The following is an excerpt from Jennifer Nelson’s ‘Teaching with Heart: Lessons Learned in a Classroom’ (She Writes Press, October 31, 2023).
Why are so many teachers leaving the profession? They’re burned out, they feel disrespected, and unsupported. After teaching remotely during a pandemic, they’re returning to classrooms with under-socialized and sometimes out-of-control kids.
‘Teaching with Heart’ chronicles the journey of a journalist-turned-high school French teacher determined to make teaching her mission—despite its difficulties. Peek into Madame Nelson’s classroom to see her working to reach teens who dance, cry, and hit each other in French class; administrators who laud the latest pedagogical trends and testing regimen; and parents who sometimes support—and sometimes interfere with—their children’s education. Meet colleagues who save her from quitting, and her children who provide advice. Along the journey, she evolves from an aloof elitist into an empathetic listener to all sorts of teens.
Without committed teachers, how can we prepare students to run our world? ‘Teaching with Heart’ illuminates why it’s so hard to hold on to classroom teachers these days—and what can be done to better the situation.
Chapter 15: Last Observation
The following days, as the warmth of late spring crept through the windows, my classroom completely transformed into a minefield of conflicts exploding at any time. Occasionally I’d call in sick, after a restless night filled with nightmares in which students ousted me, assuming power, and I was too exhausted to fight back.
I worried about getting the dreaded letter in my mailbox saying I was fired. Yet I continued my fruitless attempts to develop a rapport with students, allowing them to retake quizzes and offering them cookies after completing an assignment. Oddly enough, the cookies motivated only two students to finish the work, with others shouting out they didn’t like Chips Ahoy. What the heck! If Chips Ahoy, the quintessential American sweet, didn’t entice them to work, what would–chocolate cake with fudge frosting, pizza with pepperoni and sausages?
Bringing them goodies was my Hail Mary pass, and even that failed. What was wrong with these kids? The monthly SOS meetings—for first-year teachers—provided no concrete solutions for disciplining unmotivated, low-achieving students. Besides, it was too late in the school year for miracles to happen.
Every day I anxiously checked my mailbox in the middle school for an official letter requesting a meeting, encouraging me to bring a union representative. This began the process of firing an employee. Leslie’s evaluation was scathing, a clear indication that the district no longer believed in me. Honestly, I didn’t belong at this high school, so maybe it would be a blessing to leave. But I still felt dejected, a dull pain lingering inside me, my confidence eroded about my capabilities as an educator. It hurt to be rejected, my sense of security dulled and future blurry.
Just before spring break, I received the much-anticipated letter on district letterhead in my mailbox. “We would like to meet with you to discuss your future employment at Northern High School. Please be advised that you may bring a union representative to this meeting,” said the letter. I reread the words, stifling a wave of despair, and smothering an impulse to sob.
My lips quivered as I processed the news, alone with my thoughts in a mail room, with dozens of rectangular, wooden cubbies, though only mine had harbored a life-changing letter. How I wanted Nabila to console me, hug me, tell me I’d be okay, but she taught first period. Instead, I rushed to the union rep’s science classroom, hoping it was his prep period; he’d help me figure this out.
Marty’s classroom was empty, so he had to be in the science lab concocting magical potions; perhaps one of them could help me. I gingerly knocked on the door, nervous about how to divulge my failure to anyone but Nabila. Marty in a white lab coat answered, and I hesitantly explained the situation, asking him if should I fight the dismissal, since I had made progress this year, but required a second one to become competent?
“No, that would make matters worse,” said Marty, a beaker in his hand. “It’s best you resign and look for another job in September. I’ve known teachers who were let go and went on to become Teacher of the Year. Don’t take it personally. Leslie fires lots of teachers. She’s hard to get along with.”
His words soothed me, though I wasn’t sure I’d ever teach again. Marty admitted how he was considering leaving education—he was tired of the same routine and the kids wearing him down—and preferred working full time with the union. He’d be moving on in the next year or two. Evidently, others here were not as happy as I thought.
In the faculty room, during lunch, I broke the news to Nabila.
“Maybe you were confused about which teacher to follow,” she said. “You know how too many cooks spoil the broth?”
Certainly my year would have been easier if I’d read a manual with one set of procedures to follow. But teaching isn’t scientific; it is an art that demands energy, creativity, and commitment. “I worked so hard this year,” I pleaded. “And look where it got me!”
Nabila hugged me as I fought back tears. Failure felt embarrassing, but humbling. I had to learn from this failure, but this didn’t mean I would always be a failure. I had kept trying, until the last month when students had demoralized me, my strategies to control misbehavior lame and ineffective. I had shown little compassion toward students who failed a class because they didn’t work. Those who busted their butts to learn the material but still hadn’t passed—like me—deserved empathy.
“I’ve lost a few jobs before,” I said. “But it was never because of poor job performance. This time it was.”
“Don’t think that way,” she said. “Teaching is tough—and Leslie wasn’t supportive of you. What you’ve got to do is look for another job right away. Take off a few days. Call in sick. Schools are now posting openings online. You’ll have a better chance if you get in early.”
But I never wanted to go through such an emotionally draining experience that left me defeated, questioning my abilities as a leader and professional. In a sense I was relieved to be saying goodbye to Northern, though I’d miss Nabila. This failure would not define me; I had learned from my mistakes and wouldn’t repeat them.
I would reinvent myself. There was no reason for despair.
Jennifer Nelson is a high school French teacher, writer, and personal historian. She spent the last 15 years teaching in public and private schools; before that, she wrote for business and literary magazines and regional newspapers. She runs Your Stories, a writing services company, and holds degrees from Columbia University, University of California, Berkeley and Vermont College of Fine Arts. During her spare time, she loves walking, traveling, and spending time with her partner and three grown children. She lives in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.
