Dear Governor Nathan Deal...

As an educator, I tell my students to do the right thing, and I try to model that for them. I encourage them to stand up for what they believe in, and make a difference. After attending NCTE last week, I crafted this letter to mail to Governor Deal (I also plan on tweaking it and sending it to my senators and state representative). I will be mailing the letters later this week.

Here we go...

Dear Governor Nathan Deal,

I'm sure you've heard this recurring theme in letters you've received, but I would be remiss if I did not take this opportunity. Your teachers are tired. I am aware that many of these letters are written off as just another griping and complaining teacher telling you that we work too hard, but, alas, we get summers off! How hard could it be?

I have several questions I'd like to ask you:

1. Can you think of a teacher who made an impact on your life? What was that impact? Chances are, the impact they made had more to do with their wit, their creativity, their passion, and a life lesson you learned than it had to do with the subject they taught or a test you took.
2. How much time have you spent in classrooms over the course of your administration? I'm not talking a walk-through of a school, or a meeting held in a school. When have you gotten on our students’ levels? Asked them what they like about school? What they wish they had more time for? Did you spend a day in a teacher’s shoes? Administrators?

Our schools contain our nation’s unwritten history, and that is a big responsibility to put on the shoulders of men and women who are overworked and underappreciated.

As an educator, within any given day I am teacher, mentor, colleague, nurse, counselor, actress, friend, and many times, foe. I am known for my high expectations, and my students (at times begrudgingly) rise to the challenge.

Recently you proposed Amendment 1 to the Georgia Constitution, that, although written in nice and flowery diction, failed. I've read several articles about your frustration with its failure. I'd like to clarify some things for you. Educators advocated against the amendment because of the questions I've asked above. Yes, you have an advisory board of teachers, but as with most surveys, they are in no way representative of the whole.

In addition, if you've never been an educator, you have no idea the frustrations of being told what and how to teach and the supreme stifling of creativity that results. This past weekend I spent 3 days with thousands of Language Arts educators from across the country at the National Coalition of Teachers of English (NCTE) convention. In one session we had middle school students from around the metro area sit down for roundtable discussions. The recurring theme of things the students wanted was to know their teachers cared. Many of them feel their teachers don’t care.

This breaks my heart, and it should break yours, too.

As I’m sure you know, in a publication from the Georgia DOE in December of 2015, they released the attrition data of teachers in the state. 44% of teachers leave the profession before they reach year five. I personally know of three phenomenal educators who left the field because they couldn’t take the pressure.

“If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” Well, Governor Deal, teachers aren’t in an uncomfortably warm kitchen; they are trying to shape young minds, but are trapped in an inferno of policy and data.

Teachers do care. We care so much that it hurts our very souls to see students fail. The clincher? Some teachers don’t have the time to show how much they care. Within fifty minutes of instruction, we are expected to have students read independently, craft written responses, participate in class discussions, and ensure they learn how to analyze poetry, non fiction texts, and classic pieces of literature. We are also expected to make learning hands-on and fun for the various types of learners in our classrooms. Our classes are bursting at the seams with 35 students: some with IEPs, some that are Gifted, some that are ELL, and don’t forget about our middle-of-the-road students who always seem to get lost in the shuffle. Are you tired from seeing all of this information again and again? Well, I assure you that your teachers are tired of saying the above repeatedly and being met with little to no response. We are also expected to create high quality assessments, analyze the data from the last assessments we gave, and provide effective feedback to all 140 of our students. It becomes difficult to cater to each student who needs you and to show them that you care when you hit the ground running the second they walk into the confines of your classroom.

Everywhere I turn I see people complaining about teachers. We are never enough. We’re too strict, too tough, and we ask too much of our students. The profession of teaching has lost its humanity.

Let me be clear, this is not our administrators’ fault. They are doing what’s expected of them, so please don’t shift the blame of failing schools from teachers to administrators. The blame should be placed on our policymakers and stakeholders.

Governor Deal, this is only my third year of teaching, and I refuse to become another statistic. I keep my head down and with confidence know I am doing good things within the walls of my classroom. I create a culture of openness, as do my peers. However, even after two and a half years, I am exhausted to the core of my being. I will continue to pour into my students and be a light to my colleagues. I will not stop fighting. I continually tell my students to do the right thing, and I would be a poor example if I did not follow my own advice and expectation.

I would love to know how you plan to make big changes throughout the rest of your time as governor of the state of Georgia. I would like to know how you plan to lighten teachers’ loads, decrease teacher attrition rates, and spend more time in our local schools. I would like to see this plan take into consideration the specific needs of our administrators, teachers, and students, but without another government takeover policy. What will you do to ensure our students become productive members of society and the workforce, and not just prepared for yet another standardized test?

Thank you for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you soon,

Ms. Victoria Rivard

Getting Comfortable with Being Uncomfortable as an Educator

This past weekend I had the privilege of attending the National Coalition of Teachers of English (NCTE) national convention here in Atlanta. After taking about 24 hours to digest everything I've seen, heard, learned, and discussed, I've come to one conclusion...

I am emotionally exhausted. 

The theme of this weekend was "Faces of Advocacy," and we watched this video. (It's nothing graphic, but it will leave you feeling a bit uncomfortable). We then had a discussion about bystanders vs. upstanders (hint- upstanders stand up). As I watched that video the second time through, I kept thinking about how much I'd like to go up to the projector and turn it off. It made me extraordinarily uncomfortable. With how high-speed our world is, just as quickly as I can turn something on, I can turn it off. As I sat at a table with educators discussing our reactions, another woman turned and said, "I'm so guilty of this with the news. I turn it off when stories are shown that make me sad or angry." I do this all of the time. Now, there are certain things I need to emotionally protect me from that can trigger me, but for the most part, I don't watch/listen because I don't want to know. 

Privilege is a word that's been circulating quite frequently lately. I could go right on ahead and provide a list of the types of adversities I've faced in my life, but in truth, I've led a blessed life. When we lost my dad, my mom's friends swooped in and took care of so many things, many of which I'm just learning about. Our neighbors fed us for months and took care of me after school. My mom, sisters, and I grew closer as a family. 

I've always had a roof over my head and food in my belly. I grew up in a house filled with books, with parents and grandparents who read constantly. I went to good schools. I got to dance in large part to the owners of the studio who helped make that happen. My parents made it possible to go on vacations. I joined Girl Scouts where I got to swim with manatees, go caving, learn about Savannah and Charleston history, and so much more. 

I was never denied this opportunities because of the color of my skin or the economic bracket will fell in to. We may not be wealthy, but my mom was always able to make things happen. 

I take this privilege with me into the classroom. I will say, for the most part, my students do have opportunities many do not. Our school receives the proper funding to go on field trips, and we are able to provide our students with the items necessary to be successful in school. My school is not located in a low economic area. I do, however, teach many students of color, and I teach a large population of young African American males. And every time I hear about something on the news I think, "How am I going to talk about this with my boys?" 

I was called racist 3 times last year, and it shook me to the core. In all 3 of these instances it was because I had to call home over a disciplinary issue. Jason Reynolds, an author/activist spoke this weekend about a teacher who made an impact on him. He said she was strict and that he called her a racist when she really wasn't. I often think, "if only these parents knew how many tears I shed over their boys. I see their sons on a daily basis, and in some ways, they're my boys, too." It takes me swallowing a big slice of humble pie and realizing that in calling me racist, some of these parents think they're protecting their sons. 

The truth is, I am a white, middle class female. Yes, there are ways in which I am not privileged simply because I am a female, but there are so many ways in which I am. I stay off of social media posts about race because I often think about what I can add to the discussion. I don't know that fear. I've never walked in those shoes. However, as a Language Arts teacher, I am in a position of privilege to have discussions with my students. We all will have to acknowledge the fact that I'm certainly not the end all be all, but just because I haven't lived these experiences doesn't mean that I can't be a facilitator of a discussion. 

By nature, I am a feeler. I very much feel other people's emotions and I bring them home with me. This adds even more to my ability to tune out the ugly in this world. I'm reading a book right now called Copper Son by Sharon Draper about a young girl who is torn from her village in Africa to become a slave in pre-revolutionary America. I have cringed. I have cried. This is someone's history, and it could very well be the history of many of the faces I see each morning. 

After this weekend, I feel so burdened for the world, especially for my kiddos. You see, we don't talk about it a whole lot, but teachers, we love fiercely. We would not survive in this profession if it weren't for the students in our classrooms. Sometimes that's all that gets us up in the morning. 

If I want to be an excellent educator, I cannot hide behind my privilege. I must talk about it, and talk about ways my students can change this world for the better. My classroom holds the unwritten history of America, and I cannot sit idly by and stay comfortable. 

I have to get comfortable with being uncomfortable. Whether that means reading articles, listening to the news, or having conversations. I must answer the call.  

Inside Out is actually my life

If you haven't seen Inside Out, in it a pre-teen named Riley's emotions are highlighted. Her emotions consist of Joy, Sadness, Anger, Fear, and Disgust. Although I think most people have a lot more emotions than these 5, I've realized that lately I feel like Riley. 

Not only do I feel like Inside Out, but occasionally I feel like the girl from Mean Girls who talks about wanting to go back to middle school and that she "just has a lot of feelings." Now, I work in a middle school, so I'd never like to go back to that point in time, but I do have a lot of feelings. 

Since starting therapy over 6 months ago, I've realized that I have A LOT of anger. Anger at God for taking my dad, anger at my dad for not taking better care of himself, anger at how mean kids could be, anger that my brain went into self-preservation mode for me to deal with 20 years later, and the list goes on. However, anger, fear, and sadness are all wrapped into one. In March I remember being miserable and frustrated and not being able to name my emotions. I quite literally felt like I lived on an emotional roller coaster. I could go from 0-60 in 1.2 seconds. 

My dad had a lot of anger, and my sisters and I have all inherited this trait in one way or another. I remember my elementary school counselor giving me coping mechanisms for this anger, including screaming into a pillow. I can remember doing this, ripping paper into pieces, and throwing rocks out of the garden beds (my grandma's idea of how to relieve negative energy). Over the years I'd stifle that anger, and then let it loose all at once, and typically on my family, occasionally on my friends. 

Underneath all of that anger was sadness. My therapist said that anger is an empowering emotion, but typically underneath the anger are vulnerable emotions that we try to protect ourselves from. 

They most vulnerable of all emotions is joy, which I have a very difficult time with. I love to laugh and have fun, but there is always this voice in the back of my mind telling me that deep down, I'm sad and angry and fearful. 

If I envision my anger and sadness and fear all that comes to mind is a cluster of gnarled tree roots that are so entwined it's nearly impossible to tell where one ends and another begins. These last 6 months have been spent trying to pry those emotions apart, and identify which one I'm truly feeling. Beginning to separate those emotions leaves room for joy. 

Because of this tangled web of gnarled roots I've kept myself from living and taking risks. I would intentionally stay in because it was safer. I would avoid social situations because they made me uncomfortable and I might experience that emotion called joy. I've been working on it, and making baby steps. 

My "homework" lately is to feel the emotions that I'm feeling, rather than stifle them. This really results in me being in a crabby mood and slightly frustrated. I'm crabby, and allowing myself to be crabby. I'm having to give myself grace enough to let me be crabby. Giving myself grace is a whole other can of worms for another day. My hope in all of this is that the most I process and feel, the less terrified I am to experience joy. I'm in my twenties- I'm not tied down to anyone or anything. I should find freedom in that, not fear, not anger, not sadness, but joy. 

Slowly but surely, I'll choose joy. 

PTSD and this day 18 years ago...

We lost my dad on this day 18 years ago. It's weird to think that I've gone 2/3 of my life without my dad in it. This year is different than it's been in past years because now I know what that day did to me, other than alter the course of my life forever (as it did my sisters and mom). 

This day, 18 years ago, is when PTSD started. I always thought of PTSD as something soldiers suffer from, or something people who are truly traumatized go through, never thinking that in my 6 year old brain hearing my father take his last breaths, seeing my mom give him CPR, and saying goodbye to his soulless body was traumatizing. 

I had few fears when I was little. I was shy, yes, but my family often tells the story of me running with full speed into a pool with no floaties on-- I knew someone would save me. 

I've spent the last 2/3 of my life thinking something was wrong with me. I always thought, "surely, if I can get through this next rough patch, things will be OK." They weren't. I thought knowing Jesus would be enough. It's helped, certainly, but it hasn't made my anxieties go away. My list of irrational fears grew exponentially. From fearing fish would eat my toes in the water, to thinking that if my mom didn't answer her phone it meant she was dead. If a normal person's anxiety level was a 2 on a 10 point scale, mine was a 15. 

I didn't know the memories I had of the day I lost my dad and significant memories following were flashbacks; I thought everyone had memories that way. I didn't know it wasn't "normal" to not only remember those things, but to relive them. If I think about the day my dad died, I am 6 again, sitting at the top of the stairs, taking in the chaos around me. I am living through that day again. 

Fear and anxiety controlled my life- from new social and life experiences to everything in between. 

I've told my mom countless times while having a meltdown that I was crazy. I would regress to acting like a very young adult during times of change, as if I didn't know how to express how I was feeling or what I was thinking. 

When change happens I go into meltdown mode. When I feel I'm losing control I go into meltdown mode. Meltdown mode is not healthy; it's like a 6 year old throwing a tempter tantrum. I've had countless meltdowns in my life that go beyond the ugly crying stage. I never knew that change was a "trigger," I always just thought I "didn't handle change well." 

I was given ways to cope with worry and anxiety. They'd help for a few months, and then the downward spiral would begin again, and the whole process would start all over.

Until February of this year. 

I decided to go back to therapy *again* because I felt insane and I knew something wasn't right. Finally  someone listened to me. This new therapist heard me recount my past and asked if anyone had mentioned PTSD. After talking through the diagnosis and how my symptoms lined up, I felt freedom. 

These 7 months have been an extremely difficult road to walk down, but I know I'm on the healthy path. The most difficult day was reliving the day my dad died-- the day it all started. When I often think of this day I go into "preservation" mode. I don't let myself flash back. I go numb so I don't have to feel. Well, she wouldn't let me do that. She made me feel. It was like ripping off the world's strongest, toughest band aid. It hurt. The days following hurt. It stirred up so much in my mind that the dreams of my dad were so vivid that I couldn't sleep. It brought out pain, anger, frustration, and all of these emotions that I wouldn't let myself truly feel for 17+ years. 

I notice the difference in myself. My friends and family have said they notice the difference, too. It's weird to have people say they're proud of you for doing work on yourself mentally. It's even more weird to feel proud of yourself. 

In past years as I'd prepare for this day I'd feel like a Floridian preparing their house for a hurricane. Board up the windows, secure the surroundings. That way I wouldn't have to let myself feel whatever it was my brain was stirring up. And a hurricane wouldn't just come- it would be a hurricane and tsunami mixed together. 

This year is different, though. This year it's more I'm laying at the water's edge letting the waves come occasionally.  I'm letting myself ride the waves of emotion. If I have a flashback (as I've had all day), I let myself be sad for a moment, I feel what I'm feeling, and I keep going. 

This year, I'm not just going to survive in this life. I want to thrive in this life. 

My teaching philosophy (and how it's changed)

For my Gifted endorsement, I was charged with writing a teaching philosophy, and I thought I'd share it with you all (all 4 of you) in honor of the school year ending.

            When originally tasked with the assignment of writing my teaching philosophy, I immediately thought I’d grab a copy of something I wrote two short years ago as a college senior, when I was bright-eyed and ready to tackle the world of public education. People told me it was hard, and I “knew” it would be, but surely with my fresh attitude and innovative ideas, I could attack anything! My students would be bright, intrinsically motivated, and ready to tackle anything I threw their way. I could, indeed reach every student and captivate them with my sense of humor and quick wit. After all, teaching is a lot of people’s “back up plan,” and this society tells us that *anyone* can teach.

Fast forward two years, and with a bit of a heavy heart, I realized that I’m not that person anymore.  

            Two years into teaching and my vision for changing the world through education has dimmed. I look back on these two years and understand why so many of my peers leave, and why so many young, capable, innovative teachers quit before their fifth year of teaching. The system, starting on a national level, is indeed broken, and this job jades you.

Reflecting on these two years, I realize how much this job has taken from me. It has taken my time- this job is hardly forty hours a week, and if I ever meet a teacher who works strictly forty hours a week, I’d like to clone them. I can’t sleep at night because I’m thinking about my students’ well-being, their understanding, their successes, their failures. This job has taken my sanity- at any given moment you have at least seven different students asking things from you, from bathroom passes to extra credit, all while you have important emails to answer and heaven forbid you actually teach something. This job has taken my vision for being wonder-woman teacher, with an uncanny ability to make copies, answer emails, prepare lessons that cater to EVERY student, make phone calls to parents, deal with discipline problems with ease and grade assignments in less than twenty four hours. The job has taken away my self-assurance as I lay awake at night wondering if I handled that classroom disruption correctly, if little Johnny will pass my class, or what was bothering Suzie today. I’m constantly thinking of what more I could do, how much more I could give, and how there never seems to be enough of me to go around.

I am tired. I am worn, much like the rest of the teachers in this very broken system. But, there is one thing this job can’t take from me- my love for building relationships. If I’m honest with myself, my students won’t remember much of what I teach them, and that’s OK. They won’t remember The Giver’s character or the analysis they did of Jonas. They won’t remember all of the subordinating conjunctions or how to make a sentence in active voice. They will, however, remember one very important piece of information—that I cared. I cared about what happened in their lives. I cared about their successes and their failures, and more importantly, I asked. They’ll remember “High Five Friday” and #lifelessonswithMsRivard. If I think about my life as a student and the teachers who made the biggest impact on me, I don’t remember everything about Honors Anatomy or AP Language, but I remember that those teachers pushed me, and I was willing to work for them because they cared. I strive to be the teacher who cares. My prayer is that they’ll know that whether they’re the brightest child in the class or the one who reads on a 4^th grade reading level. I pray they’ll know that information whether they’re the quiet child who likes to observe, or if they’re the child I get onto every day. I strive for them to know that I care. Humbly I know that I can’t reach every student, but at least they’ll know I tried.

On the days when this job is hard, it is evident that these students know I care by the countless “goodbyes” I get at the end of the day, or the hugs in the morning, or the way they eagerly come back from a break to tell me about it. They share things with me that they wouldn’t normally with an adult. My primary goal in teaching is to be a role model. I apologize when I mess up, I cry at sad parts of books, and I laugh when things are funny. I “do life” with these kids. I want them to know that I do not, under any circumstance, expect perfection, but I do expect their best. I work every day to give them my best, and expect that in return.

            So to that college senior version of myself who just knew this system wouldn’t beat her- keep on chugging, my friend. Love the kids, and love the journey.          

P.S. Find out who has the candy stash and ALWAYS have extra pencils. 

Learning to love yourself

*long and personal post ahead*

When 2016 started, I was not myself. I haven't felt like myself in quite some time. I would typically describe myself as an upbeat, glass-half-full kind of person, but somewhere in my almost 2 years of real adulthood, I lost the Victoria I knew. I still found myself acting the same, but I just didn't feel like me. 

As I sat thinking about what I wanted to accomplish in 2016, the word persist came to mind. I give up easily- not so much on others (I am a teacher after all), but on myself. For years I've convinced myself that I can't do things or that I don't deserve them. I don't deserve to be happy; I don't deserve to love my body; I don't deserve love from other people. Cognitively, I know these things aren't true, but emotionally, they felt very real. So, as I sat thinking about how I would tangibly persist in things, my sister, Jackie, texted me about a half marathon (something I vowed I'd never be able to do). On a whim, with persistence in mind, I said I wanted to train with her. 

The experience was...brutal. Neither of us were runners, and we started out running 2.5 miles. The furthest I had ever run in my life was 2 miles. I *attempted* a 5k my senior year of college, and I couldn't run the whole thing. Our first long run was 4 miles, and I remember thinking, "If I can do these 4 miles, I might actually be able to do this." During the last half mile of that run, I cried. For the first time in probably most of my fitness life (even though I was a dancer, I let fear keep me from working to my potential), I pushed through a wall. The rest of training was rough- it was met with a minor hip injury. Jackie definitely had it worse- strep, runner's knee, stomach bug. And if it weren't for her, I would've given up after about 3 weeks. We crossed the half marathon finish line hand in hand in a full cheese-ball moment. We vowed we'd never do it again.

**We're already researching more half marathons and are thinking about a full. Crazy, I know.**

During this half marathon training process, my goal wasn't to lose weight, although I did lose a few pounds and noticed my clothes fitting differently. I just wanted to finish something that I'd started. It was as much a mental break through as it was a physical one.

I've shared my struggles and journey with anxiety before. When I went through the darkest days in 2012-2013 I was very open and honest on here. I had always said it started with a break up, but it didn't have as much to do with the boy and broken heart as it did things I hadn't dealt with. I never really felt like anyone had believed me, though. I'm not sure I even believed me. I spun out of control, contemplating suicide, and barely keeping it together. God did incredible things in the darkness, though, as He tends to do. 

This semester has been rough at work. January and February especially. I hated my job. I hated my kids. I hated teaching. Yes, working in public education is a constant uphill battle, but I can usually let the little victories outweigh the cons. I really started questioning if I could do this. I didn't feel like a good teacher. I didn't feel like a good person, really. I noticed some behaviors creeping back up again- eating my feelings, zero desire to do anything but stay in bed, and some dark and twisty thoughts. I cried on the phone to my mom just about every day. I told her this was ridiculous, "normal" people could handle this. I didn't feel normal anymore. My poor teammates witnessed more than one emotional break down in the afternoons. 

Finally, I decided I needed professional help. I chose a therapist who's helped my friend a lot the last few years. If you've never been to a counselor, the first session is typically a "tell me your struggles" type thing, and I felt I'd been letting anxiety dictate my life. I let it determine if I'd hang out with friends. I'd let it determine how I acted in social situations. I let it determine what I ate, how active I was, and what kind of teacher I was that day. Upon listening to me, my counselor stopped me. I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder when I was 13, but she had a different diagnosis for me- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. After she said the words I felt a flood of relief. I could experience freedom from these thoughts and emotions that have dictated my life for almost 20 years. That dark time in my life? It really was more than just a break up. It was a trigger. G's death was a trigger. Maneuvering my way through adulthood was a trigger. My therapist explained that my PTSD has been manifesting itself as anxiety and depression because, as a child, I didn't have the emotional maturity or the life experience to verbalize anything else. 

It's only been about 3 weeks, but I have started to feel like me again. I've made some discoveries. I vowed I would NEVER teach middle school. I was offered jobs at both middle and high school. Something in me chose middle school and 8th grade. How old was I when Grandma died and I was diagnosed with GAD? 13 and in 8th grade. It was a weird "aha" moment, and explained my frustration with my students. I'd walked through hell and back at 6 and then again and 13, and my kids can't even remember to do their homework or take ownership of their mistakes. This week at work has been so much better now that I'm aware that a portion of it is me. Last week, my therapist kept asking me how I got through the grief and loss at 6 and 13. I kept talking about my support system- mom, sisters, grandparents, neighbors, family friends (I firmly believe it does, in fact, take a village to raise a child). She stopped me and asked me how I got through it, and I couldn't answer her. I didn't know. I'd never thought about it before.

I was talking about my students and my frustrations with them in general. Again, cognitively I know it's all relative- what is a big deal to them is a big deal. I think sometimes I cut them more slack based on what's going on at home, but I explained that it gets to a point where I want to shake them and tell them to get up, dust themselves off, and keep moving. I then was describing how I persisted through half marathon training. I knew that if I kept putting one foot in front of the other it meant I hadn't stopped, and that I was still moving, even if I was slow, even if my forward motion seemed imperceptible, I was moving, and that's what kept me going. My therapist stopped me right there. She said, "Those two things. Those answer my question. That's how you got through it." 

And isn't that how we all get through it? I'm sure it's how my mom did, alone with 4 girls to raise. I'm sure it's how my sisters did. Heck, two were in high school and one was in middle school. Their stories and their journeys carry just as much weight as mine does. Whatever any of us- not just my family- are going through- the forward motion is what keeps us going. We know the sun will rise and another day will come. We know work and demands will be there. We just. keep. moving.

I know my road ahead won't be easy. If I really do work through this PTSD, I know it will be ugly. I'll be forced to recall some things I've suppressed for almost 2 decades. But, I do know it'll be worth it. I'm learning to love myself- my body included. After I proved to myself I could finish the half marathon, I'm treating my body with the respect it deserves, and listening to it. I feel so much better when I treat it like the temple it is- imagine that! 

Here's to more persistence in 2016- to moving forward, to keeping our feet moving, and to breaking through walls and obstacles we were sure would stand taller than us. 

Smile, God loves you! (and thanks for sticking through this novel of a post)

And I tell you, ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. - Luke 11:9-10

The Dummies Guide to Classroom Management

In my 2 years of teaching experience, I've learned more about classroom management that I ever thought possible. For those of you who aren't in the education field, classroom management means managing the 30+ bodies that are in your classroom. At any given time, I have a student trying to sneak a peek at their phone, someone who forgot a pencil, two students arguing, a young man dancing, two people "making eyes" at each other in a silent language (that they think I don't notice), someone who needs an excuse to go get a tissue, another student asking to go to the bathroom, oh and all while I'm trying to embark wisdom upon the youth. 

Poor classroom management would mean I didn't have control over all of these things. Good classroom management would mean that by a daily Christmas miracle, I've figured out how to grab everyone's attention. 

***Disclaimer: I haven't been teaching for very long, so I still have much to learn. Also, I am NOT perfect and fall short of glowing classroom management on a daily basis.***

Here are my newbie tips for managing a classroom:

1. Know your kids. This is the most important piece. This way you can tell them about their behavior with a "look." I have different "looks" for different kids. And they know. They know...

2. You're going to feel like you spend your entire first year yelling, and that's OK, but to avoid that, establish a call and answer format to get attention. I say "Marco," my kids say, "Polo." Others say "Class, class" and the kids say, "Yes, yes." 

3. Don't be afraid to reach out to parents. I'll be honest- not all parents are super supportive, but also know that not everyone wants hear that their baby angel is actually a semi-devil at school. BUT, reach out to parents when their child has a good day; it'll make them more likely to support you when their child acts out. Also, a parent can tell you if a medication changed, something is going on at home or in a sport, etc. Parents also like to know what's going on with their child while they're in your care.

4. Make nice with the ring leader. S/he will be able to put kids in their place and say things you wish you could "SHUT UP," "Y'all, she's talking," etc. 

5. You may mentally smack a kid upside the head. Normal.

6. Don't let that student acting out get you off track. Address the situation, and move on. A lot of the time they just want you to get mad and get a reaction (this is a daily struggle for me).

7. You say you'll never be the "I'll wait..." teacher, but you will. Oh, you will.

8. Give a student a chance to redirect their behavior, but make sure they know it's their last chance. 

9. Make your expectations clear for EVERY situation- walking to the cafeteria, going to the Media Center, etc. I will also ask students what my expectations are if it's been awhile since we've done an activity or gone to the MC. 

10. Start strong. It's easier to let up on the reigns than to try to reel them in (pretty much every first year teacher learns this the hard way). 

11. Extend grace. Kids are human, just like we are; they'll make mistakes, but every day is a new day. Just like you don't want to be remembered for the mistakes you've made, start each day with a clean slate, especially with students who don't get in trouble every day. 

There you have it, 11 of my tips for classroom management. I still have a lot to learn!