Tag: transition

A Threshold Crossed

I have no idea how to start this post.

I quit. I quit teaching. The decision to do so is something I have struggled with for months. Considering I barely taught this school year because I had to go on mental health leave twice, I’m sure this decision isn’t surprising to many people.

I know this is the right choice. I am happier and healthier than I have ever been with my mental health as the focus of my life. The physical, mental, and emotional demands of teaching have grown beyond my coping skills at this point, and I accept that. 

None of this changes the fact that I am heartbroken over the end of my teaching career. 

I love teaching. I love the intellectual challenge of breaking down complex concepts to help others learn. I love facilitating adolescents in developing critical thinking skills through inspiring them to fight for themselves and their community. I love helping adolescents develop socioemotional skills through modeling values-based community building. I love providing adolescents the space and autonomy to explore their curiosities and apply their interests. 

I also love working with kids! I love having a work environment where no one takes anything too seriously because let’s be real, it’s middle school. Everyone is out of their mind on hormones anyway. I love making up secret handshakes with students, and seeing them make a beeline to me in the hall, at the same time between CCA and first hour, every day. I love recruiting the kids to help me play pranks on my coworkers. I love calling kids out when they’re flirting in class, rather than paying attention. I love making stupid history puns using lyrics from Lizzo songs, receiving love notes and artwork from my students, and taxing the students by making them share parts of their snacks in return for the privilege to eat in my classroom. 

One time, one of my students thought he was hilarious and dropped my purple, glitter unicorn tape dispenser out of my second-story window. I noticed it was missing, assumed student involvement, and used my entire prep time to make copies of MISSING posters for my unicorn. I plastered the posters all over my school and classroom. I sent out pictures of the poster to my coworkers (many of whom displayed them on their “bell work” slides all day). I handed out flyers during passing time. 

Missing poster for my unicorn tape dispenser

(Eventually a student found the unicorn on the lawn outside and we got to spread the joyous news before the school day ended).

One day, I decided the floor of my classroom was lava. I taught the entire school day without touching the floor of my classroom once (and invited my students to play too if they wanted).

I would always play music during independent work time. I would get so much joy out of watching kids, usually so consumed with being “cool,” dance goofily in their seats while they did their work. 

I loved stuff like this, and so did the kids. It feels amazing to work in an environment that allows space for fun. It feels incredible to engage a kid in deep, rigorous coursework by showing them you have a sense of humor too. And I realize that any environment I work in with my peers will be desperately void of these things that made teaching so exhilarating. 

I have so many feelings about this transition. 

I will miss teaching. I wrapped much of my identity up in being a “teacher,” I will need time to grieve this loss.

I also am completely terrified about what’s next. Mostly because I don’t really know what’s next. 

I know building a writing career is central to my focus for my future.

I know I’ve already dedicated my life to antiracism.

I know that mental health needs to be central to my focus for the rest of my life.

I also know I have a partner, 3 fur babies, a mortgage, a small chunk of student debt, and an unfortunate penchant for minor, clumsy, injuries. 

At this point the “plan” is to stay grateful, stay open-minded, stay inspired, and stay true to my vision.

And I’ll keep working my ass off to take care of the rest. 

I’m Not Type A, I Just Have Anxiety

Those who have read my blog for a while are familiar with the fact that I’m an overachiever. I am a classic workaholic. Every personality test I’ve ever taken has told me I have a “Type A” personality. 

I excelled at school. I’ve exceeded expectations in all of my jobs. I have a reputation of being highly efficient, learning fast, sacrificing whatever is necessary, going the extra distance, and raising the curve for my peers. 

Being a teacher came naturally to me because I can multitask like crazy. Someone on twitter once said that teachers make 1,500 decisions per day. I have no idea if that number is true or not, but it feels like it is. I am definitely competitive, a perfectionist, critical of myself, impatient, energetic, and aggressive when it comes to getting the job done. All of these qualities are necessary when you are trying to appear “highly effective” on paper for your district and the state, make sure all students actually have an equitable chance to learn, and mentor each individual student through the hardest three years of their life. 

I took pride in my Type A personality. It made me excellent. I got honors. I won awards. I gave speeches. 

I almost killed myself last October. 

Honestly, our society values Type A personalities. They make someone highly efficient and productive; two things that fuel capitalism. What I’ve recently learned, though, is my Type A personality was made possible by unbridled anxiety.

I was a professional multitasker because I was obsessed with others’ approval. I literally felt like the approval of others was the only thing that gave me worth. I felt like once I had that approval, I had to continually prove I deserved it by earning it over and over again. 

I lived on a hamster wheel, in constant fear that I would lose everything I had earned if I dared to stop and take a break. I told myself that every mistake was a failure, and that failure could kill me. I embodied the Talladega Nights “If you’re not first, you’re last” mentality. 

Basically, I allowed my extreme anxiety free reign to run my life. I caught myself in the trap of constantly feeling worthless, not good enough. I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders when no one asked me to in the first place. I was miserable.

And, at the same time, why would anyone assume anything was wrong when I was doing so well? On the outside I was perfect. I was doing “it.” I was achieving my goals, supporting my family, and gaining approval from the people who “mattered.” 

Isn’t that what success looks like? 

Unfortunately, yes. This is what success in our society looks like. The narrative of the Type A personality is a convenient way to encourage at-all-costs productivity. As long as someone is productive, they are successful. 

By explaining my extreme behavior away with my Type A personality, I was able to hide my mental illnesses. I could avoid dealing with any of my problems and my trauma by adding more work onto my plate and being rewarded for it by my superiors. If I just kept going, and never stopped, I would never have to face my anxiety for real. 

I was winning awards based on my performance. My performance was fueled by my ability to pretend I wasn’t constantly on the edge of cracking, while I took on more and more work. 

And then I finally cracked.

And I’ve finally realized my Type A personality was really anxiety. And my need for the approval of others was trapping me in toxic cycles of thoughts, behaviors, and emotions. So I’m officially letting my Type A self go.

Type A Renea is gone. I put her to rest in the name of mindfulness, happiness, self love, and stability. 

I am already grieving her absence. It’s hard to let go of excellence. It’s hard to accept that living a healthier life means giving up what once made me great. 

I am definitely going through a major transition right now. Living a mental health-focused life forced me to make a lot of changes. Living mindfully and focusing one day at a time isn’t conducive to success in a capitalist sense, but god damn am I much happier as a Type B.