On Teachermaxxing

A midsummer’s day reflection

This year silenced me. As a teacher. As a writer. As a human who used to have something to say.

This was a school year that I went fully into “I’ll show them” mode in order to survive.

It showed up in all aspects of my professional life that I could control. Because so many aspects were beyond my capacity. I couldn’t control the school contemplating to move my department of one out of the classroom I’ve occupied since 2018, the goings on of colleagues, the one class of students who refused to care joyfully for the subject matter, the sudden ubiquitous presence of AI in every thing, shattering any naive illusions I had that I’d be the one teacher they’d be authentic for.

So I overplanned my classes, spent a lot of time in relentless hands-on high energy activities with students, threw a ton of paperwork at them, and gave more quizzes than I’ve given in over two decades. I gave feedback. I held writer’s conferences. I teachermaxxed, if you will.

And it paid off. At the end of the year the outpouring of appreciation from students at all levels, yes, even THAT class, was plentiful. A beautiful Drama Awards with heartfelt tributes. Students stopping by my desk to say a few words just because. Gift cards.

It brought me back to myself for sure. I am a teacher, not to summon the terrible Miss Jean Brodie here, but Muriel Spark put it really well. I am a teacher. First, last, always.

So why the grief at that? Why do I feel so stupid for loving and being good at something which feels, by society’s standards, so small?

My aunt is a teacher. My mother really wanted to be one and was incredibly proud of me for my work. All my heroes are teachers.

Is it that bot-fueled segment of society that wants to destroy public education by diminishing our profession online that gets to me, relentless in their trolling?

Is it the general public, whose collective trauma around the near-universal experience of having attended a school where some teacher somewhere fell short, who is constantly reminding us through their condescension and surveillance that we are not as powerful as we seem in our classrooms?

Is it both?

Or is it “what I could have been” as I look back at my decision to remove myself from a life spent chasing my family’s business- entertainment- which I could not seem to find comfort in or lie my way into?

I don’t know. But as I sit here with a partially healed nervous system and a month left, I know one thing.

This year trying to prove my worth somehow made me a better teacher, because despite it all I’m grounded in that practice. And hopefully the person who created all that can let go and reap the benefits this year of the bounty of materials and practices that arose from my imposter syndrome.

Because I’d like a little more ease in this coming year for my self and my students, all other things being as difficult as they are. Not to rest on my laurels, exactly. To repurpose them.

I’ve earned it.