A lot has changed since April....
- I decided to leave my school and did not renew my contract.
- I was hired by another school to start a program there similar to the one I've been building for the last 5 years.
- I got a puppy (she's adorable and the cats are pissed)
- The class pet, Pepe the hamster, passed away (RIP, furry friend)
Ok, so maybe only a few things have changed, but they are major. And up until recently, I was kind of just plugging along, thinking that not much had changed. But, I was wrong.
I have never handled change well. When I was 15, my family moved. Mind you, we only moved across town and I didn't have to change schools or anything, so this theoretically wasn't that big of a deal. However, I managed to get myself so worked up about it that I became depressed, an insomniac, and had to learn various coping strategies to deal with the stress of transition.
I felt crazy because I should have been excited - I was moving into a much nicer house than the one that I had grown up in, I was going to be in the same town, and I was going to remain close to all of my friends. Not to mention I was moving with both of my parents, not because of a divorce, which seemed statistically impossible to happen with the rate of divorce now a days (let me just say that my parents are fantastic role models for what marriage should look like - thanks guys). But even though this was a fantastic situation, I couldn't stop crying about wanting to be in my old (significantly smaller) room with my Laura Ashley wall paper and double bed. All I wanted to do was walk in the house and sit down at the kitchen island and breath in the smell of my childhood memories. This was no longer an option, and I could not grasp that reality. So I cried. And I laid awake at night feeling insecure and vulnerable, as if I was a baby bird pushed out of the nest too soon.
Obviously I made it out of the transition with minimal scarring, but it opened my eyes to a severe deficit of mine. My tendency to have a meltdown around change, as well as my inability to transition smoothly, has handicapped me my entire young adult, and now adult, life. When I went to college, my inability to handle the transition resulted me in coming home every other weekend and nearly failing all of my classes. When I got my first "real job", an internship in New York City, I practically ran out of that city every Friday to hop on the first train home. I ate lunch by myself because I was petrified about the change happening around me, and missed out on the awesome experience that is New York City in your early 20s. When I graduated from college, I had a full on melt down where I cried hysterically and had to pull over multiple times on my way home to call my mom and calm down. There was a point where I almost had her and my father come meet me on the highway to drive me home because I thought I wasn't going to be able to pull myself together.
While these are extreme situations, these are when I experienced major life changes and just had massively amplified anxiety compared to the average person. Most people would have a healthy dose of anxiety and skepticism about what the future holds. Instead of a healthy dose of skepticism, I have paralyzing fear about the uncertainty that is the future, the possibility of failure and defeat, and about the permanent nature of moving forward and leaving the familiar behind. Of course, so far things have worked out for the better when I make change, which is why I keep doing it, but that does not change that the process is absolutely, positively, terrifying and painful.
As I mentioned earlier, I came to the conclusion that I needed to leave my school. There are many reasons that led me to this decision, but it was not a joyful decision. This decision was made with the heaviest of hearts, and I am still extremely sad that I had to say goodbye to amazing people and students. However, I was blessed with a job offer just a few short weeks after I submitted my intent to not return. As I accepted the new job, the slow paralysis of fear crawled through my brain and has been trying to lay siege.
"What could be so scary," you ask? Well, let me count the ways....
1. I have worked with my closest friends in DC for the last 5 years. I got to go to work every day and see at least 5 of my close friends, which is a luxury not many people have. While I was not besties with everyone in my building, I always had someone I could turn to in a time of need or crisis, and I knew that they would not only listen, but would prioritize me and help me in whatever way they could. That environment was more than familiar, it was family.
2. I have had the freedom to create and design a program for the last 5 years with minimal restraint. I knew that I could go to my principal with an idea, and as long as it logically led to student achievement and positive mental health, I was able to implement it. I was given a lot of liberties that I would not have been afforded in another school as a 1st, 2nd, 3rd, or even 4th year teacher. Of course, by the end of this past year, that freedom started to become restricted due to issues with "downtown", so that freedom was not going to exist anymore.
3. There are many students that I have taught for multiple years. This is rare in a normal teaching situation, but since I worked in a cluster this was not unusual. One of the downfalls of teaching the same kids every year is that if you have a personality clash, it's a long road ahead. However, the most amazing part about teaching students for multiple years is that you get to know them and their families very well, sometimes better than you'd like. There were several students who I said goodbye to this year that I have taught since my very first day of teaching. Each year I said goodbye to students who were ready to leave the nest, but there was always a comfort for them that I would still be at school and they knew where to find me. Despite them having my contact information, it is nerve wracking for all of us that I am the one who left the nest.
4. I was going to a completely new place. Considering that I have taught at one school since I graduated college, I don't know what other environments look, sound, or feel like. The unknown is my worst fear, and I was running towards what, in my mind, looked like a brick wall. Do you like the thought of sprinting straight at a brick wall? I didn't think so.
After about 3 months at my new job, it is fair to say that I'm alive and breathing. I haven't had a major meltdown, which is a sign of maturity, and I have even made a few friends. While I've been enjoying my time there, it has come with some learning challenges. I have been moving forward, but there is a nagging feeling of something resisting the change. I am doing my job, teaching and designing a new program, but still feel as though something is missing.
Feeling unsettled, I spoke to several people about my dilemma a few weeks ago. I was feeling like a car that was driving with the emergency break on, like I was moving forward reluctantly. Based on this comparison, I needed to stop and turn off the break before I started moving again. The only problem was that I couldn't stop doing my job; the school year had begun and kids would be in seats every day. So what could I do? That's when they (I say they because I can't remember who said this originally) stopped me and made me realize what the real problem was. My "emergency break" was my old school and my previous students. I couldn't let go of what I had and move on to the next stage of my life. Whether that's because I had such a great experience, it is my only point of reference for comparison professionally, or it's because of my usual transition anxiety, is unclear.
This caused me to reflect back to my first year of teaching. I journaled a lot that year, so I went back and reread my journal entries from various points in the year. I had forgotten how alone I felt for the first 6 weeks of teaching. I had forgotten the disaster that was our program up until Year 3. I had forgotten that I only slept 3-5 hours each night for two years. I had forgotten that I didn't start to sense a deep attachment to my students until at least December. Some kids... it took years.
It was then that I started to have more forward momentum at work. After reviewing my challenges of my first year of teaching at my previous school, I felt better about my struggles with my new school. Of course, things are still a work in progress, but at least now I'm driving without the emergency break on.
- I decided to leave my school and did not renew my contract.
- I was hired by another school to start a program there similar to the one I've been building for the last 5 years.
- I got a puppy (she's adorable and the cats are pissed)
- The class pet, Pepe the hamster, passed away (RIP, furry friend)
Ok, so maybe only a few things have changed, but they are major. And up until recently, I was kind of just plugging along, thinking that not much had changed. But, I was wrong.
I have never handled change well. When I was 15, my family moved. Mind you, we only moved across town and I didn't have to change schools or anything, so this theoretically wasn't that big of a deal. However, I managed to get myself so worked up about it that I became depressed, an insomniac, and had to learn various coping strategies to deal with the stress of transition.
I felt crazy because I should have been excited - I was moving into a much nicer house than the one that I had grown up in, I was going to be in the same town, and I was going to remain close to all of my friends. Not to mention I was moving with both of my parents, not because of a divorce, which seemed statistically impossible to happen with the rate of divorce now a days (let me just say that my parents are fantastic role models for what marriage should look like - thanks guys). But even though this was a fantastic situation, I couldn't stop crying about wanting to be in my old (significantly smaller) room with my Laura Ashley wall paper and double bed. All I wanted to do was walk in the house and sit down at the kitchen island and breath in the smell of my childhood memories. This was no longer an option, and I could not grasp that reality. So I cried. And I laid awake at night feeling insecure and vulnerable, as if I was a baby bird pushed out of the nest too soon.
Obviously I made it out of the transition with minimal scarring, but it opened my eyes to a severe deficit of mine. My tendency to have a meltdown around change, as well as my inability to transition smoothly, has handicapped me my entire young adult, and now adult, life. When I went to college, my inability to handle the transition resulted me in coming home every other weekend and nearly failing all of my classes. When I got my first "real job", an internship in New York City, I practically ran out of that city every Friday to hop on the first train home. I ate lunch by myself because I was petrified about the change happening around me, and missed out on the awesome experience that is New York City in your early 20s. When I graduated from college, I had a full on melt down where I cried hysterically and had to pull over multiple times on my way home to call my mom and calm down. There was a point where I almost had her and my father come meet me on the highway to drive me home because I thought I wasn't going to be able to pull myself together.
While these are extreme situations, these are when I experienced major life changes and just had massively amplified anxiety compared to the average person. Most people would have a healthy dose of anxiety and skepticism about what the future holds. Instead of a healthy dose of skepticism, I have paralyzing fear about the uncertainty that is the future, the possibility of failure and defeat, and about the permanent nature of moving forward and leaving the familiar behind. Of course, so far things have worked out for the better when I make change, which is why I keep doing it, but that does not change that the process is absolutely, positively, terrifying and painful.
As I mentioned earlier, I came to the conclusion that I needed to leave my school. There are many reasons that led me to this decision, but it was not a joyful decision. This decision was made with the heaviest of hearts, and I am still extremely sad that I had to say goodbye to amazing people and students. However, I was blessed with a job offer just a few short weeks after I submitted my intent to not return. As I accepted the new job, the slow paralysis of fear crawled through my brain and has been trying to lay siege.
"What could be so scary," you ask? Well, let me count the ways....
1. I have worked with my closest friends in DC for the last 5 years. I got to go to work every day and see at least 5 of my close friends, which is a luxury not many people have. While I was not besties with everyone in my building, I always had someone I could turn to in a time of need or crisis, and I knew that they would not only listen, but would prioritize me and help me in whatever way they could. That environment was more than familiar, it was family.
2. I have had the freedom to create and design a program for the last 5 years with minimal restraint. I knew that I could go to my principal with an idea, and as long as it logically led to student achievement and positive mental health, I was able to implement it. I was given a lot of liberties that I would not have been afforded in another school as a 1st, 2nd, 3rd, or even 4th year teacher. Of course, by the end of this past year, that freedom started to become restricted due to issues with "downtown", so that freedom was not going to exist anymore.
3. There are many students that I have taught for multiple years. This is rare in a normal teaching situation, but since I worked in a cluster this was not unusual. One of the downfalls of teaching the same kids every year is that if you have a personality clash, it's a long road ahead. However, the most amazing part about teaching students for multiple years is that you get to know them and their families very well, sometimes better than you'd like. There were several students who I said goodbye to this year that I have taught since my very first day of teaching. Each year I said goodbye to students who were ready to leave the nest, but there was always a comfort for them that I would still be at school and they knew where to find me. Despite them having my contact information, it is nerve wracking for all of us that I am the one who left the nest.
4. I was going to a completely new place. Considering that I have taught at one school since I graduated college, I don't know what other environments look, sound, or feel like. The unknown is my worst fear, and I was running towards what, in my mind, looked like a brick wall. Do you like the thought of sprinting straight at a brick wall? I didn't think so.
After about 3 months at my new job, it is fair to say that I'm alive and breathing. I haven't had a major meltdown, which is a sign of maturity, and I have even made a few friends. While I've been enjoying my time there, it has come with some learning challenges. I have been moving forward, but there is a nagging feeling of something resisting the change. I am doing my job, teaching and designing a new program, but still feel as though something is missing.
Feeling unsettled, I spoke to several people about my dilemma a few weeks ago. I was feeling like a car that was driving with the emergency break on, like I was moving forward reluctantly. Based on this comparison, I needed to stop and turn off the break before I started moving again. The only problem was that I couldn't stop doing my job; the school year had begun and kids would be in seats every day. So what could I do? That's when they (I say they because I can't remember who said this originally) stopped me and made me realize what the real problem was. My "emergency break" was my old school and my previous students. I couldn't let go of what I had and move on to the next stage of my life. Whether that's because I had such a great experience, it is my only point of reference for comparison professionally, or it's because of my usual transition anxiety, is unclear.
This caused me to reflect back to my first year of teaching. I journaled a lot that year, so I went back and reread my journal entries from various points in the year. I had forgotten how alone I felt for the first 6 weeks of teaching. I had forgotten the disaster that was our program up until Year 3. I had forgotten that I only slept 3-5 hours each night for two years. I had forgotten that I didn't start to sense a deep attachment to my students until at least December. Some kids... it took years.
It was then that I started to have more forward momentum at work. After reviewing my challenges of my first year of teaching at my previous school, I felt better about my struggles with my new school. Of course, things are still a work in progress, but at least now I'm driving without the emergency break on.
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