The Butterflies Never Went Away

There are six more weeks left in the semester and I must admit that, each time I enter the classroom, I still get nervous. Perhaps it has something to do with the power I wield over my students' academic careers and the sense that I don't feel wholly comfortable weighing and scoring another person's work. Grading is the worst part of teaching, but it's such a big part of the job.

I've worked really hard to create an atmosphere of trust and professionalism in my classroom so that my students feel comfortable in making comments. I do not play "guess what I'm thinking." I encourage them to participate and am usually interested in their differing perspectives. I doubt any of them walk into our class feeling uneasy or anxious, so why do I?

There is the aspect of performance that occurs inevitably, because I am at the front of the room. Being closer to the board is a bit like being on stage. I do sit atop my desk at times, using the prop as a chair. I try not to sit at the big desk because of the physical and mental barrier it would likely cause between myself and my students. I also sit among them in the little desks when they make presentations.

Still, even when it's not me "on stage," my stomach flutters, pitching a bit, like driving over a dip in the road. Perhaps it's because, as a student myself, I know about the vast continuum of teachers. I have learned from the good, the bad, and the horrendous. Yet, from that perspective, I have always endeavored to learn, regardless of the teaching method. So, why does it bother me so much to be a teacher?

I remember my brother asking my mom about being a dad when faced for the first time with fatherhood asking the question, "what if I'm a terrible father?" My mom answered, "the fact that you're thinking about it puts you miles ahead of the rest." Four children later, my brother is an ever-present parent who makes conscious decisions and tries his best to be a good dad. That doesn't mean he's perfect. He makes mistakes. He hurts feelings. Perhaps his children will need therapy, too.

Still, it is in wondering and perhaps feeling a bit uncomfortable, that I still strive to learn about being a role model, to discover more about being a good person. I attempt to strengthen my weaknesses, and do not rest easy with the status quo. I read and search for better ways of being a better teacher. I'm sure I will never wake up one day thinking that I'm perfect and that I no longer need to consider or improve this perspective. Maybe that's what makes me different from those who don't. It certainly means my butterflies aren't going away anytime soon.

My First Day

You know the feeling you get when you’re so nervous, it seems like your stomach is actually twisting in upon itself? That’s the feeling I woke up with at six this morning. And I hate being nervous. Part of the reason I’ve never cheated on my husband is because of that very fact: I like predictability. A room full of strangers is the antithesis of control.

“But Christina,” I say to myself, “you’ve closed million dollar deals and once had a job as a tour guide for an entire summer. This is nothing. These are just eighteen year-olds who are probably more nervous than you about being called upon. It’s their first day of college. You’ve got experience--expertise, even. AND, you’re their teacher, which means you have the power.”

Right, I have the power. Why isn’t this churning going away then? All I really have to do today is go over the syllabus and assign a required diagnostic essay to find out if everyone in class speaks English fluently enough to discuss the following: Discuss the advice people have given you for your first day of college. What advice will you probably take and why? What will you discard and why? Write a 600-800 word double spaced essay and hand in Thursday.

I got this. Or, I’ll have this. Maybe a little yoga will help...