The final few days of term have passed; although on the payroll until August 31st I have finished teaching for a few years at least. Despite being reassured by various people that ‘I’ve made the right decision’, my mental status hasn’t changed; I still feel more discombobulated than ecstatic upon gaining my freedom. I am strangely comforted in the knowledge that I must go back for results days. I’m still clinging on.....I tried to ease my passing by making a list of all the things I won’t miss about school, but it didn’t help as it was disappointingly short....marking , the bells , admin...In fact the list of things I will miss was disproportionately longer ...the students, colleagues, friends, camaraderie, learning, discovery, success, development....
In the last few days I’ve bid farewell to friends, colleagues and students in an emotional departure which feels more akin to bereavement than leaving a job. There’s the rub I suppose – teaching isn’t just a job; it’s a way of life. Working in a school environment, where the adults man classes alone (educational satellites) before returning to the sanctuary of the departmental office. The office is the hub, like a kitchen, where we sit around the teapot and share stories, plan strategies and schemes of work; it’s where we resolve problems together - professional and personal. The head of department is the matriarch; responsible for running the ship as well as the morale and well-being of her crew. As a result, my colleagues have become more like friends and family; saying goodbye not just to individuals but to that sense of shared experience, was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do.
I was given a good send off; students baked me cakes and gave me cards which made me choke (the cards not the cakes) with comments such as ‘gonna miss you Miss...you’ve been a quality teacher...’ (n.b. a female teacher remains ‘Miss’ whatever her relationship status) We had a departmental gathering at a local restaurant where the wine flowed almost as freely as the tears. My bsf (best school friend) was given the onerous task of presenting the gift; onerous because I’m notoriously difficult to buy presents for – exacting and extremely hard to please. Rather thrown by her hysteria, I didn’t react very well to the beautiful bronze horse ... accompanied as it was by reassurances that ‘it wasn’t a joke present’ I managed to mutter muted thanks... ‘It’s lovely’. The awkward moments over and my gratitude reaffirmed (albeit belatedly) Henry the horse has settled well onto the mantelpiece; he surveys the room with a regal elegance. The husband is less pleased despite my reminder that ‘he’ll be cheap to keep’ I was told ‘if any more equestrian memorabilia (we do already have quite a few pictures of my horses) enters the house then I’m going to build a shed and fill it with windsurfing posters...’ I’m sure he’ll grow to love him, just like the others.... For me, he’s a monument to friends, fellowship and the future....
Sunday 25 July 2010
Monday 19 July 2010
Am I suffering from Cinderella Syndrome?
Being my first proper job (I don’t really count the horsey jobs, waitressing or bar work as real jobs) this is the only ‘career’ I’ve actually resigned from. It’s certainly the first time where I haven’t anywhere or anything else definite to go on to. It’s terrifying; in my last week of teaching I am teetering ever closer to the brink.....all too soon I will no longer be able to call myself a teacher...I feel like I am about to lose a major part of my identity. What will I say when people ask me what I do? What will I fill in on forms where I am asked to state my occupation? Will horse wife wash with the bank manager when I need to extend my overdraft?
Every year the teachers long for the summer holiday as much if not more so than the children, and yet they also look forward to the next academic year with its new students, new challenges and new subjects to teach. This year I am left out of all this, by choice of course - I chose to resign. And yet I am clinging on to the sides for dear life, like I’m about to fall overboard; I don’t want to leave the safety of the ship I call school. It’s been my life, my family and my routine for so long that I cannot seem to comprehend a life outside.
The end of term atmosphere compounds my inner terror. While the children wind down, kept calm with their favourite games or DVDs, the teachers run around frantically preparing for the next academic year; new set lists need to be compiled, new timetables written and new books allocated to new classes. The last few weeks of term require a final burst of energy from staff in charge of these tasks; the final push to ensure their completion before we too, can escape for the summer. Only this year I feel somewhat like Cinderella whilst these preparations go on around me; colleagues’ excitement and anxiety about what September will bring to their classroom buzzes throughout the department. I watch, an impartial observer; a fly on the wall. People comment ‘Oh you don’t need to worry about that, do you?’ meaning to be kind but compounding my feelings of emptiness and exclusion. I feel left out of it all; the odd one. Discombobulated. It reminds me of those horrible times as a child, knowing you would be last to be picked for the team. Feeling like nobody wants you to be part of their game.
I know that these feelings are totally irrational and yet I am unable to halt their progress. I’ve felt physically unwell this week end; overwhelmed with exhaustion I space- walked around the house as if my mind was not attached to my body. I snapped at my husband more often than usual; resenting his absorption in his own work, I became a petulant child demanding his attention. He thinks my physical state is due to stress; maybe he’s right. Maybe I've just fallen victim to one of the prevalent, persistent bugs which seem to circumnavigate the curriculum constantly. If someone were to offer me my old job back, in my terrified desperate state, I’d probably accept; in fact if anyone is listening, I'll take anything...cleaner....caretaker...cook...please just let me stay...
In reality, I know that I have to get through my last week without going into emotional meltdown. I must say goodbye to colleagues, to classes and to friends. I have last lessons to oversee and my last supper to attend. I am on the brink of the end of an era.....I just wish I had the next one mapped out more clearly.....
Every year the teachers long for the summer holiday as much if not more so than the children, and yet they also look forward to the next academic year with its new students, new challenges and new subjects to teach. This year I am left out of all this, by choice of course - I chose to resign. And yet I am clinging on to the sides for dear life, like I’m about to fall overboard; I don’t want to leave the safety of the ship I call school. It’s been my life, my family and my routine for so long that I cannot seem to comprehend a life outside.
The end of term atmosphere compounds my inner terror. While the children wind down, kept calm with their favourite games or DVDs, the teachers run around frantically preparing for the next academic year; new set lists need to be compiled, new timetables written and new books allocated to new classes. The last few weeks of term require a final burst of energy from staff in charge of these tasks; the final push to ensure their completion before we too, can escape for the summer. Only this year I feel somewhat like Cinderella whilst these preparations go on around me; colleagues’ excitement and anxiety about what September will bring to their classroom buzzes throughout the department. I watch, an impartial observer; a fly on the wall. People comment ‘Oh you don’t need to worry about that, do you?’ meaning to be kind but compounding my feelings of emptiness and exclusion. I feel left out of it all; the odd one. Discombobulated. It reminds me of those horrible times as a child, knowing you would be last to be picked for the team. Feeling like nobody wants you to be part of their game.
I know that these feelings are totally irrational and yet I am unable to halt their progress. I’ve felt physically unwell this week end; overwhelmed with exhaustion I space- walked around the house as if my mind was not attached to my body. I snapped at my husband more often than usual; resenting his absorption in his own work, I became a petulant child demanding his attention. He thinks my physical state is due to stress; maybe he’s right. Maybe I've just fallen victim to one of the prevalent, persistent bugs which seem to circumnavigate the curriculum constantly. If someone were to offer me my old job back, in my terrified desperate state, I’d probably accept; in fact if anyone is listening, I'll take anything...cleaner....caretaker...cook...please just let me stay...
In reality, I know that I have to get through my last week without going into emotional meltdown. I must say goodbye to colleagues, to classes and to friends. I have last lessons to oversee and my last supper to attend. I am on the brink of the end of an era.....I just wish I had the next one mapped out more clearly.....
Friday 16 July 2010
The continuous learning curve
So how has my season gone so far? Well let’s put it this way – with all the wake up calls I’ve had so far, I should be an insomniac! So why hasn’t it gone to plan? Firstly the pressure of leaving teaching has made me try far too hard. Additionally I’ve been long listed for the 2* event team (for the European championship to be held in the UK in 2011) whilst I am thrilled, inevitably this has added to the pressure I put upon myself. I don’t want to be mediocre, I don’t want to be average; I want to be as good as I know I can be. At the moment, I just seem to be doing a great job in sabotaging my own success. I accept that competing in any sport involves constant development; I just want to create a learning curve with a steadier incline – to eradicate the dips.
My self-belief has been shaky for a while – no reason in particular although exacerbated by my health scare last autumn. Inevitably this has a negative impact upon my state of mind; for me, this is the most detrimental factor upon my performance. When I venture beyond my comfort zone, push myself to the next level (the time when I need extra resilience) the doubts creep in. They enter through devious channels and in unexpected ways; they make me view things in an entirely negative light and beat myself up for minor mistakes. Most significantly, they make me physically tense during competitions which impacts (quite drastically) upon my horse’s performance.
Following a disappointing three-day performance at Houghton Hall in May (where I let myself down, my horse down, my husband down, my trainers down... even my dogs down ) I sought out a sports psychologist recommended to me via word of mouth; this method of sourcing seemed preferable to the media hype surrounding the mind-bending promises I found on-line. The Mind &Body Guru offered me ‘A new body, mind and way of thinking...’ for only £300 a month I was promised personal, instant counselling. Although the hype sounded amazing (really?) clearly it wasn’t a viable option. I decided to go for the local, cheaper version. I arrived at his ‘office’ – a shabby porta-cabin in the middle of a small-holding. Well, I reminded myself, I had opted for this over the glitzy, gilded guru for economic reasons, so I couldn’t really judge the location.
I had to hang around for a while before he appeared, apologetic for having been stuck in traffic and glistening slightly due to the heat. He didn’t strike me instantly as someone who might inspire me with confidence, but I tried desperately hard to keep an open mind. He sat me down in his rather ramshackle office where pictures of successful sports men and women peppered the walls; presumably testaments to his success. My optimism given a slight boost, I wondered if maybe he could help me after all. Even despite the distraction of his rather bizarre goatee beard (it looked rather like a tramline running down the groove of his chin; all I could think was why? What did it really achieve?) He lectured me about the theory of sports psychology when what I wanted was practical ways of managing my nerves; frustratingly, all I could focus upon was his chin. I left feeling disappointed and disillusioned. When he contacted me a few weeks later to suggest a follow up ‘deep cleansing’ session, all I could do was laugh hysterically.
I have worked hard on managing my nerves since; finding practical solutions of my own which help me to stay in the zone. I have been better; I’ve managed to keep softer hands (the key to my success) in all three phases. Yet I still manage to make the most frustrating blunders. The latest was at Barbary Horse Trials; selected deliberately as a high profile event where I could test myself under pressure. The first two phases (dressage and show jumping) were more measured on my part; not perfect, but nonetheless better. The final phase (x-country) doesn’t usually cause me as much concern as I can ride in my positive, attacking mode; yet this time, for some unknown reason, I rode a sequence of fences in a particularly random way, resulting in Bow deciding to run past one. Totally my fault. Totally frustrating. The course was relatively straightforward. I really can’t explain what came over me. All I need to do is to ride more consistently, so why can’t I do that? I can and I will...
....Our next big test is The Festival of British Eventing, held at Gatcombe at the beginning of August, where Bow and I are entered for the Intermediate Championship. It will be our first time competing there. It will be our first attempt at advanced level. I must ride at my bravest , at my best and at my most consistent....It really is a case of mind over matter......at least I hope it is....
My self-belief has been shaky for a while – no reason in particular although exacerbated by my health scare last autumn. Inevitably this has a negative impact upon my state of mind; for me, this is the most detrimental factor upon my performance. When I venture beyond my comfort zone, push myself to the next level (the time when I need extra resilience) the doubts creep in. They enter through devious channels and in unexpected ways; they make me view things in an entirely negative light and beat myself up for minor mistakes. Most significantly, they make me physically tense during competitions which impacts (quite drastically) upon my horse’s performance.
Following a disappointing three-day performance at Houghton Hall in May (where I let myself down, my horse down, my husband down, my trainers down... even my dogs down ) I sought out a sports psychologist recommended to me via word of mouth; this method of sourcing seemed preferable to the media hype surrounding the mind-bending promises I found on-line. The Mind &Body Guru offered me ‘A new body, mind and way of thinking...’ for only £300 a month I was promised personal, instant counselling. Although the hype sounded amazing (really?) clearly it wasn’t a viable option. I decided to go for the local, cheaper version. I arrived at his ‘office’ – a shabby porta-cabin in the middle of a small-holding. Well, I reminded myself, I had opted for this over the glitzy, gilded guru for economic reasons, so I couldn’t really judge the location.
I had to hang around for a while before he appeared, apologetic for having been stuck in traffic and glistening slightly due to the heat. He didn’t strike me instantly as someone who might inspire me with confidence, but I tried desperately hard to keep an open mind. He sat me down in his rather ramshackle office where pictures of successful sports men and women peppered the walls; presumably testaments to his success. My optimism given a slight boost, I wondered if maybe he could help me after all. Even despite the distraction of his rather bizarre goatee beard (it looked rather like a tramline running down the groove of his chin; all I could think was why? What did it really achieve?) He lectured me about the theory of sports psychology when what I wanted was practical ways of managing my nerves; frustratingly, all I could focus upon was his chin. I left feeling disappointed and disillusioned. When he contacted me a few weeks later to suggest a follow up ‘deep cleansing’ session, all I could do was laugh hysterically.
I have worked hard on managing my nerves since; finding practical solutions of my own which help me to stay in the zone. I have been better; I’ve managed to keep softer hands (the key to my success) in all three phases. Yet I still manage to make the most frustrating blunders. The latest was at Barbary Horse Trials; selected deliberately as a high profile event where I could test myself under pressure. The first two phases (dressage and show jumping) were more measured on my part; not perfect, but nonetheless better. The final phase (x-country) doesn’t usually cause me as much concern as I can ride in my positive, attacking mode; yet this time, for some unknown reason, I rode a sequence of fences in a particularly random way, resulting in Bow deciding to run past one. Totally my fault. Totally frustrating. The course was relatively straightforward. I really can’t explain what came over me. All I need to do is to ride more consistently, so why can’t I do that? I can and I will...
....Our next big test is The Festival of British Eventing, held at Gatcombe at the beginning of August, where Bow and I are entered for the Intermediate Championship. It will be our first time competing there. It will be our first attempt at advanced level. I must ride at my bravest , at my best and at my most consistent....It really is a case of mind over matter......at least I hope it is....
Friday 9 July 2010
Whose Quest? Which Rainbow?
The Rainbow in question has four legs, a mane and a tail; aka Western Rainbow (for competitions) or Bow (to friends and family) He's a 10 year old skewbald gelding who I have owned for nearly 6 yrs; a quirky, cheeky and cool character. He is, I confess, a child substitute; any maternal urges I might harbour are entirely fulfilled by him. A superior model -he doesn't need a babysitter, he doesn't answer back and he can jump quite a large fence (with me on his back - even when I've eaten too many buns). I'm not entirely sure that I know any children who could match his spec. The quest I am embarking upon is to see just what I can achieve with Bow without the time restrictions of teaching; we currently compete in affiliated events at international 2 * level and hope to progress to 3*. I'm not sure whether either of us is up to the challenge, but we'll never know until we give it a go. I also need to find other ways of making money; not quite sure how I'm going to do that just yet.
It may seem like a risk - pitching all my hopes upon one four legged creature, but Bow does have an understudy - Roger; a dutch warm blood who rides like he's on springs. He has the most powerful engine I have ever ridden and jumps with jet propulsion. However, his elevated paces might prove to be his undoing - he is currently laid off with an injured suspensory ligament. At least I'm hoping that it was his extravagant movement which caused the problem and not the consequences of my chocolate addiction! Having two horses has always been the plan; so that Bow isn't laden with the entire burden of my expectations and endeavours. It also gives me more practice at keeping my eye in; inevitably I ride far better when I'm riding more horses, more frequently. The best-laid plans often fall apart in my world; poor Roger has been sidelined for nearly as long as I have owned him.
Teaching is one of the best jobs in the world(cheesy yes, but no, it's not a myth) yet also one of the most inflexible. You are correct if your assumption is that teachers are given lovely long holidays; frequent sarcastic allusions to this are a constant reminder of the deep-rooted jealousy suffered by those forced to survive upon the statutory 28 days a year. I've lost count of the snide comments aimed at me because of this; 'On holiday again are you?', 'Gosh, only two weeks off for Easter...' And yes teachers do get long holidays but they are fixed. Whilst most other professions allow employees to choose their holidays, teachers are confined to the parameters of the school calender. I need to be able to take days off to compete and train as necessary; many of the higher level competitions are on week days. And so my competitive equestrian pursuits have become incompatible with my teaching; I've selfishly decided to follow my heart.
Having had the means (Bow) for a while, I now need to see if having the ways (flexibility) is enough to fulfil my quest......
Tuesday 6 July 2010
The final few furlongs....
During the summer term I become the Scrooge of sunshine. Attempting to teach thirty sweaty teenagers in a classroom hotter than your average sauna is not my favourite occupation. Imagine the consequences of rising temperatures: the mood swings increase in velocity and frequency; the battle of body odour and deodorant becomes more volatile; picking up a pen requires a super-human effort. My role as a variety show entertainer is replaced by that of cajoler, nag and eventually slave driver. Students who previously hung off my every word (well some words) can barely keep their concentration inside the classroom.
With less than three weeks to go until the end of term I am beginning to adjust to the concept of life beyond the institution; aided in this by the unsettled atmosphere which perpetually prevails in a secondary school at this time of year. Primary schools can busy themselves with nature trails, treasure hunts or the school play. The high school timetable is polarized between academic pressure and the constant interruptions of more serious extra-curricular activities; Duke of Edinburgh expeditions, sporting fixtures and extra-curricular activities prioritise student's energy. Admittedly these are all worthy endeavours which broaden the children's minds and reduce their risk of obesity. However they also seem to mysteriously drain any remnant of academic thirst or self motivation they might once have had. Setting work becomes impossible, 'Oh we won't be here to hand it in miss, we'll be in The Forest of Dean....' or 'We won't be able to finish this on Wednesday miss, it's sports day..'
It's the time of year when even the most affable students become awkward, evasive and even hysterical; when the lovely child becomes an ogre. Already made fractious by the heat and the lure of sunshine they become increasingly disinclined to work. The enticingly imminent prospect of the long, lazy summer holiday merely exacerbates the problem. They 'don't see the point of poetry', 'can't be bothered with the Brontes and tell me (more often than usual) that 'Shakespeare sucks'. My constant nagging is met with a barrage of increasingly elaborate excuses; 'I'm sorry miss, I couldn't do my homework because I was making cakes for the school fete...' (funny that - we don't have one!) or 'Sorry miss, I couldn't finish my course work 'cos I was working on my tan...It is really important miss, I don't want to be too white on the beach do I?.'....How do you respond to such rational arguments? The sixth form don't argue, they just absent themselves by finding countless university open days to attend; in all honesty, are they ever likely to attend the University of Newquay or The college of Cornwall? 'Maybe not miss, but they do have great beaches....'
You might think that because I'm leaving, I could match their apathy. That I could respond with 'You are right, Shakespeare is stupid....don't bother to finish that essay.. or let's forget 'Frankenstein' . I would just say 'Forget everything; let's sunbathe!' If it weren't for my love of Literature and for my conscience I might do just that. Yet I feel compelled to tie up every loose end and make things tidy for my successor; my conscience wins. We will complete our course work, we will write those essays and we will practice our precis. Yes, this will become a power struggle but the teenage tantrums will also ease my departure.... they will be a reality check - a reminder of the trials of teaching; that I've only loved nearly every minute of it all...
With less than three weeks to go until the end of term I am beginning to adjust to the concept of life beyond the institution; aided in this by the unsettled atmosphere which perpetually prevails in a secondary school at this time of year. Primary schools can busy themselves with nature trails, treasure hunts or the school play. The high school timetable is polarized between academic pressure and the constant interruptions of more serious extra-curricular activities; Duke of Edinburgh expeditions, sporting fixtures and extra-curricular activities prioritise student's energy. Admittedly these are all worthy endeavours which broaden the children's minds and reduce their risk of obesity. However they also seem to mysteriously drain any remnant of academic thirst or self motivation they might once have had. Setting work becomes impossible, 'Oh we won't be here to hand it in miss, we'll be in The Forest of Dean....' or 'We won't be able to finish this on Wednesday miss, it's sports day..'
It's the time of year when even the most affable students become awkward, evasive and even hysterical; when the lovely child becomes an ogre. Already made fractious by the heat and the lure of sunshine they become increasingly disinclined to work. The enticingly imminent prospect of the long, lazy summer holiday merely exacerbates the problem. They 'don't see the point of poetry', 'can't be bothered with the Brontes and tell me (more often than usual) that 'Shakespeare sucks'. My constant nagging is met with a barrage of increasingly elaborate excuses; 'I'm sorry miss, I couldn't do my homework because I was making cakes for the school fete...' (funny that - we don't have one!) or 'Sorry miss, I couldn't finish my course work 'cos I was working on my tan...It is really important miss, I don't want to be too white on the beach do I?.'....How do you respond to such rational arguments? The sixth form don't argue, they just absent themselves by finding countless university open days to attend; in all honesty, are they ever likely to attend the University of Newquay or The college of Cornwall? 'Maybe not miss, but they do have great beaches....'
You might think that because I'm leaving, I could match their apathy. That I could respond with 'You are right, Shakespeare is stupid....don't bother to finish that essay.. or let's forget 'Frankenstein' . I would just say 'Forget everything; let's sunbathe!' If it weren't for my love of Literature and for my conscience I might do just that. Yet I feel compelled to tie up every loose end and make things tidy for my successor; my conscience wins. We will complete our course work, we will write those essays and we will practice our precis. Yes, this will become a power struggle but the teenage tantrums will also ease my departure.... they will be a reality check - a reminder of the trials of teaching; that I've only loved nearly every minute of it all...
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