When the Teacher becomes the Student
Embracing Failure
If you want to know what your physical flaws are, become a middle school teacher. If you want to know what all of your mental and emotional flaws are, become a high school teacher. Bonus challenge: teach students at an alternative school where they give zero fucks about, well, anything really.
Last year, I was teaching young, fresh-faced 7th and 8th grade students who had been hand-picked to continue on to an International Baccalaureate Diploma (a Very Big Deal in our Title I district). This year, I chose (yes, voluntarily) to switch positions to a night program where the majority of students have failed so many of their classes are involuntarily moved to this campus to make up credits before being allowed back to their home school.
It has been an awakening of the rudest sort.
No longer do I have the momentum of students who already believe in the value of an education - instead, I have students who hold important positions in the local gangs, causing a high school diploma to seem trite by comparison.
No longer do I have the energy of students who are motivated by fear of failing - instead, I have kids who have failed so hard they no longer see the point in trying.
No longer do I have the deference of students who can be intimidated by just a stern look across the classroom - instead, I have young adults who refuse to listen to instructions the first, second, or thirtieth time, choosing instead to ignore what I say until I come stand right next to them, acquiesce with loud sigh, and then proceed to continue their Snapchat streak the moment my back is turned.
Professional whiplash is a daily occurrence.
Almost everything that I have relied on in my previous ten years of teaching experience has gone out the window, and I’m left to haphazardly collect different tools to fill up the space left behind. And yet, even with all of the trials and tribulations of the first month, there has already been so much value in the simple yet elusive lesson these kids have been illuminating: the power of positivity.
In my previous classroom life, I could remind a student of the imminence of an “F”, and they would jump into action as if touched by a downed electric wire. Now, any mention of failure causes immediate shutdown. Instead, I’ve noticed that any dollop of praise for even just taking out their Chromebook causes subtle pricks of the ears and straightening of the spine.
This should be obvious - I shouldn’t be relying on fear of failure to motivate my students. Yet, after begrudgingly looking into the mirror, I’ve realized that failure is the majority of what motivates me. I am terrified to fail at anything, so I take on too much and drown in my sea of attempts to be the best at everything.
For what?
How much grander would life be if I could unabashedly remind myself of all of the positive things I have accomplished? How much more motivating would it feel to guiltlessly use the small wins as building blocks for my self-image? How much brighter would the world appear if I looked at failure as a friend rather than a foe?
Even more empowering, embracing the inevitability of failure imbues me with the magical power of admitting my limitations. I fully admit I am at a loss with how to capture the attention of students who have been wildly disengaged for years. How can I make academic writing relevant, when they are worried about getting home safely? How do I set up intellectual conversations with students who can barely look each other in the eye? How will the young adult who is sitting in my classroom after working for 8 hours focus on his assignments when he’s mentally tabulating the bills that his shift will cover? I have yet to uncover the answer.
However, admitting limitations and the current state of failure does not mean giving up altogether, rather, it gives me permission to seek out others who have blown past those limitations and have had success in areas where I am struggling. Admitting to yourself that you suck at something is not giving yourself a pass, instead, it invites you to find ways to expand, to grow, to unsuck.
In short, see your limitations as guideposts rather than stop signs.
Life has a way of constantly inviting you to expand your personal toolbox. And while being slapped in the face with my areas of growth could lead to anger and frustration, I will not give myself permission to allow the fear of failure to inhibit the possibility of progress. Bonus challenge: actively seek out ways to gracefully fail, recalibrate, and unabashedly try again. Thankfully, failure is not an abrupt stopping point, but an exciting springboard into the next adventure.
My Dad was a teacher and I have the utmost respect for the profession. This was a great read. Alexandra says it better.
This is one of the most interesting pieces I've read in a while (and I read a LOT). It's insightful and moving. I feel for you and your students navigating such polarities, it's understandably very difficult and yet you explain it with a lightness that portrays your wisdom.