First Year Teacher
This week, I wrapped up my first year of being a high school Spanish teacher. Since I’m moving in a couple weeks, I packed up, moved out of my classroom, and turned in my keys. I was on the phone with my mentor teacher as I cleaned desks with a magic eraser and as we talked about the year I told her “I feel proud.” It was the one emotion I could very clearly feel and name.
I am proud of myself.
Now every teacher should be proud at the end of the school year. But, if you knew me and saw me in October, you might know that I wasn’t sure if I could be proud of my first year of teaching. The teacher that left today is not the teacher that walked into that school building in August. I’m not just proud of the work that I did, but I’m proud of myself for the growth that I experienced and the fact that I left knowing that I did my best and gave it all I had.
When I walked into my building in August, I had 5 classes and was teaching 3 courses: 2 of which I was the only one in my building teaching and 1 of which I was the only one in my district teaching. I was also sponsoring a club which I had never done. It was all a challenge I was willing to take on but it was my Goliath. I knew no work-life balance boundaries. I was spending hours at home creating lessons and quite frankly, learning the content I would be teaching the next day. I was teaching things like Spanish art history and Spanish literature. They were things I studied in Spain my sophomore year of college that I never imagined I would be teaching myself. I felt insufficient and had serious impostor syndrome. Late September hit and I was burnt out. While at work one day the last week of September, a pink eraser (not intended to be thrown at me) hit me in the back of the head and it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I just about walked out of my building and called it quits that day. I was exhausted. But, there were a few people that didn’t let me get away and instead of quitting, I asked for help.
Not to be too dramatic now, but October was a month of desperation. I asked for help and got help from wherever I could get it. I was desperately trying to get to fall break so I could have a week of my head above water. I spent a lot of nights crying on the phone with family, thinking that the career path I wanted all my life was the wrong one. I thought it wasn’t anything like I had seen from my parents or imagined it would be. I was heart-broken that I wasn’t loving teaching but I never had a back-up plan because it was all I ever thought I would be doing. But October was also the month I decided quitting in the middle of the year was not one of my options although at the time, it looked the best. A co-worker constantly reminded me that “The only way out is through.” So I kept going and made sure that even on my roughest days, I was giving my kids every bit I had. Without even knowing it, they were the ones that kept me going. The rest of first semester was a long game of “catch-up” with a bit of planning head and eventually, it was Christmas break.
When I came back in January, I was planned far enough ahead to leave work at work most days. Although I was still reading old Spanish texts from the middle ages that I would be teaching, I learned to trust myself. I learned to not feel like a burden when asking others for help. Then, teaching became what I thought it would be. I got comfortable, I really got to know my kids, and I was loving work. I had support from so many people and it brought an overwhelming sense of comfort knowing that even on the most disastrous days, I had people that had my back and picked me up when I felt incapable of getting back up. Before I knew it, it was May 25th, I was giving my last exam, and I had made it through and out of my first year.
Today, I packed up my room and in the mix of my belongings, there are notes from students that say how much they loved having me as a teacher and how much they’ll miss me next year. There are notes from kids that have no idea how much of an impact they had on me. It is incredibly hard to put this school year into words but looking back now, I’m grateful that I didn’t walk out in September. This year has been difficult but it is a really good reminder that for every October. there’s a May 25th.