It's been a day. Really every day this week has been a day, but "it's been a week" just doesn't sound as dramatic and I've never heard a witty person say it. So, a day it has been.
I have been adequately warned about the pure joy that is joining the ranks of employed adults, by just about everyone ever. "The first year sucks," they said. "It's lonely and confusing," they told me. "Don't do it," I ignored.
In December, at the ripe old age of twenty three and nearly one half year, I finished grad school. I did wait until after graduation and the holidays to start looking for work, so I guess I held out for a few extra months, what with applications and interviews and the black hole named HR. In April I started work with Arlington Independent School District.
But it was fake work. It was the things I kind of actually knew how to do. Like providing speech and language therapy to kids.
Then I played at the beach intermittently for 3 months.
And finally in August the real joy seeped into my life.
Time to fly solo. And do things I didn't know how to do. Like clamber up Everests of paperwork in the language of education. With no Rosetta Stone. As with any other foreign languages for me or really any information, auditory input does. not. compute. I need to read, and do, with hand over hand guidance. Unfortunately AISD did not think to hire a full time nanny for me. So onward we chug. And keep chugging. (KP if you're reading this I love you and you're the best supervisor in the history of ever and keep reading - it all comes together).
Let me just say that I was the first person to school today. It was still dark outside. And you know what I did? I broke the copier. Instantly setting myself up to be cursed by every other staff member throughout the day. I was so relieved to see it up and running mid morning.
At some point this morning I looked at Timehop and was reminded that on this day, four years ago my Grandma Helen passed away. I got sad, thought about where I was when I found out, then got sucked into the day... seeing kids, figuring out what documents to fill out and how, who to talk to, procedures to follow. I forgot about the date, even after writing it a million and seven times.
I stayed after school for the third day this week to work. Well, Monday was professional learning and Tuesday afternoon's productivity would equate to what my Grandpa calls "stacking rat turds." At 3:30 I got myself a Coke Zero from Sonic happy hour. And I sent a desperate plea via carrier pigeon to some of my launch team chickies (we call ourselves chickens, get used to it) to pray. Plus I need a feelings/drama outlet. All I wanted was a nap.
The responses from my girls started pouring in, and I skimmed them as I walked to the copy room because that's the only place in my building Facebook will connect and also, copies.
I cried today, for the first time this school year. I'm surprised it took a whole month. But the real words from these real people praying over me, who know me, knocked me out and lifted me back up.
I put my head down and worked. I made messes, I organized them. I wrote on random scraps of paper, then consolidated lists. I delegated some things to another day. I realized this weekend will be more working. I left the building twelve hours after arriving, making myself first there and last to leave, and still somehow unfinished.
I came home and went for a walk as I listened to my latest favorite podcast, which I won't recommend because it has made my inner dialogue significantly more crass (but ask me privately if you're spicy and I'll highly recommend it).
Finally, as I ate dinner at 9:15, I was struck with the significance of today.
Four years ago my Grandma Helen passed away. I know this is a thing that happens with grandparents, as much as we hate it. But my grandma should've died when she was 13. From polio. She didn't, and the life she lived defied all odds.
I thought about how small and pathetic I've felt. Inefficient. Unsure. Insecure. Young, a weird feeling for an old soul. Wasting others' time - my students and my coworkers. I hate asking questions. I hate not knowing. I hate grasping for straws as I feel the need to be the very best, but don't even feel adequate. Complaining is also such an icky energy suck, but it's the only words I can seem to find this week. I was pretty good at being in school myself. Everything I did or didn't do was on my terms, and it all worked pretty much in my favor. Plus, in school I was good at procrastinating and doing the bare minimum but still achieving at a high level - I understand now that this is not a good life skill, or even something to be proud of, because I have some bad habits to kick.
But you see, my grandma had to face these things daily, moment by moment: her insecurity, her pride, her inability, her DISABILITY. That word right there, that's when it came full circle.
In education, when you have a disability that lands you in special education, there are "accommodations" and a "schedule of services" mapped for you. My grandmother was physically disabled. She needed help, modifications, specially designed equipment.
My students need those things to be successful in academics and socially. It's why I need to do this seemingly absurd paperwork - so they can be guaranteed the supports and services they truly need.
And, finally, I realized I am needing a schedule of services and accommodations myself, for right now at least. It'll start to get easier, someday. But I can take extra time. I can make extra calls, write extra emails. I can swallow my pride and ask for help. I can accept that I am new, and new means imperfect. I couldn't be more thankful for the team I have helping/pushing/pulling/prodding/dragging me along, from all corners of my life. Thanks for being for me.
Read more about my Grandma Helen here. Someday I will do her story justice.
I have been adequately warned about the pure joy that is joining the ranks of employed adults, by just about everyone ever. "The first year sucks," they said. "It's lonely and confusing," they told me. "Don't do it," I ignored.
In December, at the ripe old age of twenty three and nearly one half year, I finished grad school. I did wait until after graduation and the holidays to start looking for work, so I guess I held out for a few extra months, what with applications and interviews and the black hole named HR. In April I started work with Arlington Independent School District.
But it was fake work. It was the things I kind of actually knew how to do. Like providing speech and language therapy to kids.
Then I played at the beach intermittently for 3 months.
And finally in August the real joy seeped into my life.
Time to fly solo. And do things I didn't know how to do. Like clamber up Everests of paperwork in the language of education. With no Rosetta Stone. As with any other foreign languages for me or really any information, auditory input does. not. compute. I need to read, and do, with hand over hand guidance. Unfortunately AISD did not think to hire a full time nanny for me. So onward we chug. And keep chugging. (KP if you're reading this I love you and you're the best supervisor in the history of ever and keep reading - it all comes together).
Let me just say that I was the first person to school today. It was still dark outside. And you know what I did? I broke the copier. Instantly setting myself up to be cursed by every other staff member throughout the day. I was so relieved to see it up and running mid morning.
At some point this morning I looked at Timehop and was reminded that on this day, four years ago my Grandma Helen passed away. I got sad, thought about where I was when I found out, then got sucked into the day... seeing kids, figuring out what documents to fill out and how, who to talk to, procedures to follow. I forgot about the date, even after writing it a million and seven times.
I stayed after school for the third day this week to work. Well, Monday was professional learning and Tuesday afternoon's productivity would equate to what my Grandpa calls "stacking rat turds." At 3:30 I got myself a Coke Zero from Sonic happy hour. And I sent a desperate plea via carrier pigeon to some of my launch team chickies (we call ourselves chickens, get used to it) to pray. Plus I need a feelings/drama outlet. All I wanted was a nap.
The responses from my girls started pouring in, and I skimmed them as I walked to the copy room because that's the only place in my building Facebook will connect and also, copies.
I cried today, for the first time this school year. I'm surprised it took a whole month. But the real words from these real people praying over me, who know me, knocked me out and lifted me back up.
I put my head down and worked. I made messes, I organized them. I wrote on random scraps of paper, then consolidated lists. I delegated some things to another day. I realized this weekend will be more working. I left the building twelve hours after arriving, making myself first there and last to leave, and still somehow unfinished.
I came home and went for a walk as I listened to my latest favorite podcast, which I won't recommend because it has made my inner dialogue significantly more crass (but ask me privately if you're spicy and I'll highly recommend it).
Finally, as I ate dinner at 9:15, I was struck with the significance of today.
Four years ago my Grandma Helen passed away. I know this is a thing that happens with grandparents, as much as we hate it. But my grandma should've died when she was 13. From polio. She didn't, and the life she lived defied all odds.
I thought about how small and pathetic I've felt. Inefficient. Unsure. Insecure. Young, a weird feeling for an old soul. Wasting others' time - my students and my coworkers. I hate asking questions. I hate not knowing. I hate grasping for straws as I feel the need to be the very best, but don't even feel adequate. Complaining is also such an icky energy suck, but it's the only words I can seem to find this week. I was pretty good at being in school myself. Everything I did or didn't do was on my terms, and it all worked pretty much in my favor. Plus, in school I was good at procrastinating and doing the bare minimum but still achieving at a high level - I understand now that this is not a good life skill, or even something to be proud of, because I have some bad habits to kick.
But you see, my grandma had to face these things daily, moment by moment: her insecurity, her pride, her inability, her DISABILITY. That word right there, that's when it came full circle.
In education, when you have a disability that lands you in special education, there are "accommodations" and a "schedule of services" mapped for you. My grandmother was physically disabled. She needed help, modifications, specially designed equipment.
My students need those things to be successful in academics and socially. It's why I need to do this seemingly absurd paperwork - so they can be guaranteed the supports and services they truly need.
And, finally, I realized I am needing a schedule of services and accommodations myself, for right now at least. It'll start to get easier, someday. But I can take extra time. I can make extra calls, write extra emails. I can swallow my pride and ask for help. I can accept that I am new, and new means imperfect. I couldn't be more thankful for the team I have helping/pushing/pulling/prodding/dragging me along, from all corners of my life. Thanks for being for me.
Read more about my Grandma Helen here. Someday I will do her story justice.
I think the transition from student to worker-bee is such a huge one… all that 9-to-5ing {and much longer} is such a huge shift. Every. Dang. Day. And feeling inadequate and like you're lost every day.
ReplyDeleteRealizing that you are not the first person on this journey is pretty key. So ask for those who have surmounted those Everest stacks of paperwork to help guide the way. We all remember what it's like to be the newbie and are usually pretty happy to help {it makes us oldsters feel needed!}. But they're not going to barge in and offer unsolicited advice and help. You have to ask. You sound like you're to the point where you're ready to accept it. Bravo for you… for some people, it takes a major crash-n-burn to get to that point. Know you're being prayed for, little chicklet. You are loved so much!