If I said I did not think about quitting teaching during the 2020-2021 school year I would be lying. Teachers were asked to adapt to brand new ways of teaching (yes, not just one new way) and sometimes with only 24 hours notice. We were asked to do so while also delivering a flawless curriculum. We had to always be strong, knowing that our students were struggling even more than us. Saying it was difficult is an understatement. Tears were shed. Screams reverberated throughout my house. There were many times that I had to dig deeper than I knew I could in order to make it through the day and onto the next. Some days I thought I had given all I could. Honestly, I wanted to give up. But as I sit here about to begin the 2021-2022 school year, I have a renewed optimism and excitement in me that I can say was not there at the beginning of the last school year. ![]() I love teaching. I love the connections I am able to make with my students. I love helping them find a strength and confidence in themselves that was not there at the beginning of the year. I love watching them get excited about history as they are able to see connections between the past and present and how history is relevant to their daily lives. And yes, I love it when a student admits history is not their favorite subject but because of my class they can at least see its value. This is what keeps me going day after day. This is what kept me from throwing in the towel. This summer I stepped away from the content, school and focused on myself, my family and through that was able to reflect on how the pandemic affected me as a teacher. Despite the difficulties I and every other teacher faced these last 22 months, I am thankful for them because I came out on the other end a better teacher (however, don't get me wrong, I never want to go through that again). Thinking back to the teacher I was when I started my career and then one I am now, thirteen years later, they are two drastically different people. As a young teacher my focus and energy was wrong. I made sure my students had nightly homework assignments, random pop quizzes, and in order to be successful in class, they had to memorize a wide variety of dates, facts and people to regurgitate back on unit tests. I wanted to be the hard teacher. I wanted them to respect me. What I came to realize over time, especially teaching last year, is how that is the worst approach to teaching. What really matters is not knowing a random obscure date but rather a student’s ability to think critically, ask inquisitive questions, step out of their comfort zone, make mistakes (fail) and learn how to pick themselves up and try again. I knew this for a while but rethinking an entirely new curriculum is a laborious task and without the pandemic, I am not sure I would have fully embraced this. This past year, as I was forced to comb over every lesson and change it to fit our new schedule, I realized that at the end of the day my most important job as a teacher is not to teach content. I teach high school history and yes, history is extremely important and relevant to students’ lives, but it is not the end all be all. Through my lessons I work to show my students that if you want to understand the present, why there is systemic racism, why many former colonial countries are still struggling politically and economically, that despite the headlines about Africa and the Middle East there is a rich and vibrant culture yet to be discovered, you need to know the past. There are clear lines to be drawn. But in order to spark that natural curiosity where students want to engage and know more about the present through understanding the past, they need to believe in themselves and their capabilities. In order for students to feel comfortable to take those, often public, risks in class it comes down to two things: the relationship you form with each student and the level of trust that is built as a result. ![]() The teachers that had the biggest impact on my life were the ones who put me, the student, first and the content second. They were the ones who truly cared, never minded to meet with me, believed in me when I struggled, and were genuinely happy for me when my hard work paid off. They pushed me out of my comfort zone in order to reach my full potential (not a peer’s) and when I made mistakes (which I often did), they taught me how to be resilient and see those mistakes as an opportunity to learn and grow. I want my students to remember me the same way. I want my students to feel smart, capable, curious, and successful in my class. Intelligence is not measured by a grade. An employer will not ask them what they earned on a sophomore year history test. Intelligence is measured in a myriad of ways and students need to know that. Grades, moments, don’t define us. How we respond is what makes the difference. While teaching during the pandemic was the hardest year of teaching I am thankful that I was willing (or some might call it forced at times) to reassess my role as an educator. My job as a teacher is and always will be to inspire my students, help spark a natural curiosity in wanting to learn more, an inquisitiveness where they always ask questions, seek out answers, and most importantly, believe in themselves. That became central to my teaching last year and it will forever remain at the heart of every lesson.
0 Comments
![]() The splattering of rain fell lightly on my shoulders as I ran toward the beach. It was a quiet morning as not many were venturing out in the rain. I found the rain a relief after the sun blazed down heavily on us yesterday. I love quiet morning runs, especially when I am able to run on the beach as the waves come crashing in. It's been a while since I was afforded that luxury. I was trying to think back and I honestly could not remember the last time I was able to run alongside the Atlantic Ocean. When I took the picture of the morning sun glistening off the ocean water I imagined a very different blog post than the one I am writing. The ocean has always been an escape for me. Since I was five I grew up vacationing on a small island in North Carolina, Holden Beach. There was absolutely nothing to do on the island except play in the sand and swim in the ocean. For me, it was perfect. Growing up there I found the small island a perfect escape. Any worries, self-doubt or fears I had seemed to easily drift away as quickly as the outgoing tides. Often I felt that I was trying to be someone else for others but at the beach, I could be me. There was a feeling of relief that I was awarded that late July/early August week on vacation that I was unable to find or recreate anywhere else. Even as an adult, long after we stopped vacationing there as a family, I yearned for that feeling. I wanted that escape. This year, it came back to me in ways I never imagined it would. ![]() It was early, about 6:00 AM, when I left on what I would not know at the time, would be my last run (maybe not forever but at least for many years). The streets of Watch Hill, Rhode Island were silent. Weaving in and out of the hilly sidewalks on the way to the beach I saw maybe one car. I love the morning for the silence it awards those who venture out. There is an eternal optimism that anything is possible. A silent perfection that keeps me waking up before the break of dawn despite desperately wanting to hit the snooze button. Continuing on my run, I began to hear the waves crashing against the sandy beach and I could not help but smile. I love water. It is therapeutic hearing the rhythmic sounds of the waves coming in and out. Immediately seeing the sun shining above the Atlantic as the last rain drops dissipated away, I was, for a lack of better words, in my happy place. I made my way to the shore where I knew the sand would be easier to run on but as I did, I tried to push aside the thoughts that I should not be out here. I should not be running. In 2014 I threw out my back. Bad. The ride to the hospital was more horrific than delivering two babies. I vividly remember sitting in the doctor’s office trying to convince myself not to pass out because of the pain. I have degenerative disks in my back. In the words of my doctor, it sucks. Unfortunately I realized that there is not much I can do. I will live with chronic pain that can oscillate between barely there to more intermittent episodes of severe pain (which I fully admit are most often due to the decisions I make as I try to ignore the warning signs). In 2015 I underwent back surgery as I began to lose feeling in my right leg because one of my spinal disks fractured off and was going straight into my sciatic nerve. Despite knowing the risks, I continued to run. I love running. Knowing that within five minutes of waking up, and only needing a pair of running shoes, I can be out exploring the world, getting lost in podcasts, is why I set my daily alarm for 4:45 AM. In the back of my mind I always imagined I would run a marathon. Pushing myself to see what I am capable of is one of my biggest strengths, but also one of my biggest faults. This summer the pain got worse. Earlier in June I was put on steroids to help manage the pain and told to cut back on the intense pounding running puts on the back. I listened (for awhile) but in Rhode Island, knowing that unexplored sandy beaches and crashing waves awaited me, I convinced myself I would be fine. I was not. The pain got worse and today, as I sit here writing this post, I finally admitted to myself I have to stop running. In the back of my head I knew I would get here someday but that someday always seemed so distant. However, as I watched my kids play at the playground this morning as I tried to hide the tears of pain behind my sunglasses, I knew that my final run happened. I cannot be in a position where I can barely move. Each step, each motion sending random shocks of pain down my spine and legs is not fair to my daughters or my husband. I do not want to continually say that I cannot pick you up because my back hurts. I am stubborn (to a fault). This decision, if I am being truly honest, should have come years ago. But the stillness of early morning runs, when all I hear is the quiet pounding of my shoes along the pavement with my trusty sidekick Charlie wagging his tail happily alongside me, kept me going. ![]() Today is different. Like this blog, I am deciding to hang up my running shoes for my girls. For a long time I thought that this decision was a sign of weakness. Now I realize it is one of strength. I hope that one day I am able to enjoy sandy runs with both of them but until then, this was my last run. I am finally okay with that. I have to give credit to a friend of mine, Sara. Some people inspire you in ways you do not expect. They encourage you, whether they know it or not, to step outside of your comfort zone and do something that you never thought you ever could. She is one of those people. ![]() Sara does not let struggles define her. She perseveres and is one of the most resilient people I know. Most likely unbeknownst to her, she has helped teach me that we cannot control what life throws at us, we can only control how we respond, what path we choose to take. It will not always be easy. We will want to give up. But, if we choose not to, choose to continue to fight, we will emerge stronger on the other side. Sara not only teaches me to challenge myself but simultaneously to also slow down and enjoy the little moments. The spontaneous ones that we do not think much of at first but the ones that end up creating the memories that we will cherish forever. I will be eternally grateful for having Sara in my life. So why a blog? Mom of two. Owner of my own business. Full time high school history teacher. I have nothing else to do, right? Why not start a blog and add something else to my plate when I often cannot find time to just sit and relax. I am a firm believer in that I have one life to live. There are no do-overs. You don’t get second chances. Once it is gone, it's gone. I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I am going to make the most of this life, personally and professionally. Sometimes that means a delicate balance will have to be done. Sometimes, there will be late nights or early mornings. But in the end, if I am doing things that “fill my cup”, I know it will be worth it. Maya Angelou once wrote "there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you." This is my story. ![]() Sara, her friendship and her blog, The Fat Hydrangea (@thefathydrangea, thefathydrangea.com - an ABSOLUTE must read), have helped give me the courage to take this leap. Thank you! -Elizabeth P.S. Upcoming blog post: Buying Sara’s House :) ![]() I will forever challenge myself. I will push the boundaries. I will fail in the process. But one lesson I always teach my students is that it is from failure that we find ourselves. It is from failure that we learn and grow. It is part of the process. Trust the process. This blog is that challenge for me. The phrase She Believed She Could So She Did was meaningless to me. To be truthful, I never even heard of the phrase until a few years ago and even then, I did not know that I would soon live my life by it. I will admit, I am not the most confident person. I have often wondered where or how this started. I look back at my childhood and think, was there a moment that I can pinpoint this self-doubt, this uncertainty to? I wish that there was a specific event because that would be easy. Analyze it to death, figure it out, maybe burn a few things like we all did with our friends in grade school and then, move on. Problem solved, right? Oh if life were that easy. This past year, 2020 of course, taught me one extremely important lesson. No matter how much anyone else believes in you, it is meaningless unless you believe in yourself. I remind myself of this daily. I must admit that I have the most amazing and supportive husband, family and friends. There is not a day that goes by that I do not feel and hear their constant belief in me but until I can have that same belief in myself, I am never going to fully realize all that I am capable of. Almost three years ago my husband gave me a simple gift that would help change my perspective. It was a small journal with the phrase She Believed She Could So She Did on the front with a note written in the back that partly read: “I want you to always remember just how much I believe in you.” I was about to relaunch my business, Milk and Cookies, in the summer of 2019 with an almost two year old and 6 month old. Perfect time, right? Two under two, a full-time teaching job and now this - I had nothing better to do! But I was determined - like this blog, I had to do it for me. From that moment forward I knew that I needed to see in myself what he and others see in me. One day I want to take Milk and Cookies from a home-bakery to a brick-and-mortar storefront. That will take risk. It will not go perfectly. I will make mistakes. And yes, there will be days I will want to throw in the towel. If, at the end of the day, I don’t truly believe in myself, I will throw in that towel and walk away. ![]() Today, whenever I have self-doubt, question my abilities, or wonder if I can do it, I turn to the phrase. I am an avid Top Chef and Last Chance Kitchen fan and the other day while watching Season 18 one of the contestants said “believing in yourself means you have to get uncomfortable.” No truer words have been said. It's hard but I am embracing that discomfort and when I forget, or have that moment of doubt, I turn to the framed poster in my dining room that reminds me, I can do it. -Elizabeth Poster credit goes to the incredibly talented Ting Stationery (@tingstationery). Ting Stationery has created all of my logos for She Believed Cle and Milk and Cookies and I could not be happier with the entire experience. #femaleownedbusiness #supportlocal
![]() I’m a mom, wife, sister, daughter, friend, entrepreneur, teacher, runner, explorer and traveler, and now blogger. I am writing this blog for me. One person may read it, maybe a million, but at the end of the day, this is for me: Because I believed I could so I did. As I start to write this, no one knows I am embarking on this venture. Stepping into something I have often questioned if I am capable of doing terrifies me, but yet I know I need to do it. I need to do it for me. This past year, 2020, scared me. I am 100% a person who likes to have a plan. I want to know what is coming next. In March of 2020 my ability to have that plan was thrown out the window. And, as everyone knows, it wasn’t a nice toss out the window, it was propelled, launched, and rocketed into space. As a mom I did not know how to protect my family. As a teacher I had to immediately adapt to remote learning. As a business owner I had to cancel many exciting events and collaborations I was really looking forward to doing. To complicate it all, I was still battling postpartum depression. Through it all, I survived. I learned more about myself in 2020 than I ever thought imaginable. At times I felt like I lost control. I felt weak and embarrassed for not being able to handle the unknown better. At other times, I felt like the strongest person out there as I was able to create a home for my daughters (three and one at the time) who lived in a world of fantasy, make believe and began to appreciate and love all those who helped us daily (like our favorite garbage man, Denis). When I have doubt or fears I think off them and think of the example I want to set for them. In our oldest daughter’s room we have a picture of Serena Williams and in our youngest daughter’s a picture of Megan Rapinoe with her quote: “No matter what life throws at you, or how unfair you think it is, never give up; pick yourself up and go on.” We work hard to surround them with examples of strong, smart, courageous women but at the end of the day, I want to be the example my girls want to live up to. I promised myself a long time ago I would never let fear hold me back. It won’t always be perfect, you probably won’t get it right the first time, and that is okay. Be resilient. Accept the messy. I start this blog with no real focus or purpose but with a belief that I can do this. By doing it for me I am also doing it for Emily and Molly, my two fearless and brave, inquisitive, silly daughters. I want to teach through example that you can do hard things. By putting myself out there, taking risks, I know I am setting the best possible example for my girls. We only find ourselves by pushing our limits and stepping out of our comfort zones. When we do, we find what we are capable of. I honestly have no idea what will come of this or where this will lead (if it will lead me anywhere) but I can say in full confidence and excitement, I am really looking forward to finding out. Thanks for coming with me! -Elizabeth |
Archives |