Dear Transparent Teacher,
There is a writer I admire. Today, I found this pearl of wisdom on one of her blogs.
“Write the thing you’re afraid to write. You have no idea how many people need to read your story. Your story could change someone’s life. Your story could help save someone’s life.”
I liked her advice so much I decided to follow it.
When it comes to teaching and writing about teaching, I’m afraid to write the truth. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because teachers have been conditioned to erroneously believe good teachers are always happy people who look on the bright side no matter what. They’re glass half full kind of people who are always perfectly put together and always have their ducks in a row. They were good students who naturally morphed into great teachers, but this is not the truth.
The truth is not all smiles are real. The truth is the sunny side is actually quite dark at times, and the ducks (all of them) are currently somewhere in the weeds drowning.
Today, I sat across the table from three new teachers who truly want to be good teachers. They were sweet and nurturing and naturals at the craft, but beneath the smiles I could see their weariness. They were tired of being asked to make bricks with a few scraggly pieces of straw.
I want them to have long, rich careers in education and impact 10,000 kids for the good. And they might, but statistics tell us only a few incoming teachers will stay in the profession more than five years. This grieves me, but I understand why.
This job is hard. It doesn’t pay much. There isn’t a lot of support or opportunity for advancement, and on top of it, everyone’s smiling behind a mask (literally and figuratively). After a while, it makes you think maybe you’re the only one who feels deflated, displaced, dissatisfied, and if that’s the case, you begin to convince yourself that you aren’t cut out to be a teacher at all.
I can’t fix the pitiful salary or a host of other issues, but I can, at least, offer transparency to the teacher who feels alone in her frustrations.
You aren’t alone. After going to college five years for a degree to teach, I worked a week and considered going AWOL, as in never even checking back in to let admin know I was quitting or alive.
I still feel like that a lot of days, like my car might steer itself right into the unemployment office to seek alternate ways to make a living. I’m betting a lot of teachers feel this same way, especially this year.
Being negative and grumpy 24/7 doesn’t make for a good working environment, so I’m definitely not in favor of a PLC for professional gripers, but I also don’t think we’re doing each other any favors by lying.
Let’s simply tell the truth and assure one another we're not alone. It’s okay to admit you don’t have your ducks in a row. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human, and in a year of numbness, we could all use more humanity.
And no, the humanity may not straighten up the ducks in the row, but I think it could keep a few from drowning and that makes it worth the sharing, right?
-CDB
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