For Those with Shaky Hands and High Heart Rates, You Can Do This
It's 9:30. I'm seated on the couch. My resting heart rate is currently at 96. I know this because when my anxiety kicks in, I impulsively check my heart rate to see if things are getting better.
I like to only show my best side, the highlights from my classroom. This is hard for me. This was not the post I had planned nor is it the post I want to be writing, but I'm hoping for someone else, it's the post they need.
Teaching is hard. I don't think anyone would deny that, but for those of us actually in the trenches, we understand it on a level that nobody else does. Most days there is no end of the tunnel. The papers are constantly stacked up, tomorrow's lesson could always be a little bit better, and there's that committee email always in your inbox reminding you that they really need help. We want to do everything; we want to help everyone. That's where some of us go too far.
Last year was the first time I ever went to get help. I went into teaching with the same martyr spirit that many people enter the profession with. I knew it was going to be hard, so when it got really, really hard last winter, I just tried to grit my teeth and bear it. I thought I could be Atlas, but the weight was too much for me. I found myself in my first full-fledged panic attack that February alone in my house, and I couldn't recover for an entire afternoon. I'd never experienced anything like it before, and I had no idea where it came from.
In retrospect, it's pretty obvious. I was trying to be the perfect teacher. I was trying to be the best I could be. For every lesson that didn't go well, I blamed myself for letting my students down. For every student that was failing, I tossed and turned thinking about how I could help them. I wanted to be the best I could be, and as a result, I put myself in a place where I was emotionally incapable of being a good teacher.
While I obviously don't have everything figured out (hence the high heart rate and blogging at 9:45 on a Sunday night), I've learned a few things along the way thanks to a number of people who love me and talking to people wiser than myself.
I like to only show my best side, the highlights from my classroom. This is hard for me. This was not the post I had planned nor is it the post I want to be writing, but I'm hoping for someone else, it's the post they need.
Teaching is hard. I don't think anyone would deny that, but for those of us actually in the trenches, we understand it on a level that nobody else does. Most days there is no end of the tunnel. The papers are constantly stacked up, tomorrow's lesson could always be a little bit better, and there's that committee email always in your inbox reminding you that they really need help. We want to do everything; we want to help everyone. That's where some of us go too far.
Last year was the first time I ever went to get help. I went into teaching with the same martyr spirit that many people enter the profession with. I knew it was going to be hard, so when it got really, really hard last winter, I just tried to grit my teeth and bear it. I thought I could be Atlas, but the weight was too much for me. I found myself in my first full-fledged panic attack that February alone in my house, and I couldn't recover for an entire afternoon. I'd never experienced anything like it before, and I had no idea where it came from.
In retrospect, it's pretty obvious. I was trying to be the perfect teacher. I was trying to be the best I could be. For every lesson that didn't go well, I blamed myself for letting my students down. For every student that was failing, I tossed and turned thinking about how I could help them. I wanted to be the best I could be, and as a result, I put myself in a place where I was emotionally incapable of being a good teacher.
While I obviously don't have everything figured out (hence the high heart rate and blogging at 9:45 on a Sunday night), I've learned a few things along the way thanks to a number of people who love me and talking to people wiser than myself.
1. What really matters is how you make your students feel.
I stress about lesson plans and assessments, and yes, those are absolutely important, but it's really not what matters most. Hopefully years down the road our students will become successful individuals because of what we taught them, but that's not what they're going to remember. They're going to remember how we made them feel, and that's not something you need to plan for. More importantly, if we let the stress and anxiety hinder our ability to let students know that we care, that we believe in them, then we need to rethink our priorities.
2. You are not the sum of your teaching days.
I get wrapped up in my identity as a teacher. Whenever I feel overwhelmed or like I'm not doing well in the classroom, my instinct is to work harder, to spend more time on my lessons. The reality is that it's probably best to just take a step back. Take time to do something other than teaching that makes you feel alive. For me, that's getting outdoors. Returning from a weekend of camping gives me the energy I need to tackle the week. The weekend where I obsess over my classroom, I find that I return to my classroom more tired than when I left it. Rekindle your passions and your identity. Only then can you be your best self in the classroom.
3. It doesn't have to be done tonight.
Sometimes the grading you wanted to do tonight will just have to wait for tomorrow. I know we all want to turn essays around in under a week, but we also should want to wake up in the morning and look forward to going to our classrooms. If those two desires are in conflict with each other, prioritize joy. Obviously there will be times where you just have to get that stack of papers graded, but when it simply becomes too much, revise your timeline.
4. Some days you just have to say, "F*** it."
I'm directly quoting my counselor on that one. It was seriously the best advice he could have given me. We all want to appear fine. We don't want people to know we're struggling. I am probably worse with that than anyone else I know. I get wrapped up in everything, and I want to do everything just right. I want to be on top of my game every day and always be the person jumping in wherever I'm needed.
But I can't, nor can you, be that person day in and day out. It's exhausting, and no matter how strong you think you are, you'll hit a wall. Hard. Sometimes you just have to let go and accept that you aren't going to be perfect.
Instead of ending with my own final thoughts, I'm going to end by posting a poem, partly because she says things more eloquently than I could even try to, but also just because I need it tonight. So on the days where you feel like you just can't do it anymore, think of this poem. Think of the students who know you care about them, and think about how amazing you are for doing what you do every single day.
