Today's topic: Not Trusting Your Teachers, Part 1
I'm going to eventually address specific groups not trusting us teachers- administration, parents, and students- but today, I'm just going to speak about my experience in general and the effect that seven years of teaching had on my self-esteem and belief about myself as a professional. If you are a teacher or parent or student or admin, your experience may be different , but it doesn't invalidate my personal experience.
Let's back up. You need to know a bit about me as a person before you can fully understand today's post.
If I'm being truthful, I'm thrive on authority figures respecting me (not necessarily liking me; I'm too opinionated for that). I've always wanted my teachers, parents, coaches, youth pastors, bosses, and so forth to be proud of me and my work. I truly would rather be respected than loved.
As far back as I can remember, I've been an intelligent, competent, hardworking overachiever. I think my parents can attest to that. I never had a teacher that didn't affirm my work ethic and efforts. I never had a boss who didn't respect me and value me as an employee whether it was at the local rec center refereeing volleyball in high school or Outback Steakhouse (where I was front house "Employee of the Month" after only two months of working there...not that that's something I put on my resume or anything, but it is a testament to my work ethic, I think).
Even as a student teacher, my cooperating teachers appreciated my efforts and dedication. So did the administrators and other staff of the schools at which I student taught. Sure, teaching was incredibly hard, but when I started teaching full-time in 2011, I was confident in my training, my work ethic, my problem solving abilities, and my efficacy.
All of that slowly began to change.
I don't need to go into specifics here, because that's for a later post. However, over the years, I found myself constantly being questioned, and with increasing frequency and intensity. By the end of year seven, this past year, I was paranoid. I was constantly looking over my shoulder.
Because I had learned that making mistakes was unacceptable and instead of being supported and mentored, I would get berated, questioned, and even threatened.
I was not trusted as a professional. Never mind the fact that I was experienced, or that I had earned my Master's degree in education, or that I had been nominated for my school's teacher of the year a couple times times, or that my SOL scores were always solid, or that my students offered feedback on my end-of-year survey that indicated my effectiveness as a teacher.
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| Oh, look! I CAN plan collaborative creative lessons! You'd NEVER guess that based on the lesson plan feedback I used to get. |
None of that mattered.
I was not trusted to write lesson plans. I had to turn them in, get them critiqued (I got my lesson plans back with only negative feedback on them, something we as teachers KNOW you do NOT do to students-- you always write something positive on their work). Then, I had to rewrite my plans before I could teach them the next week. As if I had time for that.
I was not trusted to teach my students. One year I had to keep ridiculous amounts of data to "prove" they were growing. I'm not talking basic useful data, and really, I should use that term loosely. I'm talking measures that weren't accurate and couldn't possibly be accurate because of how the assessments were designed. So I just played the game. Aside: they really need to do a better job in undergrad teaching teachers how to collect and use data effectively. But I digress.
When I would talk to my friends who worked in the corporate world about the micromanagement, the absurd policies I had to follow, the constant looking over my shoulder, the way I was sometimes treated like a child or a student, the tone with which I was addressed, the things that were said to me... their eyes widened and their jaws hit the floor. Many of them laughed and shook their heads. "That would never fly where I work," they commented.
Right.
Because you're trusted as an adult professional.
Honestly, thought? I have to take some of the responsibility myself. I lost my voice as a teacher. I should have stood up to the verbal abuse I endured. I should have pushed back against some of the rules we had to follow that were, in fact, not outlined in our contract.
But I was scared.
Scared to lose my job.
Scared to lose my license (yeah, that's a threat that people like to throw out: parents, some administrators, sometimes even the students)
Scared to get on the wrong side of my colleagues and administrators, whom I only wanted to please and have positive relationships with (oh, and whom I will need to write me letters of reference when I return to the classroom someday...)
I want to take a minute to acknowledge that there were efforts made by some people to make me and other teachers feel supported and respected. I got some really nice feedback on lesson plans from one particular admin this year. My fellow teachers are always incredibly supportive of me. I'd say over half of my parents and students were generally respectful, too (but the ones that weren't were DOOZIES).
Still, by the end of my seven years at my school, I didn't know whom to trust. I didn't know what to believe.
I did know a few things:
1) Some of the best teachers I'd EVER taught with had been pushed out of the school because of personal conflicts, NOT because of professional incompetence or indiscretion,
2) Some of the most unethical, unprofessional teachers I had ever seen were engaging in behaviors that were being ignored,
3) The general attitude towards teachers was either one of admiration and treating us like martyrs or one of disrespect and treating us like we are only teachers because we can't do anything else.
I'd like to address that for a minute: that's pure, pardon my French, bullshit.
We can do A LOT of other things. We CHOOSE to teach because we love the kids, we want to make a difference in the world, and we love creatively sharing our passion about our subject with our students.
But we can't continue to teach in an environment that is toxic to our professional growth, our personal development, and our mental health.
And that's precisely why I left. I told all of y'all it was to stay home with my daughter. That's partially true. Now that my contract is up, I'm going to be more honest: I left because I know I was made for more.
I know I wasn't reaching my professional and personal potential as a teacher. After all, how was I supposed to swim to bluer waters if I spent the entire time trying just to stay afloat?
I'll end with this thought from Morgan Knight Hermann, who wrote an article for National Educators Association about why she left teaching:
"When I tell others about my decision to leave, they assume it was because of the students, saying some variation of, 'I could never do that job!' However, the kids were the bright spot of teaching, as most teachers know. The reason I couldn’t stay in the only profession I ever wanted was the negative culture and lack of respect for teachers."
Teachers are leaving in droves, and it's mostly because we are not respected.
And, it seems like society just expects teachers to accept disrespect. We hear comments all the time: "Well, you knew you wouldn't make any money before you started, so don't complain," or "Well, you knew it'd be hard, so if you don't like it, you can just leave." And the problem is now that so many of us ARE leaving, and we have a shortage in quality teachers in almost every state, including Virginia.
This is a problem, y'all. A massive problem. A crisis, even. All you have to do is Google it: hundreds of news articles, opinion pieces, and videos addressing this topic will appear.
Now, how are we going to fix it?
That's for a different post.
