Ellen, I am just so, so, so glad you're here. We have much in common, including our path to autistic revelation through our children. I do not have a formal diagnosis, either. On one hand, I don't need one to confidently understand this about myself; it helps that several professionals who know me well, including my therapist, see and affirm me as autistic. I can imagine I might choose to pursue a diagnosis in future, but it sure costs a lot. I deeply appreciate how the autistic community recognizes self diagnosis as valid.
This year, I am teaching adjunct for the first time since my mid-twenties, just out of grad school. I cannot imagine teaching at a higher level, not because (I imagine much like you!) I don't have the knowledge capacity, but because I don't have the physical/emotional bandwidth for the additional work that would entail. I hate that our uniquenesses often keep us from something we want, that would be good in many ways. But I love how we can find pathways to good work and life, especially if we understand ourselves. And I LOVE what you say: in our best moments, "we are all teaching one another." I'm so happy to have a fellow autistic teacher here in this space with me.
I love to read your writing, but I especially love your writing about teaching. And again, you've brought me back to poems I've forgotten about and get to experience all over again, in their beauty and power and brilliance. Thank you!
Andrew, thank you for being so supportive of my writing here! It means a lot. “Sailing to Byzantium” is an interesting poem experience for me because I don’t join him in his solution to being “fastened to a dying animal,” but I deeply feel his need to find a way to sing against the tatters in my mortal dress. So it’s a favorite poem of mine—but I don’t agree with his conclusion. A strange place to find myself as a reader! Congratulations on your upcoming book publication. :)
Interesting -- I took that line to mean our hearts are pinned to our failing, mortal, wanting bodies, when they long for richer, deeper, meaningful things; that's why the speaker pines for eternity: it's the desire for heaven, without those being the words he uses, that the speaker ultimately wants. And, man, do I get that.
And thank you -- I'm so excited it's coming out soon!
I have fought with my English-teacher identity for decades. Eventually, I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that even if I’m good at something, and even if I actually enjoy it on most days, that doesn’t mean I should do it. I miss students terribly, but when I taught, I missed myself. It’s such a beautiful and heartbreaking job, but you are killing it!
Tania, I appreciate what you share on social media about this. I remember the heartache when you decided not to go back to the classroom in recent years, after a year of return. What you say: "I missed myself." ...I don't know that I am killing it! But your encouragement means a lot. I want to explore what it means to be created as a teacher, called to be a teacher, *good* at being a teacher--but unable to do this gig full-time. Each of the last four years has held a different kind of part-time teaching position (this year, teaching adjunct at my local community college, and so far it's been the easiest on my central nervous system); I could not swing full-time, traditional classroom teaching. But I'm learning that doesn't make me not a teacher, nor a lesser teacher. I still am one...just finding my way.
Absolutely does not make you a lesser teacher. What matters is each student’s personal experience. It doesn’t matter to them if you’re full or part time. I remember being a student and not understanding nor caring who was a full professor, associate, adjunct, teaching assistant, whatever. What mattered was what they taught me and how they treated me.
I love this reading of Sailing to Byzantium. It's a poem I've been reading for probably three decades, but never really connected with. Reading how you have inhabited the poem makes it truly sing.
I spent several years teaching and by the end was totally burnt out. Instead I embraced being a stay at home mom and homeschooling my kids. Homeschooling has been difficult but also a joy and a way to reignite the love of teaching. I'm not sure I could go back to a classroom. But for me the hardest part of teaching wasn't the standing up before the students but the preparation and organization. And most of all the grading. Assigning grades to students felt like a betrayal of my innermost self. I can't quite explain why, but to me it feels antithetical to what teaching really is about, or should be about: the joyful process of discovery. I don't have a diagnosis, but none of my kids is neurotypical and nor are my parents or siblings, so chances are....
I love how you have discovered a way to nurture your needs and to thrive and allow your students to thrive.
Melanie, I keep thinking about your comment. I, too, struggle most (and very much) with prep, organization, and grading. The mental stress of keeping all the information--lesson plans, resources, student submissions, and writing responses--organized is what may keep me from lasting long in any traditional classroom setting. That's hard for me to swallow. I keep thinking there must be a way for those of us with these unique brains to do this good and beautiful work.
I, too, homeschool. Thank you for your kind words about the poem reading. I'm glad you're here. Your Substack looks lovely!
Beautiful. I guess there are people out there who can teach without bringing their authentic selves to the classroom? I've never been able to do it myself and not interested in trying. Also, thinking I might burst into song sometimes now myself!
Robyn, I spent so many decades hiding my authentic self, I didn't even know what the actual me was! No wonder I couldn't teach well. Here's to bursting into song whenever we want to!
Ellen, I am just so, so, so glad you're here. We have much in common, including our path to autistic revelation through our children. I do not have a formal diagnosis, either. On one hand, I don't need one to confidently understand this about myself; it helps that several professionals who know me well, including my therapist, see and affirm me as autistic. I can imagine I might choose to pursue a diagnosis in future, but it sure costs a lot. I deeply appreciate how the autistic community recognizes self diagnosis as valid.
This year, I am teaching adjunct for the first time since my mid-twenties, just out of grad school. I cannot imagine teaching at a higher level, not because (I imagine much like you!) I don't have the knowledge capacity, but because I don't have the physical/emotional bandwidth for the additional work that would entail. I hate that our uniquenesses often keep us from something we want, that would be good in many ways. But I love how we can find pathways to good work and life, especially if we understand ourselves. And I LOVE what you say: in our best moments, "we are all teaching one another." I'm so happy to have a fellow autistic teacher here in this space with me.
Yes, yes yes. Much love to you, Ellen.
I love to read your writing, but I especially love your writing about teaching. And again, you've brought me back to poems I've forgotten about and get to experience all over again, in their beauty and power and brilliance. Thank you!
Andrew, thank you for being so supportive of my writing here! It means a lot. “Sailing to Byzantium” is an interesting poem experience for me because I don’t join him in his solution to being “fastened to a dying animal,” but I deeply feel his need to find a way to sing against the tatters in my mortal dress. So it’s a favorite poem of mine—but I don’t agree with his conclusion. A strange place to find myself as a reader! Congratulations on your upcoming book publication. :)
Interesting -- I took that line to mean our hearts are pinned to our failing, mortal, wanting bodies, when they long for richer, deeper, meaningful things; that's why the speaker pines for eternity: it's the desire for heaven, without those being the words he uses, that the speaker ultimately wants. And, man, do I get that.
And thank you -- I'm so excited it's coming out soon!
Andrew, I like that reading. I like it a lot.
You're using Yeats' poem to tell your story, and it's so beautiful.
Thank you, Megan ❤️
Yes to finding our own way, and to how nourishing that is for others. Thank you, Rebecca.
It’s just so beautiful how those two things are true together.
I have fought with my English-teacher identity for decades. Eventually, I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that even if I’m good at something, and even if I actually enjoy it on most days, that doesn’t mean I should do it. I miss students terribly, but when I taught, I missed myself. It’s such a beautiful and heartbreaking job, but you are killing it!
Tania, I appreciate what you share on social media about this. I remember the heartache when you decided not to go back to the classroom in recent years, after a year of return. What you say: "I missed myself." ...I don't know that I am killing it! But your encouragement means a lot. I want to explore what it means to be created as a teacher, called to be a teacher, *good* at being a teacher--but unable to do this gig full-time. Each of the last four years has held a different kind of part-time teaching position (this year, teaching adjunct at my local community college, and so far it's been the easiest on my central nervous system); I could not swing full-time, traditional classroom teaching. But I'm learning that doesn't make me not a teacher, nor a lesser teacher. I still am one...just finding my way.
Absolutely does not make you a lesser teacher. What matters is each student’s personal experience. It doesn’t matter to them if you’re full or part time. I remember being a student and not understanding nor caring who was a full professor, associate, adjunct, teaching assistant, whatever. What mattered was what they taught me and how they treated me.
❤️❤️❤️
I love this reading of Sailing to Byzantium. It's a poem I've been reading for probably three decades, but never really connected with. Reading how you have inhabited the poem makes it truly sing.
I spent several years teaching and by the end was totally burnt out. Instead I embraced being a stay at home mom and homeschooling my kids. Homeschooling has been difficult but also a joy and a way to reignite the love of teaching. I'm not sure I could go back to a classroom. But for me the hardest part of teaching wasn't the standing up before the students but the preparation and organization. And most of all the grading. Assigning grades to students felt like a betrayal of my innermost self. I can't quite explain why, but to me it feels antithetical to what teaching really is about, or should be about: the joyful process of discovery. I don't have a diagnosis, but none of my kids is neurotypical and nor are my parents or siblings, so chances are....
I love how you have discovered a way to nurture your needs and to thrive and allow your students to thrive.
Melanie, I keep thinking about your comment. I, too, struggle most (and very much) with prep, organization, and grading. The mental stress of keeping all the information--lesson plans, resources, student submissions, and writing responses--organized is what may keep me from lasting long in any traditional classroom setting. That's hard for me to swallow. I keep thinking there must be a way for those of us with these unique brains to do this good and beautiful work.
I, too, homeschool. Thank you for your kind words about the poem reading. I'm glad you're here. Your Substack looks lovely!
Beautiful. I guess there are people out there who can teach without bringing their authentic selves to the classroom? I've never been able to do it myself and not interested in trying. Also, thinking I might burst into song sometimes now myself!
Robyn, I spent so many decades hiding my authentic self, I didn't even know what the actual me was! No wonder I couldn't teach well. Here's to bursting into song whenever we want to!