Do I really see them? A reflection on preschoolers

One of the things I love and hate the most about learning about psychology is that it forces me to examine myself. 

The perfectionist in me knows how to use that as a weapon, but I am working on listening to other parts of me.

Parts that want to, and do see the value in self-reflection as a possibility for growth. 

The critical person can have a hard time really seeing others, and likewise we struggle to see the whole picture of ourselves.

We’re so used to looking through the lens of criticism that we are waiting for failure.

Looking for fault. 

It is a painful truth to catch myself doing this to others. 

I suppose it hurts less when that gaze is directed inwards because I’m used to it.

It feels normal. 

It feels somehow…justified, to see myself in the worst possible light. 

Yesterday I was reflecting on my students. 

I think it can be an easy trap to fall into as a teacher who is held fast to assessments to stop seeing your students as the individual humans they are and start seeing them as how they rank on whatever evaluative scale you’re currently using, but it erases their humanity. 

They no longer fully exist. 

They become their strengths and weaknesses.

From the time I started teaching I have hated all formal assessments I’ve been forced to do for this exact reason. 

I understand logically why this information might be required or even important, but in my experience I have not found it to be an accurate indicator of a student’s knowledge or hard work. 

I have had so many students who are brilliant humans and who work hard and try their best and when test day comes they just fall apart. 

It’s stressful. 

We’ve made it mean too much. 

And especially with early years, I really struggle with this because we can see so many things and yet still miss other important things. 

It feels weird to be in a position where I am forcing them to conform at such an early age.

And yet, I have seen the extreme on the other side when they have no rules or boundaries and are allowed to run wild and that doesn’t work either.

In a perfect world, each child would be able to get the individual teaching and assessment approach that works best for them and also be able to be part of a cohort that benefits their social development. 

I don’t know if that will ever really be possible, but in the meantime we do our best. 

We try, we sometimes fail, and we try again. 

I know the one thing I have the most control over is myself and how I see and interact with the tiny humans in my care. 

And I know that it is important to me that Ireally see them.

Do I see them as needs-to-improve-their-pencil-grip-or-how-will-they-ever-make-it-in-first-grade or do I see them as a child who is kind, gets easily frustrated, is a fantastic friend, tells great jokes, could be quieter in the lunchroom, loves stories, enjoys being outside, doesn’t like to wear a jacket, plays with soap in the bathroom when they should be washing their hands, has great taste in t-shirts and is, in short, a regular human being.

It is so easy to get caught up in our own hopes and expectations as adults that we forget tiny humans are humans too. 

They have their own identity that is separate from us and it is often of minimal importance to them what we want, desire, and “need” to do. 

Which is what frustrates us immensely. 

HOW CAN THEY NOT SEE WE NEED TO PUT OUR SHOES ON OR WE WILL BE TEN MINUTES LATE TO OUR OUTDOOR PLAY TIME?! WHY ARE THEY SHOWING EVERYONE THEIR TOY INSTEAD OF PUTTING ON THEIR JACKET?!

But also, of course they are. 

Our priorities will never be the same and that makes absolute sense and can also be endlessly triggering. 

We live in different worlds yet must coexist. 

We can learn so much from each other, but I so wish we had more time. 

That we could slow down and just spend some time with them. 

Get to know them outside of what frustrates us or what we need to evaluate. 

See them as their whole selves instead of the kid who always interrupts story time.

I wish we didn’t have to inject so much schedule stress into their lives from such a young age. 

I write so much about my time scarcity frustrations and yet I have to be that person for them.

I don’t like it. 

There’s got to be a better, kinder, more patient place both inside of me and inside of the world I create for them.

As usual, I have no answers for this, just thoughts and reflections.

And gratitude for how much working with kids has made me examine myself. 

The Twenty-Ninth Post of Sisu

Daily Acts of Sisu: Ran 6 miles before work even after waking up terrified from nightmares, lesson prepped during my lunch break, doubled down on calm during stressful moments, wrote two blog posts 

Today was a pretty great day. 

I had been dreading summer camp as I didn’t want to spend my summer off lesson planning, but knew I had to, and didn’t want to come back after some time off.

I’m still not sure how much longer I want to teach and going into three straight weeks of summer camp after a hard year of school followed by the most stressful vacation of my life didn’t sound too appealing.

Especially knowing I won’t have another vacation until Christmas.

And it’s only August.

I was angry and deeply sad that I had yet again over committed and over scheduled myself when I could have just not worked and enjoyed my time off.

I railed against my choices until I had no choice but to accept them or bail out hard.

I didn’t want to sit with the consequences of that decision so I grimly went forward, feeling like a criminal who’d been on the run. Having just been captured, I was still looking for my escape. 

But anxiety is as anxiety does and it has turned out to be pretty fun so far. 

I may be writing from the pit of mental despair by week three, but we’ll let that happen if and when it happens. 

Hell, it may not.

While I’ve been trying to live my life more authentically as well as build my resilience, I often find myself caught in the crosshairs of not knowing if I am being true to myself or just gaslighting myself to get by.

Have I just gotten used to complaining and things really aren’t that bad or do I need to really examine and change my life?

Are there people who don’t think this way at all?

It seems like my whole generation, at least the Americans, are struggling with their mental health and happiness. 

How do we sustain it?

How much is mindset and how much is the actual life that you are living?

Is the grass just always going to look greener on the other side? 

These are the questions I wrestle with on a daily basis and it is quite exhausting, but so is staying in the wrong life. 

I used to imagine when I was a child that someone out there, some omnipotent force, existed that could tell me how to live the perfect life.

That they could come down and tell me what choices to make and what steps to take to live well and be happy. 

Deeply and permanently happy. 

It’s still hard to know sometimes if more happiness does exist elsewhere or if I just opened my eyes a little more if I would see it in my own life?

I think it can be, and probably is, a bit of both.

We all have unrealized dreams. 

We all have things we talk about that we would love to do or be or have, but aren’t taking any action towards.

Sometimes there are very real reasons for this. 

As much as the personal development hates to hear it, I think time and money can both be prohibitive. 

And I know I write from privilege because I do have enough to make ends meet and then some. 

I am not rich by any definition of the word (I’m still a teacher after all), but I’m doing okay.

And there were times when I wasn’t, so I think I can confidently say I know the difference. 

I am grateful to not still be in the days when the only food I could afford came from vending machines and I never paid a bill on time, choosing each month which one to pay that I was least behind on.

Those were hard and scary times and I worked hard to break my way out of them.

But I still feel like something is missing from my life. 

There’s a hole somewhere, a dissatisfaction, and I don’t want it to take me so far deep into the Dark Woods of Error that I lose myself completely, chasing after things that will never make me happy.

But at the same time I think that the saying is true: If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there.

That is part of my panic about the end of my summer vacation. 

I tend to make very different choices when I am stressed out, burnt out, or exhausted than I do when I am happy, content, or hopeful.

I am scared of taking myself down the wrong path.

Afraid of losing or wasting more time. 

I feel older and older and like the lack of time I have left is reflecting back to me in a way I don’t like.

I can tell myself it is partly societal expectations, that I “should be” somewhere different, somewhere further with my life by now, but I know that isn’t entirely it.

My soul is calling out for something different and I hope that I can find it. 

The Beach, Or What Happens After

I am a seeker. A seeker of truth both within myself and the world. At times this is inspiring, motivating, and liberating, but at other times it is heartbreaking, cruel, unbearable. 

To seek truth means to ask questions and a consequence of that questioning is sometimes receiving answers that make you question even more. That make you wonder whether or not it was worth it to ask in the first place.

With the ending of this past school year, I have felt like a shipwreck survivor. After washing up on the shore and coughing on the saltwater that nearly choked the air from my lungs, I sat on the shore and took in my surroundings. Cruel undertows turned to soft waves calmly lapping at my feet. The danger was gone, yet why did I still sit here feeling so broken and scared? Scarred yet safe. 

A hopeless wanderer, still lost at sea.

I felt the wet sand beneath my fingers, the solidity of the land despite its hunger for movement and change in my every shifting of posture and position. The sun beating down on me as the salt dried onto my skin I felt alone, exposed, weak. 

I had survived, but at what cost? Was I now destined to live alone on this island? Was I alone on this island? How would I escape? Did I even want to? Escape how? And go where? 

After a year of tears, questions, fighting, scrambling for my own survival and trying to keep those around me, those I was and felt responsible for safe as well, what did I have to show for it?

I was left there, alone on that beach, sea and surf mingling around me and wondering what next. The year of questioning and the fight for survival had gotten me that, but maybe just that. Just survival. 

I rolled it around on my tongue, but it didn’t feel right. The taste was wrong, strange, sour. I spit it out, hoping with the expulsion to rid not my mouth of the tang, but my mind of its doubts, my heart of its fears.

Yet peace was slowing in coming. I had to assume it was still on its way because with every breath of me I wanted to give up. And the desire of it coated me in a shame no fresh water seemed able to rid me of, even if fresh water could be found.

I had no freedom, but no desire. No will. Not to live. No, that would be too strong, too extreme, and honestly untrue. I wanted to live, but to do?

Oh was I tired of doing. Of thinking. Of trying. So hard. So. Damn. Hard. And for what? 

To feel broken either way? To feel disconnected from my purpose and my passion and my life. To feel at worst apathetic and at best indifferent? What was it doing for me? What was I doing for myself? 

If we are the architects of our own lives, then I should be able to find the tools to rebuild mine. But where were they? What did they look like? And what was I meant to build?

Or was it that I knew all along? That I had had the tools in my hands yet had cast them down, away from me where the price of my hopes, expectations, and unrealized dreams could no longer hurt me. 

You’d think as an architect I would expect the best, but prepare for the worst. You would be wrong. I had prepared for nothing. Nothing that came. Yet I took the guilt and responsibility of all of it onto and into myself. No matter what happened, “Must be my fault,” I said. 

I did not prepare enough. I did not consider things well or deep enough. I am not ready. Not smart enough. Not skilled enough. Not able to take on the burdens of others without letting them consume me. 

How do we help others without hurting for them? Without breaking ourselves at every pain they experience as if it is our own? 

Staring around at everyone around me as the ship took on water and everyone but remained calm, I had wanted to scream. How are we not all feeling the same pain? 

Yet here I am, blistered and worn and storm-thrown on the shore, mostly okay, yet one of the only ones still hurting. 

Maybe I’ll find a map, I muse. A treasure map back to the tools I once held that made me feel strong, capable, powerful. A builder instead of a breaker. The architect instead of the one that takes an active part in tearing down the house that they so lovingly built. I don’t want to be the person that breaks hopes and hearts; it shames me when they’re the hopes and hearts of others, but it shatters me when they are my own. 

I have to get off of this beach, but I don’t know where else to go. I finally understand the stories of the widows standing on the cliff day after day, waiting for a ship that will never return. 

But I was made for the water, and to the water I must return.  

Overcoming Overwhelm Part 4: When it’s Time to Move On

How do you let go of something you love?

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for the better part of a year. While the answer may be simple, it’s much more complicated in practice. Because, as usual, the truth is much more complicated than it seems.

I have loved teaching from the beginning. Even though it scared me, even when it was hard. Even when it felt impossible. Sure, lesson planning has not always been easy. The classroom management, the paperwork, the long hours…much of it has been and felt like a chore. There have been many times I have wanted to walk away, but the thing that made me stay was my love for it. For the actual teaching. The classroom moments, most frequently the unexpected ones. The laughter, the stories, the conversations, the absolute magic that is watching the dawning realization of a word or concept. 

The words for the depths of the feelings do not exist. At least not in a way that I can find. I cannot relate them in a good enough or true enough way to fully communicate the happiness and fulfillment these last four years have brought me. And yet.

Here we are. How do you walk away from something you love? 

Or rather, how do you acknowledge that the thing you loved has become a memory. Of things that were rather than things that are. Where do you look to find the change? 

Just as I cannot find words to describe the love, neither can I find a way to justly describe the pain that this last year has been.

Sometimes we move on from a place of excitement, hope, and joy. We take that first step from what looks to be a clearly laid and beautiful path. Something that will take us to the place that we want to go. Our heart and our footsteps feel light, purposeful, free.

But what do we do when they don’t? When we are standing in a storm feeling as though we will be ripped apart? 

That is what this past year has felt to me. Wrestling with demons whose faces I cannot see. Are they mine to claim? Who knows from whence they came. Maybe I would not need so badly to walk away if this pandemic had never happened, but then again, who are we as mere mortals to know or guess our fate? We wax poetic about possibilities and meaning, but in truth not one of us really knows where our decisions will take us.

I believe in my soul that I made the right decision in coming to Europe and pursuing a teaching career which is why it has become so difficult now to accept that I need to walk away. It has been tearing me apart to even admit that I no longer love teaching. That I am merely clinging to remnants of the past and hoping against hope that they will fulfill me. 

If I had never cared, I think it would be easy. To turn and walk away. To not look back. To stride purposefully forward. Yet the crux of my crisis has been how deeply I have cared. How beautiful the memories have been and the abject fear that nothing I do in the future will have this big of an impact, either on me or on those with whom I share my life. My students have been everything to me, but I feel deep in my body, heart, and soul that if I stay in teaching, at least in this moment in my life, that it will destroy me. 

I have nothing left to give, I tell myself. But, as I’ve said, the truth is complicated. Which is both what makes life hard and also what makes it beautiful. 

I have nothing left to give here. 

At least not right now. I need to walk away, even though it breaks my heart. And while I do not know what I am meant to do next in the world or where I am meant to go, I am trying. I am trying, for what may be the first time in my life, to let go of control and trust. 

Wish me luck. 

Overcoming Overwhelm Part 3: What if I’m Not the Problem?

I have been doing a lot of thinking this week. And a lot of writing as you can see. In typical fashion for me, I have found a way to turn this entire situation around on myself and blame me and only me for the problems and life circumstances that I have found myself in. 

Losing sleep and trying to make sense of the world and my work I have asked myself every question from How did I get here? to Am I a monster if I don’t want to teach anymore? to Why don’t I want to teach anymore? 

I have often felt like my mind is spinning in circles and getting nowhere, but I have always believed that there is power in the asking. The mind is like a librarian. It literally cannot help but look for the book (or in this case memory, answer, or supplementary details) that you are asking it for. 

It took a few days, but my dear, sweet, librarian of a mind timidly brought forth something I have spent months suppressing. I mentioned it as an afterthought in my editing process in my last post. Casually, offhandedly mentioned that bosses made me work when I literally thought I had covid. I had the symptoms, could barely stand due to weakness and fever and had body aches and shakes. I remember the day vividly. Teaching in abject fear and deep anger then immediately catching the tram to take a covid test, nearly fainting in the line while waiting to be tested.

That made me angry for half a second when I finally gave up on the idea of sleep this morning and pulled myself out of bed. But yet. Oh man. I am me and while injustices against myself annoy me and do on occasion make me a bit angry, I get wild with rage at the injustices of others. So my sweet librarian whispered to me, “Remember when it was everyone?”

And that’s when the other foot fell. Because it wasn’t just me. It was everyone. I remember seeing a plethora of posts and even personal messages from other teachers in Prague that they had tested positive for covid and their bosses told them they weren’t allowed to tell anyone because then everyone would have to go into quarantine and it would disrupt the school schedule. I remember a friend posting on Facebook that teachers in America were dying from the outbreaks at their schools and in the comments section of one news article someone wrote, “Well at least she died doing what she loved.”

WHAT THE FUCK.

Being forced into a life or death situation, being manipulated into such a position because you love what you do and you’re trying to be there for your kids while being a “good employee” is so morally and ethically evil I don’t have words for it. But it was EVERYWHERE. Not just teachers, although within the global teaching community that attitude ran rampant. 

The workers became the enemy. How dare we want to stay home and protect our health, potentially saving our lives or the lives of others, when there was WORK to be done. Ungrateful, selfish bastards. Lazy pieces of shit.

I remember another friend telling me that her sister was told by HR that if any of them tested positive for covid and then told another coworker whom they had been in personal contact with that they would be fired.

So did this contribute to my complete dissociation with not just my work but society in general? Absolutely. 

I said in my first post about overwhelm that the first lockdown was actually a great time for me. Honestly, it was. I threw myself into personal and professional development like a kid into summer vacation. I loved every minute of it. This was our time to heal the world. To slow down and heal ourselves. I was ecstatic. So what happened?

Well, I thought we opened back up too early. I remember telling my adult students that I had to go back to in-person work and a concerned and uncomfortable, scared silence followed before they asked me, “But Megan, is it safe?” I facetiously answered, “I guess we’ll find out.”

My anxiety had other ideas. I had such a raging recurrence of epilepsy symptoms that I thought I was dying or literally losing my mind. It was honestly so much worse than my initial bouts with epilepsy (which until that point I thought I had cured or never had in the first place) that I assumed there was no way it could be the same thing. 

But it wasn’t just that. I remember calling my older sister as I always do when life confuses me and telling her something along the lines of, “I don’t know, I guess I just thought that everyone had stayed home and worked on themselves and their values.” She chuckled a little and said, “Oh, honey….no. They didn’t.”

I think I’ve always been a little bit naiïve. A little bit too trusting. As if to qualify this belief, my mind librarian reminded me this morning of the fact that while I have had “a lot” of corporate and teaching jobs in my adult life, only one of them that I know of, perhaps two or three never did anything illegal or unethical while I worked there. Let’s be generous and say three. THREE. I have worked for about ten different companies in different capacities, not including my short-term part-time jobs that supplemented my income. Absolutely wild. 

I have many theories on why this works. Why I am able to convince myself that even when something horrible like this happens, I am able to convince myself that it is still my fault.

I think there is a great deal of shame involved in making a mistake or in not living up to societal ideals. I see that revolution happening now in America. Jobs are available, but people don’t want to go back to work. Maybe we’re all tired of being exploited. Maybe people are prioritizing their health and their moral obligations to keep others safe after 3.86 MILLION deaths worldwide. Maybe we don’t want to be cogs in a capitalist machine anymore.

I think that, for me, I have always tried to do the right thing. I have failed epically at it many times. There have been dark periods of my life that I am deeply ashamed of. Times where I tried to hide from pain by becoming someone I’m not. Someone without a moral compass. 

I think for me that’s part of where I have become more easily manipulated than in the past. Because I have a strong desire to be a better person than I have been. To protect others and to do work that matters. To give back to the world. Especially in this last year when I have made it my relentless quest to heal myself of all my childhood trauma and live according to my values. But it is hard to find meaning in a situation where people are telling you that money is the only thing that matters. That health and lives and being good neighbors, caretakers and relations do not. 

I am also 100% certain that there are perspectives I am not accounting for in this post. I am not trying to make a global recommendation, I think that is impossible. I can only ever speak to my own experience and the complete and utter disillusion I have felt this entire year. I created an identity around changing my life to do work that matters, to live a life that matters, to live fully alive after a near-death experience. And after four years of doing a bumpy job of doing my best and trying to improve, it was like the rug was ripped out from under me. I thought I had created a community and life centered around values only to see that when the masks came down, we all had different faces.

I tried to make sense of this change a few months back. I asked my adult students what they thought had happened. How we had gone from a global leader in community and epidemic control to the worst in the EU. Why people were so mean and self-centered now when we started the pandemic with mask campaigns and mutual aid funds. One of my students replied, “All that’s over now, Megan. People are tired. No one wants to help each other anymore.”

I think he was right. I saw the exhaustion and burnout on every face and heard it in every voice. We just wanted it to end. Wanted our lives back. I just hope we all get the rest we need so we can live our values again. Through it all, I still believe in us. I still believe humanity can rise above where we are into what we could be. It’s worth it to at least try.  

Overcoming Overwhelm Part 2: Anatomy of Overwhelm

How do you define overwhelm? There may be a standard definition, but I am of the belief that, especially with emotions and life experiences, there often isn’t just one way to define something, but rather one must be asked of their own individual experience. 

So, how did it manifest for me? What is the anatomy of burnout and overwhelm? How can I recognize it in my own life?

I said in my last post that what makes overwhelm an insidious enemy is that it creeps up slowly. It happens over time. At least, for me it did, which is what it made it so hard to understand. What exactly did I dislike? Was it the sheer amount of unpaid time and hard work I spent on teaching outside of lessons that (I felt) went largely unnoticed and unrecognized? Was it bosses who refused to innovate, who felt like educational beliefs learnt and held 20 years ago were still valid today even with decades of scientific proof otherwise, who made me work in person, around children, when I thought I had covid?

What exactly was the problem?

When the pandemic hit the Czech Republic and schools closed nationwide I lost half my income in a heartbeat. I, like others, was driven by fear and necessity to immediately reevaluate my income, to seek out new paths. I have historically, and surprisingly (to myself) been wildly successful at creating income when need be so again, I got lucky. Or I found ways. Take the path that you prefer, both roads lead to the same outcome. I figured it out.

Or so I thought.

I have a propensity to oscillate between extremes. I don’t say this as a positive, but merely as an observation. Fear brings things out in us that we don’t always expect, but I guess you could say that with me the outcome wasn’t that surprising. 

I’ve been poor before. Many times. I have worked commission-only jobs where I had such low income that I survived off of vending machine food. I was lucky enough to turn these situations around, but that fear lives within me. It comes out when it gets triggered I guess. And so it came to direct my lockdown one behavior. I took on so many lessons that I spent my few free minutes between them frantically journaling, meditating, doing hurried reps of weightlifting, snatching moments of podcasts. I thought I had found freedom. I thought I had life-hacked my way to ultimate happiness in a time of complete chaos.

For a time, I was correct.

Honestly, I was happier for a while than I had ever been. I was making more money, no longer had 3-hour commutes each day and got to teach in sweatpants. Living the dream right? Alas. I’ve always been better at thinking short-term than long-term in terms of the complex relationship between work and happiness. 

Maybe I choose money because of those days of Cheetos and shame. Fear and lack. But whatever the reason, I tend to direct it inwards, always. I am the problem. I chose this and now I hate it. I feel overwhelmed. I am exhausted. This is my fault. What is wrong with me? Other people thrive in high-paced, high-stress situations, so why can’t I? Especially in one of my own creation. 

Or do they? Do they really thrive? Are they really happy and healthy? Are all areas of their life ACTUALLY perfect? 

Is it that I am not made for grind culture or that grind culture is not made for humans?

It’s a weird place to be in to believe in education so strongly, to have gotten so much out of your career path. So much love, so many happy memories, and then somehow, incomprehensibly, have it feel like it was all a dream. 

So what was the anatomy of my overwhelm? Burnout to me feels like being on the outside looking in. It feels like being stuck behind glass. Being outside in the storm and looking in through the window to see that other people are having an amazing time. It feels like turning the happiness and wellbeing of others on yourself like a weapon. 

Well of course they’re happy. Look at them. Laughing, smiling, living their lives as if the world isn’t ending.

It feels like living in a permanent state of fear. Of fight or flight. Of anxiety. 

It feels like the idea of a text message or an email bringing you to tears because you know, you just know, that if you respond you’ll be stuck in an endless loop of replies. 

It feels like everything bad will go on forever and nothing good will ever come again. 

It feels like hopelessness. Like a constant state of grieving that no one can see or cares about. It feels like being a fraud. Like falling into Pleasantville and being scared to death of the day that everyone finds out that you don’t belong there. 

For me, it also felt like waking up from a good dream and begging to go back to sleep. Because I used to be the positive one. I was overly positive, even in times of crisis. And then, unexpectedly, I felt like I could hold onto positivity to save my life. 

It felt like letting everyone down all of the time. Knowing that I was letting them down even if they were saying with their words that I wasn’t. It felt like stress crying because I had spent seven hours creating powerpoints for my classes and still not being done when the first class was five minutes from starting. 

It felt like I had lied on my resume for “life”, but I couldn’t be fired. It felt like being Atlas without the benefit of immortality. 

Atlas was a Titan. He had the strength to hold up the world. What did I have? 

It also felt a lot like confusion. It still does. While in many ways I have taken a long exhale, I still ask myself every day, “How did this happen?” I made these choices. I loved this work. I still believe deep within my soul that every child in the world, and every adult as well, deserves accessible education. I wanted to be that person, or at least do my part, and yet lockdown made me feel like a groundhog-day loop of being crushed by the weight of my burdens day by day, moment by moment, and then waking up and having it happen all over again. 

Did I do this to myself? Did lockdown do this to all of us? Or some of us even? Was it just me? 

A friend told me a few months ago that everyone hates their jobs. That having all the available aspects or rest, leisure and recreation, or even basic human contact taken away from us has made us miserable. 

I can count the number of hugs I have received in the last year on one hand. Yet seeing everything reopen, even receiving my first vaccine shot puts neither my heart nor my mind at ease. I am not rushing back into public life nor am I teaching in a school next year. My heart feels broken, my soul’s fire extinguished. I don’t know what this means for me. I don’t know what the future holds, how my mind and heart will change. How I will come back to myself. But I think even an extinguished fire can somehow be rekindled. 

This post was originally inspired by the song “No Regrets” by Dappy, which spoke quite well to how I felt this past school year: 

Deep inside there’s a fire 

Cuz I’m no longer looking at a reflection that I admire 

I paint a picture of a fighter

But there’s someone looking back at me says I’m a liar

Cuz when I look in the mirror

I don’t even recognize myself

I got the heart of a winner

But looking at back at me is someone else

How does the song end?

No regrets

No regrets

Cuz you ain’t even seen the best of me.

Teaching Confidence

I could write literally hundreds of different blogs about what I love about teaching (and to be real, at least a handful about what I don’t like 😉 ), but as I’m currently preparing oral testing questions, this topic in particular hit home with me.

When I was growing up, so much of school was still vague. I guess it probably still is in many places. “Study what we have learned so far.” “Make sure you’re prepared for the test on Tuesday.” Okay, but what does that mean? How should I study? What material is most important?

I think I had one class in high school (out of all my time in school from age 6 to age 21) where we talked about how to study, take notes, research, etc. One. In college, it was like our professors went out of their way to be as vague as possible about what material we would be tested on. But honestly, what is the point of that? Now I don’t have a degree in education, so maybe there is some hidden golden nugget of wisdom in these methods, but honestly I don’t see it at all.

I have to test my students currently and I high key hate it. I am teaching Czech children English without the assistance of a Czech teacher to translate. Now, I understand a fair amount of Czech so I know when they’re confused, if they verbalize it. But what if they don’t? It is both a cultural and a human nature issue, but oftentimes they will say nothing and nod along as if they understand. So, when I do need to do oral testing, I make sure to have a review session beforehand. I ask questions in the exact same way that I will be asking them during the test. I actually want them to understand and feel prepared as possible.

Why? Because what in the hell is the point of learning if you feel confused all the time and lack complete confidence in your ability to learn the material? Guess what? There isn’t one. Yeah, sure, some of us, based on our personalities, parents, and other external and internal factors will be motivated to try even harder, but because resilience and persistence aren’t typically taught in schools, many of us will just say f*ck it and assume that we can’t learn the material or that we aren’t good at it. All of this simply because we are forced into a system that wants us to believe that those things are true.

I’m sorry, but why the hell would you want to become a teacher just to make your students feel inadequate? I would so much rather spend more time on the material and have my students walk in knowing with every fiber of their being that mistakes and confusion are okay because I am there to help them. That is my job.If you knew everything, you wouldn’t need me. I do not care at all if my students don’t know something when they walk in the door, but if they walk out that same door feeling like English is impossible, then that’s on me. That is my fault. 

If teachers saw themselves as allies and saw learning as equal parts their responsibility, I wonder how much more students would learn. And that is not to say that many teachers don’t teach like this already. I had some incredible teachers growing up and I have also been lucky enough to meet many more throughout my life. My problem is with systems that tell us that it is not our job to help students learn. Don’t we want a future society of skilled workers? Even more  importantly, don’t we want to raise a generation of humans who believe in themselves? Who have confidence, resilience, who trust the adults in their lives because they know those adults support and care about them? I know I do. And I have seen the results in every class, every summer camp I have ever taught. 

So let’s change the system, and keep changing it. Let’s show these tiny humans that they can do anything. Because they can.

Miluju Česko: Two Years of Life in Prague

Two years. Hot damn. I still remember clearly the exact moment that I sat in Old Town Square and said, “I could live here someday.” It was 2016 and I was visiting Prague for the first time. It sounds like an offhanded comment, but if you told me then that three years later I would be celebrating my two year Pragueversary, I would’ve believed you.

I entered my first Eurotrip with a mindset that anything was possible. That the universe was looking for ways to help me make my dreams come true and it was that mindset that got me where I am today and that will take me to places beyond imagination in the future.

It has been far from easy and there have been times that have made me question everything. I have stressed cried an embarrassing amount of times for a person who used to readily say that crying is for the weak.

But having a mindset of possibility has led me to the creation of a life where I finally feel at home. Feel like I am a part of something and feel like every day I am contributing to something magnificent. Being a teacher here has redefined everything for me.

I cannot put into words the feelings of love and pride I have had for my students and their progress over the years. Or the feelings of inspiration and support I have had from the friends I have made here. My Prague family.

More than the travel (and don’t get me wrong, the travel has been amazing!), more than the freedoms, the experiences, and adventures, it’s been the people who have made the last two years nothing short of magical. I am actually and literally happy crying as I write this. (Looks like I no longer find crying embarrassing – yippee! :D) So many of these people have orbited into my life and left before I realized the deep and last impact that they made. Before I had a chance to properly tell them. I hope they know. I hope they meet people in their own lives who can positively impact them even half as much as they impacted me. They certainly deserve that and more.

But being me, I like to focus on the positive. Hey, I may be making progress, but I still have a limit on sappiness and it’s nowhere close to a Sarah McLachlan commercial. So here’s a shoutout to some of the best people and memories over the last two years, with deep gratitude for all those yet to come. Happy Pragueversary, me!

 

 

An English 4 You Kind of Summer

The other day one of the parents at my preschool told me that we all looked very relaxed. Had all the teachers gone on long holidays this summer, he wondered? Actually, I spent half my summer working at English camps in the middle of the forest I told him. Teaching three lessons a day plus all the other duties that fall between 8:30am-10:30pm sounds like a nightmare to some people. It certainly requires a mental fortitude that regular life just doesn’t.

So, if living in the forest half the summer wasn’t my way to escape my daily life for something easier, why did I find it so relaxing? Well, English 4 You has a specific kind of magic and I have spent weeks writing and re-writing this post just to attempt to put it into words. I have had some reactions from my previous blog posts about how well-written they are, but the truth is the ones that come from the heart are the hardest to write. They take the most time and to me, sound the most raw. I can write a restaurant review in my sleep, but when I write about something I truly love, something that changed me, it never feels good enough.

But I am of the mindset that the things I love in my love deserve the highest level of gratitude and appreciation I can give them, so I must continue to try.

So, what’s so special about sumemr camp that I can barely put it into words? Well, for starters, the ability it gives you to become best friends with 17 kids who you may barely share a language in common with.

 

“Is this English 4 You, or Czech 4 Megan?”, the kids jokingly asked me all summer. “It’s BOTH!” I would enthusiastically reply. You see, I used to have this belief that in order to learn English, you have to only speak English. But, then I ran into a problem. I love teaching kids!! Like actually, really, deep-down, to my core, LOVE teaching kids. My two favorite age groups very often include kiddos who haven’t had the chance to learn my language yet.

AND THAT’s OKAY!! Yes, there are many ways to teach a language without directly translating, and oftentimes those ways imprint the words in their young brains even better. It works the same for me. I remember Czech words and phrases that I have used or involved some kind of situation more so than I remember random flashcards I have made.

But, on the other hand, I as a teacher, especially a summer camp teacher, need to know if my kids understand and absolutely need them to feel comfortable learning. The first day of my first camp term this year (English 4 You B1), I was my own Czech assistant. My (incredible, amazing, perfect co-leader Kája) had not yet arrived. I told the kids in English and in Czech that we would learn both languages together so that we would all have a good time and be able to communicate. I think I actually watched the entire group breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Being able to have that ability to teach, but also make sure your kids know you are there for them, that you’re on the same team and will probably make more mistakes in their language than they will in yours has served me well. I don’t care if they make mistakes, I just want them to feel confident enough to try.

Another thing I loved so much about this summer was learning as much from the kids as they learned from me. While part of this goes along the same language learning line as above, it wasn’t just that. Being able to have conversations about culture, politics, clothing and music preferences, differences in food taste and ways of eating…you name it. Camp throws you together with a wide varitey of children and leaders and it was so much fun learning from all of them this summer!

The most important important thing by far that I learned this summer was the impact a single person can have. As a teacher and even an individual I always hope to make a difference. I think we all do. We all want to have some kind of postivie impact on the world. But in truth, last year I was afraid. Of many things like not being able to communicate with my campers, not knowing the language, not being sure if I even knew how to teach properly…and on top of all that wondering if I would even have enough money for rent and bills at the end of the summer.

With all that stress I stumbled through the summer just doing the best I could. Looking at other leaders I admired like our fearless Head Teacher Brendan and trying to see what they did that I could emulate. How did the other leaders teach, handle problems, get to know their kids, and organize their day? How did the Czech leaders handle problems and talk to the kids? I remember having a co-leader Lucie who was always so kind to the kids and yet they all listened to her and loved her.

I tried so many things last summer and this past year. Some of them were a success, but some of them taught me instead what not to do. I used to get frustrated when my kids spoke Czech during lessons until I had my absolute favorite group of my students who showed me something I hadn’t yet realized. I stopped getting angry when they would speak during class and started to understand what they were saying. When they asked each other in Czech what I said, what a word meant, or if they could hear it again.

These boys and some of my adult students inspired me to learn Czech. Not just to live my own life more effectively, but to get to know and understand them and their lives as well. I also realized something that hasn’t ceased to fascinate me. When these boys interrupted our lessons with something in English, they were simply trying to tell me something about themselves. To connect with me in some way. To get to know me and to let me get to know them. Not because they had zero respect for me or for our time together, but because they wanted to spend it more valuably.

This seems logical, I know, but I can’t begin to explain to you how poorly my stress brain works sometimes. I am someone who is very goal and success-oriented, often to my own detriment. I want to feel like I am doing my best in every situation, and when I couldn’t get through a lesson without constant interruptions I felt ineffective as a teacher. Yet when I made a simple mindset change it allowed me to become not just a better teacher, but a better person.

This summer I didn’t have as much stress. Like I said earlier, I was more confident. I knew how to teach, how to teach at summer camp, and most importantly, how to make my students feel heard.

Camp wasn’t just fun this year, it felt easy. It felt effortless at times because it felt right. The combination of the leaders, teachers, delegates, and campers was truly incredible. I don’t know if I always get lucky, or if Czech children aged 7-10 are just always the most hilarious, smart, motivated, creative, and kind kids I’ve ever met. My campers this summer inspired me, but it wasn’t just them. It was everyone.

Like I said, these camps taught me that one person can change the world because we can change the life of a child. We can show them that learning can be fun, random, and done at one’s own place and style. By random I mean we can show them that learning is everywhere. We can learn grammar by talking about what the trees look like on our walk to the forest. We can show them that anyone can be a teacher by asking them what things are called in their language. By letting them lead a game or telling them it is okay to ask each other what a word means.

My kids and I looked words up together, had dance parties, played plenty of Hangman, and most importantly learned we can in fact communicate with people who speak different languages. It’s like I always tell my kids: it doesn’t matter if you make mistakes, what is important is that you try.

When they saw myself and each other applying this mindset to other things in life, they started to learn conflict resolution and manners and random acts of kindness. Seeing a camper of mine from last year comfort another boy who was upset after losing a game was simply beautiful.

As I mentioned earlier, it wasn’t just my own campers who made my life so wonderful the last month. Another thing that took me by surprise at camp was how well I was able to get to know kids from other groups. It can be lonely to be floater at times, but my tiny camp and other mini groups at B3 made it the dream. I met some of the most shockingly conciencious boys this summer. From asking when and if I needed translations on the tour to giving me a brief history lesson in English, you boys were amazing!

Seeing all the older kids who come back year after year was such a highlight! It’s going to be so amazing to see the leaders you will become both at camp in life.

Thank you so much to everyone who made these last two summers so memorable! You made it hard for me to leave, but it is impossible to be sad after living the most perfect summer imaginable. See you next year, Group Zero!