Today marked an important milestone in my career: I have completed my NQT year and my two years with The Programme. With my portfolio signed off, my final report filed and graduation from The Programme on Friday, I can't quite believe the changes the last year has brought.
To be honest, I can't bring myself to read previous blogs. Last year I was miserable but on the mend. I didn't enjoy teaching and I couldn't see myself going back to teaching in September. I'd survived the hardest year of my life, both personally and professionally, and felt knocked down time and time again.
Now - well, what a change. This year has seen my career metamorphose from a caterpillar of shit into, not quite a beautiful butterfly but, at least a majestic moth.
Yes, school is hard. Teaching is hard. Whoever tells you differently has either never done it or never worked with students who don't want to learn, in an institution with high standards.
This time last year I was grappling with feelings of inadequacy exacerbated by my own high standards and those of The Programme. At the time, I found it overwhelming. I remember thinking I was going to go one of two ways - drop out or knuckle down. Luckily, I chose the latter. Eventually.
So today I had my final observation as an NQT. I received an Outstanding which, if you're not in the business, is pretty bloody good. I don't mean to brag, but when you've felt like you're terrible at something, having a lesson go as well as mine did today felt like not only validation of my hard work, but respect. And it felt good.
So - the future. Yes, I'm staying in teaching. At some point over the past year I realised that this is actually the career I want. No, I don't think I'm the best, and I know many things I want to improve about my own practice and I've begun to appreciate, finally, the power and impact of The Programme.
There are many cynics who have said, at some point, being in The Programme means you get an easy ride, a fast track even. This is not true. You're not good because you're in The Programme, you're in the Programme because you're good. It's taken me a while to see that myself because, although I am hardly what you'd call a typically high-flying participant, I am finally able to see the value of the late nights, the essays, the research and the blood, sweat and literal tears I've poured into the last two years.
Someone once said to me that to be the best teacher you can, you need to be happy in yourself. This was the trickier journey. Luckily for me I met the man I want to spend the rest of my life with during my two years at the school, and the security and happiness that the relationship has brought me has meant that I am a much happier, more relaxed person, and that has had a massive impact on my experience of teaching. Although I needed the late nights and the long days of working, I am now lucky enough to have a life outside of school which is just as important and which means not everything I do revolves around my job. For the first time in two years I am happy with my life. And, I'm proud to say, my career. I am a teacher. Hear me roar.
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Monday, 21 June 2010
Day 176: N(early) Q(ualified) T(eacher)
Last Friday saw the close of what was, essentially, one of the most important weeks of my teaching career to date: The External Assessment Week. Some charming gentleman was coming in on behalf of The Programme to meet with our mentors, observe our lessons, and analyse our portfolios, all to see if we should qualify for QTS in the summer. Kind of a big deal.
To be perfectly honest, I wasn't too bothered. Sure, I wanted to do well, but after the year I've had, the last thing I was concerned about was what some chump thought of me. Or so I thought. On Monday I met one of my fellow participants and she showed me her portfolio. What you need to know is that I was previously praised for having mine in order and I thought that meant that I was ahead of the game. I was, but that was two months ago. As I flicked through my colleague's charmingly bepostitnoted tome I realised something: I was fucked. What followed was two late nights of frantic typing, sorting and printing. I had to develop two units of work that I had planned and taught, and present them with full lesson plans and evaluations. I took two nights doing one. I had planned to go out Wednesday night and as the observation was Thursday I really needed to be in a position where I was basically ready to roll by Wednesday afternoon but as it turned out, that didn't happen.
After a fabulous night out in Brixton with a little too much beer, I wafted into work at 6.30, hungover but alert. I set to prepping and printing data for my portfolio, adding myriad post-its to show where I knew I was missing work. Then I wrote a nice long list of all the work I needed to do. I am nothing if not honest. As for the observation, I had decided to teach a lesson I'd planned for year 11 way back when, because it required little reworking and the powerpoint had been used by my colleagues so I knew it was good. I was suddenly glad that I had gone out the night before, because panic had been replaced by a serenity which, although was somewhat misleading, meant that I knew I was going to be OK.
I was rather perturbed when, as I was being harassed by a certain year 9 in the corridor (apparently she wanted access to my computer "to work on stuff") my LDO appeared out of nowhere and introduced me to the new Programme Participant who would be joining English. Brave move, I thought. She seemed nice enough (was I that positive a year ago?) and I showed her around my classroom and the department, even introducing her to a few colleagues. Our little tour was interrupted by the approach of my assessor, so I let him in to my (painstakingly laid out) classroom and waited for the students to arrive.
I had bribed them the lesson before ("there's a very important person going to be observing our lesson tomorrow. Please be nice. There may be some chocolate in it for you...") so I was pleased when they, for the most part, turned up on time and got on with the starter. The rest of the lesson went pretty well - there were a few notable absentees, and the ones who were there tried really hard to participate, politely no less. I could have hugged every single one of them when the lesson ended and we got through everything. My lessons are regularly mistimed (my penchant for tangents) but this one went OK.
After the kids left the assessor asked me how I thought it went, and if I enjoyed the lesson. I had, actually, because the kids really enjoyed the short story - one of my favourites - and seemed to get into the activities. I was due to meet with him after lunch for my feedback and portfolio 'chat', so I skipped off to the English Office to eat before heading downstairs. I needn't have been concerned (not that I was, really) because he was rather nice, actually. He was probably relieved by my to-do list, because it meant he didn't have to think, really, and said that the lesson went well. He basically said that, assuming I do all the things I said I need to, I'll qualify for QTS, which is nice.
Naturally, with that day over, Friday went very quickly indeed, and it was on to the weekend I had been looking forward to so much. I turned up to work today feeling pretty down in the dumps, not only because I only woke up at 7.55 (two hours later than planned) and bombed into school without even getting a shower first, just making it to briefing in time to hear our professional mentor congratulating us on our hard work the week before, and a rather embarrassing round of applause. Cringe.
I only had one lesson today - year 7 - and it was a new subject: Stories With a Twist. I was a little slow in getting their assessment for the last half term done, so we are only starting it now, but the kids seemed to like it. I even managed to put together a powerpoint for it, despite how late I was. What was really interesting, alas for me and not the students, was that this exact lesson was one I had observed on my visit to the school a whole year ago. How bizarre. It's so odd to think back to a year ago, and the life I was living then, the expectations I had, and the misconceptions. I remember it had been the day after I'd gotten back from Thailand, so I was jet lagged and extremely spaced out. I had met a couple of colleagues who chatted to me and showed me some work, and I'd politely shown an interest. Apparently I'd talked about painting the classroom then, which had been 'annoying'.
It may be strange, but only now am I really in a position (despite how much marking I have) to sit back and think about the year. There was a girl from The Programme doing her School Observation Experience, which I'd done in late June last year in an academy in Peckham. I talked to her frankly (although not that frankly) about what the year had been like ("it has been horrible at times...") and offered to show her my portfolio. Apparently her year won't be doing the RJAs which is nice. Speaking of which, that's something else I have to do this week.
Finally, I was shown my potential new timetable for next year by my mentor. Although it will more than likely change, I will be teaching a year 7, a bottom set year 8 (ARGH) a top set year 10 and 9, no year 11, but a retake year 12. I was pretty pleased about 7, 9 and 10, although absolutely gutted that I won't be teaching year 11 because I was supposed to keep my class. Having said that, they are rearranging the classes into three bands rather than two, so they would have all been split up anyway.
So there you go. Only 4 weeks left. I can't really believe it's gone so quickly. I just hope I can get on top of everything I need to by the end of term. There's so much I'm excited about next year: Latin Club, having a tutor group, being more established as a teacher, perhaps starting the rugby club like I'd wanted, and actually working on making sure I'm a happy person and understanding the importance of putting that before getting shit done for school.
I guess I need to get through the rest of this term first. Roll on, summer.
To be perfectly honest, I wasn't too bothered. Sure, I wanted to do well, but after the year I've had, the last thing I was concerned about was what some chump thought of me. Or so I thought. On Monday I met one of my fellow participants and she showed me her portfolio. What you need to know is that I was previously praised for having mine in order and I thought that meant that I was ahead of the game. I was, but that was two months ago. As I flicked through my colleague's charmingly bepostitnoted tome I realised something: I was fucked. What followed was two late nights of frantic typing, sorting and printing. I had to develop two units of work that I had planned and taught, and present them with full lesson plans and evaluations. I took two nights doing one. I had planned to go out Wednesday night and as the observation was Thursday I really needed to be in a position where I was basically ready to roll by Wednesday afternoon but as it turned out, that didn't happen.
After a fabulous night out in Brixton with a little too much beer, I wafted into work at 6.30, hungover but alert. I set to prepping and printing data for my portfolio, adding myriad post-its to show where I knew I was missing work. Then I wrote a nice long list of all the work I needed to do. I am nothing if not honest. As for the observation, I had decided to teach a lesson I'd planned for year 11 way back when, because it required little reworking and the powerpoint had been used by my colleagues so I knew it was good. I was suddenly glad that I had gone out the night before, because panic had been replaced by a serenity which, although was somewhat misleading, meant that I knew I was going to be OK.
I was rather perturbed when, as I was being harassed by a certain year 9 in the corridor (apparently she wanted access to my computer "to work on stuff") my LDO appeared out of nowhere and introduced me to the new Programme Participant who would be joining English. Brave move, I thought. She seemed nice enough (was I that positive a year ago?) and I showed her around my classroom and the department, even introducing her to a few colleagues. Our little tour was interrupted by the approach of my assessor, so I let him in to my (painstakingly laid out) classroom and waited for the students to arrive.
I had bribed them the lesson before ("there's a very important person going to be observing our lesson tomorrow. Please be nice. There may be some chocolate in it for you...") so I was pleased when they, for the most part, turned up on time and got on with the starter. The rest of the lesson went pretty well - there were a few notable absentees, and the ones who were there tried really hard to participate, politely no less. I could have hugged every single one of them when the lesson ended and we got through everything. My lessons are regularly mistimed (my penchant for tangents) but this one went OK.
After the kids left the assessor asked me how I thought it went, and if I enjoyed the lesson. I had, actually, because the kids really enjoyed the short story - one of my favourites - and seemed to get into the activities. I was due to meet with him after lunch for my feedback and portfolio 'chat', so I skipped off to the English Office to eat before heading downstairs. I needn't have been concerned (not that I was, really) because he was rather nice, actually. He was probably relieved by my to-do list, because it meant he didn't have to think, really, and said that the lesson went well. He basically said that, assuming I do all the things I said I need to, I'll qualify for QTS, which is nice.
Naturally, with that day over, Friday went very quickly indeed, and it was on to the weekend I had been looking forward to so much. I turned up to work today feeling pretty down in the dumps, not only because I only woke up at 7.55 (two hours later than planned) and bombed into school without even getting a shower first, just making it to briefing in time to hear our professional mentor congratulating us on our hard work the week before, and a rather embarrassing round of applause. Cringe.
I only had one lesson today - year 7 - and it was a new subject: Stories With a Twist. I was a little slow in getting their assessment for the last half term done, so we are only starting it now, but the kids seemed to like it. I even managed to put together a powerpoint for it, despite how late I was. What was really interesting, alas for me and not the students, was that this exact lesson was one I had observed on my visit to the school a whole year ago. How bizarre. It's so odd to think back to a year ago, and the life I was living then, the expectations I had, and the misconceptions. I remember it had been the day after I'd gotten back from Thailand, so I was jet lagged and extremely spaced out. I had met a couple of colleagues who chatted to me and showed me some work, and I'd politely shown an interest. Apparently I'd talked about painting the classroom then, which had been 'annoying'.
It may be strange, but only now am I really in a position (despite how much marking I have) to sit back and think about the year. There was a girl from The Programme doing her School Observation Experience, which I'd done in late June last year in an academy in Peckham. I talked to her frankly (although not that frankly) about what the year had been like ("it has been horrible at times...") and offered to show her my portfolio. Apparently her year won't be doing the RJAs which is nice. Speaking of which, that's something else I have to do this week.
Finally, I was shown my potential new timetable for next year by my mentor. Although it will more than likely change, I will be teaching a year 7, a bottom set year 8 (ARGH) a top set year 10 and 9, no year 11, but a retake year 12. I was pretty pleased about 7, 9 and 10, although absolutely gutted that I won't be teaching year 11 because I was supposed to keep my class. Having said that, they are rearranging the classes into three bands rather than two, so they would have all been split up anyway.
So there you go. Only 4 weeks left. I can't really believe it's gone so quickly. I just hope I can get on top of everything I need to by the end of term. There's so much I'm excited about next year: Latin Club, having a tutor group, being more established as a teacher, perhaps starting the rugby club like I'd wanted, and actually working on making sure I'm a happy person and understanding the importance of putting that before getting shit done for school.
I guess I need to get through the rest of this term first. Roll on, summer.
Monday, 7 June 2010
Day 166: New Directions
After the shit storm I kicked up on the last day of term, I saw this playing out one of two ways. Either I pulled myself together, sought the help and support I required and got back on track to become the teacher I want to be or... I decided to quit, turned this blog into a juicy tell-all book (with the odd elaboration) and got myself into more trouble.
You may be surprised to read that I went for the first option.
To be honest, this was purely down to the reaction of The Programme. I of course did not tell them about the rather less pleasant option two, but they (my LDO and tutor) listened to me, gave me advice and reminded me of my good points as a teacher and, well, supported me to the point that it didn't all feel like a massive waste of time.
So, on the back of their advice, and a week of relaxation, I got up this morning with all the determination and positivity of... yeah, well you get the idea. After a minor detour to help a little old lady find her way to hospital (I ended up walking her the whole way there) I walked into school, not quite ready to get back into it after such a nice week off.
After morning briefing I quickly scrabbled together a lesson for my year 7s which ended up going ok. They are a pretty nice group, and will usually do whatever I ask them. Since getting to know them better I find it quite embarrassing knowing that the more able ones are probably bored by the pace of the class, but it tends to be a lot of group discussions. Maybe I should try to incorporate more group work. I have been determined to try some of the things suggested by the lilac-lite course I did with school.
The rest of the day was free, as I didn't expect my year 11s to turn up in period 5 for their last lesson before their exam tomorrow. I spent the next few periods marking my year 7 APPs. By 5.15 I had actually finished them all. I was so pleased - the folders were up to date and a massive weight was taken off my shoulders. I tried to repeat this success with my outstanding year 9 APPs but I realised it was too big a mission so late in the day so I went through the behaviour manager for the new kids I'm getting in the class. Only two look like real problems. I have no idea what to expect, but during my mentor meeting I talked through what to teach them - Romeo and Juliet. Argh! I quite enjoyed teaching this to my year 10s, but the thought of going from top set year 10 to bottom set year 9 was a little bit depressing. I'm hoping my colleagues who taught bottom set year 10 will be able to help me out. I'm hoping to turn my year 9 class into a development one - so they don't think of themselves as bottom set, and so we can do lots of basic literacy things to get them up to scratch. Well, that's the idea anyway. I'm hoping the influx of girls and rigid-er setting will make a difference to the dynamic of the group, but either way I need to prepare a kick-ass first lesson to get them on side. I imagine tomorrow will be a tad chaotic with room changes, seating plans and just getting their books together. I hope that they are a bit nicer this time around...
So after 12 hours at school I ran home, changed, and went straight to the gym for a class. It felt good to sweat out the day, and although I'm still not enjoying the exercise right now, I am determined to get in shape and I know it'll help me feel better in the long run. I am also trying to be more positive in general, and most importantly, try to be more balanced at work. I think stress and fatigue got the better of me last term and I know that in order to keep my colleagues on side, and be more professional, I need to stop yoyo-ing between misery and jubilation.
I've made a mental list of all the things I am going to do this half term and so here it is:
1. Be more positive.
2. Be more calm and less emotional.
3. Try not to shout if I can avoid it.
4. Blog every day and think about professional development when I do.
5. Stay on top of paperwork.
6. Remember why I'm doing this. The real reasons.
7. Do enough outside of school to keep me sane.
8. Try not to leave school until I've planned lessons for the next day (oops...)
I think that's it for now. Anyway, on that note - ciao.
You may be surprised to read that I went for the first option.
To be honest, this was purely down to the reaction of The Programme. I of course did not tell them about the rather less pleasant option two, but they (my LDO and tutor) listened to me, gave me advice and reminded me of my good points as a teacher and, well, supported me to the point that it didn't all feel like a massive waste of time.
So, on the back of their advice, and a week of relaxation, I got up this morning with all the determination and positivity of... yeah, well you get the idea. After a minor detour to help a little old lady find her way to hospital (I ended up walking her the whole way there) I walked into school, not quite ready to get back into it after such a nice week off.
After morning briefing I quickly scrabbled together a lesson for my year 7s which ended up going ok. They are a pretty nice group, and will usually do whatever I ask them. Since getting to know them better I find it quite embarrassing knowing that the more able ones are probably bored by the pace of the class, but it tends to be a lot of group discussions. Maybe I should try to incorporate more group work. I have been determined to try some of the things suggested by the lilac-lite course I did with school.
The rest of the day was free, as I didn't expect my year 11s to turn up in period 5 for their last lesson before their exam tomorrow. I spent the next few periods marking my year 7 APPs. By 5.15 I had actually finished them all. I was so pleased - the folders were up to date and a massive weight was taken off my shoulders. I tried to repeat this success with my outstanding year 9 APPs but I realised it was too big a mission so late in the day so I went through the behaviour manager for the new kids I'm getting in the class. Only two look like real problems. I have no idea what to expect, but during my mentor meeting I talked through what to teach them - Romeo and Juliet. Argh! I quite enjoyed teaching this to my year 10s, but the thought of going from top set year 10 to bottom set year 9 was a little bit depressing. I'm hoping my colleagues who taught bottom set year 10 will be able to help me out. I'm hoping to turn my year 9 class into a development one - so they don't think of themselves as bottom set, and so we can do lots of basic literacy things to get them up to scratch. Well, that's the idea anyway. I'm hoping the influx of girls and rigid-er setting will make a difference to the dynamic of the group, but either way I need to prepare a kick-ass first lesson to get them on side. I imagine tomorrow will be a tad chaotic with room changes, seating plans and just getting their books together. I hope that they are a bit nicer this time around...
So after 12 hours at school I ran home, changed, and went straight to the gym for a class. It felt good to sweat out the day, and although I'm still not enjoying the exercise right now, I am determined to get in shape and I know it'll help me feel better in the long run. I am also trying to be more positive in general, and most importantly, try to be more balanced at work. I think stress and fatigue got the better of me last term and I know that in order to keep my colleagues on side, and be more professional, I need to stop yoyo-ing between misery and jubilation.
I've made a mental list of all the things I am going to do this half term and so here it is:
1. Be more positive.
2. Be more calm and less emotional.
3. Try not to shout if I can avoid it.
4. Blog every day and think about professional development when I do.
5. Stay on top of paperwork.
6. Remember why I'm doing this. The real reasons.
7. Do enough outside of school to keep me sane.
8. Try not to leave school until I've planned lessons for the next day (oops...)
I think that's it for now. Anyway, on that note - ciao.
Saturday, 29 May 2010
Day 165: The Beginning of The End
I actually don't know where to start. I suppose I'll just come out with it. I'm in trouble. Real trouble. I genuinely don't know what is going to happen now, or what I can do about it. I'm going to try to sort through this for my own sanity rather than anything else.
So yesterday was the last day of half-term. It was also the last day that I could hand in my notice if I wanted to leave in September and receive a good reference. I had let this fact go quietly, because I suppose I had made up my mind that I would stick at it. I wasn't teaching because I'd booked a hospital appointment for the morning (it had been rearranged to that day - by the time I realised it wasn't during half term it was too late to change.) After a nice morning being prodded followed by drinking coffee with my friends in the hospital canteen, I swanned in around 12, thinking I could spend the last couple of hours planning for Latin Club. I came in just in time for the last ten minutes of my year 7's lesson, so relieved the cover teacher and watched 5 minutes of Enchanted with them (and ignoring the mothers' meeting that was occurring in the back corner) before wishing them well on their way.
I went to the English Office and excitedly booked tickets to Yorkshire with two of my colleagues; we're going to stay with my northern colleague's family and see the moors, or whatever it is you do up there (I lived there as a young child but have no recollection whatsoever, other than our treehouse.) When the bell rang for period 5 I skipped off to my classroom to plan my lesson for Latin Club. I was pretty nervous about it - I'd sent out an email the night before but as it was the end of term and I'd cancelled last week I wasn't sure who would come. I ended up extending the activity I'd done a few weeks ago which had been really successful, adding bits of information about Rome. As it turned out, four students turned up, and my two colleagues came to support. They ended up joining in, along with the librarian, and I found that two of my students were able to explain it better than I could. Although there weren't many there, it was nice to see the enthusiasm of the four boys who showed up. I thought to myself that I'd have to seriously plan out the next one to reward their enthusiasm.
Finishing early, my colleagues and I arranged with the librarian to go for a drink, and we went off to sort ourselves out. I decided to leave everything at work and come in on Tuesday to sort it out - I didn't want to think about marking just yet. I sat in reception waiting for my colleagues when a group of students were brought in by the school's PC. Something about "trouble at the bus stop". The librarian and I exchanged knowing looks and a woman who'd led our after school training came in, and I chatted to her briefly until my phone rang. An unknown number. I answered it, and it was my LDO. I remember she's called us all in the beginning on the last day of the first week or something, so I was expecting a similar "how did it go" chat when she asked me if I had a few minutes to spare.
"Yeah, now's fine." I said. I was still waiting for a couple of people to turn up.
"OK, well I'm just going to come out and say it... a 2010 participant found your blog and read it, and called our graduate recruitment department saying that they were concerned and frightened by it."
"Oh... dear." I stammered. Shame, fear, and something else, probably a cold sweat, washed over me.
"Now, I'm not saying you're in trouble, and I'm not going to tell you to take it down, but now it's been brought to our attention, we have read it, and I have read it, and your tutor and I are worried. Are you ok? I know how hard it is but we're really concerned about you."
I felt tears prick my eyes, and became suddenly very aware of my colleagues waiting behind me and the students waiting to see the PC. I can't remember what I said, but it was apologetic. It got worse. She suggested I meet with her and my tutor in half term for a chat. Then she said:
"Also, have you heard of [person I had heard of]? He's the external relations director for the programme, and he's read it too and he'd like to meet you. He'd like a little chat about being 'media-savvy'."
I agreed to said meeting, and said "chat" for the following week. I said goodbye and walked out the door. My colleagues (there were about four of them now) looked confused and I blurted out what had been said. I was mortified. I have never felt so stupid, so embarrassed and so terrified. What were they going to do to me? A colleague joked that they might try to have me sectioned. I don't really know what to think right now. Fortunately there was wireless in the pub, so although the blog has not been taken down, I was able to make it private so that only I can read it. I'm simply cataloguing this for my memory. It reminds me of a column I read in the guardian magazine, where the author, who often wrote about his neighbour, was confronted by said neighbour about it and denied that he was writing about him.
I feel like I'd been writing a note insulting my teacher and she found it and read it. I know that this blog turned from a reflective tool into a bit of a bitch fest by the end of it, and maybe if I'd written throughout the whole of the last term I would have been a bit more balanced. I am mortified that the last post was read by all these people. I have gone out of my way to never mention the school or the students or colleagues by name, but I suppose that doesn't matter. I guess all my complaining that I'm not coping has finally been heard by someone. I just have to see what will happen.
Now, as if that bombshell wasn't enough, I made the mistake of getting rather trollied at the pub, and my colleague, now my senior, tried to have a heart to heart with me. After 7 hours (literally) of drinking, this was not the best idea.
"You and I need to have a chat" he said, as we sat in the beer garden surrounded by North London's finest.
"What about?"
This went on for a little while, then he said:
"You need to curb your behaviour."
"What?"
What the fuck did that mean? What behaviour? I remembered all the crying in the office recently, the swearing, the complaining. I suppose he was right about that but it wasn't like I was doing it to get attention. I had just been really really unhappy and I didn't think to hide it from anyone. Maybe that was a mistake.
"Kicking down doors." he finally offered, "I wasn't even there, but..."
Now I was upset.
"That is bullshit." I spat.
I have never, ever, kicked in a door. Yes, I've closed one with my foot when my hands were full, and maybe slammed it by accident, but I have never, EVER, 'kicked in' a door. I was furious. This meant that they (who?) were talking about me, and twisting what I was doing into some sort of mental behaviour. I stormed out of the pub, which I suppose did little to dissuade anyone that I am prone to overreaction. I cried the whole way home, and I am still mulling over what he said now.
I actually feel like not going back after half term now. I suppose I am really quite angry about this whole thing, and maybe after an incredibly stressful 6 weeks and an evening in the pub I shouldn't overreact, but I am now not sure if they even want me back. Have I become some sort of unpredictable nightmare? Am I that bad? If I am that shit at my job, why didn't someone say something sooner? I suppose I am going to have to wait for the meeting on Tuesday and speak to them then about what I can do. Maybe they don't want me to go back. At this point in time, I really, really don't know what to do. Part of me, assuming they're not going to suggest I leave, wants to stick it out just to spite them. But then a bigger part of me isn't sure how I can go back to work after that. I guess I'll just have to wait till Tuesday.
So yesterday was the last day of half-term. It was also the last day that I could hand in my notice if I wanted to leave in September and receive a good reference. I had let this fact go quietly, because I suppose I had made up my mind that I would stick at it. I wasn't teaching because I'd booked a hospital appointment for the morning (it had been rearranged to that day - by the time I realised it wasn't during half term it was too late to change.) After a nice morning being prodded followed by drinking coffee with my friends in the hospital canteen, I swanned in around 12, thinking I could spend the last couple of hours planning for Latin Club. I came in just in time for the last ten minutes of my year 7's lesson, so relieved the cover teacher and watched 5 minutes of Enchanted with them (and ignoring the mothers' meeting that was occurring in the back corner) before wishing them well on their way.
I went to the English Office and excitedly booked tickets to Yorkshire with two of my colleagues; we're going to stay with my northern colleague's family and see the moors, or whatever it is you do up there (I lived there as a young child but have no recollection whatsoever, other than our treehouse.) When the bell rang for period 5 I skipped off to my classroom to plan my lesson for Latin Club. I was pretty nervous about it - I'd sent out an email the night before but as it was the end of term and I'd cancelled last week I wasn't sure who would come. I ended up extending the activity I'd done a few weeks ago which had been really successful, adding bits of information about Rome. As it turned out, four students turned up, and my two colleagues came to support. They ended up joining in, along with the librarian, and I found that two of my students were able to explain it better than I could. Although there weren't many there, it was nice to see the enthusiasm of the four boys who showed up. I thought to myself that I'd have to seriously plan out the next one to reward their enthusiasm.
Finishing early, my colleagues and I arranged with the librarian to go for a drink, and we went off to sort ourselves out. I decided to leave everything at work and come in on Tuesday to sort it out - I didn't want to think about marking just yet. I sat in reception waiting for my colleagues when a group of students were brought in by the school's PC. Something about "trouble at the bus stop". The librarian and I exchanged knowing looks and a woman who'd led our after school training came in, and I chatted to her briefly until my phone rang. An unknown number. I answered it, and it was my LDO. I remember she's called us all in the beginning on the last day of the first week or something, so I was expecting a similar "how did it go" chat when she asked me if I had a few minutes to spare.
"Yeah, now's fine." I said. I was still waiting for a couple of people to turn up.
"OK, well I'm just going to come out and say it... a 2010 participant found your blog and read it, and called our graduate recruitment department saying that they were concerned and frightened by it."
"Oh... dear." I stammered. Shame, fear, and something else, probably a cold sweat, washed over me.
"Now, I'm not saying you're in trouble, and I'm not going to tell you to take it down, but now it's been brought to our attention, we have read it, and I have read it, and your tutor and I are worried. Are you ok? I know how hard it is but we're really concerned about you."
I felt tears prick my eyes, and became suddenly very aware of my colleagues waiting behind me and the students waiting to see the PC. I can't remember what I said, but it was apologetic. It got worse. She suggested I meet with her and my tutor in half term for a chat. Then she said:
"Also, have you heard of [person I had heard of]? He's the external relations director for the programme, and he's read it too and he'd like to meet you. He'd like a little chat about being 'media-savvy'."
I agreed to said meeting, and said "chat" for the following week. I said goodbye and walked out the door. My colleagues (there were about four of them now) looked confused and I blurted out what had been said. I was mortified. I have never felt so stupid, so embarrassed and so terrified. What were they going to do to me? A colleague joked that they might try to have me sectioned. I don't really know what to think right now. Fortunately there was wireless in the pub, so although the blog has not been taken down, I was able to make it private so that only I can read it. I'm simply cataloguing this for my memory. It reminds me of a column I read in the guardian magazine, where the author, who often wrote about his neighbour, was confronted by said neighbour about it and denied that he was writing about him.
I feel like I'd been writing a note insulting my teacher and she found it and read it. I know that this blog turned from a reflective tool into a bit of a bitch fest by the end of it, and maybe if I'd written throughout the whole of the last term I would have been a bit more balanced. I am mortified that the last post was read by all these people. I have gone out of my way to never mention the school or the students or colleagues by name, but I suppose that doesn't matter. I guess all my complaining that I'm not coping has finally been heard by someone. I just have to see what will happen.
Now, as if that bombshell wasn't enough, I made the mistake of getting rather trollied at the pub, and my colleague, now my senior, tried to have a heart to heart with me. After 7 hours (literally) of drinking, this was not the best idea.
"You and I need to have a chat" he said, as we sat in the beer garden surrounded by North London's finest.
"What about?"
This went on for a little while, then he said:
"You need to curb your behaviour."
"What?"
What the fuck did that mean? What behaviour? I remembered all the crying in the office recently, the swearing, the complaining. I suppose he was right about that but it wasn't like I was doing it to get attention. I had just been really really unhappy and I didn't think to hide it from anyone. Maybe that was a mistake.
"Kicking down doors." he finally offered, "I wasn't even there, but..."
Now I was upset.
"That is bullshit." I spat.
I have never, ever, kicked in a door. Yes, I've closed one with my foot when my hands were full, and maybe slammed it by accident, but I have never, EVER, 'kicked in' a door. I was furious. This meant that they (who?) were talking about me, and twisting what I was doing into some sort of mental behaviour. I stormed out of the pub, which I suppose did little to dissuade anyone that I am prone to overreaction. I cried the whole way home, and I am still mulling over what he said now.
I actually feel like not going back after half term now. I suppose I am really quite angry about this whole thing, and maybe after an incredibly stressful 6 weeks and an evening in the pub I shouldn't overreact, but I am now not sure if they even want me back. Have I become some sort of unpredictable nightmare? Am I that bad? If I am that shit at my job, why didn't someone say something sooner? I suppose I am going to have to wait for the meeting on Tuesday and speak to them then about what I can do. Maybe they don't want me to go back. At this point in time, I really, really don't know what to do. Part of me, assuming they're not going to suggest I leave, wants to stick it out just to spite them. But then a bigger part of me isn't sure how I can go back to work after that. I guess I'll just have to wait till Tuesday.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Day 162: I had a dream my life would be so different from this hell I'm living
SO where am I now?
Well, there are exactly three days left until half term. After that, I have six weeks until I am finished for the summer. 6 1/2, technically, but I'm refusing to count those last couple. So all in all, that adds up to about 35 1/2 days left of school. If I was a little less stressed, I think I would probably add up exactly how many hours that is. But I won't.
I'm a little disappointed that I wasn't able to keep up the blog the whole way but it just became impossible. You see, I had managed to go all those weeks before the paperwork caught up with me and, now that it has, I just want to die.
I actually joined the gym last week because I decided that perhaps exercise would make me feel better. So far, it hasn't.
I'll be honest, I'm feeling insanely miserable right now. I actually walked home from the gym in tears. I don't know why I was expecting some wave of euphoria to wash over me when I finally did a little exercise, but when it didn't come and I was left with that same gnawing feeling of inadequacy which has been eroding my self confidence for the past lord-knows-how many weeks.
I suppose this is what being stressed feels like. I had year 8 today (today being Tuesday) and I was so frustrated with their behaviour I was actually imagining pushing one of them in my head. That terrifies me. Whenever stories crop up in the red tops, detailing frazzled ancient teachers coming to the end of their tether and finally bitch-slapping a kid, you never assume they're in their first year of teaching.
I think I've been working around the same idea for a few months now. Do I really want to come back in September? If I don't, I have until Friday, being half term, to hand in my notice if I want a good reference. So what's stopping me?
I guess I should just weigh up the pros and cons:
Why I should leave:
I am miserable, and have been for a long, long time.
I don't feel like I am any good at it.
I don't really feel supported by several people in school.
I don't feel I'm able to say anything about that.
I genuinely hate some of the children. I also hate the people who tell me I shouldn't.
I feel that no matter how many hours I plough into preparing things, my lessons are no better than they were in September.
My behaviour management is worse.
I'm tired, all the time.
I miss my friends. I miss doing things mid-week. I miss having the whole weekend to myself.
I miss coming home at 5 and switching off.
This isn't what I want to do in the long run.
When the kids tell me I'm shit at teaching, I believe them.
I hate being bad at anything. I feel that constantly here.
I really don't think they are learning anything.
I have a headache all the fucking time.
I have never felt so unhappy. Really, never.
For all the hours I do, I seem to be constantly out of money. The pay is terrible.
I feel undermined by everyone.
I feel like everyone fucking hates me. Staff and children.
I'm beginning to hate everyone else too.
Sometimes when I'm feeling really low I'm scared I'm going to do something stupid.
If this was any other job I would have walked out the door 9 months ago.
I get so stressed out that the only thing I was looking forward to, Latin Club, is being pushed to the background and has been cancelled three times now.
I honestly can't imagine putting myself through this all again next year.
Oh god. That hurt.
Why I should stay:
I don't want to fail.
I actually don't know what else I'd do.
If I quit now, I would never be able to apply for something else high-pressured. The army would definitely say no.
I've invested this much in it, it's only another year. And it will get easier.
I don't want to let anyone down.
I work with some wonderful people; I've made some wonderful friends.
Some parts of it I do like. I can't think of any right now.
I genuinely love some of the children.
I really want to see some of the kids do well.
I have developed my teacher voice to the point that I can clear a corridor pretty quick.
I've done some of the most stupid things ever since starting this, and I managed to get through them unscathed.
Since joining the gym I have something else to think about, although I hate that too.
There are times when I feel I'm doing a good job. Sometimes. Ok, rarely.
I've achieved some good things.
Despite all the bullshit I've only had two sick days all year, and I was genuinely sick on both.
I quit smoking and kept that up.
I really love Latin club, and the enthusiasm of some of the kids.
I want to see the end of this. I don't want to leave it now.
I like the idea of being an English teacher.
I don't know where that leaves me. I need to stop moaning. I need to stop saying I want to leave; my colleagues are already growing tired of me, I can tell. I feel at the moment I'm just trying to get through the week before half term, so I can reassess and sort myself out then. I just feel like I need to get through a mountain of paperwork and I'll never do it. I hate the idea that somethings will just never get done. That upsets me.
I suppose I should go to bed now, and deal with the rest of the bullshit in the morning. Only three more get-ups to go now. I cannot wait till Friday.
Well, there are exactly three days left until half term. After that, I have six weeks until I am finished for the summer. 6 1/2, technically, but I'm refusing to count those last couple. So all in all, that adds up to about 35 1/2 days left of school. If I was a little less stressed, I think I would probably add up exactly how many hours that is. But I won't.
I'm a little disappointed that I wasn't able to keep up the blog the whole way but it just became impossible. You see, I had managed to go all those weeks before the paperwork caught up with me and, now that it has, I just want to die.
I actually joined the gym last week because I decided that perhaps exercise would make me feel better. So far, it hasn't.
I'll be honest, I'm feeling insanely miserable right now. I actually walked home from the gym in tears. I don't know why I was expecting some wave of euphoria to wash over me when I finally did a little exercise, but when it didn't come and I was left with that same gnawing feeling of inadequacy which has been eroding my self confidence for the past lord-knows-how many weeks.
I suppose this is what being stressed feels like. I had year 8 today (today being Tuesday) and I was so frustrated with their behaviour I was actually imagining pushing one of them in my head. That terrifies me. Whenever stories crop up in the red tops, detailing frazzled ancient teachers coming to the end of their tether and finally bitch-slapping a kid, you never assume they're in their first year of teaching.
I think I've been working around the same idea for a few months now. Do I really want to come back in September? If I don't, I have until Friday, being half term, to hand in my notice if I want a good reference. So what's stopping me?
I guess I should just weigh up the pros and cons:
Why I should leave:
I am miserable, and have been for a long, long time.
I don't feel like I am any good at it.
I don't really feel supported by several people in school.
I don't feel I'm able to say anything about that.
I genuinely hate some of the children. I also hate the people who tell me I shouldn't.
I feel that no matter how many hours I plough into preparing things, my lessons are no better than they were in September.
My behaviour management is worse.
I'm tired, all the time.
I miss my friends. I miss doing things mid-week. I miss having the whole weekend to myself.
I miss coming home at 5 and switching off.
This isn't what I want to do in the long run.
When the kids tell me I'm shit at teaching, I believe them.
I hate being bad at anything. I feel that constantly here.
I really don't think they are learning anything.
I have a headache all the fucking time.
I have never felt so unhappy. Really, never.
For all the hours I do, I seem to be constantly out of money. The pay is terrible.
I feel undermined by everyone.
I feel like everyone fucking hates me. Staff and children.
I'm beginning to hate everyone else too.
Sometimes when I'm feeling really low I'm scared I'm going to do something stupid.
If this was any other job I would have walked out the door 9 months ago.
I get so stressed out that the only thing I was looking forward to, Latin Club, is being pushed to the background and has been cancelled three times now.
I honestly can't imagine putting myself through this all again next year.
Oh god. That hurt.
Why I should stay:
I don't want to fail.
I actually don't know what else I'd do.
If I quit now, I would never be able to apply for something else high-pressured. The army would definitely say no.
I've invested this much in it, it's only another year. And it will get easier.
I don't want to let anyone down.
I work with some wonderful people; I've made some wonderful friends.
Some parts of it I do like. I can't think of any right now.
I genuinely love some of the children.
I really want to see some of the kids do well.
I have developed my teacher voice to the point that I can clear a corridor pretty quick.
I've done some of the most stupid things ever since starting this, and I managed to get through them unscathed.
Since joining the gym I have something else to think about, although I hate that too.
There are times when I feel I'm doing a good job. Sometimes. Ok, rarely.
I've achieved some good things.
Despite all the bullshit I've only had two sick days all year, and I was genuinely sick on both.
I quit smoking and kept that up.
I really love Latin club, and the enthusiasm of some of the kids.
I want to see the end of this. I don't want to leave it now.
I like the idea of being an English teacher.
I don't know where that leaves me. I need to stop moaning. I need to stop saying I want to leave; my colleagues are already growing tired of me, I can tell. I feel at the moment I'm just trying to get through the week before half term, so I can reassess and sort myself out then. I just feel like I need to get through a mountain of paperwork and I'll never do it. I hate the idea that somethings will just never get done. That upsets me.
I suppose I should go to bed now, and deal with the rest of the bullshit in the morning. Only three more get-ups to go now. I cannot wait till Friday.
Sunday, 25 April 2010
Week 27: Thanks, Iceland
Oh, hello there! Yes, it's been a while, hasn't it? I suppose there's not much excuse, apart from the fact that I just couldn't be bothered. I've decided that I can't keep up with the daily updates (as evidenced by the lack of posts) so I'm going to switch to weekly ones instead. Here we go...
So, I'll be honest, last week was tough. The first week back from a holiday is always tough, and when the school is missing twelve members of staff due a particularly inconsiderate volcano, things get a little tougher.
Monday morning started with panicked texts sent between a fellow Teachy Firster and myself on the journey in, hoping desperately that enough teachers would be absent that we could close the school. I knew of at least 5, but alas, there were not enough. The motley crew left behind who were not honeymooning in Jamaica or stuck rather less luxuriously in Madrid shared the same shell-shocked appearance.
Personally, I had been looking forward to a day off teaching, as we had planned to moderate our coursework all day. As four members of the department were abroad, this was cancelled and I had to come up with a quick lesson for year 7 (test - ha!) and year 11.
The lessons themselves weren't too bad, although I was somewhat disheartened to see that K was back to his irritating couldn't-care-less in year 11. What was difficult was the rest of the children. Our corridor can be rather frantic at times, and four well-meaning substitute teachers do not help. The kids actually cheer when they see they have a cover lesson, because they know it means they aren't expected to actually do any work.
The day was rounded off with training, which I was disappointed to learn would be the last in a line of really great Lilac-esque training. I had thoroughly enjoyed the course, and it had actually made the Monday afternoons interesting.
So the week was set up well, but I was not prepared for what was going to come next: Tuesday. Having had a week to process, reflect on and over-analyse that day to the nth degree, I can honestly say that I've forgotten what was so terrible. As with every Tuesday, it ended with year 8. I did my classic holding them all back for a class detention, as, per usual, they were infuriating. W walked out after arguing with me, and I let him go. Booster class after was attended by the faithful three, but my professional tutor popped in to speak to me. We talked about various bits of paperwork, from my journal, to portfolio, to general marking, that I am woefully behind, and I began to get upset. An hour later, I went home feeling utterly miserable. I cried non-stop for two hours, literally crying myself to sleep, and decided I wouldn't be coming in the next day.
I woke up at 6 the next morning and thought it through. I can't go into that thought process now, mainly because I'm tired, but I decided that if I didn't go in on Wednesday, I knew I wouldn't ever go back. I also thought about my damn year 11s, and how I didn't want them to waste the last lessons they have. It also comes down to the fact that I knew that I couldn't make the decision to drop out on one bad day.
So, I went in. And the next day, and the day after that. It did, luckily, get better. I spent Thursday preparing my first Latin lesson which, as it turned out, was attended by no fewer than twenty students. By Friday I was laughing. Thank god for the weekend!
So yes, what a shitter. I can't believe I didn't even go to the pub! I actually had a very pleasant weekend with my housemates (and my father on Saturday) which made a real difference to my own frame of mind. Unfortunately, I wasn't at all productive on the Sunday, which meant that the usual Sunday-night blues hit me, with a vengeance. Just another week down, and 5 more to go till half term. I have to make the decision then as to whether or not I'll leave in the summer. Although it's not a publicised option, I know it exists, and I'm holding on to it as my mental safety net. I don't have to do it. And right now, that's getting me through.
So, I'll be honest, last week was tough. The first week back from a holiday is always tough, and when the school is missing twelve members of staff due a particularly inconsiderate volcano, things get a little tougher.
Monday morning started with panicked texts sent between a fellow Teachy Firster and myself on the journey in, hoping desperately that enough teachers would be absent that we could close the school. I knew of at least 5, but alas, there were not enough. The motley crew left behind who were not honeymooning in Jamaica or stuck rather less luxuriously in Madrid shared the same shell-shocked appearance.
Personally, I had been looking forward to a day off teaching, as we had planned to moderate our coursework all day. As four members of the department were abroad, this was cancelled and I had to come up with a quick lesson for year 7 (test - ha!) and year 11.
The lessons themselves weren't too bad, although I was somewhat disheartened to see that K was back to his irritating couldn't-care-less in year 11. What was difficult was the rest of the children. Our corridor can be rather frantic at times, and four well-meaning substitute teachers do not help. The kids actually cheer when they see they have a cover lesson, because they know it means they aren't expected to actually do any work.
The day was rounded off with training, which I was disappointed to learn would be the last in a line of really great Lilac-esque training. I had thoroughly enjoyed the course, and it had actually made the Monday afternoons interesting.
So the week was set up well, but I was not prepared for what was going to come next: Tuesday. Having had a week to process, reflect on and over-analyse that day to the nth degree, I can honestly say that I've forgotten what was so terrible. As with every Tuesday, it ended with year 8. I did my classic holding them all back for a class detention, as, per usual, they were infuriating. W walked out after arguing with me, and I let him go. Booster class after was attended by the faithful three, but my professional tutor popped in to speak to me. We talked about various bits of paperwork, from my journal, to portfolio, to general marking, that I am woefully behind, and I began to get upset. An hour later, I went home feeling utterly miserable. I cried non-stop for two hours, literally crying myself to sleep, and decided I wouldn't be coming in the next day.
I woke up at 6 the next morning and thought it through. I can't go into that thought process now, mainly because I'm tired, but I decided that if I didn't go in on Wednesday, I knew I wouldn't ever go back. I also thought about my damn year 11s, and how I didn't want them to waste the last lessons they have. It also comes down to the fact that I knew that I couldn't make the decision to drop out on one bad day.
So, I went in. And the next day, and the day after that. It did, luckily, get better. I spent Thursday preparing my first Latin lesson which, as it turned out, was attended by no fewer than twenty students. By Friday I was laughing. Thank god for the weekend!
So yes, what a shitter. I can't believe I didn't even go to the pub! I actually had a very pleasant weekend with my housemates (and my father on Saturday) which made a real difference to my own frame of mind. Unfortunately, I wasn't at all productive on the Sunday, which meant that the usual Sunday-night blues hit me, with a vengeance. Just another week down, and 5 more to go till half term. I have to make the decision then as to whether or not I'll leave in the summer. Although it's not a publicised option, I know it exists, and I'm holding on to it as my mental safety net. I don't have to do it. And right now, that's getting me through.
Tuesday, 30 March 2010
Day 127: Yours ever, Boris
Dear ***,
It was lovely to meet you on my visit to *** School.
Well done for signing up for T*** F***. It's a fantastic programme.
However, the purpose of this letter is to say how pleased I was to learn that you are running a Latin class for students. As you know I am passionate about the classics and want all young people to have the opportunity to study the subjects which interest and inspire them.
For further information on how we are taking classics further in London, please contact B*** in my Culture team at b***.
Keep up the good work!
Yours ever,
Boris
Boris Johnson
Mayor of London
It was lovely to meet you on my visit to *** School.
Well done for signing up for T*** F***. It's a fantastic programme.
However, the purpose of this letter is to say how pleased I was to learn that you are running a Latin class for students. As you know I am passionate about the classics and want all young people to have the opportunity to study the subjects which interest and inspire them.
For further information on how we are taking classics further in London, please contact B*** in my Culture team at b***.
Keep up the good work!
Yours ever,
Boris
Boris Johnson
Mayor of London
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