Today I had a panic attack at school. I don't wear mental illness like a badge. It's not, "Hi, I'm Sarah and I'm pretty much insane. Nice to meet you." But I'm not (usually) embarrassed by it either. It's just another thing about me: I'm tall. Right now, my hair is orange. I require medication to be a functioning human. Whatever. I've never had a panic attack at school though. I'm outrageously grateful it didn't happen with children in the room. I'm really glad that I could just hide in my office and flip out alone. That's what I needed to do. See, our staff meeting today - it, it...was in a circle. Did you laugh? It's totally okay if you did because that's really strange. Really, really strange. But sitting in a circle makes me anxious. I feel like I can't escape and the circle is getting smaller and smaller and the people are getting closer and staring more and then I can't breathe. It's one giant run...
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DATA IS GOING TO FIX ALL THE PROBLEMS IN EDUCATION EVER. Yeah. I agree with the android. [source] Thus begins (another) Monday morning staff meeting. What do you see? What are the tendencies? Students are numbers - gosh, however will we get those numbers up? We have to show growth. Bigger, stronger, higher, faster, better. Gross. And here I was. In the back (as usual) muttering to myself and writing my observations on the spreadsheet. My observation was this: "What are Ss LOOKING FORWARD to?" I looked at all those numbers, and the main thing I could see was that students seemed to enjoy coming to school in first grade, second grade, then in third grade it levels out, drops in fourth, and is lowest of all in fifth. My takeaway was not that students were giving up - these numbers didn't show me that kids were finally deciding that they were "bad" at doing school and weren't going to try anymore. They'd have dropped off sharply if that wer...
This is a head in my hands, tears streaming down my face admission. Burnout is a word that's slathered with shame and misery and failure. "You couldn't hack it as a teacher." "Some people just aren't cut out for teaching." "I'm shocked you made it this long." Still, that's where I am. My classroom swirled with exactly the wrong kind of chaos on Thursday, and that's when I knew. I needed to call a spade a spade. I. Am. Burnt. Out. I see 1,000 kids each week. My job feels like two full time jobs squeezed into one, and comes with all the expectations provided by having a really great music teacher. Oh, yeah. That's me. Sweet Cheez-Its, I can't even fill my own shoes. Thirty minutes of class each week is barely enough to do anything, but through sheer force of will and charisma, we learn how to read, write, and perform music. And Chorus! Oh, Chorus, I love you. You're so great. With so many performances. And so ...
Instagram @slwindisch | Photo by Anna Hixson Yesterday, I ran up a mountain. Like most of America, I've had a hell of a week. I'm exhausted. My soul aches. I've endured a professional drubbing from doing two Veterans Day programs on the same day and not being able to eat lunch and no one really understanding what all that entails, because, "that's your job" and "now you might know what [standardized testing] is like" and "that must have taken weeks - thank you." (See, not everyone is awful and inconsiderate.) I never try to get out of the weekly runs I take with my People. I love to run in the rain and the mud. I love the snow up to my butt and mornings that freeze my nose hair. But this week? I didn't want to go. I tried to get out of it. I wasn't in any place mentally to run, especially to bag a peak with my girls and a guest , but they talked me into it, promising me unlimited swears and no judgement, (Hah, girls, that...