In 1998, I began my journey as an elementary teacher under the tutelage of my aunt and revered educator, Marva N. Collins. My mother was also a teacher, so I saw firsthand what it means to be a passionate educator deeply committed to students. Her commitment and passion for teaching were the reasons why I chose this profession. After watching them dedicate time and energy to their craft, I entered the profession with enthusiasm and excitement, not knowing what the next 25 years would bring.
I wanted to become a teacher with a calming presence and a positive attitude, a teacher who could help all students succeed. Unfortunately, becoming the teacher I wanted to be has taken more energy than I thought.
After more than two decades in the classroom, supporting students facing intense challenges in their home lives and trying to keep up with unrealistic expectations set by administrators, I finally reached my breaking point and all the compassion that came with it. I have for my students and my Dedication to the field may not be enough to help me recover.
How it all began
When I started my first position as an English language arts teacher on the north side of St. Louis, I remember walking into the building as books and computers were being thrown out the third-floor window. Next door was a rehabilitation center full of young people, some of whom were parents of the students I would teach. I remember asking myself, “What am I committing to?” My four years in college studying to be an educator did not prepare me for what I found. I came to teach the masses, full of hope and determination: how quickly I had to change my focus.
Once I entered the school building, a young man was being detained for his behavior. I asked the school official if she could talk to him and she reluctantly agreed. When I asked her his name and why he behaved that way, she immediately became defensive, stating that I would soon be kicked out of school like the teachers before me.
I knew from watching my mother that you can’t put out a fire with fire, so I decided to take a gentler approach, reminding her that despite her resistance, I was there to support her and better understand her problem. Finally, she revealed that the teacher had asked her to read; When I asked her if she knew how to read, she hung her head as a tear rolled down her face. Her admission shocked me, but I quickly recovered and told her that if she gave me the chance, I would help him learn to read.
I could only imagine what it would feel like for a 13-year-old to be in eighth grade and not know how to read. His behavior became an outlet for his anger, but all he needed was someone to listen to him and acknowledge his pain. This ended up being the beginning of a beautiful relationship. For years, Eric had seen people give up and move on without caring about their needs. I was the change and hope he needed, but I would soon discover that there were many more like him.
Unrealistic expectations
I remember being so excited about my role as a teacher: the creativity I possessed, the influence I knew I would have, and the pure joy I felt knowing that one day I would be an agent of change. However, by the end of my fifth year of teaching, that enthusiasm had changed. I was inundated with demanding and unrealistic expectations and realized that one of the key ingredients to supporting my students was supportive leadership, and we didn’t have that at my school.
In fact, most administrators I worked with on a daily basis did not know the challenges students would face upon arriving in the classroom, much less what was happening in the classroom. Most administrators were more concerned with meeting academic standards and metrics than offering comprehensive support to students who could not meet these standards due to their personal challenges.
In my current role as a School and Community Engagement Manager, I work with students and families facing a variety of challenges, often very serious situations, such as homelessness or community violence. It is not uncommon for trauma to follow my students to school. This type of work makes it difficult to disconnect, and the weight of my students’ personal difficulties regularly follows me home at night.
Although I knew I would have to endure the challenges of the classroom without the support of administrators, I refused to give up despite the negative impact it had on my mental health and well-being. I know that I am a capable teacher who can speak out against administrative problems and advocate for students who experience marginalization that affects their academic performance. After all, I have always been a rebel and follow in the footsteps of my mother, who retired from teaching because she refused to conform.
I committed to meeting my students where they were. I chose to stay and fight for them, but compassion comes at a cost that almost always falls on the teacher.
Stay in the fight
To stay in this field, you must possess a level of mental toughness and tenacity to endure. It’s difficult, and I, along with many others, wonder if our compassion for our students is enough to fix the state of our education system and keep us in the profession.
While I want to save my students, I know there is only so much I can do before the whole weight falls on me. I was and continue to be in the trenches, fighting for what I believe my students and their families deserve, but this job is not for the faint of heart.
