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 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 ignore 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?

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 enduring. 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!)

Every 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 ‘Laissaz-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 who I actually become 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 an amazing day.

I adore my class; I love watching kiddies play.

So much joy radiates from their core,

They live in the moment,

they never want 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 and wish more people knew

Is how powerful our words are, those words that we choose.

So often without realizing it we label and spread fear.

No matter how much we love them,

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 a tiny boost of shame.

Or how about when we laugh, pass on funny antidotes?

Small little stories that we might find a huge 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 when you can?

Repeated anxious warnings 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 souls

often too fearful to even have a go!

Anxious kids’ timid souls

stuck with the unconscious fear,

We, adults, do 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 of statements that encompass the ‘all of time.’

Words like ‘NEVER’ and “ALWAYS” for me cross that 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.

I’m not saying it’s easy…its taken 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 love.

It starts with acknowledging that everything starts with me.

As Gandhi once said

Credits

Little girl mage by S. Bartels from Pixabay