Mirror, Mirror, is it time to move on?

“Do you regret being a teacher?”

It was 3:30 pm on a Thursday in January. The hallways of the school were quiet. Snowflakes were falling outside, and I was standing on a desk hanging twinkle lights from the ceiling for presentations the next day when my student teacher asked me this question. I lowered my hands and looked at her as she wrote tomorrow’s plans on the board, sighed and answered, “Gosh, no. Never.”

I was surprised at how quickly and easily I exhaled that response. There is nothing easy about teaching. I’ve written about this for over a year here on Ethical ELA: oversharing, apologies, grading, testing. Still, I don’t regret for a second that I became, am still becoming a teacher.

“Really? It’s so hard, so emotional. There’s so much to think about,” she replied.

“Really. I can’t imagine my life if I did not having teaching.”  I went on to say more about what teaching means to me as I climbed down from the desk, and then I said, “I don’t see my time with the kids as hard. Maybe I’d say it’s more elusive. It is a privilege to know students in this way even if some days are challenging. The hardest part, for me, is not being good enough, not doing enough, not knowing how to engage this student. It just this sense of never being satisfied with what I’ve done.”

I like working with a student teacher because of conversations like this. Student teachers come with fresh eyes and questions, wondering how to do and be all that our profession asks of teachers. I confess that while I have no regrets, I do often wonder if I can do and be all that the students need. I do often wonder if there might be another way to serve.

For the past thirteen years, I have been trying to make sense of this elusiveness, this feeling of never being good enough. The best way I know how to assuage the anxiety and discontent that comes with perceived failure and self-doubt is by making a change. Sometimes, new initiatives in the school give me the push (or distraction) to make that change, but most of the time, I have to make a deliberate choice to do something different. One year that meant a leave of absence to start a PhD. One year that meant submitting a proposal to NCTE. One year that meant applying for a grant to develop a classroom library. One year that meant applying to be part of a Chromebook pilot. One year that meant publishing a book. One year that meant teaching a class at a local university. One year that meant starting this blog, and one year that meant accepting a student teacher. The change gives me a sense of agency and temporary confidence, but whispers of self-doubt and agitation with failures inevitably resurface.

Working with student teachers this year has helped me to see my role as a teacher anew — in ways new initiatives have not. I am seeing in my student teachers, the children I serve, and the colleagues I serve alongside myself— like they are holding up a mirror for me.  They show me what I am doing well, but they also make visible those minor cracks in the mirror that have potential to grow. What is, perhaps, becoming most clear  in those mirrors (other than my age) is how I fit and don’t fit in with my school, the team, and the department. My student teachers bear witness to how I teach but also how I interact with students and colleagues, and they are so observant of the dynamics that I am confronted by them as well.

It is incredibly humbling to look, really look at oneself from the angles other show you, but I see it as protection from shattering, from falling apart. When I am willing to look carefully at all the angles, I can make adjustments to heal, to improve, and to make a change if needed.

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Essentially, I think my metaphorical mirrors are asking me this: What are you doing here? How do you fit in? How are you being useful? How are you contributing? Might you be becoming complacent? Are you being a little self-righteous? Are you isolating yourself? What more can you do for us, for the students? Is this the right place for you?

Messages about who I am as a teacher are coming at me all the time. Sometimes I find myself avoiding or disengaging from meetings because I don’t want to see or hear these messages, but with student teachers, I must look, listen, and reflect on my place among colleagues, my place in the school, my place in the profession. I imagine true satisfaction will remain elusive as it, perhaps, should. In some ways, I think my willingness/need to try new approaches has helped me stay in the profession. Still, I want to try to answer the questions my mirrors ask of me.

I’ve already found a few cracks in need of attention, but when I looked in the mirror today, I glimpsed a smile below my tired eyes in gratitude for another year with students. No regrets.