Borderline esteem
To be honest, I’m not sure why I gained a sense of calm somewhere between the flossing by the hygienist and the poking and prodding of the dentist’s pick. My Dover dentist and his staff are the best, make no mistake about it, so maybe there was a little something in that awful gritty toothpaste they used, or in the water I drank, or vibes from the fish tank next to the very nice receptionist. I told her my Eeyore tale of woe, and she said, “Did you apply at X school? I know their teacher is retiring.” I glumly looked at her and said, in my best Eeyore voice, “I missed the boat on that one. I got busy and didn’t send my stuff to them.” She cheerfully assured me something would come up, and stamped the back of my check.
Here’s what happened: God spoke to me. And as I hit the highway out of Dover, heading home, I realized something about myself. I hadn’t given myself enough credit for, well, being myself. Who would want to sit and listen to me complain about the lack of jobs or my chances against a younger generation of teachers, and blah blah blah? I wouldn’t want to listen to me. If I was my friend and I cared about me, I’d tell myself, “I’m sure God will put you where He wants you to be. Don’t give up hope. Don’t. What district wouldn’t want you?”
By the time I pulled in my driveway, I realized something: teaching is not who I am. I like to teach, but my friends and family don’t love me because I have money, a great job, am gorgeous, or because I found a cure for cancer. I don’t have any of those things going for me! They must like and love me because of who they see in me.
How often do we take a moment to see ourselves through the eyes of someone who loves us? If I can’t stand myself, how could I stand anyone else? Some people can’t, if we’re being honest.
When I finished student teaching this month at Massillon Washington High School, my mentor teacher decided to have a food day to celebrate. In foreign language classes, this is the caveat that draws students. They talk for days about what they want to eat, who’s bringing what, and it’s up to the teacher to plan the logistics and anchor setup and cleanup. They don’t cook dissected frogs in science, or eat articles of the Constitution in social studies classes, but students in foreign languages believe food days are essential to their language learning.
I arrived later than usual my last morning, and when I walked in the room, my mentor teacher was directing arriving students to place their foods in areas designated by their class periods. She looked up at me and glowered, “I hate food days, for this very reason. It’s chaos.” I smiled. She’s extremely neat and spent the next two hours rearranging, storing and packing up class treats. Hot and cold foods continued to arrive. One student brought his grandmother’s blender to make smoothies, for heaven’s sake. Another girl’s father showed up with giant pans of freshly baked enchiladas. A student brought a cute little piñata that would never hold the 10 pounds of candy another girl brought.
Even though it was my last day, I spent time talking with the students, and told them I had to take a major exam, at 1:30, on the telephone. This was one of two tests that would determine my final steps for licensure. It meant a walk to an assistant principal’s office, watch her make the coded telephone call to set it up, and then talk my brains out on questions that are so secretive there is no test preparation: you either can speak or you can’t. I’d spent two weeks practicing with native speakers from Mexico and Peru. Each assured me my Spanish was excellent and I’d have no trouble passing. Why didn’t I believe them? I knew it was a one-shot deal and on this day, of all days, it cast a gray cloud over my final day and the hallowed food day preparations and students’ excitement. Why did I let it?
Because, dear reader, we spend too much time listening to critics, people who might do us harm, and sometimes, others without self-esteem. In graduate school, I spoke halting Spanish. For years, I was uncomfortable using it in front of people.
On mission trips to Honduras, I felt self-conscious, even though my Honduran friends understood everything I said, and I (mostly) understood them. What totally caved in my fragile Spanish self-esteem last fall, were the words of someone who told me I would struggle teaching Spanish. At that time, I thought I was speaking and thinking primarily in Spanish and believing my Spanish had greatly improved.
Knowing this test was on the horizon, and how big it was, I felt doomed to fail. And I let the opinion of one person, whatever their motive, crush me and my self-esteem.
When 1:30 came, I said farewell to one of the classes. As I walked out of the room, they burst into spontaneous applause and cheering. I just wanted to turn and savor the moment. They were clapping for me. For me! The 50 steps down the hall turned into an eternity, as my mind calmly recited The Lord’s Prayer, and I waited as the cheerful assistant principal dialed the coded number and I began talking to Ana, a Spanish high school teacher, from Spain, living near New York City. After my allotted half-hour, I hung up, and stood up, drained. I walked out of the office and out the door. “Here she comes!” I heard a student yell from the rowdy but beloved last class. They were cheering and hooting long before I came in the room. Again, it was a moment like no other. And I didn’t think I deserved it.
When I got the results last week, I’d not only passed, but I passed at a higher level than I felt I could achieve. I was ecstatic. I do have to take the written test, but feel more confident than ever before, and am proud of myself for preparing, speaking and studying to make the passage of my oral interview a success. I also did something right as a teacher for those students to love and cheer for me.
We need, I think, to take a moment and look at ourselves, for who we are and what we’ve accomplished. People like us for a reason. Is it the reason we want? Do we put too much stock in the image of who we should be instead of who we are? Do we let the passing words of one person, a negative influence, or a bad situation dictate how we feel about ourselves? Satan has his ways of operating too. I don’t know where or if I’m teaching in the fall, but I have a sense of peace that whatever happens, God’s got it under control. He also thinks I’m a pretty neat person, too. If we can’t think of a reason why anyone should love us, maybe we make some changes in our life. Or maybe we remember that God loves us just as we are. It’s trite and often not what we want to hear, but really He does.
I have to return to the dentist in a couple of weeks to get a small patch on a tooth. The patch on my self-esteem and heart is already working.