I used to say this all the time. I used to tell kids that x, y or z was "not a choice"...when they were clearly doing it.
I said it so much it wormed its way into my regular conversations and my stories about work, and my roommate had a dream that I told a burglar that robbing us was "not a choice"....so he left.
I don't say it anymore. "Not a safe choice" sure. "Not a good choice" or "Not a respectful choice" perhaps. But whether choices are good, bad, safe, choices I would make, or choices that seem to make sense...they exist. There are consequences for all of them...but there's not much that isn't a choice.
There are times when I have not given an option. Going to a quiet space when you're screaming is non-optional. I enforce those limits, obviously. But I've found "not a choice" slipping out of my vocabulary, replaced by talk about making safe/good/helpful choices, to the point that it grates on my ears when I hear others use it.
I don't know what difference it makes. I just know that my kiddos are starting to make the choices I'd prefer them to make that lead to positive outcomes, regardless of what other options are on the table. And for now, that's quite enough.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Saturday, October 4, 2014
Winning
I cringe when I think of how the deck is so stacked against some of my students sometimes. Between their own mental health issues, the problems at home, the lack of parenting skill and knowledge...the history of unsuccessful school experiences that lead them to feel stupid and overwhelmed by *all* of their work...I have to convince myself to zero in on the small changes and celebrate them. If I worry about all the things I can't fix, I'll go crazy.
A teacher, trying to be helpful, decided to tell me that if I didn't march my student to where he was supposed to be physically, that he would be "winning"...and I just sighed. Because I'm not fighting against my students, I'm fighting *for* them. I'm on their team. And if they can sit and calm down and open up about what they're thinking, it's more important to me than if they can be in the precise location I indicated.
I need to teach them how to make choices that are good for them. Without that ability, they're going to always need an environment controlled by others. More than anything I don't want that for them. I want them to advocate for themselves, to recognize their needs, to understand what makes them want to act the way they do and realize how to combat those instincts.
Maybe I just remember how it felt as a kid, knowing I was *so* mad, unreasonably mad, over something little. Knowing everyone around me thought it was stupid and not understanding why I couldn't let it go. I have such strong memories of fights with my brother over nothing...things that mattered so much to me that I can still feel the anger 20 years later when I think back. I know all kids think things are more important than adults might....but this was above and beyond. I know what it feels like when my students react to something with an intensity unmatched by the problem.
It's amazing to me, given how I used to be, how zen I can get with my kiddos. I've seen it all, heard it all, had it all thrown at me. I see their insults and destruction and anger and feel their anxiety and pain, like an instant translation. He's insecure and doesn't believe you like him, so he needs you to see his worst. She's worried about the situation at home and needing some extra love. He's safer ripping up his paper than giving it a try and being stupid. Someone upset him this morning and he can't explain why, but he can't focus on anything else hours later.
My biggest job is to let them know they have a safe place, where no one is judging them, everyone cares about them, and no one will hurt them. Where it's OK to take risks, make mistakes, and where I will tell them they're brave even if they fail. If we can do that, we can learn anything. If not, they're never even going to try.
A teacher, trying to be helpful, decided to tell me that if I didn't march my student to where he was supposed to be physically, that he would be "winning"...and I just sighed. Because I'm not fighting against my students, I'm fighting *for* them. I'm on their team. And if they can sit and calm down and open up about what they're thinking, it's more important to me than if they can be in the precise location I indicated.
I need to teach them how to make choices that are good for them. Without that ability, they're going to always need an environment controlled by others. More than anything I don't want that for them. I want them to advocate for themselves, to recognize their needs, to understand what makes them want to act the way they do and realize how to combat those instincts.
Maybe I just remember how it felt as a kid, knowing I was *so* mad, unreasonably mad, over something little. Knowing everyone around me thought it was stupid and not understanding why I couldn't let it go. I have such strong memories of fights with my brother over nothing...things that mattered so much to me that I can still feel the anger 20 years later when I think back. I know all kids think things are more important than adults might....but this was above and beyond. I know what it feels like when my students react to something with an intensity unmatched by the problem.
It's amazing to me, given how I used to be, how zen I can get with my kiddos. I've seen it all, heard it all, had it all thrown at me. I see their insults and destruction and anger and feel their anxiety and pain, like an instant translation. He's insecure and doesn't believe you like him, so he needs you to see his worst. She's worried about the situation at home and needing some extra love. He's safer ripping up his paper than giving it a try and being stupid. Someone upset him this morning and he can't explain why, but he can't focus on anything else hours later.
My biggest job is to let them know they have a safe place, where no one is judging them, everyone cares about them, and no one will hurt them. Where it's OK to take risks, make mistakes, and where I will tell them they're brave even if they fail. If we can do that, we can learn anything. If not, they're never even going to try.
Friday, September 19, 2014
TGIF
There has been a lot of change at my new job (already...and only a few weeks in)....luckily it seems like it's headed in a positive direction, which is nice, because I really liked how things were going for the most part. But I have to roll with it, no matter what.
My classroom adjoins to the K-2 behavioral classroom, where my mentor teaches. She has a lively bunch of kiddos. We have a small hallway that is occasionally used as a "quiet space" (although the sound just bounces around in there like mad-it is not at all quiet) but the doors must be held shut from outside. If she sends a child in there to calm down, she will poke her head in and ask us to watch or hold the adjoining door.
One of her little munchkins was having a truly rough day last week. He was screaming on and off, and I could hear him fussing about every little thing. I heard him yelling "Let me in!" and when my door opened, I knew it was time to stand by the door and make sure he didn't escape our way.
He was practically climbing the door by the handle, and the aide was watching-while-not-letting-him-know-she-was-watching...mid-scream, he turned, saw me, and let go of the door. He waved me away and said "I'm not coming in there, don't worry. You don't have to hold the door!" Then he went back to rattling the door handle and screaming bloody murder at his teachers.True to his word, he never tried to come around the other way to get back to class.
Made a good story for the staff meeting. :)
My classroom adjoins to the K-2 behavioral classroom, where my mentor teaches. She has a lively bunch of kiddos. We have a small hallway that is occasionally used as a "quiet space" (although the sound just bounces around in there like mad-it is not at all quiet) but the doors must be held shut from outside. If she sends a child in there to calm down, she will poke her head in and ask us to watch or hold the adjoining door.
One of her little munchkins was having a truly rough day last week. He was screaming on and off, and I could hear him fussing about every little thing. I heard him yelling "Let me in!" and when my door opened, I knew it was time to stand by the door and make sure he didn't escape our way.
He was practically climbing the door by the handle, and the aide was watching-while-not-letting-him-know-she-was-watching...mid-scream, he turned, saw me, and let go of the door. He waved me away and said "I'm not coming in there, don't worry. You don't have to hold the door!" Then he went back to rattling the door handle and screaming bloody murder at his teachers.True to his word, he never tried to come around the other way to get back to class.
Made a good story for the staff meeting. :)
Sunday, August 31, 2014
End of the Summer
Hard to believe it's the last weekend of summer. It was a good, low key one. I worked a few days a week with Pre-K students, 3 and 4 year olds on the Autism spectrum....Let's just say that they were terribly cute, but I'm not going to miss them too much. Pre-K definitely isn't the place for me, but it was a good opportunity that left me lots of time for beach/pool/other summer fun.
After experiencing a program that was less than ideal (now that's an understatement) I was much more vigilant in terms of what I was looking for in a school this year. I knew I had the experiences and references necessary to get a job I was happy in. I knew which questions to ask, and which red flags to look for...I appreciated schools that were honest when a particular resource was lacking, because knowing what you're going into is incredibly important.
This year I decided not to follow through on some job leads. Some because of distance, some because of the feeling I got from the administration during interviews. I am an odd combination of a first year teacher, but also a person who's worked in enough programs to know what I do/don't want. I've been working with students with special needs for long enough to have my own philosophy of what works and what doesn't, and to know when my view clashes with the administration's.
It was really hard to get out of the mindset of "I must take every interview, apply for every single job" and so on. I felt guilty a lot. But ultimately, I ended up in a program that I can tell is a great fit for me. I don't feel any of the stress and confusion and worry I did last year going into the program. The school is welcoming and set up for teamwork and collaboration. The program is thoughtfully designed and the population is carefully chosen. The administration, from principal to superintendent, view the first years of teaching as a time to improve, not a time when they expect you to walk in already perfect. Because while I know that I have a lot of skills in what I do, I also know that I have a lot to learn.
So perhaps this year I will improve my blogging. My goals are:
-To figure out how to upload documents so I can share some posts I've been thinking about
-To post some freebie type things on teacherspayteachers, or here, to share some resources I find helpful
-To document some memories, funny stories, etc. Because there are always a million stories.
I know I said I would blog more last year. I really thought I would. I don't want to insist I will this year, because who knows what will happen? But I think I'll try.
After experiencing a program that was less than ideal (now that's an understatement) I was much more vigilant in terms of what I was looking for in a school this year. I knew I had the experiences and references necessary to get a job I was happy in. I knew which questions to ask, and which red flags to look for...I appreciated schools that were honest when a particular resource was lacking, because knowing what you're going into is incredibly important.
This year I decided not to follow through on some job leads. Some because of distance, some because of the feeling I got from the administration during interviews. I am an odd combination of a first year teacher, but also a person who's worked in enough programs to know what I do/don't want. I've been working with students with special needs for long enough to have my own philosophy of what works and what doesn't, and to know when my view clashes with the administration's.
It was really hard to get out of the mindset of "I must take every interview, apply for every single job" and so on. I felt guilty a lot. But ultimately, I ended up in a program that I can tell is a great fit for me. I don't feel any of the stress and confusion and worry I did last year going into the program. The school is welcoming and set up for teamwork and collaboration. The program is thoughtfully designed and the population is carefully chosen. The administration, from principal to superintendent, view the first years of teaching as a time to improve, not a time when they expect you to walk in already perfect. Because while I know that I have a lot of skills in what I do, I also know that I have a lot to learn.
So perhaps this year I will improve my blogging. My goals are:
-To figure out how to upload documents so I can share some posts I've been thinking about
-To post some freebie type things on teacherspayteachers, or here, to share some resources I find helpful
-To document some memories, funny stories, etc. Because there are always a million stories.
I know I said I would blog more last year. I really thought I would. I don't want to insist I will this year, because who knows what will happen? But I think I'll try.
Friday, June 13, 2014
Being There
This has been a crazy whirlwind of a year. My drafts folder is full of posts about difficult situations, unsupportive administrations, poorly trained staff turning behavior plans into worthless pieces of paper....But I'm ready to delete all of those and never look back.
So I was thrilled to leave it all behind, even if the way it happened was less than ideal. I took what was supposed to be a short term gig in the winter, and now here we are, a week from the end of school, and I have learned more than I ever thought possible from this situation. I have worked with a staff of incredible caring educators, an administration that celebrates the teachers and their hard work. I had to realize that I was being asked if I needed anything because people genuinely wanted to help-they weren't just saying it out of politeness. No one was put-upon if I said yes, and I had plenty of chances to return the favor later.
But today isn't about all that. Today was our final day of Kindergarten. Today I watched a little boy who when I met him *refused* to sit on the rug, join his class for activities and lessons-a boy who turned his back on the situation, and kicked or hit or screamed when that failed....Today I watched him get up on stage. I watched his eyes light up when he saw his family. I watched him sing his heart out, and dance. I watched the anxiety melt out of him. I watched him put his arm around another child's shoulders and bow. I watched him use his words when the waiting and the sitting was too much, and I watched him slowly warm himself back up to go back in for the final number, his beloved dance song. And then we danced, and we laughed, and we felt the love of his family radiating all the way from the back of the packed room.
I know I'll never forget him. I'll never forget the look on his face the first time I asked him if he was worried about a situation he was refusing to participate in. And when I told him we'd just look, and we could leave. I'll never forget the first time he told me he was mad instead of spitting at me. I'll never forget him leaning over to me right before we went on stage and telling me "I'm scared. I want to hide with you" (behind the curtain, where I told him I would be) and his smile when I said "What if I come with you?" I'll never forget doing those silly dances on stage with him, and not caring what any of the parents thought except maybe his....and I'll never forget watching him, knowing he was ready, and stepping to the side so his family could get some glorious pictures of him, comfortable and happy, singing with his class....with me close but "hiding".
It took a lot. It took being there, being with him, when the anxiety and frustration welled up inside of him and exploded out. It took time, and patience-a lot of it. It took seeing past him needing control to figuring out why. I heard from so many people what he wouldn't do, what he couldn't do....and their reasons why. It took being there for him and letting him tell me in his own time, in his own way, why, to start being able to fill his toolbox with new strategies.
I have been reading a lot of blogs lately written by Autistic adults and young adults. I've been taking to heart their words, about the way the world thinks about them, the assumptions they make. I have them to thank for my decision to slow down, to be with this child, to recognize the fear in his eyes even when the rest of his body screamed "defiance" in ways that were hard to ignore. And I love the team of educators that worked with me to support him, who tossed their initial assumptions out the window, who embraced new ideas and different motivations for familiar behaviors, and who joined us in taking a new approach. I've been lucky to have them, and so has he.
So I was thrilled to leave it all behind, even if the way it happened was less than ideal. I took what was supposed to be a short term gig in the winter, and now here we are, a week from the end of school, and I have learned more than I ever thought possible from this situation. I have worked with a staff of incredible caring educators, an administration that celebrates the teachers and their hard work. I had to realize that I was being asked if I needed anything because people genuinely wanted to help-they weren't just saying it out of politeness. No one was put-upon if I said yes, and I had plenty of chances to return the favor later.
But today isn't about all that. Today was our final day of Kindergarten. Today I watched a little boy who when I met him *refused* to sit on the rug, join his class for activities and lessons-a boy who turned his back on the situation, and kicked or hit or screamed when that failed....Today I watched him get up on stage. I watched his eyes light up when he saw his family. I watched him sing his heart out, and dance. I watched the anxiety melt out of him. I watched him put his arm around another child's shoulders and bow. I watched him use his words when the waiting and the sitting was too much, and I watched him slowly warm himself back up to go back in for the final number, his beloved dance song. And then we danced, and we laughed, and we felt the love of his family radiating all the way from the back of the packed room.
I know I'll never forget him. I'll never forget the look on his face the first time I asked him if he was worried about a situation he was refusing to participate in. And when I told him we'd just look, and we could leave. I'll never forget the first time he told me he was mad instead of spitting at me. I'll never forget him leaning over to me right before we went on stage and telling me "I'm scared. I want to hide with you" (behind the curtain, where I told him I would be) and his smile when I said "What if I come with you?" I'll never forget doing those silly dances on stage with him, and not caring what any of the parents thought except maybe his....and I'll never forget watching him, knowing he was ready, and stepping to the side so his family could get some glorious pictures of him, comfortable and happy, singing with his class....with me close but "hiding".
It took a lot. It took being there, being with him, when the anxiety and frustration welled up inside of him and exploded out. It took time, and patience-a lot of it. It took seeing past him needing control to figuring out why. I heard from so many people what he wouldn't do, what he couldn't do....and their reasons why. It took being there for him and letting him tell me in his own time, in his own way, why, to start being able to fill his toolbox with new strategies.
I have been reading a lot of blogs lately written by Autistic adults and young adults. I've been taking to heart their words, about the way the world thinks about them, the assumptions they make. I have them to thank for my decision to slow down, to be with this child, to recognize the fear in his eyes even when the rest of his body screamed "defiance" in ways that were hard to ignore. And I love the team of educators that worked with me to support him, who tossed their initial assumptions out the window, who embraced new ideas and different motivations for familiar behaviors, and who joined us in taking a new approach. I've been lucky to have them, and so has he.
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