My first year of teaching was in 1986. I had 35 students in my 5th grade classroom — 15 girls and 20 boys. I was hired the spring before when I finished my student teaching. The principal came into the classroom on my birthday that beautiful May morning and told the students he had a big present for me. When he announced the news that I’d be the new teacher at the school, the entire class jumped up and screamed and whistled and swarmed me with hugs while my master teacher handed me a huge bouquet of daisies (my favorite flower). Other teachers peeked into the room from the hallway with a thumbs up. And the office staff sang ‘Happy Birthday!’ over the school wide intercom. That was my initiation into a life long career in education and when I was a mere 22-years-old.
I spent that entire summer preparing for my first year and while working in a popular Mexican restaurant as a waitress by day and then an assistant bar tender until 2am. I could hardly wait for the first day of school and wished the summer away like there was no tomorrow. Curriculum was obtained, units of study planned, bulletin boards were up and ready, classroom management incentives purchased, and even large hand made calendars for each month were lined around the top section of the room complete with holiday graphics, important national holidays noted, vacations blocked off, and a timeline of the projects and units we’d be covering in every subject from literature to geography to math and art. There were individual cubbies for personal belongings and with colored and stenciled name plates awaiting each student.
I’ll never forget that year. I still have the 5-inch thick scrapbook the parents presented to me on the last day of school. It has been carefully preserved all these years in my cedar hope chest — full of pictures, reminders of activities and field trips, and handmade cards and lengthy letters of praise and thanks written in beautiful 5th grade penmanship. I recently sat and lovingly ran my fingers over many of the letters wondering where those special, innocent little people are today. They’d be in their 40’s now and most likely with families and careers of their own. I’ve marveled at their words and the person they admired me to be back then too many times to count.
When I taught elementary school, my students started their day off with penmanship and daily grammar lessons. When they mastered the Palmer Method in pencil, they were awarded the opportunity to write in pen for the remainder of the year. They wanted to write in pen so badly that during their free time, and even recess, they’d sit and practice penmanship, asking me if it was good enough for the pen award. Back then, there were no aides in classrooms. I had a Family Center, though, where moms or dads or uncles or grandparents could come in, unannounced, and help me with some of the busy work. Or circulate the room and monitor time-on-task and working out math problems. Sometimes they’d come to watch the class and give me an extended lunch break. I taught my own art, PE, and had recess duty 3 times a week. I lived in a little apartment about 2 miles away and walked to school everyday. Sometimes students would join me for doughnuts and cocoa before school started.
I had majored in child development and cognitive psychology in undergraduate school, which was unique back then, and so spent an inordinate amount of time on behavior management and modeling unconditional positive regard. I had behavior contracts and academic incentive plans for every child. Rarely did I send a student to the principal. We referred to it as ‘skinning our own skunks’ back in the day when students would act out. And since corporal punishment was still in use, I opted to work with the students myself. Weekends were spent correcting papers and planning the next week or month or unit of study. I loved teaching so much that I could hardly stand to look at the year of calendars I had created as it came nearer to June — even when I got my first paycheck at the end of September and realized I had made more as a waitress. That first year I was invited for dinner to almost every student’s home. I attended family functions, weddings, birthday parties, and even the funeral of a grandfather. “This is my teacher!” still rings true in my ears as I was introduced by my students to whomever they wanted me to meet.
During that first year, I also applied and was accepted to graduate school and began my master’s degree practically the day after school was out that June. There were no online programs then. You had to physically attend classes. It took me four summers and one spring quarter (leaving school at 3pm and driving to the campus one hour away for night classes twice a week) to graduate from a very prestigious university that I most likely would not be able to attend today. I received a $750 yearly raise for that degree. In order for my teaching certificate to remain active, I had to accrue 150 clock hours of study every 5 years and from an approved provider. Over the next 30 years, and in addition to my master’s degree, I would participate in endless hours of training and specialized certifications and mostly during the summer months. I’ve kept a historical record of it all in a binder. It’s thick. And a testament that not only am I a lifelong learner, I also carefully chose areas of study that focused on child development, family systems, mental health, and human growth and learning.
When I finished my master’s degree, I was encouraged by my university advisor to enter the doctoral program. Instead, I left that sweet little public elementary school and headed overseas to teach with my new husband. We spent the next 10 years in the world of international American schools traveling abroad, meeting and socializing with dignitaries and CEOs of major corporations, and teaching some of the brightest young people I have ever known. We were invited into homes, to special events, and always warmly and respectfully presented as “This is my child’s teacher.” Those years abroad also taught me a lot about politics and international relations. In addition, they offered me a taste of what it feels like to live a white, privileged life. I’ll never forget those years.
When we returned to the states, No Child Left Behind was in full swing. My husband went right back into public education while I acclimatized to life in the states with our 3 young children who were born abroad. My husband told me many times that first year that I would not survive in the public schools if I chose to go back. “You won’t be able to teach like you did before we left. There’s mandated curriculum, standards, specialized training requirements and intense evaluations. You can’t teach literature or decorate your classroom with units of study.” And on and on and on. Due to my love of child development, data collection, family systems and mental health, I decided to go back to college to become a School Psychologist. After the coursework and practicum, there was a 1,600 hour required internship. More hours than an administrative internship. More coursework and requirements for national certification than teachers. Even so, I had found my next calling in education.
For the past 11 years I have had the great joy to work with students with mental and physical disabilities, their families and the teachers and administrators whom I serve. I have served ages 3-21 and have spent the last 5 years as the School Psychologist for 1,200 high school students (national recommendation is 750). I am highly trained with an additional advanced certification in neuropsychology and competent in data-based decision making, consultation and collaboration, interventions and instructional support to develop academic skills, interventions and mental health services, preventative and response services, family-school collaboration, diversity in development and learning, and research and program intervention. I’ve lectured at universities, delivered presentations at the state level, chaired committees, and received best practice awards. On a teacher’s salary. And yet, I’ve been pigeon-holed into testing and writing reports for Special Education eligibility more and more and due to my high case load and shortage of persons in my profession within my district and state.
As a School Psychologist, I’ve learned to develop meticulous templates and endless management systems to carry the caseloads I’ve been given and in order to practice more of what I’m trained to do and want to do — and mainly mental health. I’ve advocated for my role, attempted to work within the system and outside of the system, and yet I’ve ultimately been excluded. I give IQ tests and write reports. I conduct endless meetings where I present my findings to teams of people for consent and agreement. At the end of the meetings I send around a signature page. I can’t even read the names of teachers, parents and students as the penmanship is illegible. I turn in my comprehensively typed and formatted reports full of extensive testing and interpretations, observations and clinical interviews to the IEP teachers. They create their plans and then send them to the central office where everything is eventually reported to the State Department of Education and based on a strict timeline. I am a cash-cow for federal funding.
The past two school years I have worked on obtaining my licensure for a private practice as a therapist for children and families and mainly as a side hustle to supplement my retirement, pay off huge debts for medical bills and a divorce, and help my young adult children through trade school and college. Several of my private clients are high school students outside of the area in which I work during the day and who are under suicide watch. They are so tired, so overwhelmed, feel invisible and not listened to, and laden with burdens that no young person should have to carry. During the past two years, I’ve also seen and felt more and more anger, chronic stress, disrespect and sense of entitlement in my school environment from administrators, teachers, students and families. I have been the lightening rod for people’s anger too many times to count. I’ve seen expensive outside professionals and gurus hired to come into schools to teach what I’m trained to do. I work in a district where certain administrators are deputized and carrying weapons on campus. We’ve received training as a staff from private law enforcement agencies on how to secure a campus and take down a shooter from within our buildings.
Last week when the administrators finally called me in to sit at the table and ask if I thought hiring a group of clinical therapists to come in and help some of our ‘most unstable’ students would be a good idea, and as their panicked reaction to the Florida shooting, I said no. Once again, and for too many times to count, I spoke to them on our crisis response and school safety model, and on what we can do within our power and training for the underlying issues — the decay of the family, at-risk communities, lack of social emotional skills in our students, and even staff morale. I told them if it would make them feel better to hire outside therapists, to single out students using whatever screening idea they’re making up on the fly, and to provide ‘therapy’ outside of a family model approach, then go ahead. But also think about the bigger picture and where they may want to spend their time and money for the long haul.
School Psychologists have been advocating for social-emotional learning for years. For building wrap-around approaches to address mental health care, and for working with communities on providing family systems supports. Working models exist. Legislators know of them. Funding is available. And yet we continue to focus on test scores and teaching things in kindergarten that were once introduced in the 3rd grade. And inviting colleges and universities to take space on our high school campus in offering college level courses and fast tracking immature and unprepared students into the world. We’ve created environments of chronic, toxic stress for all the persons that spend 7-10 hours in these school buildings a day — from the students to teachers to office aides to cooks to custodians to bus drivers. Over the past week, there have been lock-downs and threats of violence at 6 high schools within a 100 mile radius of where I work.
It wasn’t an easy decision to resign. My heart aches that I haven’t been able to do more. That I have somehow failed the children and families I so naively and happily decided to serve more than 30 years ago. But I’m tired. And my heart hurts. Literally and figuratively. This school year to date I’ve accrued over $2000 in out-of-pocket medical costs in tests and procedures regarding my heart. No one can find anything wrong. Chronic stress, being excluded, not being listened to nor respected for my wisdom and effort, working in an unsafe environment, little to no support, and financial struggles — my diagnosis from a very wise and compassionate naturopath. “I think you need to leave the schools,” he gently told me at my last visit. “It’s time.”
I choose not to blame. Or to leave angry. I’ve come to learn that people are carrying out the roles they have been given and under great stress. It’s just not a system I can work in any longer. For whatever the reason, I have not been accepted as the necessary messenger for interventions or reform or change that I yearn to see. I have chosen instead to carry the profound joy, happiness and complete fulfillment of my many years in education with me into my next venture. It is the greatest gift I’ve ever received, and one I will have and hold for the rest of my life.
And to all the children around the world who have taught me my greatest life lessons, I thank you with all of my heart. Being in your lives has been my honor and my pleasure. I wish you all good things. And I hope that I was, at least for some of you, that one person who did one thing that changed your life’s trajectory.
EDIT: WOW! Rec listed! That’s so awesome. Thank you everyone for acknowledging my story and need to feel heard. Truly thankful. Hang in there teachers all over the world. You got this.