Your energy is my energy. My energy is your energy.

It’s 12:40pm, the high pitch whistles of security reverberate through the halls as the student body clears out of the courtyard from lunch, up the stairwells, and into their 8^th period classes. Unlike most days this past year, I was not ready for the 30+ students about to enter our classroom.  I was not standing at the door with a smile eagerly awaiting to greet them. Instead, I had placed a stool in the doorway to keep the door open (eventually asking a student to hold the door open) while I stood at my desk, frantically finishing whatever I was in the middle of.  As per usual though, a slide with the class’ opening activity (or “bell ringer” as my school refers to it), was projected onto my not-so-smart-anymore smart board. However, despite the normalcy of the classroom’s learning expectations and routines, the majority of the students dawdled around the room either engrossed in the latest social media post, thoroughly engaged in their hallway conversation/gossip, or a combination of both.  A handful of students bombarded me at my desk, as I barked orders for the class to settle down, open their notebooks, and begin their bell ringer.  In the midst of the chaos, I noticed the sassiness of a student and felt her aggravated energy.  At the uttering of an under the breath comment followed by laying her head down on the table – a clear sign of rebellion and thus disengagement – still from my desk, I called her name and requested a conversation.  When she arrived at my desk, now cleared of all students except her, I innocently and sincerely asked “What’s going on? I can tell something seems to be up.” Boldface she responded “It’s you. It’s your energy! Normally you are at the door greeting us with a smile and excitement to learn, but today you’re here, at your desk, yelling at us to settle down.”

She stopped me in my tracks.  Her response was the last thing I had anticipated her to say, knowing she had recently experienced some issues with other students trying to bait her into unwanted drama.  But her response was exactly what I needed to hear. It gave me pause. I took a deep breath in and out, not out of infuriation with her, but to focus on and calm the frantic energy within; she was right.  I then responded to her, “you’re right. But look around the room and notice what’s going on, here’s how you can help me…” I proceeded to ask for her assistance in encouraging her classmates to settle into the classroom routines and expectations, readying themselves to engage in learning.  And so, she did. With one more deep breath in and out, I followed behind greeting each grouping of students with a smile and a new sense of energy.

This Makes 13 - Finding My Oxygen Mask

This month, June 2019, marks the completion of my 13^th year as an educator.  It is a chapter, that just 12 months prior, I didn’t think I would ever write.  A year ago, I was finding it hard to breath and wasn’t sleeping through the nights. I was living in a constant state of overwhelming frustration, stress, and anxiety. I was waking up regularly in a panic, heart racing, hands shaking, tears in my eyes.  I felt as though I was drowning, gasping for air but only coming up with a mouth full of water.  For twelve years I had made my career my life. For twelve years I put my students’ needs in front of my own (only to later realize that honoring my needs is ultimately honoring theirs).  And within twelve years of teaching, I completely lost myself.

I struggled to control my emotions. My relationships with students, colleagues, family, friends, suffered. Each day, prior to walking into the school building, I would take a deep breath in (1… 2… 3… 4… 5) and out (1… 2… 3… 4… 5…) to settle my heart and trick my mind, that today was going to different, today would be a good day.

But that good day rarely came. The promotive, collective, and safe classroom environment I so desperately tried to cultivate had quickly deteriorated. I had become toxic, contaminating not only myself but those around me. Eventually, my students were the ones to lose out - academically and otherwise. I had become the kind of teacher I vowed I would never be.  As the 2017-2018 school year came to an end, I thought my only option was out. I thought, this is what they must mean by “burn out.”

At the advice and loving nudge of my family, while sitting at rock bottom paralyzed by exhaustion and fear, I sought out help from a professional psychologist – who I proudly continue to see once a week.  I came to realize that I may have reached the cusp of “burnt out,” but my passionate flame for education was not ready to be extinguished.   I was ready to live my life differently. I was ready to admit that I was not super human; I couldn’t be everything to everyone, especially if I continued to neglect being everything to myself first.  I was finally ready to find and put my oxygen mask on.

But putting on my oxygen mask meant stepping away from my intimate partnership with The Algebra Project & Young People’s Project. It meant unintentionally stepping back from working and collaborating with friends and colleagues, who I carry so much respect and admiration for in both the field and the work they do. It meant I stopped following certain educators on social media because I would constantly find myself heading down that rabbit hole of “I’m not doing enough. I should be doing more.” And at the core it meant giving all I had while I was at work, but ultimately learning to detach and leave work at work. 

I spent much of the year mourning these losses.  Self-deprecating.  Struggling to forgive myself for being human; for needing oxygen. But eventually the tears and panic ridden sleepless nights subsided.  I could finally walk into the school building with a smile believing today would be a good, no, a GREAT day.  I could also greet my students at the door, each period, with that same smile and excitement to learn – despite the insanity happening around me.

Until now, I never fully understood why the flight attendants informed adults to put their oxygen masks on first. For 12 years I disregarded the instructions not realizing I was slowly cutting off my oxygen supply.  Thankfully, and not without a tremendous support team (including my students), in this 13^th chapter, I found my oxygen mask and put it on.  In this 13^th year, I can breathe easily, confidently, and honestly.  In this 13^th year, I am stronger. In this 13^th year, I am healthier. In this 13^th year I believe (and hope) I was a kinder, more understanding, patient, and effective educator.

Here is to the next 13. Let the journey and growth continue…

If we let them, our students will also change our lives.

A year ago today, Winter Break 2017, I was desperately searching for reprieve. Sitting at the edge of the ocean, listening to the waves crash down on the shore, tears streamed down my face wondering how I was going to muster up the the strength to go back to work come the new year. I was lost, professionally and personally. I was consumed by the anxiety of who and what I felt colleagues, family, and friends expected me to be and do and who and what I was doing and wanted for myself (both in and outside of work), causing a tailspin of depression. Consequently I had slowly become a teacher I vowed I'd never be - one who hated showing up to work, that lost her cool at the drop of a hat - bright faced yelling out of frustration for no real reason - and created the opposite of welcoming learning environment.

As I sat on the beach that day, I knew I couldn't continue doing what I was doing - but not for just me, for my students. My students deserved either a healthy me or not me at all. Something had to change, and deep down I knew I didn't want it to be teaching. Now, a year later, having worked my way out of that deep depression, (through the help of weekly therapy) I hope to share reflections not on what I have or have not done to impact my students lives, but rather pay tribute to my students; reflecting on their actions and decisions which have in-turn changed my life, inspiring me to work towards finding healing and happiness, for them and most importantly for myself.

The post to follow will be a journaling of my continued personal journey in search of self-care, self-love, and a healthy and sustainable work-life balance as a passionate educator.

Scott Beigel: A Juxtaposition of Competing Emotions

Today, in NYC our Starlight family, will gather in a celebration of life of our beloved Scotty B. I imagine it will be the most of bitter-sweet reunions; a juxtaposition of competing emotions.  

Since the shooting, I have been trying to wrap my mind around the horrific tragedy - both as a friend and as an educator.  

As a friend I am heartbroken, angry, frustrated. I didn't know how much I missed having Scott in my life, until I found out that we would never have the opportunity to see each other again. For the past decade+, Scott was part of my past, but as anyone who has experienced summer camp knows, I always knew it only would take a phone call or a run-in on the street, to pick up where we last left off. Camp memories and friendships are never too distant. Ironically, it is Scott’s death that has also reminded me, and I imagine many of us, just how true that sentiment is. Additionally, how profound an impact those relationships had and continue to have in one another’s life. I am saddened that Scott - his joy, laughter, sarcasm, inspiration, companionship - is now only a memory but grateful to relive those memories and be reunited with so many others.

As an educator, I have been able to find inspiration from the teenager I remember Scott to be and the man I have learned he had become .  Teaching has taken on a whole new perspective.  Well, maybe not a new perspective but a renewed and rejuvenated one - absent of “burn-out” and inspired with hope and joy.  It feels a bit uncomfortable to admit that in the wake of such a horrific tragedy, and the loss of a friend, that I would face my classroom with such joy and laughter; but it is the loss that’s inspired the joy, Scott has inspired the joy.

In the past week, each morning as I enter my classroom I say to myself, today is dedicate to Scott.  In the first couple of days after the shooting I started each period saying to my students, “today I am dedicating class to my friend Scott. Although I never knew him as an educator, I imagine his classroom was filled with chaotic calm and laughter.  Let’s honor his memory and the memory of the 16 other victims through our learning.”  

For my students they understood, that this was my way of committing to try to keep my cool and channel my patience and LOVE.  

Scott’s life, death, and memory has provided me the clarity as to what I value most about the teaching and learning of mathematics; the RELATIONSHIPS I cultivate with my students, both as individuals and mathematicians. If there is one thing I can learn from Scott, it is from his incredible ability to form relationships that were valued, trusted, and inspired/supported the growth of all parties. Scott has reminded me that the relationships I form with my students, in addition to the relationships my students are thus able to form among themselves, is the foundation to a supportive and positive classroom environment in which learning happens. In a school environment where students are reduced to mere data points and thus one that is often filled with toxicity and frustration, Scott's life and legacy will be a saving grace for me and my students as we continue to swim upstream.

Today, our Starlight family will come together #starlightstrong to celebrate the life of Scott Beigel, of a man who single handedly made all our lives better (whether he knew it or not).  Though I am not there, I will be celebrating his life along side my Starlight family, today and everyday.

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www.scottjbeigelmemorialfund.com

If You Can't Beat Them, Join Them.

My students have the natural tendency to tag anything in sight. In years past I used to scrub away all markings, despite the content... until I took the time to look at what I was erasing. With the exception of some inappropriate tags or notes to 'follow me' on Snapchat, most were the names of and messages to loved ones who have left this world or locked up.  It was only then that I realized by ridding the tables of their tags, I was in some way also silencing their voices.

At that point I decided I was going to 'lean in' and not only allowed but encouraged my students to leave their mark. However, I quickly found the tables (and clipboards) covered only in sentiments that focused heavily on loss and pain. I wondered, how could we use the tables to not only remember but honor their loved ones? How can we find and foster hope and motivation from the loss and pain? So I began to add some of my own tags: "You are Beautiful!" "You are a mathematician" "SMILE 😀" ... and then during one class, while helping a group of students with a problem, decided to use the table as my writing surface. Since then, students have joined in - still adding sentiments towards those they love and miss but also adding their own motivational sayings or proofs of math knowledge.

Our classroom tables have become living artifacts. They capture the voices and narratives of my students, both as individuals and as a family unit.

#IfYouCantBeatThemJoinThem #MiamiAlgebraProject #Room3076 #StudentVoice #UnconventionalStoryTelling #NoneOfUsIsAsStrongAsAllOfUs!