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My Life As A First-Year Teacher
You’ll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You’ll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go. So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact and remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left.
—Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You’ll Go!
August 30, 2011, was a landmark day for me. That was the day I walked into my new Grade 5 classroom, anticipating with enthusiasm the first students I’d ever have the privilege to teach.
Two days earlier, I’d moved out on my own to a new city and away from my family. Yesterday, I’d met my principal and spent the greater part of the day frantically setting up my classroom. My lesson plans were intricately crafted, and I’d carefully planned team-building activities I was certain would be executed flawlessly. I was on top of the world and ready for my teaching career to begin. Little did I know that a long list of things that no one tells you lay ahead.
In university, no one tells you about the bureaucracy and endless paperwork that has nothing to do with teaching or learning. No one tells you about the numerous phone calls and e-mails from parents and from school and district personnel that must be attended to throughout the day. No one tells you that many things will be out of your control and will significantly affect your teaching. No one tells you that first-year teachers are often moved around during September, and so it was with me. Moving from one grade to another had enormous implications for me as a new teacher. Three days in, I was switched to a Grade 2 class, which meant redoing all my year plans and unit plans, not to mention preparing for 20 Grade 2 children who would be arriving at my door the next day.
Unlike Seuss’s proclamation, I’m not a person who gets “mixed up with many strange birds as [I] go.” I’ve excelled and persevered through many academic and personal trials. I don’t quit. However, the first three months of my teaching career all but broke my spirit, as I fought to stay afloat in an ocean of work that threatened to drown me. I worked 17-hour days and barely slept in order to accommodate the gruelling demands of teaching. My day began at 5:30 a.m. and I was working by 6 a.m. I’d set up what I needed for the morning—pulling up Smart Board activities, photocopying materials, assembling science experiments and preparing art samples. Every recess period saw me organizing resources and preparing for upcoming lessons. I never took lunch breaks because I was too busy setting up activities to facilitate a flow in my day. After school, I’d mark and go over my plans for the next day until 5:30 p.m., then go home, eat supper and return to school, often working until 11:00 p.m. I was married to my career and divorced from my life; I rarely went out with friends because of my workload. I was overwhelmed by and frustrated with the seemingly endless demands of teaching.
All the while, I could not understand how other teachers had time for lives outside teaching. My mother, Kelli Ewasiuk, is a teacher, and I don’t recall her first years of teaching being this arduous. She worked hard when she first began teaching but not at the expense of her family life. I desperately wanted to understand. Finally it hit me: teachers do not have time; teachers make time.
I’ve since scaled back the amount of time I commit to work. But to meet the demands of my profession, I continue to work on average 12 hours a day. And at the end of each school day when I leave my classroom, I feel like I have still more to do.
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Stephanie Ewasiuk, a beginning teacher, teaches Grade 2. She is the daughter of Kelli Ewasiuk, whose story about teaching is also featured in this issue of the magazine.
