Love Your People

This summer I was given the opportunity to present at a conference in Washington D.C.

This conference, The Model Schools Conference, hosted districts from all over the country who were making, or who were working to make, great strides in Education. 

A few days before I left, I told a friend that I wasn’t quite sure why I was going. Yes, my district and my school are doing amazing things when it comes to personalizing learning for kids. Yes I have a steadfast support system at school that allows my co-teacher and I the ability to explore, refine, and adjust our practice, based on what is best for students. But ultimately there are many educators that I know personally, going the distance for their students day in and day out. Educators that I am continuously learning from, educators pouring their whole selves into their students. What made me special?

I felt uneasy because even though I could walk the walk and talk the talk, I wasn’t sure if I was National Conference worthy. I believe the term is Imposter Syndrome. I have it, and have had it, ever since I became a teacher.

Even through those feelings however, I was hopeful. Hopeful I would feel like I belonged there. Hopeful I would make connections. Hopeful I could help teach or inspire someone. Hopeful I would come away inspired as well.

Ultimately this conference, while inspiring and informative, also turned out to be deeply personal. I came away not questioning my belonging but instead feeling a sense of purpose.

To explain why, I need to give a little bit of background.

School for me was okay until middle school. That specific transition is historically awkward, overwhelming, and intimidating for many reasons. I don’t know too many people who look back on their middle school years and think “Wow, those were the best years of my life!”

I was almost constantly a mess in middle school. Whether it was because I couldn’t find something I needed, forgot an assignment, or struggled keeping up with the pace, I found managing lots of different classes and moving parts challenging to say the least.

I eventually taught myself processes to manage the newness and the expectations, and was able to get into a groove. In 6th grade I stayed relatively afloat. 

By 7th grade the material itself was also challenging, which was something I could not overcome on my own. As much as I tried, my brain just wasn’t braining as the young people say. So instead, I worked really hard at the subjects I was good at- ELA and Social Studies- and adopted an “I don’t care” attitude for Math and Science. Of course as a perfectionist I absolutely did care, but I didn’t want anyone to know that. I was convinced that smart people didn’t have to ask questions, so instead of being vulnerable, I chose to stop trying.

I went from a straight-A student in elementary school to a struggling student at best in a matter of 3 years.

Going into high school I was thrilled to join the dance team at my school. Being part of a team or a group always gave me energy, so I quickly made bonds within the team and was incredibly proud to be part of a group going into high school. I vowed to myself that high school would be different. It was a new experience, so I could turn a new leaf. I would ask questions, I would turn my work in, I wouldn’t procrastinate, I would stay focused.

But in high school the experience was more overwhelming than middle school. Math and science were more challenging. The expectations were higher. The self-management expectations were more prevalent. And everything school related seemed more and more pointless, according to my 14 year-old-self. 

I hated that I couldn’t keep up. I hated that I struggled with solving math problems or remembering what the teachers said. There were so many rules and algorithms to memorize it was like trying to learn a foreign language. I tried to take notes but if I was taking notes I couldn’t pay attention. If I didn’t take notes I would get lost in my head while the teacher was talking, and then I couldn’t remember anything that was taught. I was in a constant loop of trying and failing.

Over time I realized that failing in school felt really, really bad. But being a part of a social group? That felt really, really good. I knew that as long as I had my group- my team- I would be okay. So I started to blow things off. I was always polite, but I pushed the limits with my teachers. I was constantly late to class and I didn’t turn work in on time, if at all. School became a social engagement and that was it. All of this also meant I was in detention A LOT. But it was okay, because I was part of a group. Sure I was failing school, but why did that matter?

Since teenagers have a relatively hard time reasoning logically due to that pesky under-development of their frontal lobe, I did not have enough forethought to realize that my actions were going to have consequences. 

In March of my Freshman year, I tried out for our dance team with the rest of my squad. I knew it would be harder than freshman year, but I was up for it. Dancing and my team gave me a purpose for going to school, since the academics certainly didn’t.

When the list came out, my name was not on it. My world crashed down around me. Not only did I lose my team, but I also lost the one reason school was worth it. I was absolutely, completely, devastated. I was sure that my life was over (so dramatic) and that I would be destined to spend my life working at Wal-Mart because of this massive domino effect that I had built up in my head.

My mom was there to pick up the pieces, but it didn’t matter what she said or did. I was embarrassed, ashamed, and lost. 

I assume she was tired of my endless moping, so she decided to reach out to my coach to find out what happened. 

My coach’s reply to why I didn’t make the team? 

“Her attitude”

Did my coach tell me that directly? No. Did my coach ever talk to me about it after that? No. All of the sudden the connections I had made and the routine I had built were severed. And just like that I was discarded, without a second thought.

I mean y’all. I was silly. I was sarcastic. I was a bit obnoxious at times. But I was never impolite or disrespectful. It is true that my attitude towards school (it was pointless) was not ideal- but that was only because I had convinced myself that I couldn’t excel in school. And if I couldn't excel, what would be the point in trying?

So, in a desperate search to be a part of something, I decided to join the cheerleading team. 

Once again I found a group. Once again I was happy to be a part of a team. But the summer going into my sophomore year my fragile teenage heart took a bit of a beating- so when my cheerleading life turned into a reminder of my sadness, I quit.

I dropped my bag off in the cheerleading office with a note. I just quit.

Did my coach ever come and try to talk me out of it? No. Did my coach ever ask why I was struggling? No. 

It was fine. I didn’t need a team. I didn’t need to be a part of something. I didn’t need to do well in school. All of that just turned into rejection.

But do you know what makes you feel less rejected, more seen, and more fun as a highschooler? I can tell you what the answer is NOT, but it is what I turned to. I couldn't do algebra, I couldn't remember the periodic table, I couldn't dance or cheer, but I could be the life of the party. And so I was.

At this point you might be wondering why in the world I started this blog off talking about a conference in D.C. and am now talking about the questionable habits and choices of a teenager.

This is why.

Because my whole school career I can name ONE teacher who I knew cared for me. ONE teacher out of 13 years that saw me. ONE teacher who pushed me and believed in me. ONE school year that I felt successful in.

Not one teacher noticed as my younger self; this hardworking, smart, fun-loving, innocent girl turned into a sad, rejected, and deflated teenager with no self-confidence. Not one teacher asked why. Not one teacher dug a little deeper to find the root of the problem. I can’t recall making a positive, strong connection in school since 1998.

Do you know how sad that is?

Earlier this year I was going through some of my old school work to try and pull an example of my 4th grade work to show to my students. I ended up finding some of my work from high school, and started reading over the comments that were written on my assignments.

One teacher wrote on a paper that I turned in,

“I have to say, you are smarter than I expected. Sometimes because you talk too much your brains are not evident" 

She went on to say that she would love to see all of my grades reflect this particular assignment. But was there ever any follow up as to why I wasn’t working to my potential? Not ever.

I was invisible. I wasn’t “bad” enough to be a huge problem and I also wasn’t “good” enough to encourage . I was just there.

I was scattered, unfocused, impulsive, prone to procrastination, and couldn’t stick through an assignment to save my life. I felt as though I was constantly failing, so I stopped trying and I stopped caring. My rationale was, if I made everyone believe I didn’t care, they wouldn’t be able to tell how lost I was. How flawed I was.

It was easier to play into the narrative that they had created for me than to feel like a failure. 

Earlier this year I began the process of being tested for ADHD. In my adult life I started recognizing the stark differences between the way my brain worked compared to everyone else around me.

I struggled with organization in all senses of the term. In my home, in my classroom, in my graduate classes, in my car (much to the chagrin of my husband), and in my own head.

With all of this disorganization came feelings of being chronically overwhelmed which led to hopelessness and frustration.

Turns out I wasn’t lazy or underachieving in school. 

Turns out, I had ADHD.

I went into Education for a few different reasons. I knew I needed to build a better life for my son. I needed stability in my life. But maybe the most important reason- I needed to make sure that no child ever felt the way I did in school. 

I needed to give kids a school experience full of love and laughter and silliness. I needed to help them feel seen and heard and I needed them to know that even if they didn’t understand math, or they struggled to read, or they couldn’t come up with something to write, they still mattered. I wanted to be the teacher that believed in them, if no other teacher in their life had or would again. Especially the “silly” kids. Or the kids who were “too much”. Or the kids who had an attitude.

I wanted to be the teacher to find out why. Why is a student behaving that way? Not to get all research-y on you, but in 2020 Harvard Graduate School posted an article about curiosity. 

“According to cognitive scientist and researcher Elizabeth Bonawitz, curiosity is innate in all humans — a sensation much like hunger or thirst” (Boudreau, 2020).

Students want to learn. They are naturally curious. They are born with a desire to discover. That shouldn’t stop because a student stops believing in themselves. That shouldn’t stop because they feel like they don’t have it in them to fail anymore. That shouldn’t stop because they are impulsive or “too much”. They need educators who can lift them up, see through their behaviors, and give them hope.

This theme was echoed throughout the conference that I was lucky enough to attend. 

So to my teacher friends, keep working your tails off to build relationships with these kids. Keep seeing them for more than their behaviors. No matter what front they put up- they want to succeed. They want to make connections and they want to make someone proud. It’s innately human. Don’t let one slip through the cracks.

Remember that students are people first. Yes they will have attitudes. True they will test you. They might not listen to you. They might seemingly do everything they can to get under your skin.

But they are people. People with a life outside of school. People with a background. Maybe one with trauma, maybe one without, but always with a story.

Be kind, and love your people.

XOXO

Alyssa

In case you are curious:

https://www.gse.harvard.edu/ideas/usable-knowledge/20/11/curious-mind