Tolls and Rewards

"It has taken its toll, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, not just on me but on the people I love."

I wrote this in 2009, as I neared the end of my Master's degree program, teaching at school #2.

Since then, I went to school #3, hated the first year, second year settled in and started to love it, invested myself in it, kids and administration invested themselves in me, three completely different preps (AP Lang, 12 inclusion, 9 honors...and I wanted to kick the colleague who taught 10 on-level, 10 honors, and 10 pre-IB and called it "three preps" when she had taught 10th grade for over 10 years), dealing with fallout from draining the IB program because people wanted to take my AP class instead. Then, again: another teacher loses her job in her subject area, has an English certification and more seniority than me, and takes my job.

The first time this happened at school #1, I was only a long-term sub, so we were hired last in the hierarchy, and it wasn't surprising that when they had a job opening, it was filled (by an involuntary placement) before I was allowed to be considered.

I went to school #2. I was excited to go there (although I started to become filled with trepidation when, during the county's New Teacher Orientation, I met the man who claimed he would be my co-teacher for my two on-level classes -- I had never heard of or had a co-taught class and wasn't sure what it would entail). I loved the school, my RT, my colleagues, the students, and my co-teacher, who was a perfect complement to my style in the classroom and who I was fortunate enough to work with for two years running. I had no idea how good I had it, because my experience was limited: I had taught at school #1 as a long-term sub (who's never really included as part of the team) and only as a full-fledged department member at school #2, so I assumed that all schools were like this and I just didn't really see it at school #1.

I wound up being hired at school #3 (had an interview at another school, they offered me a job on Friday; I asked for the weekend to think about it, knowing I had an interview with school #3 on Monday morning -- called Other School and turned them down after a strong interview, but with no job offer in hand, which was uncharacteristically risk-embracing of me). I was ready to go there, but -- if this makes sense -- not ready to go THERE. I remember thinking, "How different can kids in the same county be?" Answer: utterly and completely different. It was there that I learned about the wide spectrum that exists here between the haves and have-nots, both economically and educationally. My first year there was so awful, so widely divergent from my expectations and prior experiences, that I remember telling my mentor, "If this were my first year teaching, I would have quit the profession after 6 months." As I said above, second year was better, vastly improved, my expectations adjusted appropriately, and I could see myself settling there.

Until, as I mentioned, I was surplussed again. The advantage is that I have experience teaching just about every grade at just about every level with just about every type of student from every type of background. I didn't realize this until I started working at schools where teachers get into teaching ruts of becoming "the X teacher," pulling a lesson plan for first semester, day 32, which they have used for 10 years straight. Infusing new blood into this type of system is essential to keep colleagues' skills sharp and their ideas fresh. I've found it extremely valuable to get to know the curriculum from top to bottom, seeing where the students start and where they finish, allowing better planning for a task in 11th grade knowing what task it's supposed to lead to in 12th grade.

The downside: you feel like a new teacher every single year. Even if you wind up teaching the same grade level, you're teaching it with different people, with different resources (not all schools have all books, or have access to all books...each school is dependent on what's in its book room), and probably with a different system -- some teams like to do things in lockstep, some need to prepare and present and have approved lesson plans every week, some essentially keep teachers in their solitary holes, like in the old days.

Here's the progress a teacher makes:

* The first year she teaches something, she sucks. It's just something to be accepted. She winds up relying heavily on other teachers' materials or lesson plans, throwing lessons at the wall and seeing what sticks. Time-sucking and awful, just barely staying ahead of the students, sometimes teaching books she hasn't read all the way through (Student: "Is this an example of foreshadowing?" Teacher: "Um...it could very well be." Student assumes teacher is being coy, rather than just covering her ignorance). She collects everything she can keep her hands on. Spends her year exhausted, terrified, and inhumanely busy, but reassured by veteran teachers' reminders that "it gets easier, trust me."

* The second year she teaches the same thing, she's okay. She reflects on what she did the prior year, tosses out what failed miserably, creates something new. The more time she spends on revising what didn't work, the less she'll have to do in the future. Less busy than the first year, but not by much (and not by any if there's suddenly another prep added that she hasn't taught, or if the second time she teaches the subject isn't the VERY NEXT YEAR -- any time elapsed between first time and second time teaching increases prep time for second year). But the NEXT year's got to be better, right? Keep going!

* The third year she teaches the same thing, she's actually pretty good. She tweaks her lessons rather than revising them entirely. She gets to start thinking about things like, "How can I make this lesson better, more relevant, more engaging?" This is the first time her workload actually starts to de-escalate (again, unless she is transferred, or has another new prep, or time elapses).

* The fourth and fifth year, she's something of an expert. She can coast a little more and rely on her previously-developed materials, start mentoring younger teachers, or taking on student-teachers. She can take on leadership positions and/or extracurricular activities, join school or county-wide committees, think about her own professional development (which can only help students). She can start thinking about how to incorporate higher-order thinking skills and stronger writing skills.

* The sixth year and later...this can go one of two ways. At this point, she's ready to take on a new prep in addition to the one she's an "expert" in. She can try different books or create new writing tasks -- there are a million ways to keep a subject fresh. However, an unchallenged teacher can also get into a rut and start to go stale, depending on how involved the department leadership is in developing the skills of the teachers (and how much the teachers trust their RT to support them if they take on a new challenge).

* The other curve ball is that the county can change the curriculum on you...so when you've taught something for the second or third year and are really looking forward to that time relief promised in the third or fourth year, the county can decide that they're going to change things up (the way that websites decide they need redesigns every 1-2 years).

In the first six years of my teaching life, I changed schools four times. Considering that the schools count different levels of the same subject as different "preps," in that six-year time frame, I taught five different preps. The one time I taught the same exact preps in two consecutive years, the county changed half of the tasks the second year, AND I was in the middle of my Master's program, so any potential relief the sophomore year of teaching offers was eclipsed by those facts.

I have now been at the same school for (almost) three school years. At this one school (school #4, if you're keeping count), in a three-year span, I have taught six different preps: 11 inclusion, 12 inclusion, 11 honors, 12 honors, 9 inclusion, 9 honors -- "inclusion" means that up to half of the students in the class could be identified as having a learning challenge, anything from mental retardation to ADHD to physical illness to bipolar disorder (which doesn't mean those students don't exist in other levels, they're just a smaller percentage). At this school, the RT and the teachers are committed to not getting stale, to cross-training so everyone has taught an AP class and has that training (at school #3, I was the only one, so when they lost me, they had to start from scratch). Unfortunately, the unintentional side-effect is that we are all incredibly overstressed, because every new prep brings first-year-teacher stress, which is unsustainable. It is particularly unsustainable for those of us over 40 -- and there are few of us: there seems to be an age gap between 35 and 55 when no one in that 20-year span decided to be a teacher, although that period also tends to coincide with child-rearing. I have yet to experience that third-year bliss. I've gotten a taste of it this semester, the fourth time teaching 12B (although the first time with 12B on-level at this school, which is a different experience). It's good. If I had had this kind of support/experience the past few years, I might be a different person.

So. Why do I bring up the quotation from 2009 after all this rambling?

Because when I wrote the quote about being utterly and completely drained, it was with the assumption that it would get easier (as everyone assured me, and which is true...if one stays at the same school, teaching the same preps). Instead, I have sustained a first-year-teacher level of stress for eight school years. Last year, I developed fibromyalgia (a chronic, incurable illness characterized by unremitting pain and fatigue); although no one knows what causes it, they know that one of the contributing factors is prolonged, severe stress. I went out on medical leave in March of last year and spent until late July trying to recover enough to come back to work this year, albeit part-time. I *thought* in 2009 that teaching had taken a toll on me and my family. I had no idea what kind of toll it would eventually take.

I also wrote in 2009, "It is hoped that I will eventually be less insane. Time will tell if all this has been worth it. It doesn't really feel worth it right now."

We get into teaching because of the intangible benefits -- seeing students learning, being able to influence their thinking, help them develop their skills, and sometimes even change their lives. Instead, I ended up with a burden I will carry for the rest of my life, and one that my family is forced to help me carry. How does that balance out my day when I spend it with students who dismiss my lessons and refuse to learn, parents who are unsupportive but demand perfection, and a society that disparages me and demeans my profession?

Upon reflection and consideration, it doesn't feel worth it today, either. Does this mean that I've wasted the last seven years?

It continues to take its toll, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, not just on me but on the people I love. Does that mean that I'm committed to wasting my time (and my family's time) for the rest of my working life?

I said time will tell. Is it telling me and I'm not listening, and this is my punishment? If so, then I'm continuing down a path that will continue to punish not just me, but those around me. Is that fair to them?