You know the voice. It's a small whisper that reaches the back of your mind: "Well that was pathetic. And you said that was your best shot?" Or how about the ever-famous "Really? That was stupid."
The mental picture I have of this enmity is as follows: green-tinted wisps that curl around the earlobe before caressing the ear canal and winding its way around each twist and turn before it finds residence in the brain. It's eerie and seductive. You know that whatever is going into your ear probably shouldn't be allowed entry, but surely the little misty thing isn't that bad...
That's how I see it. It's more cool if it's a mist rather than thoughts that refuse to leave me alone. As a perfectionist, every thing I do wrong is detrimental to my life. Well, maybe not that drastic, but hyperbole is a literary device for a reason. After a difficult day where I felt like that lessons failed or I wasn't clear for the students or I wasn't connecting with them, the wisps turn into puffs once they reach my brain. After sitting on my couch and putting my feet up for the day, the puffs of "voices" turn into billowing clouds. I'm pretty sure my roommates have seen the smoke seeping from my ears as I try to move on and accept my failures with a grain of salt. Too bad salt isn't known for its smoke-fighting capabilities.
It never occurred to me that teachers need encouragement, too, when I was in school. I sat in my desk, much like generations before me, and judged. "This teacher is so incompetent. They can't even grade papers consistently! What do you mean they watched TV while they graded? I wish I could get away with watching TV while doing homework! I hate when so-and-so writes on the board because it is never in chronological order!" Believe me, the judgment went on. Now that I'm the one in the pumps and slacks at the front of the room, I find that all these mistakes are easy to make. This may come as a surprise, but a student has to worry about one student. A teacher worries and grades and cares for at least 80 students every day. I guess it makes sense that they would make mistakes. When it comes down to it, the mistakes have more power than encouragement at times. One word of criticism has the potential to the great rating I received from my supervising teacher. How sad is that? It takes no time at all for my ears to look like an over-active humidifier. (You know what I'm talking about... the humidifier that looked like a miniature fog machine.)
It's coming. The end of the week and I am on the brink of sighing with relief. How does that work? How can someone become so focused on weekends? Maybe it's the lack of pressure to perform. Maybe it's the relief that you don't have to clean up your act for a little while so it's ok to have fog flowing from your ears. Putting on an "ok" face is hard and exhausting, especially for the sake of 80 students. This week has been good, don't get me wrong. I'm so thankful that I don't have to worry about leaving these students and starting all over, but I'm human, so I'm not satisfied. I'll figure that out eventually, but it's a process. Hopefully, I'll be able to stop looking like an humidifier. Verdict is still out on that one.
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