Be the change – Page 18

aha moment, Be the change, being a teacher, being me, choices

Essentialism for the Overworked Teacher

July 2, 2017 Pernille Ripp

I have been sick for the past two months. Not just cold sick, but several attempts with antibiotics, various diagnoses, including pneumonia, and an ever persistent exhaustion no matter the sleep I got, kind of sick. What started as a virus has become something I can’t fight. And I am well aware I have done this to myself. Between teaching full-time, speaking, writing, being a mother and a wife, and selling our house, I have forgotten what it means to do nothing. Forgotten what it means to relax and not feel so guilty about it. Even reading has become a chore and so I realized last Thursday, that in my attempt to make the world better I have forgotten about myself.

Why share this? It is not for sympathy, but instead to highlight something so common in education; the overworked teacher. We have all been there, in fact, many of us exist constantly at this stage it seems, where we get so absorbed into our classrooms that we forget about our own mental health and then wonder why we feel burnt out. We know we should do less but worry about the consequences and so we push on and dream of vacation and doing little, yet never make the time for it. I have been reading the book Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less by Greg McKeown in an effort to make sense of my own decisions, of this exhaustion I am working through, and as I read I cannot help but transfer this knowledge into the classroom. How much of the discipline of Essentialism can help us, as overworked teachers, and steer us away from burn out before it even begins?

One of the central tenets of the book is the idea of doing less better. We seem to forget that in education as we constantly pursue new ideas to add into our classroom in order to create more authentic experiences for our students. We plan, we teach, we juggle one hundred things and add in extra whenever we see a need, and then come back and do the same the next day. Yet, we know this is not sustainable, so what can we do?

Discover your essentials.

What do you hold most sacred within your teaching? You can decide either in your subject area or in your whole educational philosophy. List the three most essential goals for your year and then plan lessons according to these, eliminating things that do not tie in with your goals.

So for example, one of my essential goals for the year is to help my 7th graders become better human beings. While a lofty goal, it steers me when I plan lessons as I ask; is there a bigger purpose to this learning or is it just a small assignment to “get through?” If I want my students to become better human beings we must work within learning that matters and that gives them a chance to interact with others.

Say no more.

We tend to volunteer ourselves whenever an opportunity arises. But as Greg McKeown discusses, saying “Yes” is the easy way out, we don’t have to deal with the guilt that comes with saying no or not volunteering. However, when we live in a cycle of yes, we take on more than we can truly handle. Therefore, evaluate what is most essential to you and to your classroom. If something is not in line with your goals, and you are not excited at the prospect of doing the work, then politely decline. Others will almost certainly take the spot meant for you or the work will be approached in a different way.

Eliminate the clutter.

Just like we need to say no, we also need to stop creating extra work for ourselves. I find myself distracted when my classroom or especially my workspace is cluttered and using the extra time to find something or put something away becomes one more thing to do in our busy teaching days. While I don’t mean, “Get rid of everything,” look at the piles that you constantly move. Why do they not have a home? Do they need a home? If everything has a specific place in your classroom, then you know where to return something to once you have used it. That method will help you eliminate all of the extra time spent simply shuffling things around.

Plan for no plans.

We tend to plan every minute of our day so that we can get the most use out of our precious time, yet we know that throughout the day, extra items will get added and all of a sudden we did not get to the things we meant to get to. So leave gaps in your prep time or in your before or after school routine for the extra things that have popped up or the major item that still needs to get done. That way you are not trying to squeeze extra things in when you really have accounted for how every minute will be spent already.

Slow down your decisions

So often, in order to be efficient, we make a snap decision without really thinking the decision through. This can lead to more stress, more thing to get done, and also less happiness. In the past year, I have learned to hit pause before I reply to that request and really consider whether this is something I want to dedicate myself to and whether I will enjoy it. If I cannot answer emphatically yes to those two things then I politely decline, however, I cannot answer those two questions if I do not take the time to think about it first. If a request comes up in conversation, it is okay to tell someone that you will get back to them with an answer as soon as you can.

Choose your yes’

My 2017 word of the year has been “Enjoy.” I chose this word as a reminder to myself that when I do say yes to something, I need to enjoy what I am doing. That doesn’t mean that my life is filled with fun and exciting things at all times, but it does mean that when I choose to do something I try to be mindful of the fact that I chose to do it. This has been a great reminder of why choosing my yes’ with care is so important. If I am in, then I want to be all in.

Remember you have a choice.

Greg McKeown wrote, “When we forget our ability to choose, we learn to be helpless.” How often is this the case not just for our students when they come to us believing school is just something to get through, but also when we forget about our own power of choice? While being educators means that there are many things we do not have power over, there are many things we do, and so remembering that we do have a choice is important for us all.

Create your own priority.

I was really struck by the discussion of how the plural version of the word “Priority” was not invented until the 1900’s when mass production and multitasking became the thing to strive for. How many priorities do we juggle in a day as educators? Look no further than the vision statements of our schools; I have yet to find one that lists one single thing, rather than many. Yet, when we have multiple priorities we are, in essence, not working on any of them by spreading ourselves too thin. So much like you should discover your essentials, discover your one priority. What is the one thing that you want to focus on? It can be a larger goal that encompasses many small things, however, limit yourself to one and then dedicate yourself to it. This goes for the work our students do as well.

Plan for play.

Much like I have embraced doing nothing the last few days, I have also tried to join in the play with my children. I have been more at peace, had more fun, and also had an incredible surge in brainpower while pretending to be a stealthy ninja or trying to beat them all at Sorry. Play often feels like an indulgence and something that we, as adults, should grow out of, yet reintroducing the concept of play, and also of boredom, has been incredibly revitalizing. So plan for play next year, whether by creating challenges for your students, taking the time to draw, playing jokes on colleagues, or doing something else that seems off topic and even frivolous. Plan for play before strenuous tasks or when stress levels seem high. I cannot wait to see what our brains will do after.

Stop the guilt.

We are awfully good at feeling guilty as educators. Whether it is guilt from feeling like we didn’t do enough, like we didn’t teach well, or because we didn’t volunteer, didn’t go the extra mile, didn’t write enough feedback, or insert whatever teacher related item here; guilt seems to be our constant companion. But think of the weight of guilt and how it consumes our subconscious. Why do we let it? In the past six months, I have started saying no more and I can tell you, I feel guilty every time, but as it has become more of a habit, the guilt has lessened and the weight I feel lifted is palpable. So turn the guilt around; rather than feel guilty for saying no, congratulate yourself. Celebrate the fact that you know when to protect yourself and your energy. Celebrate the extra time you just gave yourself and then don’t plan extra work for that time.

Dedicate yourself to yourself.

We spend so much time thinking of our students, their needs, and their goals, that we forget about ourselves. So as you plan lessons for your students, plan lessons for yourself as well. How will you grow as a human being or as a practitioner today? How do you want to feel at the end of the day? There is nothing selfish about focusing some of our energy on ourselves as we go through the day trying to create great learning experiences for our students.

As I slowly gain my health back, as I slowly feel less exhausted, as I slowly start to clear my mind, I start to remember what it feels like to not work all of the time. To have vacation. To take the time to step away so that when we come back, we feel so excited. The truth is; work is not the only thing I want to consume me. I want my family to consume me. My love for my husband. I want to find joy in reading books with a cup of tea next to me. To play stupid computer games. In baking. In laughing with my kids rather than telling them to hurry up. I want my legacy to be more than being a good teacher. And I cannot do that if I don’t change my life a bit. The first step was to realize that things had to change, that came courtesy of my exhausted body, now it is up to me to continue on this journey. Reading Essentialism has provided me with a path.

Be the change, being a teacher, end of year

In the Small Details

May 9, 2017 Pernille Ripp

“When will I die, Mom?”

Oskar, our four-year-old son, asks it so abruptly that I am not sure I heard him right. He looks at me, clearly waiting for an answer, after all, I am the adult in the room, I should have an answer for everything. And yet the answer I give is weak, I know it, he knows it.

“We all die some day…” he takes it in and then starts to tell me a story about school. As if I had not just dropped a huge amount of truth into his four-year-old lap that could give him nightmares for weeks to come. But to him it doesn’t. He asked a question, I provided an answer and now he has more pressing things to share. His sense of the world as a child never fails to amaze me. How can you so casually skip over the inevitability of death and go back to what is comparatively mundane; school and what you played with?

Yet, here is the lesson that my children keep teaching me. Here is the thing I wish I could be so much better at. Here is the thing that I think bears repeating; life is lived in the small stories. In the small details. Not in our worries. Not in the inevitability of time, of death. Of heartache and loss. But of searching for the small moments of joy. Of finding the moments we can enjoy so that we may sustain ourselves through the hard that we know will surround us and overwhelm us at points in our lives.

And we do this in the classroom as well. We search for the BIG moments, for the defining characteristics, we internalize our worries about the students and their perceived struggles and then forget to see them in the small increments that they present themselves at. We speak of a child in terms of their struggles and goals rather than their successes and accomplishments. We spend so much time worrying that we forget to enjoy the small. That we make big deals out of everything, and then wonder why we are exhausted.

So perhaps we all need to be more like Oskar? To recognize the large, the hard, the inevitable but then get on with life. To not harbor, to not dwell, to not let this color everything we do, but instead to find comfort in the fact that it all of these things are part of their journey. Of our journey. To know that while a child may have had a difficult day, month, or even year with us, that this is not the only thing defining them. That there will be good. That life will continue to turn sometimes despite of what is happening.

If you like what you read here, consider reading any of my books; the newest called Reimagining Literacy Through Global Collaboration, a how-to guide for those who would like to infuse global collaboration into their curriculum, was just released. I am currently working on a new literacy book, called Passionate Readers and it will be published in the summer of 2017 by Routledge.If you are looking for solutions and ideas for how to re-engage all of your students consider reading my very first book Passionate Learners – How to Engage and Empower Your Students. Also, if you are wondering where I will be in the coming year or would like to have me speak, please see this page.

Be the change, being a teacher, being me, end of year

What I Have to Tell Them

April 18, 2017 Pernille Ripp

I watch them come in, hands clenched, eyes downcast, not quite sure what to think. I tell them to take a deep breath, tell your story, there is nothing to be worried about.

Our students lead their conferences and while it is not perfect, it is incredible to watch their story unfold. To see them decide what deserves their attention, to see what they find valuable. To see those that come from home ask them questions and see them truly realize what we have known for quite a while; they have grown, they have changed, and yes, they are almost ready to leave us.

And so I smile and share the good. Tell them how proud I am of them. How I have seen them come in not quite sure what to think or how to speak up. Not quite sure what this 7th-grade thing really is to this…these kids that have conquered almost all that we have challenged them with. And I remind myself to tell them that I will miss them. Because I will; these kids with their stories, these kids with their dreams, their kids with their hopes that this year would be different and for many of them it has been. They marched right into my heart, threw down the door, and settled right in.

So before I forget I remind myself to tell them that they matter.

Before I forget I remind myself to tell them that I was the lucky one.

That they made me smile.

That they made me laugh.

That they made me cry too, sometimes out of frustration, but mostly out of pride.

That they pushed me harder than I thought I could take but that I am still standing.

Before I forget I remind myself to tell them that their stories deserve to be heard, that their work matters and that they, too, have changed the world.

That they can be more than they see themselves.

That they make people better.

That there is a place in the world for them, no matter the thorns they sometimes unfurl.

I came into this year not knowing if 7th grade was for me. Haunted by the perpetual doubt of whether I was enough. Whether I could handle the challenge of another year of second-guessing, of feeling lonely, of not quite fitting in. Whether I was meant to teach this age, to teach just English, to be at this school. It turns out I could because this year I was never quite alone. The kids were right there, believing in me, believing in us. Perhaps not every moment, but those that mattered. And so in the end, after watching these kids with their hearts, their hopes, their dreams, and even their fears tell their stories and own what they are, I feel it is time for me to tell mine; I am a 7-th grade teacher, for better, for worse. It turns out I just forgot to remind myself of that.

Be the change, being a teacher, Student dreams

To the Very Last Day

April 12, 2017April 13, 2017 Pernille Ripp

She was nine, tall for her age, with shoulder length brown hair and parents who deeply cared about her, but not each other. She looked to me as if I had all of the answers, as if, in our classroom, everything that was happening outside would be forgotten, would not hurt as much as it did.

He was nine as well, dark brown hair, the oldest in his family and already labeled the broken one. The one that could not be trusted. The one that did not care. The one that heard his parents fight about his intellect even when they said they believed in him to his face.

He was ten. Tiny for his age but solid muscle, hands clenched in fists most of the day waiting for the next threat, for the next person that would see him as an easy target, waiting to prove them wrong. He hugged my pregnant belly whenever he could and whispered his words of advice to the baby. “Be strong baby, be kind baby, come soon baby.” I cried the day he left.

He was eleven and had already experienced the biggest loss he could. As he placed the picture of his mother into my hands and told me it was the most precious item he owned, I sat in silence. How could a child who had lost so much still trust me with so much? How could he show up and want to discuss books with me when it seemed so irrelevant in the face of it all?

How could any child, who has faced trauma, possibly find relevance in what we do all day? In writing, in reading, in speaking well?

And yet he did, and yet they did. They came to class, on the first day and on the last, hoping that in this classroom, that within our school they would be seen. They would be heard. They would be loved, not just on the days where everything went well, but also on the days where it didn’t. On the days where they pushed as hard as they could just to see if we still stood there when they were done.

And I think of my own kids. How different they all are. How none of them learn in the same way. How all of them have their own loud personalities. How all of them make me hold my breath as they enter new phases in their lives and I hope that wherever they go, they are met with open arms, because underneath all of the crazy, underneath all of the yelling, underneath all of the sometimes struggle, there are these kids that will love their teachers like only they can. Underneath all of the things that perhaps do not fit into what a typical learner looks like, there is this kid that just wants to be liked and taught in a way that makes sense for them. That will tell me to buy their teacher flowers, and please get the pink ones, because pink is her favorite color. That will ask me how they can possibly go on to the next grade level because that means leaving this teacher behind. That worry that perhaps next year they will not like school as much, and I hold my breath and hope they will.

Those kids with their stories. Those kids with their broken hearts. Those kids with their stoic facades. Those kids with seemingly perfect lives that still come to us with such a chip on their polished shoulders. Those kids that dare us to prove them wrong, that tell us they hate school, that they hate us. Those kids who tell us they don’t need us and for a brief moment we believe them because after all, we are only human, and there is only one of use and so many of us, and perhaps, we are not the teacher that will make a difference. And perhaps I am a terrible teacher. And perhaps I have no idea what I am doing.

Those kids that tell us so many times that everything is stupid that we actually believe them and we are left with nothing but the fragments of what we thought made a great teacher. Those are the kids that will push us to the very last day. Who may fight us until the very last minute. Who will continue to push, to yell, to tell us how little they care, just to see how we will react. And so for them, we stand tall. For them, we keep trying. For them, we believe. Because sometimes being a teacher simply means having more faith in the child than the child has in themselves. And so that is my plan as the days count down. To believe. To try. To love. And to always remind myself that while I may not be enough right now, I am the teacher they have and so for that very reason alone, I have to keep believing I might be.

Be the change, being a teacher, end of year

On Counting Down the Days

April 10, 2017April 10, 2017 Pernille Ripp

Do we really want to give students another reminder of how much they want to leave school

The other day I was asked, “What is the one thing you would tell teachers to stop doing as the end of the year nears?” I needed no time to think because my answer is simple; the countdown.

I used to do the countdown with my students. 20, 19, 18 days left of school. Each day the kids would get more excited. “We are almost out of here, Mrs. Ripp!” They got crazier as the countdown neared the end, energy barely contained, and I loosened the reins, had fun, did less curriculum and more community building. Except the days dragged on. The kids grew restless, and I even started looking at the clock, wishing the day to be over. Was this what teaching the last few weeks of school would always be like?

Six years ago, after a particularly trying week, I had an epiphany – one that many have had before me. I was creating the excited mess unfolding every day in my classroom. My choices in doing a countdown and stepping away from our routines were signaling to the kids that school no longer mattered. That what we were doing no longer mattered. That all they had to do was wait it out and then this, too, would finally be over. As if our students needed any more reminders that school is not a great place to be.

So I stopped the countdown, I went back to teaching and have not looked back since. Because while the countdown may be fun on the surface; another way to show off student accomplishment – you made it through 7th grade -it also sends a much deeper message; we are done with the year. I am done with you. I cannot wait to be done and finally get a break. Is that really what we want to tell our students?

Yet, this is not the only reason I hate the countdown. One year, a child cried under his desk on the last day of school. Inconsolable, I asked him what had happened. Had someone said something to him that I had not caught? Instead, he looked up at me, tears running down his face and said, “Don’t make me leave…I don’t want to go on vacation, I want to stay here.” I cried with him and did the only thing I could, hug him and tell him I would always be here for him if he needed me. Yet, his words have stayed with me all of these years. This child did not look forward to summer. This child faced a summer of unknowns, of food shortage, of not knowing who he would live with, of who would care for him. Summer did not represent a break, but a punishment. Our classroom was his safe space. In our classroom, he felt loved. By counting down the days, I was reminding him every day of what was ahead after that last day of school; uncertainty, fear, hunger. None of those messages were what I hoped to convey to my students.

So It is not that we don’t know how many days are left. I have 38 days left to be exact and so much still to teach. It is just that we don’t advertise it. We don’t actively remind children how much better summer will be than what we are doing. It undermines the entire mission we have had all year of instilling the importance of the work we do. It undermines every single time we have said that school is important. So now, when a child tells me that they are excited about summer, I tell them I am too, but also that I will miss them, that I will miss our learning, that I will miss our classroom. That we have so much learning still to do. That we will work to the very last day because our time is valuable. Because we need every minute we can get.

assumptions, Be the change, being a teacher, parents

On Parent Assumptions and Fear of Change

April 2, 2017 Pernille Ripp

“But how do parents react?”

Just this morning, I was asked again as my latest post about getting rid of homework was circulated. I get the question a lot, I think we all do. I think it marks a great educator when we ask, when we value what parents think. And yet…often our assumptions about what parents will think of a change we implement are just that; assumptions. Not based on actuality, not further pursued. Not questioned, but instead assumed as true, because, perhaps, it happened to someone we know. Or because there was that one time where it happened, so now it must be true for every time.

I think the fear of parent reaction holds us back as much as our own fear of change. We assume they will protest. We assume they will be upset. We assume they will rebel against the changes we make because parents always want school to be like it was for them. But it is not true, at least not always. How do I know? Because for the last seven years I have asked.

When I got rid of homework, most parents cheered. They told me that they wanted their child to pursue other things outside of school and now could. They told me how tired their child was after school, how much homework was a struggle between them, how it became one more point of contention in their relationship. How they did not mind the learning, but the tediousness, the worksheets, the assignments that made little sense did nothing for their child. Those who disagreed asked for resources and I gladly handed them to them, a list on a website sufficed.

When I got rid of rewards, parents told me that they were happy their child was not coming home with trinkets, That their child did not need any more stickers, or pizza, or other things that had nothing to do with their accomplishment. That they wanted them to feel proud of their learning, not to be handed anything.

When I got rid of behavior charts, parents told me of their relief, how their child had been anxious, how their child had not cared whether they moved their stick because they already knew they were a “bad” kid and the stick was just more proof of that. They are still telling me in the comments on posts about Class Dojo and behavior charts.

When I changed the focus from letter grades to personal development, parents were still happy as long as they knew how their child was doing. As long as it still made sense to them so they could understand their child’s journey, understand how to support. Understand where they were still developing and where they had succeeded.

So if I have learned anything in these years of trying to be a better teacher, in trying to create more student-centered classrooms, it is that we should not assume how a parent will react. That we should not assume they will hate what we do because it is different, or new, or even a seemingly crazy idea. They care that their child is happy. They care that their child is challenged. They care that their child is supported. That that their child is accepted. They care that their child likes school and does well. It seems we perpetuate our own myths and create the barriers ourselves.

So when I asked parents how I could be a better teacher for their child, they told me when they had ideas, and I tried to act on it as best as I could, because it turns out that when we ask parents; they have a lot of great things to say. They are not as set in their ways as we may think, they do not hate everything we propose. So jump in, stop assuming, and start asking. It will change the way you teach.