Real Talk
Imagine that it’s your very first time sledding. You’re standing at the top of the hill, looking down, thinking you know what to expect. You’ve taken ALL the sledding classes, you’ve passed several tests, and you’ve spent enormous amounts of time and money preparing for this moment — all without actually sledding. You’ve shadowed a fellow sledder, you’ve witnessed the sport firsthand, and you feel as if you’ve been living and breathing the sport….and now it’s time to dive in.
You push yourself forward down the hill, on your sled — except the altitude isn’t what you expected, your sled isn’t as sturdy as you thought, and no one is there to help you. The snow is not the consistency you were told it would be, you don’t have the adequate equipment, and the hill is much longer and bumpier than it was made out to be.
This is what it feels like your first year of teaching. You are made to feel “prepared” for the sport. You’re set on a very specific path, filled with classes and tests and countless information — and you’re congratulated for putting in the work. You become an expert (on paper) in your subject, just to later find out that your job is so much more.
I am a teacher who passed every college course, took every state-required test, and fulfilled every student-teaching requirement — but nothing could have prepared me for how emotionally taxing teaching would be.
This profession is far less about being an expert in my subject, and far more about meeting the emotional and intellectual needs of a diverse group of students. I wish I had spent more time preparing my heart and mind for THAT instead. At the end of the day, it won’t matter how much deep comprehension I hold of Macbeth if I can’t even get my students to listen.
Becoming a teacher is realizing that those of us who actually find success in this role have excellent socializing and problem solving skills. It was never about who was the most knowledgeable teacher.
I had a few education classes that touched on discipline and student-teacher relationships, but I was completely blindsided by how these concepts would control the climate of my classroom more often than not.
As a teacher who spent roughly 70% of my college education knee-deep in classic literature, I felt inadequately prepared for the realities of modern teaching. I had ONE college course devoted to technology in the classroom, and THREE classes on advanced grammar that my students have yet to need. Make it make sense to me. There seems to be little balance and correlation between those education requirements and reality. Don’t even get me started on student teaching; there was far more observing and documenting in my experience than there was “teaching”.
I guess I was living in a fantasy land where my students would magically care about the subject matter and that my lessons would land on eager, listening ears. I wish someone would have brought me down to earth instead of further reinforcing my delusion. I was force-fed a constant diet of subject matter and starved of the realities of the 21st century classroom. My eyes weren’t opened until I had a sign on the door with my name carved onto a golden plate; only then did I realize what I’d signed up for. I know this is true for many things in life — that experience is the best teacher and we are often thrown in the water to either sink or swim. However, I argue that acknowledging this issue now can only benefit future teachers AND students…because we aren’t the only ones losing in this lose/lose situation. I am a far better teacher now with experience, but those first years had me questioning everything. Why did no one tell me about the emotional side of teaching? Why did no one warn me that this job can feel so heavy? I never thought I’d find myself dealing with teaching-related health issues, or filing a harassment report.
I am a teacher who did everything “right”, but nothing could have prepared me for the emotional toll of teaching. Nothing could have prepared me for how much I would care and how hard it would be to leave my work at work. Nothing could have prepared me for the stress I would carry on behalf of my students and a broken system. Nothing could have prepared me for losing a student. Nothing could have prepared me for how much teaching would seep into every area of my life, and how I’d have to forever fight against that feeling. Nothing could have prepared me, but I believe we can do a better job to prepare those who come after us.
