Teacher Mental Health: You Are Not Alone

"My heart is racing. It won't calm down. My heart is going to explode. This is it. I am going to die. Right here. In my bedroom at my parent's house. With my kids sleeping on the floor. I can't calm down. I should have skipped that last game of cards and actually graded those book reports. Ok, Neill, get it together. You are just fine. Just take some deep breaths. But my heart won't calm down. I really think that something is wrong with me. I just need to calm down. But I can't. This is how my kids will forever remember Christmas - the day their mom's heart wouldn't slow down and quit working. Great. Just great. Why can't I get myself together? This is so stupid. I know what's happening, but I can't calm down. All of this over having to grade stupid book reports. I hate book reports. And my husband, he will never know because he is sleeping on the couch because he snores. So he is going to be the one to find me. After my heart quits working. Ok, now I am being ridiculous. Just calm down. Take a deep breath. This is just a panic attack, I think. Or is it?"

This was the end to my Christmas break in 2015. A panic attack. These were some of the very thoughts that went through my head while I suffered what was my first, and definitely not my last, panic attack. I had never experienced something like this before, and it was terrifying. It was at this point in time that I realized two things: I was not okay, and something had to change.

It has taken me two years to feel as though I could write about this. In February 2016, I called the my doctor. I knew that I needed some help. I wasn't "me". I had read quite a bit about anxiety and depression. I had quite a few of the "symptoms". But how could I be depressed? I loved my job. I loved my family. I just couldn't get myself together. I was angry - overreacting to little things my kids did at home. And I was avoiding things that I knew did not bring me joy - like cleaning my house and grading work that lacked student engagement. I physically could not do these tasks.

Ironically, that same February, I had a staff member ask me how I did it. She was in tears, and she said, "I just don't know how you do it. How do you handle it all? Being a mom, a wife, a teacher?" My response was simple: "I don't, I am not okay, and that is why I am going to the doctor this week. I need help, too." From that point on, I have shared one-on-one with teachers who are struggling. I don't want them to think that they are alone - that they can never do great things if they are overwhelmed or struggling to find themselves. But that's it - we have to be willing to do what it takes to find ourselves. We have to be willing to say that we need help to be the best we can be - our families and students need us to take care of ourselves.

Teaching is heavy. It is hard. We allow our students to enter our hearts. We laugh when they laugh. We mourn when they mourn. And at times, it takes its toll. Most days, I feel like I am totally screwing things up. I have one shot, one chance to get it right. I get one year to impact students. I get one year to give students the opportunity to fall in love with books. I get one year to give them practical writing skills that will make them better. I get one year to make them better speakers, better listeners, better learners. It is heavy. It is hard. It is by far the most worthwhile career I could imagine. If I expect to be able to do this -- if you expect to do this -- and do it well, then we have to take care of ourselves.

I changed two things. First, I sought out medical help. I talked with my doctor. He listened to me. He diagnosed me. He prescribed a low-dose antidepressant medication. He didn't make me feel  as though I was weak because I was struggling with this. Actually, he made me feel human. In some weird way, talking to my husband, my colleagues, and my doctor helped me to take control of how I was feeling inside. It didn't take away what I was feeling, but it did put me in the driver's seat.

Second, I became the teacher I was scared to be. I quit assigning work that I thought "good teachers" assigned, and I started learning with my students. I had to find a balance between the kind of thinking and learning that I wanted students to do, the kind of work I had time to grade, and the kind of mom/wife I wanted to be. I dedicated class time to reading. I quit assigning book reports. I vowed to work with kids from bell-to-bell and be fully engaged with them. I stopped creating work so that I could grade work. I knocked down the brick walls of my classroom and made them more transparent by connecting on Twitter and Voxer with colleagues in my building, district, and state. I began blogging consistently. These are all things that I do to stay healthy. These things make me a better teacher, a better mom, and a better wife.

I do not let my anxiety and depression define me, but it is part of who I am. Recognizing where I am at in a situation and how I am reacting to it has made me a better teacher, mom, and wife. May is National Mental Health Month. (Edit: and October 10th is #WorldMentalHealthDay) If you are reading this, and you are thinking to yourself, "I'm not okay," know that you are not alone. Mental health does not look the same for every person; our experiences are all unique. Teaching is heavy. Teaching is hard. We are in this for kids, and we are in this together. Take care of yourself. You are not alone.

Great Teachers Have the Same Heart

Yesterday, I had an experience that was probably the most affirming of my teaching career on a professional level -- a full-circle experience. I was on a district visit with my Kansas Teacher of the Year team. We visited a classroom at Monticello Middle School in the De Soto, Kansas school district. This is not just any classroom. It is a classroom museum. It is the classroom of a teacher who brings history to life. (The video below is amazing.) My words cannot do this classroom justice; you just have to watch it.

This teacher is named Keil Hileman, and he is the 2004 Kansas Teacher of the Year. This "circle" began when I was a young teacher (in my first two years of teaching), and Keil spoke to our school. I remember listening him tell stories about the Lost Boys of Sudan and what his classes were doing to help them. I passed on artifacts as he told stories about how they were connected to history. I remember gasping for air as he shared the ways that humans have treated other humans throughout history. I laughed. I cried. I experienced a glimpse of what his classroom might be like. And then, I remember thinking to myself that I had no idea how to be a teacher like Mr. Hileman. I looked at what he did, and I thought that there was no way I could ever do that. And you know what, I was right. I could never be Mr. Hileman, but I could be Mrs. Neill. I didn't know what that would take; all I knew was that I wanted to reach kids the way that he did.

The 2018 Kansas Teacher of the Year Team in Keil Hileman's classroom. (To say we were excited is an understatement.)

As I listened to Keil teach a room of teachers yesterday, it dawned on me that Keil and I did have something in common. We have the same heart. And I was surrounded by seven other teachers who have the same heart. And when I go back to my district, I am surrounded by my department members who have the same heart. My high school colleagues, district colleges, and administrators have the same heart, too. We have a heart for kids. We love them with all that we have. It is not content, worksheets, tests, or essays that make a great teacher. It is love. I want my students to walk into my classroom and know they are loved - because then they are safe to take chances and do great things.

Mr. Hileman holding a judges medallion from the 1936 Berlin Olympics. 

Yesterday was a surreal experience. Here I was with the 2018 Kansas Teacher of the Year team -- sitting in a room of a teacher who, unbeknownst to him, made a huge impact on a young teacher fourteen years ago. Yesterday, our paths crossed again. It was almost like the universe was affirming that I have found my "why". I was put on this earth to love kids. Most teachers would tell you that their "why" looks a lot like love, kindness, empathy, and hope. Just ask someone why they teach and you will find that you can tell a true teacher when you meet one because we share the same heart. You can see it in their eyes. You can hear it in their voices. Great teachers share the same heart.

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Below is a small piece of the history that I held in my hands yesterday. It was so humbling. It was an experience I will never forget. This is just an example of one of the many artifacts used to bring history to life. I held these slave shackles in my own two hands. Doing so was something humbling and terrifying at the same time. When I held them, I thought of the fact that real humans had been shackled in these chains at some point in history. These chains had touched human skin. And then I thought about the evil nature of white slave traders during this time in history. The fact that other humans were viewed as chattel to be auctioned off to the highest bidder - sickens me. This is a history lesson I will never forget; it's safe to say that Mr. Heilman's students will never forget these lessons either. This is how teachers inspire world-changers. Bringing one lesson to life at a time. #neveragain

Are You Willing to Listen?

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to read one of my favorite stories to a fifth grade class in my school district. I chose to read Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel by Virginia Lee Burton. 

In this story, Mike Mulligan and his beloved steam shovel Mary Anne get themselves into a predicament. They agree to dig a cellar for the new town hall in the town of Popperville. But there's a catch; they must dig the entire cellar in one day or they won't get paid. They dig the cellar so quickly that they forget to leave a way out. It is at this point in time when a little boy - not afraid to speak up for himself - shared a solution.

I love this story for many reasons; however, my fifth-grade audience was easily able to choose the one event that hold so much power. They were quick to explain that the little boy in the story saved Mary Anne. Adults were surrounding this cellar, but it was one little boy whose idea was the solution to the problem. They did not belittle him because he was young. They did not tell him that his idea was stupid or ill-informed. These adults processed what they were hearing and they listened. And you know what? His idea worked.

As a teacher, I will never know a day when school shootings are not common place. My students and my own children practice intruder drills on regular basis. We talk about how to barricade doors. We talk about what to do if a student is in the bathroom if the intruder announcement comes over the PA system. There are so many what-ifs, but we try to talk about them in case the unthinkable happens. And that makes me sad. 

But you know what else makes me sad? We have a generation of students who are tired of going to school in fear. So what did they do last week? Across our nation, they decided it was time to stand up for themselves.  But unlike the little boy in the story, they were not met by adults with open ears. These students have been belittled. They have been called every name in the book. Some have been suspended. Some have been paddled (yes, you are reading this correctly, in 2018 - despite the research against corporal punishment - students were submitted to it at the hands of educators.) 

And sadly, in some communities, these students have received death threats. From. Adults.

Adults are quick to forget that our adolescent years were full of mistakes. Those years were also full of purpose and drive because kids are not jaded, and they are ready to take on the world. Every time I open social media, I see adults verbally bullying kids. I see them telling kids that they should study more history so that they knew what happened to the Jewish citizens under Hitler's reign (trust me, they know). I see them telling kids that they should "walk up" instead of "walk out" (as though it is their fault that they have to deal with the fear of school violence).  These students are doing their best to fix an adult problem. 

Teachers have the privilege to work with teenagers each day, and here's what we know: our students care deeply about others. They care about making an impact on the world. These students walked out because they knew it was up to them to start a conversation that is long overdue. Did every student walk out for the right reasons? No. However, I have no doubt that a majority of students did so for the right reasons. It has been almost 20 years since the massacre at Columbine - and adults have failed to protect these students. It is time that we stop blaming these students for a classmate who did the unthinkable. It is time that adults listen to these students and their ideas and then come to the table willing to act on their behalf. 

Listening is leadership. These kids need us to listen to understand, not to respond, but to truly hear them. They need to share their stories and fears. It costs nothing for them to do this. As adults, it does not change our political stance if we listen. It does not make us more liberal or conservative. It does not take away our credibility if we listen (heck, it might actually add to it). It does not mean we have gone soft if we listen. I believe with all of my heart that the solution lies with the kids. They just need us to listen. Teachers will tell you that if you give kids a chance, their stories will change your hearts and open your eyes. So the real question is: are you willing to listen? 

Imagine If...

Last weekend, I sat in bed talking with my husband. Tears ran down my face. I asked him tough questions. "Tell me about an AR-15. What makes it different than the other guns and rifles? What is a bump stock? Do we need large capacity magazines? Is there a need for a gun like an AR-15 in the hands of a common citizen?" I asked him these questions because I need to hear what the other side has to say. I wanted to listen. I wanted to learn. I come from a family of hunters and soldiers. I have my hunter's safety license. I was trained as a child to safely handle guns. I am not scared of them. I would be lying if I said that I didn't already know how I felt about weapons that are commonly used for mass shootings, but I believe in the importance of civil discourse. If I am going to teach it to my students, I am going to practice it at home, at school, at church, and in public.

Tonight a family member posted on Facebook wanting to hear from teachers who were willing to be armed. My response was, "Not a chance." I do not typically try to engage in this type of discussion online, but I have a great deal of respect for this family member and saw an opportunity to provide my thoughts on the subject. While I could tell that both of us had different opinions, I felt like I could share my side in a respectful way and she could share hers. Another family member joined the conversation and brought up the fact that we are all concerned about the welfare of our children. That is true. This is one fact in which we can agree.

Being prepared to react in a crisis situation is part of my job as a teacher. I walk into a building and see an AED, I take note. I know how to use it, and I may be called upon to do so should someone go into cardiac arrest. When I walk into a store, I look to see where the exit signs are in case I have to use my "teacher voice" to move my children or a crowd to safety. I know how to use an EPIpen. I can check a person's blood sugar. I am CPR/ First Aid certified. I am always watching. I know I have a responsibility in society that does not come with every job. I am always ready to jump in because it is what I do. However, I am not comfortable being armed, in my classroom. I am a teacher.

All of the schools in my county follow the protocol put in place by our local law enforcement officers and sheriff's department. This protocol should allow an armed officer to locate and take down an active shooter in a way that does not put more lives at risk. As hard as it is for me to say this, having an armed person on campus would most likely not stop the initial loss of life. I also know that it takes about a minute for the adults in my school to lock down a 600+ person building. This plan is a "reaction" to an active shooter.  Right now, all schools have a reactionary plan. Do we need legislation on guns? Yes. We need to have tough conversations on background checks, age requirements, and whether or not certain guns should be accessible to the public. But I feel like we are missing something here. We need to look at both sides of this issue. I spend my days teaching my students to think proactively. I ask them to think about how we can prevent situations from happening and not wait to respond once they do. In the discussion about active shooters, we are missing the what ifs.

• What if we had trained mental health professionals working within our buildings who could help our isolated students work through their emotions and give them coping skills that they could use throughout the rest of their lives? I have no doubt that our administrators, counselors and teachers do the best we can with the knowledge we have, but we are not trained mental health workers.

• What if every teacher was trauma-informed and could better meet the needs of students who are struggling in their classes? The needs of our students are changing so drastically. Many educators, myself included, simply cannot identify with the struggles our students bring to class each day. We must be formally trained to identify trauma and how to help students' brains process what is causing them to be in a constant state of distress.

• What if class sizes were smaller so that teachers would be able to better identify students who are struggling? This one seems self-explanatory. I cannot reach a class of 24 the same way I can reach a class of 14.

• What if we used restorative justice practices in our schools rather than decades-old discipline practices that simply do not work? Many schools are already starting this transition - from discipline being solely centered around punishment to discipline that is centered around learning. Teaching students to talk through their struggles and own their emotions in order to improve their actions and behaviors.

• What if instead of suspending for a student for 1-5 days, we had programs in place to put positive mentors in their lives such as local law enforcement, firemen, business owners - just to name a few? I think of how powerful it would be for a student to ride-along with a local police officer or work with a local fireman in a fire station for a morning. I think of how much a student might learn from a local carpenter or businessman. I can only imagine the conversation and soft skills that could be learned from this. It would take a village, but isn't that what our children need?

• What if instead of expelling students and sending them home to fester in anger, we were able to get them into the treatment facilities that they need - be it for anger management, mental health, or substance abuse? This one speaks for itself. I am not condoning bad choices, but most of the time, children do not have the ability or financial means to seek out the treatment they need. And let's be honest, if a student is being expelled from school, issues need to be addressed.

There are so many what ifs, and there is no simple answer. Every answer that will take a large amount of resources to sustain. These answers cannot just happen after a mass shooting, but sadly that is what drives this conversation. This is not a one-size-fits-all solution. No two communities are the same. No two schools are the same. This is an adaptive problem that will not be solved overnight; however, we cannot afford the loss of another student life. We need adults from all walks of life who are willing to sit down at the table and listen to each other. Truly listen. A few weeks ago, I was reminded that listening is leadership. Our students deserve better than adults yelling at each other through social media. Our students deserve adults sitting around a table saying, "Imagine if," and then ours students deserve action. 

Taking Ownership in Each Other

When I was in my second year of teaching, I almost hung it up. I had a class of kids who were tough. I naively thought that they would be so excited to have a new, young teacher leading them each day that they would buy in to what it is we were learning in class. Wasn't I cute? 

They didn't buy into learning. They didn't buy in to that new, young teacher. And they sure didn't buy into each other. It was after this class, that I realized the problem did not lie solely with them - I was part of the problem. I didn't know how to fix our classroom problems. From that point on, a safe, respectful learning environment has been my most important goal each year.

I try my best to get to know my students, to foster a language of respect, to create a classroom that thrives on collaboration and conversation. But Friday, I realized that I still had work to do in one of my classes. As much as I hated to admit it, I didn't think that this hour felt the same about coming to my class as other hours. So I asked them, "What word or phrase comes to mind when you think about coming to class." I asked them to be honest. They were.

Their responses: 

• Relaxed
• What are we going to do with the research paper today? 
• I hope classmates don't yell.
• I can't focus. 
• Rats - I have English.
• Reading
• Hard working
• A little bit scared of some of my classmates
• Work
• Long
• Oh boy
• AND ugh - everyone I sit with is going to be loud.

Talk about a gut check. But I'll be honest, it wasn't anything that I didn't already know. I just didn't know how to fix it. Over the past few weeks, I have spent a lot of time on the road traveling as Kansas Teacher of the Year. This particular hour has never been far from my mind. I have a new teacher in my classroom who is doing an amazing job getting to know these students and make this class her own - and she was having the same concerns that I did. These students had taken ownership of what makes our class different - flexible seating, 10 minutes of independent reading a day - just to name a few. It dawned on me Friday that I had forgotten one thing: THEY HAD NOT TAKEN OWNERSHIP OF EACH OTHER.

It was so clear to me. They had not bought into this class as a family. They had not bought into the fact that we are better together. And then, I had an idea. I showed this video: 

Every time I watch it, I am amazed at how the magic in this room just happens. Hugh Jackman doesn't have to ask anyone to start singing - they let it happen. The young lady isn't self-conscious about raising her hand while she sings - she just does it. The young man in the hoodie doesn't ask to stand on a chair - he lets the energy in the room take over. No one tells them to clap their hands. No one tells them to laugh or smile. These singers have taken 100% ownership of what they are doing because they believe in each other and are working toward a common goal.

This is what my class was missing. Ownership. So, I asked them to buy in. They got in groups with individuals that they don't normally work with. I asked them three questions:

1. What actions can no longer take place for this to be the type of class we want it to be.
2. How will you show respect to others and what will you do if we get off track?
3. At the end of the year, how will you know that you have successfully changed our classroom culture? What does a healthy, successful classroom environment look like?

You see, it dawned on me that I have done almost all that I can to create a safe learning environment - the real work is up to them. So this has become our new class goal. We are going to purposefully lift each other up. We are going to keep our goal of being part of a respectful positive learning environment as our #1 goal. If that happens, we will do amazing things in room 209.

Before they left on Friday, I asked them to share affirmations with each other. I started; I shared an affirmation with a student who moved in the middle of the year. She chose another student. He chose another student. One student affirmed the new teacher in my classroom and thanked her for the job she has done while I have been gone. We made our way around the room - sharing one compliment at a time. No one left class without a smile on his or her face. I'd say that is more important than any grammar lesson or short story that I could have planned. So Monday, they will keep building trust and respect. Monday they will get back to English. I can't wait to see what happens as they take ownership of our classroom culture. It will be so awesome to watch them lead.

Hope in Our Students

Comments that were made over the past few days by the president have really had me 

thinking. Comments about other humans who just happen to be born into an environment that is poor or full of turmoil. Comments about humans who want better lives in a country known for its opportunities. But most of all, I struggle with these comments because they are about humans.

Politics are touchy, no matter how you try to handle them. I spend my days as school teaching empathy, kindness, responsibility, and right from wrong. I do my best to honor the "oath" I have taken not to impart my view on students. It does not matter if you are a Republican, Democrat, or Independent - we should all be able to agree that wrong is wrong. A wrong should never be justified to prove one person is better than another. Who wins when that happens?

You can support a person and still think that an action, comment, or policy is wrong.

Wrong is wrong is wrong - no matter how you want to spin it.

I do not judge my students if they are black, white, Hispanic, Indian, or Asian. I do not judge them if they are Republican, Democrat, or Independent. I do not judge them if they are male or female. I do not judge them if they are lesbian, gay, bi-sexual, questioning, transgender or straight. I do not judge them if they live in the most expensive house in town or a trailer home or have no home. I do not judge them because I respect them as humans, and it is my job to teach them regardless of any differences they bring to my classroom.

So why do I teach?

• I care that students see injustice when Bob Ewell assumes that Atticus will side with him simply because he is a white man in the novel To Kill a Mockingbird.

• I care that students don't understand why, in Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men, Crooks isn't welcome with the other men on the farm simply because he is black.  

• I care when students feel the rudeness that is shown in the short story "Blues Ain't No Mockin' Bird" when two white men walk onto Granny's property without permission, never ask her name, proceed to call her Auntie, and then assume that she must be on food stamps because she is black.

• I care that students were able to research the reason that so many professional athletes are protesting by kneeling during the National Anthem, and I respect that they were about to have a conversation about all three sides to the controversy (those protesting, those against the protest, and what flag etiquette actually says).

• I care that they learned about the Troost divide in Kansas City and why so many neighborhoods are in disrepair.

• I care that some of them shield their eyes when we watch video of the Selma March during the Civil Rights Movements because they can't believe that humans were attacked with dogs and sprayed with fire hoses.

• I care that students are moved when they learn about slave mentality in countries like Mauritania, for it is not a state of being physically held captive that makes a person a slave.

But you see, that is part of my job -- to bring up the hurt and the pain that can be found in 

literature -- in a place that students are safe to "feel". I do this so that students know right 

from wrong when they see it happen on a national level. I care that students, no matter how they label themselves, can stand up and say, "that is not how we treat each other, and it is wrong." Days like today reinforce why I teach; I teach against the hate-filled comments that cover the news. In a world full of division, teachers model kindness, compassion, and integrity. Teachers find hope in our students; that is why we teach.

Your Class is Easy

"Mrs. Neill, thanks for a good semester. Your class is easy, and I really like that I feel successful in English."

True story - this was written in a thank you note from one of my students this year. I read that note, and doubting feelings crept into my heart. "Is my class easy? Am I challenging my students enough? Do I need to assign more homework? Should I plan more tests or quizzes? How do I make sure that my class looks like what a rigorous class should look like?"

And then, I took a deep breath, and I added that note to a list of comments that students have either said to me or written in notes. I come back to these comments when I start to doubt myself as a teacher. Some of those comments read:

• "I love to read again.
• "I finally understand how to connect two sentences correctly."
• "You are always so happy to see us when class begins.
• "You laugh at yourself when you make mistakes, I like that."
• "You interact with us the whole hour. You don't just assign work."
• "Whoa. Class is over? This class always goes by so quickly."
• "I think this is the best paragraph I have ever written."
• "I thought I was going to hate this class, and I did for a few weeks, but it turned into just what I needed."

Years ago, the comment "this class is easy" would send me into a tailspin of doubt. Now, I ask myself two questions: 

1. Are the students engaged in what we are doing - are they thinking critically? 
2. Am I making English useable for them - are they able to use this skill or technique outside of my class? 

I teach white-collar, blue-collar, and no-collar English. I teach future surgeons, soldiers, teachers, welders, and stay-at-home parents. How in the world do I possibly meet all of their needs? I can't. But I do try to make the most of the time that I have with them each day. There is a difference between rigor, difficulty, and complexity. 

We have not had a "test" this year in the majority of my classes. Does that mean my class is not rigorous or complex? My concern is no longer about trivial events in a story - I want more. I want to them to dissect characters' motives and an author's purpose for writing. Yesterday, for example, we had a pretty in-depth discussion about indirect characterization in "Masque of the Red Death" by Poe. Students discussed characters and inferred what traits and emotions were driving their actions. This led to a discussion about theme - how does a story written hundreds of years ago still relate to us to today? The answer: everyone, no matter their race, gender, or socio-economic status will face death someday - so what are we doing with the time we've been given? Next week we will look at how the idea of death is often personified. These activities and conversations tell me more about what they do and don't understand than the multiple choice tests that I used to give.

We have not had much "homework" this year. Does that mean my class is not rigorous or complex? I have asked students to start dedicating 10 minutes a night to independent reading. To this day, they have completed 562 novels. By becoming readers, they are doing so much to improve their understanding of how our language works. Every student has finished at least one book, and most of them will tell you they have read more in the last semester than they ever have. Yesterday, we tied our independent reading into our conversation about indirect characterization. I asked students to find an instance of indirect characterization in their own books, tell me what that quote taught them about the character being discussed, and then asked them to relate it back to a personal experience. We walk through the thinking process step-by-step so that they can do it without me their to guide them someday.

I have not just handed out examples or notes this year. Again, does that mean my class is not rigorous or complex? This year in my technical writing class, I could have just handed them sample resume. Instead, I had them look for what the experts said - what did they need to include in their resume to showcase their best attributes? I want them to walk through the learning process because a few years from now, they will do that - without guidance from a teacher. For some students, this is frustrating because they want to get the work done quickly. However, for most students, this teaches them to think critically, to decipher information, and to apply what they are reading to their own work. 

As a teacher, I rely on this informal "data" - because my class and the learning that takes place does not look like it did in years past. I used to be solely focused on end results - projects, posters, tests, and papers. Now, the learning process holds just as much weight. Students have to be able to identify ways that they have improved when they leave my classroom doors in May - or I have not done my job. They must "own" their learning. These kiddos have to be able to take what we are doing in class and apply it across content areas when they read and write. Students don't always have the words to describe their knowledge or understanding. So when a student says, "this class is easy" - I no longer dive into a tailspin of doubt. That is the phrase that causes me to stop, reflect and have a conversation about the learning taking place in my classroom. I am not perfect. I do not have all of the answers. Every day, I try to do better.