, my heart breaking, knowing that after the bell rings, things would never be the same. Sure, they will say "Hi, Ms Amy!" to me in the hallway, or smile and wave, but it will never ever be the same. They will have a new "Best Teacher Ever", and I will receive a new classroom to love. I savored their spirits, we hugged and cried together. And with that, I let them go.

This year, I became a teacher.