7분
Crying in the Dusty Stairwell (on Hitting a Wall in Teaching) The Spark Creativity Teacher Podcast | ELA
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Today I want to talk about a subject I’m sure you’ve thought a lot about - how much are you willing to do for your job? And what do you do when you’ve hit your wall?
I want to start by taking you to the dusty steps of the duplex I shared during my first year of teaching. It’s dusk, and I’m crying. I recently won the award for excellence in new teaching at my school, receiving many hugs and congratulations, as well as a raise and kind compliments from my head of school. I should be feeling great, right? I had discovered so much that year in my quest to engage my 10th and 11th graders - how to run Harkness discussions, hold poetry slams, launch play performances, find the gold on the teaching shelves of the Los Angeles Public Library. I had given it everything, and truthfully it had given me a lot back.
But I was thinking of quitting.
Utterly exhausted, I sat on those steps wondering if I could possibly continue in a career that took this much. Could I continue to work from 7 am to 10 pm? Could I continue to think about my job everywhere - in the car, with my friends, at the beach? Could I find love and family if I was always in my classroom, the dorm, or coaching on the tennis court?
Wiping my eyes, I ran up those dusty stairs and into my office to find a piece of paper. I made a list of 23 rules for myself. The boundaries I would have to hold if I wanted to continue in the career I loved. I took everything else off my bulletin board and put the rules in the middle.
Then, I stayed in teaching. And though honestly I’m not sure I was ever better at it than that first year when I made it my whole life, I found that my boundaries helped me enjoy my work as a creative teacher for many years.
Until one night almost a decade later. It was nearly midnight and I had had THE WORST day. Up early to prep something or other, then racing from class to class all morning before taking my advisees out for a special lunch that had been requested by my residential life boss which made me late for a lunch meeting with my 10th grade honors students participating in the portfolio program that had been requested by my academic boss. Then more classes, coaching, a school dinner, an evening of working in the dorm and I was home at 11 with some work to do for the next day. I stared and stared at my computer screen as the rage built up in my mind and eventually led me into my email inbox to open a note to my head of school.
You can probably imagine it. I kind of wish I still had it. I just let allll my feelings out, which isn’t very common for me. I woke up to a response inviting me to a meeting right away.
My rage having subsided a bit, I felt awkward when I walked into that wood-paneled office in the administration building. Nothing helps you tap into how you really feel better than a 16 hour workday, and I told my head of school I wasn’t sure I could really capture it all again. He laughed a little awkwardly and said the email did a very good job. We talked for a while, and in the end, he took a huge part of my spring workload off my plate.
OK, so these are two very different stories about the same thing. Hitting the wall. Thinking about leaving the profession. I can’t pretend to know all the circumstances you’re facing right now, but I’m seeing a lot of folks in our community struggling. If you’re hitting a wall like I have, for reasons of your own, see if you can tap into your feelings and try to create a pivot point.
It could be personal - like my list of boundaries. Maybe instead of quitting, you radically change how you grade, refuse to give up your prep period, stop agreeing to join committees, only check email twice a day, and commit to taking weekends off.
Or it could be a line you ask to draw in the sand with your boss - like my midnight letter (though I suggest you approach it more coherently than I did). If you need a change, is it possible you could get one through a letter or a very
Today I want to talk about a subject I’m sure you’ve thought a lot about - how much are you willing to do for your job? And what do you do when you’ve hit your wall?
I want to start by taking you to the dusty steps of the duplex I shared during my first year of teaching. It’s dusk, and I’m crying. I recently won the award for excellence in new teaching at my school, receiving many hugs and congratulations, as well as a raise and kind compliments from my head of school. I should be feeling great, right? I had discovered so much that year in my quest to engage my 10th and 11th graders - how to run Harkness discussions, hold poetry slams, launch play performances, find the gold on the teaching shelves of the Los Angeles Public Library. I had given it everything, and truthfully it had given me a lot back.
But I was thinking of quitting.
Utterly exhausted, I sat on those steps wondering if I could possibly continue in a career that took this much. Could I continue to work from 7 am to 10 pm? Could I continue to think about my job everywhere - in the car, with my friends, at the beach? Could I find love and family if I was always in my classroom, the dorm, or coaching on the tennis court?
Wiping my eyes, I ran up those dusty stairs and into my office to find a piece of paper. I made a list of 23 rules for myself. The boundaries I would have to hold if I wanted to continue in the career I loved. I took everything else off my bulletin board and put the rules in the middle.
Then, I stayed in teaching. And though honestly I’m not sure I was ever better at it than that first year when I made it my whole life, I found that my boundaries helped me enjoy my work as a creative teacher for many years.
Until one night almost a decade later. It was nearly midnight and I had had THE WORST day. Up early to prep something or other, then racing from class to class all morning before taking my advisees out for a special lunch that had been requested by my residential life boss which made me late for a lunch meeting with my 10th grade honors students participating in the portfolio program that had been requested by my academic boss. Then more classes, coaching, a school dinner, an evening of working in the dorm and I was home at 11 with some work to do for the next day. I stared and stared at my computer screen as the rage built up in my mind and eventually led me into my email inbox to open a note to my head of school.
You can probably imagine it. I kind of wish I still had it. I just let allll my feelings out, which isn’t very common for me. I woke up to a response inviting me to a meeting right away.
My rage having subsided a bit, I felt awkward when I walked into that wood-paneled office in the administration building. Nothing helps you tap into how you really feel better than a 16 hour workday, and I told my head of school I wasn’t sure I could really capture it all again. He laughed a little awkwardly and said the email did a very good job. We talked for a while, and in the end, he took a huge part of my spring workload off my plate.
OK, so these are two very different stories about the same thing. Hitting the wall. Thinking about leaving the profession. I can’t pretend to know all the circumstances you’re facing right now, but I’m seeing a lot of folks in our community struggling. If you’re hitting a wall like I have, for reasons of your own, see if you can tap into your feelings and try to create a pivot point.
It could be personal - like my list of boundaries. Maybe instead of quitting, you radically change how you grade, refuse to give up your prep period, stop agreeing to join committees, only check email twice a day, and commit to taking weekends off.
Or it could be a line you ask to draw in the sand with your boss - like my midnight letter (though I suggest you approach it more coherently than I did). If you need a change, is it possible you could get one through a letter or a very
7분