Approximate reading time: 12min

In 2021 I accepted a job teaching in a reception class for 6 months.

Yes, I had previously sworn NEVER EVER to go back into long-term teaching again,

(numerous times.)

But it was one of those situations where everything just seemed to dam-near perfect.

1. The class was amazingly well-behaved.

2. The head teacher was (seemingly) fantastic and couldn’t stop singing my praises.

(Or in hindsight, she love-bombed the fucking shit out of me!)

3. The school was literally a 20-minute walk from my house…

4. And the co-reception teacher was the sweetest person ever....

5. The only slight snare was the teaching assistant, Mrs Shawnigan (Not real name, of course!), who was cold, dismissive and seemed incapable of smiling.

(You can see that she had already started to permeate into my dreams in my Silver lining Poem)

Although my gut and heart immediately said:

Neurotic Angel was a little bit annoyed with me for being so judgmental so early on in the relationship.

“Give her a chance, you never know…she just might surprise you!”

Random story:

It’s rather cliched I know, but butterflies always remind me of my mother, probably because she had these two diamante-styled butterfly tops that she often used to wear. The year before she died, she wore one of them to our first ever ‘mother and daughter’ photoshoot together. Honestly, it was one of the loveliest days I ever had with her, and I think it kind of etched that image of her and butterflies into my mind. A couple of weeks after her death in 2016, I came out of school one day and walked straight into a flutter of beautiful butterflies.

Another time I was sitting in the hairdresser’s and this random butterfly flew into the salon and was fluttering around the hairdresser and me. It then flew out the salon door only to fly right back in a couple of seconds later, coming straight back to us. Everyone in the salon was laughing….I passed the comment that my mother was coming to check he was doing a good job.

The energy in the hairdressers that day was light, happy and playful…..which were the best parts of my mum.

She loved people, she loved being with family.

After I had taught the demonstration lesson for the head teacher, I was given a tour of the school. I walked into the reception playground only to see this huge, diamante-covered butterfly painted on the entire back wall.

I muttered to myself

“Hello, mommy……..NO I don’t care if you want me to take this job! I’m not taking it!“

So, feeling very grown up and adult-like, I proudly made the decision not to listen to Neurotic Angel

(or my mum!)

When I went for my interview with the head teacher, I firmly stated that I had been struggling with anxiety, that I had a lot of trepidation about going back into full-time teaching and that as much as I loved the class, I honestly didn’t feel like Mrs Shawnigan and I were the right fit for each other.

FYI: That would be called:

The head teacher reassured me that this school was different from other schools, that I’d fit in perfectly AND that Mrs Shawnigan was actually really lovely once she got to know you.

Mrs Shawnigan, she said, would treat me like part of the family.

(Mmmmm…well that’s subjective…..)

My follow-up question should have been….

Which family exactly?

So with the headteacher’s praises ringing in my ears, I duly ignored my gut and listened to Neurotic Angel’s ‘never-good advice!’

(Besides, 4/5 wasnt too bad; I definitely couldn’t expect perfection!)

Plus on the upside, I had done a shit load of self-discovery and exploration over the previous couple of months, and besides the manic dreaming, I was mostly calm and happy by then. I was also just about to start my ‘Compassionate Inquiry’ studies, so soon, no doubt, I would be infused with copious amounts of

(Surely?)

So I made my mind up

That I could handle her

and that

And I took the job.

FYI: That would be called

I very soon discovered that contrary to my initial perception, I had not inherited a very well-behaved class.

What I had been handed down were 30 adorable little Stepford children who were mostly petrified to put a foot out of place.

Mrs Shawnigan, who had been in that reception class for at least 5 years, ruled that class with an iron fist.

Let’s just say that after 30-odd years in the school system, her idea of discipline differed greatly from mine.

Her style seemed to be along the lines of:

Whereas my style of discipline is more along the lines of:

Granted, it took me 22 years of teaching before I had this enlightened epiphany!

I shudder with shame when I think of my discipline style way back when in the early days of my teaching career.

(SHOW NO FEAR!!

SHOW ‘EM WHO’S BOSS!)

But I am proud to report that I have grown up considerably since then. One thing that has become abundantly clear to me these last couple of years is that if children are going to learn, then they need to feel safe, and they are only going to feel safe if they are relaxed and comfortable enough to actually make mistakes.

(And sometimes, yes, that included being a little naughty)

What is the point of having a little class of perfectly behaved mini soldiers, who are too fearful to even step out of line? And how are they ever going to deal with disappointment and bounce back from mistakes if they aren’t allowed to express themselves freely and actually make some mistakes?

In fairness to Mrs Shawnigan, I feel that I need to add that she adored those children and had many good teaching qualities. When she took small groups for lessons, she was amazing with them and always managed to engage with them and get them talking about their lives…..which I always found very endearing. Every Friday, she’d do this crazy little ‘going home dance’ that always sent the kids into fits of giggles (Seriously, it was the highlight of their week!)

Now and then this carefree, fun and crazy part would come out, and I always wished I could have had more of her.

On the whole, for most of the time, we actually worked quite well together in class.

(Out of class…..mmm….but that’s a topic for another day!)

In class, however, I felt our mutual love for the children strongly connected us, even if we had completely different ways of expressing it! I have no doubt that she was frustrated at times that I was bringing this ‘laissez-faire’ approach of discipline into her class….but if she was, she never said anything.

That being said, what I struggled immensely with were the times she would get frustrated or angry with the kids.

Where Mrs Shawnigan saw children making too much noise and ‘being silly’

I saw kids being spontaneous and having fun.

When she saw a child as being rude and speaking back,

I saw frustration and anger at not being heard or understood.

When she saw an angry child having a meltdown and misbehaving,

I saw a dysregulated child who had NO ability to react rationally or calmly at that moment.

Sometimes when she told children off, it felt like I could literally feel the shame oozing out of them, and it was horrible.

At one time I even went to speak to the head teacher, with whom I actually became quite close, and her advice was that I should speak to Mrs Shawnigan about it.

Mmmmmmm….sounds so easy right?

Mara-Keres, my ‘fuck this shit’ little child part was of course in TOTAL agreement.

But regardless….

I couldn’t find the words.

Neurotic Angel, my ‘Inner-Good-Girl-People-Pleasing’ part, was petrified of conflict, of the backlash that might come should I attempt to speak to her.

She chided:

“Don’t make waves!

Don’t make waves!!!‘

So at that point in time, I felt powerless.

I just sucked down all my frustrations and put a smile on my face.

As Good girls always do!

Henceforth cometh this poem…

Written on the 5th February 2021

Yesterday I had

A super amazing day

I adore my class

I love watching kiddies play

So much joy radiates

From their inner core

Children live in the moment

They never want for more

What a beautiful job

To guide tiny little souls

To love and remind them

That they are always whole

One thing I’m passionate about

I wish more people knew

How powerful our words are

Those words that we choose

So often without realising

We label and spread fear

No matter how much we love

Or how genuinely sincere

Often words spoken in anger

Or bona fide concern

Are the words that over time

Tiny souls do burn

“You NEVER tidy up!”

You are ALWAYS rough when you play!

“You are NEVER kind to your cousins

When they come to stay!”

Words said in frustration

Don’t really inspire change

Simply criticisms uploaded

With tiny boosts of shame

Or how about when we laugh

Pass on anecdotes

Little stories we find funny

A silly inside joke

“My child can’t dance

You will have to see

Two left feet

Just like me.”

Heard enough times

They are begun to be believed

Heard enough times

A self-fulfilling prophecy

Or that fearful need to protect

Your children when you can

Repeated anxious warnings

Over a lifetime can span

“Watch out for dogs

They will bite!“

Only passes on a message

Of anxiety and fright

“No, get down

Don’t climb that tree!”

“Where are you going?

Stay close to me!”

Anxious kids

Timid tiny souls

Too fearful to have a go

Stuck with the unconscious fear

We, adults, slowly sew

For me, it’s as simple

As tweaking my words

Staying focused on what I want

With positive verbs

“You are slouching, goodness you never sit up straight”.

Only smacks of blame

No trust creates

“Come on, let’s see

Who can sit as straight as me”?

“Wonderful Jonny,

that’s so good to see!”

Becoming conscious

That anger hurts such a lot

Learning to stop focusing

On all that is not

Letting go of statements

That encompass the ‘all of time.’

Words like ‘NEVER’ and “ALWAYS”

Cross over that healthy line

Learning to ask questions

Encouraging them to analyse

With less blame and critical judgement

Our kids will self-actualise!

Finding ways to remind children

Of how they ARE enough

They are tiny souls, also struggling

In a world so very tough

I’m not saying it’s easy

It’s taken me 22 years to tweak

But I see the greatest changes

When I’m conscious of how I speak

But without a doubt

The hardest part

Is working on myself

Doing a private inventory

Of my own personal Intel

What words of judgment

And shame do I use

When talking to myself

What words do I choose

Without genuine attunement

To what’s going on inside

I will never feel safe enough

To enjoy my own ride

Passing on compassion

Patience and “You’re enough”.

Takes more than simply heaping on

Piles of unconditional love

It starts with acknowledging

That everything starts with me

As Gandhi once said

Be the change you want to see

Credits

Little girl mage by S. Bartels from Pixabay