As we close Mental Health Awareness Month, I'd like to share a story. At the beginning of my fourth year teaching, the Superintendent brought in a motivational speaker. The district was going through tough times, and the speaker was meant to improve morale.
The theme? We can't choose our circumstances, but we can choose our reaction to them. If we are unhappy, it is because we choose to be unhappy. There is a way to be positive even in the worst of times. I came away with the message that any negativity is our fault for not looking for the beauty of a rainstorm.
Background:
The year prior, I found out the day before school started that I was unexpectedly pregnant. My brother-in-law had been diagnosed with cancer and that was in addition to his previous diagnosis of ALS. My grandmother passed away, and then shortly before my son was born, my father-in-law unexpectedly passed away.
At the start of my fourth year teaching, my husband's unemployment from losing his job in the recession ran out before he could secure a job in a county with 14% unemployment overall. Then we found out my mom had cancer.
Sometimes the rainstorm is just a shitty rainstorm and we can't find the beauty in it while the basement floods.
Amid this "find your positivity" yearlong theme, my mom passed away, then we had to move to a smaller house and found it shared property with neighbors who had....frequent visits from the sheriff. Then my brother-in-law passed away and shortly thereafter my grandfather passed away as well.
I don't know if you have experience with depression, situational or not, but my husband and I both got slammed at the same time. It was a really, really hard time.
As teachers we have a lot of pressure put upon us. I was under pressure as a teacher new to the district to be "on" at all times. I remember my formal observations that first year - one in the midst of first trimester morning sickness, exhaustion, and round ligament pain; the second just before the 9th month when every step was excruciating. I was told that I needed to be more enthusiastic and energetic with my students. "I'm not saying that you're not a good teacher. But if you could just...step up the energy a little, you would be a great teacher."
After my mom passed away, the same administrator commented to my BTSA support provider and another teacher that he was worried my performance was slipping. Then another teacher offered to cover my afternoon class every Wednesday so I could attend a hospice support group. I declined, worried that regular, frequent absences would compound the "slipping performance" impression, even if the reason was therapeutic. I didn't have faith that seeking mental health support wouldn't backfire big time, and being the sole provider for a family of three, I didn't want to take the risk. I pushed through. Eventually I did seek assistance through the Employee Assistance Program only to find that there were precisely zero local mental health providers contracted with the program. When I told our benefits coordinator she was surprised, which is dismaying in itself. What good is an Employee Assistance Program if no one in the district knows what is actually accessible?
So teachers. We need self-care. But for some of us, a motivational speaker and positive thinking won't do it. We need an environment that feels secure and supportive as much as we need regular exercise. We need an effective Employee Assistance Program that covers mental health and has referrals to local providers as much as we need regular, quality sleep. We need to know that if we seek mental health services there will be no retaliation. This is a demanding and exhausting job in the best of times. We need to know that when we are facing tough times that our district will have our back, rather than send us the message that any negativity is our fault for not looking for the beauty of a rainstorm.
Sunday, May 28, 2017
Sunday, May 21, 2017
Open the Door
When I taught high school resource, half of my day was spent teaching history, 1/4 was spent teaching a resource pull-out class, and 1/4 of my day was for prep, writing IEPs, and pushing into general education classrooms. There was a question I got often.
General Ed Teacher: "I have prep 4th period, are you teaching then? I'd like to work on something with you."
Me: "I have pull-out time then, so yeah, I have students in my class."
General Ed Teacher: "Oh! Okay, so you're not teaching, though? Can you come by my room then?"
In this case, innocent enough. I wasn't teaching something that most general education teachers can relate to. My job is a mystery, full of acronyms and ideas hard to translate from special education jargon to general education jargon. It's a reality of the job, and that's okay.
Then there was this:
General Education Teacher: "This class sizes are out of control. I have 35 in my 5th period algebra class. How many do you have in your biggest class?"
Me: :embarrassed: "Um, well...I have 21."
General Education Teacher: "21? Seriously? So you see what, 65 kids over the course of a week? I have over 180!"
Or this:
General Education Teacher: "Kid X failed the final, but they have a C overall in class. Why do I have to pass them? They got a 57% on the final, which means they didn't learn anything in class."
Me: "Getting a 57% on the final means they got a 57% on one test on one day..."
The teacher turned, walked away, then shouted across the main office, "SPOKEN LIKE A TRUE SPECIAL ED TEACHER."
I don't get angry at these comments anymore. OK, I got angry at the teacher who tried to humiliate me in the office. But these comments are generally born of ignorance, not malice. We don't share experiences. I don't have 180 essays to grade or had 40 students in one class period. By the same token, the teachers making those comments have never written an IEP or administered the Woodcock-Johnson.
My BTSA support provider was an English teacher. She had never supported a special education teacher before, so she was surprised to find that my resource pull-out classes were full of activity. She made the comment, "I'd thought these pull-out classes were just another study hall period. Wow, you keep these kids moving!" Yep. They had individual goals to work on, and post-high school planning to do. After seeing my class in action, my support provider made it a point to correct other teachers who expected me to be available to meet during my pull-out time: "It's not a free period for the resource teachers. They're teaching during that time."
I'd love for more teachers to come visit my class. I'd also love to go visit more general education classes. I think we have a lot to offer each other and it would only benefit students to foster more understanding across domains and subject areas. Not just between special education and general ed, but between career/technical education and college-prep. Fine arts and science. Math and world languages. How do we foster understanding and break down ignorance of what other teachers do? We go see them in action.
It's a practice that needs support from administration - in order to be able to visit other teachers during class time, we need to be provided time to do so. It also needs buy-in from other teachers. We need to be willing not only to open our doors, but to step outside of them and seek out teachers we may not know very well. That takes some bravery and a school culture that fosters trust and willingness to add one more item to an overfull plate. We need to trust that taking our already precious time to visit will be valuable.
At the end of ten years of teaching I've seen this in action once. It led to a lot of great collaboration across disciplines that extended beyond the end of the class visitation program. Is this happening in your schools? What does that administrative support look like? How much buy-in among teachers is there? Is it ongoing or was it one-off? What happens after the visits?
It's a practice that needs support from administration - in order to be able to visit other teachers during class time, we need to be provided time to do so. It also needs buy-in from other teachers. We need to be willing not only to open our doors, but to step outside of them and seek out teachers we may not know very well. That takes some bravery and a school culture that fosters trust and willingness to add one more item to an overfull plate. We need to trust that taking our already precious time to visit will be valuable.
At the end of ten years of teaching I've seen this in action once. It led to a lot of great collaboration across disciplines that extended beyond the end of the class visitation program. Is this happening in your schools? What does that administrative support look like? How much buy-in among teachers is there? Is it ongoing or was it one-off? What happens after the visits?
Monday, May 15, 2017
Not A Fidget Spinner Post (I Promise)
These are examples of statements I've seen on Twitter in the last few weeks...
"Fidget spinners are distractions, not focus tools."
"If kids are in an environment conducive to learning, students are provided choice, and the lesson is engaging, they won't get distracted!"
Time out. Wait. No.
First...we need to address this idea that distractions are a Very Bad Thing that Shouldn't Happen.
People (not only kids), but People have always and will always be distracted from learning. It's just how we work, even when we're working on something we've chosen, in an environment we choose, and on an activity we enjoy.
Lord of the Rings. Fantastic, beautiful, epic. I wanted to read it before seeing the movies. I wanted to see the movies in the theater. And I didn't want to hear spoilers, so I wanted to see it pretty soon after it opened. Having been an avid reader at the time, I looked at the length of The Fellowship of the Ring and figured "No problem, a week - tops - and I'll be ready."
You guys that first book is a SLOG. It's great. It's detailed, it sets up the rest of the trilogy beautifully. And it's exposition. Reading it was a chore. It was a chore I chose. It was one I was motivated to complete - on a deadline - but I had to put it down a LOT.
Hard work is...hard. In order to take it all in, I had to take time to let my brain simmer for a bit. I was...distracted...from the book. The book I was really, really motivated to read. I had to read in small segments, put the book down, get a snack (or call a friend, or go for a walk, or or or...) before I was mentally ready to dive in again.
Another example. I used to draw. A lot. Creating art was definitely a choice, something I could do where I felt comfortable, and something motivating. I can only do it for about 15 minutes at a time before I need a break, though, because it's hard work.
Adults can only last so long, even when engaged in highly preferred activities, before we start to mentally check out: check our phone, clean up a mess, text or call a friend, get a snack, etc. What are we saying when we suggest that kids should make it through a rigorous lesson without being distracted? We're assigning superhuman traits to children. We're holding them to expectations that we ourselves can't possibly meet.
Of course we do what we can to minimize distraction: incorporate movement, flexible seating, provide choice in activities, allow students to work alone or in groups, etc., etc., etc.
But attention is a variable, and while there are a variety of guidelines online (one minute per year of age! Child's age plus one minute! 2-5 minutes per year of age!), these are all guidelines. And every day is going to be different - is the student hungry? Sleepy? Arguing with friends? Even within the day a child's attention and behavior will vary. I remember telling more than one student that I saw in morning and afternoon classes that I noticed a difference and brainstormed ways to help keep focus during their trouble time.
Even a rockstar teacher who differentiates like a boss and provides optimal learning spaces and agency for their students can't fight this. One student might be really motivated in a subject and able to pay attention for ten full minutes, while the student next to them needs that brain break after five. I'm not talking about students with disabilities at this moment. I'm talking about natural variation from individual to individual.
We take these breaks as adults all the time. We expect it of ourselves. But apparently now we're expecting children to go distraction-free for the entirety of a lesson? Or for all students to lose attention at the same time (on our timetable)? Of course we really don't. We work with our kids every day and we see it. We understand that kids will daydream, or tap their pencil, or draw pictures. And if we expect children to participate with 100% engagement on all the variety of awesome lessons we teach in the 90 minutes between recess and lunch, then we're gonna have a Bad Time.
We can even plan for distraction. By all means ban the fidget spinner if you want to and don't feel guilty about it. Make the pencil tappers put away their pencils if that's That Thing You Can't Abide. The key thing is to teach kids How To Be Distracted. Get a drink of water. Go to the bathroom. Check e-mail. Do work for another subject for a few minutes. Clean out the backpack. Whatever it is, do it, then get back to work. This is how we operate as adults, it's adaptive, it's not punitive, and it works within reality.
Second...now that we've talked about the fact that everyone gets distracted, we need to talk about the implication that when kids are distracted, it's because of poor lesson design.
Maybe sometimes it is. Maybe a teacher is really frustrated that their kids are off-task more than they should be and they need ideas. By all means, if you have an idea that could help, share it! Share it in a supportive, encouraging way! We're all in this together, and hopefully we're operating from a place where we want what's best for our students.
So why that suggestion above, then? Why this suggestion that when kids do what people naturally do - get distracted - it's a poor reflection on the teacher? It's an easy set-up and attack, and it's the cheapest of shots because it happens even in the most engaging of classrooms. Here's the thing: we're already criticized by people who have no idea how difficult it is to run a classroom. So why do it to ourselves?
We can provide support, we can make suggestions, share ideas. We can commiserate if that's what someone is looking for. But we shouldn't turn and blame each other for our students engaging in natural human behavior.
"Fidget spinners are distractions, not focus tools."
"If kids are in an environment conducive to learning, students are provided choice, and the lesson is engaging, they won't get distracted!"
Time out. Wait. No.
First...we need to address this idea that distractions are a Very Bad Thing that Shouldn't Happen.
People (not only kids), but People have always and will always be distracted from learning. It's just how we work, even when we're working on something we've chosen, in an environment we choose, and on an activity we enjoy.
Lord of the Rings. Fantastic, beautiful, epic. I wanted to read it before seeing the movies. I wanted to see the movies in the theater. And I didn't want to hear spoilers, so I wanted to see it pretty soon after it opened. Having been an avid reader at the time, I looked at the length of The Fellowship of the Ring and figured "No problem, a week - tops - and I'll be ready."
You guys that first book is a SLOG. It's great. It's detailed, it sets up the rest of the trilogy beautifully. And it's exposition. Reading it was a chore. It was a chore I chose. It was one I was motivated to complete - on a deadline - but I had to put it down a LOT.
Hard work is...hard. In order to take it all in, I had to take time to let my brain simmer for a bit. I was...distracted...from the book. The book I was really, really motivated to read. I had to read in small segments, put the book down, get a snack (or call a friend, or go for a walk, or or or...) before I was mentally ready to dive in again.
Another example. I used to draw. A lot. Creating art was definitely a choice, something I could do where I felt comfortable, and something motivating. I can only do it for about 15 minutes at a time before I need a break, though, because it's hard work.
Done in 15 minute increments with...uh...lots of breaks. Pardon the low light and poor quality - my scanner broke :(
Adults can only last so long, even when engaged in highly preferred activities, before we start to mentally check out: check our phone, clean up a mess, text or call a friend, get a snack, etc. What are we saying when we suggest that kids should make it through a rigorous lesson without being distracted? We're assigning superhuman traits to children. We're holding them to expectations that we ourselves can't possibly meet.
Of course we do what we can to minimize distraction: incorporate movement, flexible seating, provide choice in activities, allow students to work alone or in groups, etc., etc., etc.
But attention is a variable, and while there are a variety of guidelines online (one minute per year of age! Child's age plus one minute! 2-5 minutes per year of age!), these are all guidelines. And every day is going to be different - is the student hungry? Sleepy? Arguing with friends? Even within the day a child's attention and behavior will vary. I remember telling more than one student that I saw in morning and afternoon classes that I noticed a difference and brainstormed ways to help keep focus during their trouble time.
Even a rockstar teacher who differentiates like a boss and provides optimal learning spaces and agency for their students can't fight this. One student might be really motivated in a subject and able to pay attention for ten full minutes, while the student next to them needs that brain break after five. I'm not talking about students with disabilities at this moment. I'm talking about natural variation from individual to individual.
We take these breaks as adults all the time. We expect it of ourselves. But apparently now we're expecting children to go distraction-free for the entirety of a lesson? Or for all students to lose attention at the same time (on our timetable)? Of course we really don't. We work with our kids every day and we see it. We understand that kids will daydream, or tap their pencil, or draw pictures. And if we expect children to participate with 100% engagement on all the variety of awesome lessons we teach in the 90 minutes between recess and lunch, then we're gonna have a Bad Time.
We can even plan for distraction. By all means ban the fidget spinner if you want to and don't feel guilty about it. Make the pencil tappers put away their pencils if that's That Thing You Can't Abide. The key thing is to teach kids How To Be Distracted. Get a drink of water. Go to the bathroom. Check e-mail. Do work for another subject for a few minutes. Clean out the backpack. Whatever it is, do it, then get back to work. This is how we operate as adults, it's adaptive, it's not punitive, and it works within reality.
Second...now that we've talked about the fact that everyone gets distracted, we need to talk about the implication that when kids are distracted, it's because of poor lesson design.
Maybe sometimes it is. Maybe a teacher is really frustrated that their kids are off-task more than they should be and they need ideas. By all means, if you have an idea that could help, share it! Share it in a supportive, encouraging way! We're all in this together, and hopefully we're operating from a place where we want what's best for our students.
So why that suggestion above, then? Why this suggestion that when kids do what people naturally do - get distracted - it's a poor reflection on the teacher? It's an easy set-up and attack, and it's the cheapest of shots because it happens even in the most engaging of classrooms. Here's the thing: we're already criticized by people who have no idea how difficult it is to run a classroom. So why do it to ourselves?
We can provide support, we can make suggestions, share ideas. We can commiserate if that's what someone is looking for. But we shouldn't turn and blame each other for our students engaging in natural human behavior.
Intro, Or, How I Decided To Do The Thing Teachers On Twitter Do
About a year and a half ago, a presenter at a California Teacher's Association conference had almost convinced me that the best free professional development could be found on Twitter dot com. I had tried Twitter, years before. I had really tried to get into it, or even start to understand it. Thirty followers and a couple of years of use and I still felt like I was shouting into a void. If not shouting, then at the very least talking to nobody.
Then, after reluctantly setting up a separate teacher account, I was ready to check out hashtags and discover #edutwitter.
Six months and thirty followers later, I was...lurking? Clicking hashtags and not understanding how chats work? Talking about my class and getting no feedback? Discovering the Swamp of Sadness that is the #homework debate?
With some luck, I found #WeirdEd and all the wonderful people there. I started participating. I started being able to see patterns in what's posted, get overwhelmed, and find a hint of snark. I started accumulating followers....and reading some great content. And I started getting Opinions On Things.
The natural progression here, then, is
1. Join Twitter. Harry Potter and about 28 other people follow you.
2. Post single tweets, lurk in chats. Follow people.
3. Participate in chats. Gain followers, follow more people.
4. Read cool stuff.
5. Oh My Goodness I Have Thoughts On That.
6. Initiate Tweet Storms.
7. Finally find that thing that demands more space than a tweet storm should have.
8. Resist.
9. Give in and start a blog.
So here we are...I don't have a fancy title for this thing yet, just a couple of things I wanted to say. Enjoy!
Then, after reluctantly setting up a separate teacher account, I was ready to check out hashtags and discover #edutwitter.
Six months and thirty followers later, I was...lurking? Clicking hashtags and not understanding how chats work? Talking about my class and getting no feedback? Discovering the Swamp of Sadness that is the #homework debate?
With some luck, I found #WeirdEd and all the wonderful people there. I started participating. I started being able to see patterns in what's posted, get overwhelmed, and find a hint of snark. I started accumulating followers....and reading some great content. And I started getting Opinions On Things.
The natural progression here, then, is
1. Join Twitter. Harry Potter and about 28 other people follow you.
2. Post single tweets, lurk in chats. Follow people.
3. Participate in chats. Gain followers, follow more people.
4. Read cool stuff.
5. Oh My Goodness I Have Thoughts On That.
6. Initiate Tweet Storms.
7. Finally find that thing that demands more space than a tweet storm should have.
8. Resist.
9. Give in and start a blog.
So here we are...I don't have a fancy title for this thing yet, just a couple of things I wanted to say. Enjoy!
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