Teachers' Pet

Throughout my schooling I swung like Tarzan between the high ropes of achievement. I used to get so excited on school report day. With no effort at all, I can bring to mind a mental montage of occasions where I was told how wonderful I was. 

Sunday school teacher to my mum: ‘Doesn’t she know a lot?’

Art teacher glancing over my shoulder in year eight: ‘I have year eleven students who cannot draw as well as you.’ 

And then the montage shifts to clips of a more significant nature.   I remember Mrs Carter Saunders sitting me down on a bench (facing that place we used to queue for 50p cheese toasties and Yorkie bars) and telling me I had achieved the highest exam score in all of year seven.  I silently realised two things: firstly, there was no limit to what I could do if I put my mind to it and secondly, if this conversation ended before the bell, I was going to get to that cheese toastie queue first.

In year ten the head teacher (Mrs Phillips) pulled me out of class to tell me that the school had decided to fund me to do a National Youth Theatre course.  She told me there was something special about me and that she knew I would ‘go far’. 

And I suppose I did.  I went to Cambridge to study Education studies with English and Drama and joined various theatre pursuits that literally took me around the globe (India, China, Japan, Nepal).  But I wasn’t really good enough to pursue drama as a career.  I played some dramatic young women with wide eyes and flowing hair and, by the grace of god, gave it up before I was being cast as everyone’s mum.

At uni I struggled academically.  It was painfully clear to me (and my supervisors) that I was no genius. Perhaps this ‘crashing down’ began when my professor of sociology laughed in disbelief when I asked him to explain what a Tory was and what the terms Left and Right were actually referring to.  I had somehow got into Cambridge without knowing very much at all about politics, world history or geography.

But I carried on nerding away, acting as though I could achieve anything if I put my mind to it.  In the lead up to exams I would force myself to sit mock papers in my room - door locked -  timer on. I’d do these every day, begging supervisors to mark just one more and give me feedback.  Academically, it was simply beyond me.  I didn’t have the maturity of thought to sit back and really own the material I was swotting up on.  It’s like I was just trying to memorise any relevant material I could find.

There’s a photo of me and some friends on a boat after we just found out our grades. My smile is false. I’m trying not to cry over the 2:1 many of the others in the photo are rejoicing over.

In the absence of academic acclaim, I found other ways to excel and be noted for it.  I worked as a Welfare Officer, proudly carrying a phone that any drunk student could ring at anytime and I would (literally) run to their rescue. It was an honour to be able to help but, if I’m honest, I got a kick out of being famously helpful.  I also organised Homerton’s first Harry Potter formal hall complete with real owls, choir, musicians, set, costumes, themed food.  I didn’t get a first but I was awarded the service to the college award.

So, why am I blabbing on about how wonderful I am? It’s sickening right?

Well, I’m providing backstory so you’ll understand why I’m such a praise addict.

I am a praise addict; blame those inspiring, loving, dedicated teachers!  This served me well in school but not so much in early parenting.   Although undeniably valuable, parenting small ones can be a barren wasteland as far as praise and recognition go and, frankly, I’m starving for the high ropes of achievement that I have fallen from. 

And now my boys are three and four and we are mostly done with sleep deprivation, crying and nappies.  It feels like a time for choices and some tentative forward planning but the question of ‘What’s next?’ is difficult when you are primed to seek out praise, achievement and recognition.  It can be hard to think past this.

Long term, do I want to keep the home/ the domestic as my priority?  Do I want to commit to doing both sides of the school run, managing the home well and being there for the sick child (without the stress of covering lessons)?  Perhaps I do truly want to ‘do well’ in the domestic sphere and be as available for my children as is financially possible for us. This sounds like the best option but I fear that I will wilt like some sort of neglected house plant if I can’t get back to teaching.

It’s been nearly six months since my last job and I’m looking forward to the job I have lined up for December. But, despite teaching scratching my attention-seeker itch, I’m still bothered by the questions which may or may not be influenced by my praise craving.  Should I progress up? Reduce my classroom contact time for the sake of  having a greater say in decisions that influence more students?  Is this a good idea or is it simply that the acknowledgement of being a shit-hot teacher not quite enough for a praise junkie like me?  

And then there’s the writing. Do I really want to be a writer or do I just see this as a way to promote myself?  These are ugly words but, like a necessary vomit, it’s good to get it out.   

In English Literature we teach students to adopt the lenses of Literary Criticism.  Students find new things to say when they analyse and evaluate a text adopting a Feminist lens or a Marxist lens.  A good friend of mine (Abi Harvey) told me that becoming a mother drops a new lens between you and the world.  She was right: everything from holidays to friendships appeared in a new hue post-Elias. 

All our decisions are affected by a lens of some sort. Whether or not we are aware, we see things with a certain set of glasses on.  I have identified that I’m wearing ‘desperate for praise’ specs and I’m working through the ramifications of this.  There’s no neat conclusion here, it’s just good to know what you’re working with.