low self-esteem week
At certain times of the month (can you guess when?), no matter my actual appearance, I feel like one of the ugly stepsisters. Nothing fits right, my hair goes lank, I feel wide as a tractor-trailer, I can't cook or accomplish anything, and any stray comment stings unnaturally hard. (Please pity D during these times, because nothing he says is taken to mean what he meant to say)
And for the second time in my adult life, I have received a bad haircut. I'm not too hung up on my hair normally--I have a nice collection of hats for bad-hair occasions, and bandanas that I wear around the house like Aunt Jemima. My older sister has always been more concerned about hair than I have, being in high school in the 80's (feathered hair, curls concealing the right eye for a year, big, Paula-Abdul hair...) and even went so far as to get a wig when an overzealous pair of scissors made her look like Joan Jett.
This present haircut is not quite Joan Jett, but it also isn't the curly tapered bob I showed my very faithful hairdresser. Right now, it's more like a curly hobbit-head (minus pointy ears) unless I tuck some hair behind my ears. Salvagable, yes, but it will take much longer to grow out than I would like.
Enter my low-self-esteem time, and you have a woman who would very much like to stay indoors all Fall, or wear a protective shell of one-way mirror material when venturing out.
I did go out yesterday to a meeting, and then to Target to load up on halloween candy and other "necessities." Luckily for me, I did not run into any old boyfriends--something which happened the first day I went out after breaking my tailbone. I looked and felt like complete crap, hunched over nearly double at the video store, looking for some movie that wouldn't depress the hell out of me. Then I heard a horribly familiar voice saying my name, and I thought "God, you really know how to kick a girl when she's down." The guy I had a crush on all through middle school, who dissed me because my boobs looked "like mosquito bites," then went out with sophomore year and summarily dumped, was right there in the store, looking like "Whew, dodged THAT bullet!" at me. A painful conversation ensued, and I vowed to always wear makeup whenever I go out, especially if I have just experienced a nervous breakdown.
No, yesterday I didn't see him or any other boyfriend. But I did run into a girl who I shared a studio with in college, who I saw as my competetive rival in art education. I am not sure how she felt about me, though I reckon she didn't think much about anything but working insane amounts and living at the library. We were both wrecks by the end of student teaching, but I won a student teaching award from some obscure teaching organization, and she won the school's award for student teaching portfolio--which accompanied a hefty prize check as well. "I got a rock," as Charlie Brown would say. My award was a lovely certificate, a nice line in my resume, and a book full of altruistic quotes about teaching.
Any sensible person in the world would say, "get over it! you got an award, dammit!" And you are perfectly right. My only defense is that in college I was insanely ambitious--high school, too, to the point that nothing was good enough, even the best (or seven-eighths best, or dang good). That was my lovely ego snarling out at the world, when if I looked at it like a sane person, I would see that I was probably at that moment one of the best new art teachers in the country.
So how did it feel to see this person, after a gulf of seven years? Even though my hair was a mess, I was tired from a day of chasing a toddler around, and I was in shopping zone-out mode, it felt good to talk to her and hear how her life was going. She got married a year ago, her husband is super-nice, and she's teaching in a middle school very close by.
If I had not had so many bouts with depression and weakness and dependence on other people, I would be jealous right now, thinking about my ambition being sucked out of me by a two-year-old, bitter about my choices. But I really do feel healed of so much junk from that time, this insatiable need to be recognized and effusively rewarded for every bloody brilliant thing I did. Even if it was brilliant, I was just teaching Art for pete's sake. I wasn't out solving the world's problems with a pack of crayons. My bitterness at that time made me resentful of normal student behaviour, like showing up late or--gasp!--not wanting to do homework for my class. It just seems so dumb, looking back on it. I really hadn't grown up.
I looked through my teaching portfolio tonight, looking for a lesson I did with some second graders, that I could use with some of my new students. I had forgotten so much from that time. My first impression was, dude, did I ever rest? No. I was always thinking up new stuff to do, new ways of teaching a lesson to work out the kinks. Classroom management was really a strong point, lots of structure and rewards and what-not. I gradually became very lazy, in my opinion, at the private school I eventually taught at. Partly because I was too tired to be innovative--burned out in a way--and partly because I no longer needed to be THE BEST TEACHER IN THE WORLD.
It is such a relief to not be trapped in that mind-set anymore. I can be the slacker I always dreamed about. --I am not a slacker, really, and am very active, but I don't have to worry about doing enough anymore. There's a lot of pressure on moms, to get their kids into all this stuff early on, have them scheduled out the wazoo and taking violin lessons before they can even use a fork. I don't want that pressure on myself, first, and definitely not on A. I struggle to get out of the house before 11 now, because everything moves so much slower with a little person, and I'm always forgetting one thing and another. But that's ok. I'm good enough, smart enough, and goshdarnit, people like me.
And for the second time in my adult life, I have received a bad haircut. I'm not too hung up on my hair normally--I have a nice collection of hats for bad-hair occasions, and bandanas that I wear around the house like Aunt Jemima. My older sister has always been more concerned about hair than I have, being in high school in the 80's (feathered hair, curls concealing the right eye for a year, big, Paula-Abdul hair...) and even went so far as to get a wig when an overzealous pair of scissors made her look like Joan Jett.
This present haircut is not quite Joan Jett, but it also isn't the curly tapered bob I showed my very faithful hairdresser. Right now, it's more like a curly hobbit-head (minus pointy ears) unless I tuck some hair behind my ears. Salvagable, yes, but it will take much longer to grow out than I would like.
Enter my low-self-esteem time, and you have a woman who would very much like to stay indoors all Fall, or wear a protective shell of one-way mirror material when venturing out.
I did go out yesterday to a meeting, and then to Target to load up on halloween candy and other "necessities." Luckily for me, I did not run into any old boyfriends--something which happened the first day I went out after breaking my tailbone. I looked and felt like complete crap, hunched over nearly double at the video store, looking for some movie that wouldn't depress the hell out of me. Then I heard a horribly familiar voice saying my name, and I thought "God, you really know how to kick a girl when she's down." The guy I had a crush on all through middle school, who dissed me because my boobs looked "like mosquito bites," then went out with sophomore year and summarily dumped, was right there in the store, looking like "Whew, dodged THAT bullet!" at me. A painful conversation ensued, and I vowed to always wear makeup whenever I go out, especially if I have just experienced a nervous breakdown.
No, yesterday I didn't see him or any other boyfriend. But I did run into a girl who I shared a studio with in college, who I saw as my competetive rival in art education. I am not sure how she felt about me, though I reckon she didn't think much about anything but working insane amounts and living at the library. We were both wrecks by the end of student teaching, but I won a student teaching award from some obscure teaching organization, and she won the school's award for student teaching portfolio--which accompanied a hefty prize check as well. "I got a rock," as Charlie Brown would say. My award was a lovely certificate, a nice line in my resume, and a book full of altruistic quotes about teaching.
Any sensible person in the world would say, "get over it! you got an award, dammit!" And you are perfectly right. My only defense is that in college I was insanely ambitious--high school, too, to the point that nothing was good enough, even the best (or seven-eighths best, or dang good). That was my lovely ego snarling out at the world, when if I looked at it like a sane person, I would see that I was probably at that moment one of the best new art teachers in the country.
So how did it feel to see this person, after a gulf of seven years? Even though my hair was a mess, I was tired from a day of chasing a toddler around, and I was in shopping zone-out mode, it felt good to talk to her and hear how her life was going. She got married a year ago, her husband is super-nice, and she's teaching in a middle school very close by.
If I had not had so many bouts with depression and weakness and dependence on other people, I would be jealous right now, thinking about my ambition being sucked out of me by a two-year-old, bitter about my choices. But I really do feel healed of so much junk from that time, this insatiable need to be recognized and effusively rewarded for every bloody brilliant thing I did. Even if it was brilliant, I was just teaching Art for pete's sake. I wasn't out solving the world's problems with a pack of crayons. My bitterness at that time made me resentful of normal student behaviour, like showing up late or--gasp!--not wanting to do homework for my class. It just seems so dumb, looking back on it. I really hadn't grown up.
I looked through my teaching portfolio tonight, looking for a lesson I did with some second graders, that I could use with some of my new students. I had forgotten so much from that time. My first impression was, dude, did I ever rest? No. I was always thinking up new stuff to do, new ways of teaching a lesson to work out the kinks. Classroom management was really a strong point, lots of structure and rewards and what-not. I gradually became very lazy, in my opinion, at the private school I eventually taught at. Partly because I was too tired to be innovative--burned out in a way--and partly because I no longer needed to be THE BEST TEACHER IN THE WORLD.
It is such a relief to not be trapped in that mind-set anymore. I can be the slacker I always dreamed about. --I am not a slacker, really, and am very active, but I don't have to worry about doing enough anymore. There's a lot of pressure on moms, to get their kids into all this stuff early on, have them scheduled out the wazoo and taking violin lessons before they can even use a fork. I don't want that pressure on myself, first, and definitely not on A. I struggle to get out of the house before 11 now, because everything moves so much slower with a little person, and I'm always forgetting one thing and another. But that's ok. I'm good enough, smart enough, and goshdarnit, people like me.
3 Comments:
since i'm teaching the lil ones now, i think more often about the whole value of art education thing. i teach skills. so maybe its how to hold a ruler and that lines join to make shapes. but i'm teaching them to think visually. i get to build their foundation a little and help them observe a little more than they would otherwise.
and since most of them won't ever be artists, i get to make a mark on them. They'll always have the stories of their art classes growing up. and it may be the only experience they ever have with pastels and sculpture. and they'll forget most of what i teach and say. but that's okay. for now, it's a pretty great job that i get to get up and goto every day.
and you do it well too! they will certainly have lots to remember, if your latest batch of graduates is any indication :) ! "draw draw draw!"
I'm so glad you're having fun with the little ones, too. Aren't their drawings about the best pick-me-up around?
I didn't mean to sound disparaging about my role as an art teacher before, as I do believe art is a necessary part of our lives. But my focus was on my own glory and not on the great things they were learning. I wanted them all to be artists, and point to the great Mrs. Newcomb who made it all possible. embarrassing.
now I can just have fun teaching them and get my ego out of the way. praise God!
MK, they program us in art ed to think if we don't produce the next Michaelangelo (did I even spell it right?) we have failed miserably. There is this myopic view in school that *your* subject is the most important one.
You are doing a terrific job with A, by the way, *he* is masterpiece!
And yes, people like you! (especially me) hobbit hair or not, you've got a stunning face! Work it, girl, work it!
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