Overview:
Understanding your teacher identity and reducing personalized control over student’s development and progress.
As a full first-term teacher assistant, I was living the dream. I had built a class family that followed the rules, settled nicely, and spread love amongst each other so much so that we had become the envy of the other classes. I juggled many responsibilities and still found a way to show up in the classroom.I drew a conclusion from this first-year teaching experience: “To my unborn children, I’m going to make a great mum.” I could see it from this preview lens of caring for first graders; however, fairy tales are temporary in the classroom.
By the second term, we welcomed a new friend (let’s call him Luke*) who was very different from us. He couldn’t speak, he’d throw things at others when irritated, and he screamed without control during a lesson. My pupils and I had never met anyone like him, and that was our first interaction with special needs in the classroom.
Pupils with special needs are found in all societies of the world, and I finally had one right in the middle of my class. In the moments of his expressions, my class would be disrupted and I would give out corrections of which he would not adhere to, the other pupils will stare at me in shock wondering why I was lenient with him, they could also sense a shift in my attention and care so much so that in a Social studies class on afternoon Luke started crying uncontrollably and threw a wooden clock that he had been playing with the board where I was standing.
I was already exhausted by his acts. I was also trying to meet up with my lesson so the other pupils wouldn’t suffer, and so I turned to look at him to ensure he was fine and turned around to complete the note. Not long after, two pupils started squabbling over sharing an eraser, which was disrupting the class, and in my tired state, I canceled the class outing that we were meant to have at the end of the class. That was when Nicole* said, “Ms. Robert doesn’t love us anymore. She loves Luke more.” The class murmured in agreement.
It was then that I realized that I needed to address it. I didn’t know how to do that in that very moment, so I scheduled a class conversation for the next morning to reflect on what I would say. I also spoke with the main class teacher, and she agreed to the morning conversation, explaining that the children didn’t understand Luke, and so they needed to have the conversation.
I also realized in preparation for the meeting that I had been trying so hard for Luke to fit into our perfect little family class. I realized that I was frustrated because all the attempts I was making stemmed from the unconscious belief that my baby, who had a disability, needed my help and support to fit into his new environment, and so I internalized the outcomes of the failures we had when we tried to learn something new. I analyzed classroom events, I had interpreted it to mean that I was failing at being a great class mom, organized teacher with her classroom, and I may have been a fluke.
However, research has shown that for teachers, experiences of failure have the power to define how teachers see themselves and their work. This understanding should promote personal reflections, well-being practices, and resilience in their work.
So, the next day, right before our morning rounds, we all sat down and talked. I explained to them that Luke was special and new in our classroom. And this was why he needed more attention than usual. I asked them if they could identify what made him different, and hands were raised to answer, “He doesn’t answer you when you call him. He cannot talk or say he wants to wee. He’s always crying.”
It made me glad that they were observant. I went on to tell them that just because I have to help Luke navigate through the new term doesn’t mean I love them less. I mentioned how glad I’d be to have them support me on this journey by showing Luke the bathroom, looking out for him in case he was holding a sharp object, and escorting him to places he wasn’t familiar with. I also promised to take them out later that day, as they had earned it.
For the coming weeks, I watched my little ones taking turns to be Luke’s helpers. They would only call out to me when it was a problem; they couldn’t handle themselves. One day, Luke walked in late into the classroom, and his class family all rushed to give him a hug. Watching them love their friend with a disability, making sure he was included, made me realize that I didn’t need to save him from his inabilities but to observe him and understand where he needed help, and provide goals that supported his abilities. I was also able to educate the rest of the class on his peculiarities and how we could all work together to provide a safe and inclusive environment for everyone.
Next time, you catch yourself jumping into “Savior-mum” mode, pause and analyze the situation. Does the situation need your input? Will this have a positive effect on them, or will it just validate your identity as a teacher? Being a special needs teacher isn’t easy, but you are doing a great job.
Names have been changed.
