On Having a Thick Skin

Want to know one thing I've learned from this past year and a half in the classroom in Chicago? 

Well, I've learned more than one thing.

Obviously. 

But one thing that's on my mind lately has been a really big lesson. It's in bold letters on my mental "Things I Have Learned" list. 

I have learned that 1) You need a thick skin to survive this crazy world and 2) I will never have a thick enough skin to survive this crazy world and that 3) Maybe I'm okay with that. 

Let me explain. Someone very recently made a bold comment to me. It was a bold comment about me. It was particularly about my classroom. Now, let me tell you, I have been observed, critiqued, and evaluated so much in the last 18 months that I'm not sure many others can top this experience. I've been given feedback and reflected on my teaching practices until I turned blue. Those are fine and good things. I've had criticism of all kinds: rude, kind, exhaustive, unhelpful, thoughtful, constructive, and confusing alike. I don't mind criticism, in and of itself, when it comes to my teaching. In fact, most of the time I welcome it. Heck, most of the time I ASK for it. You have an idea that will make my classroom a better place for my kids? Let's hear it - because then I want to make that change now. I'm telling you that I've been through the ringer so that you understand, in a small way, the thick skin I have built up when it comes to taking criticism. 

Back to that bold comment. I was told by someone, in a professional setting, something that made me think of having a thick skin. I have a thick skin because if I let every heartbreaking story actually break my heart, I would cry all day and never get to the business of teaching. If every time a student walked in late without having eaten breakfast sent me down to the lunch ladies begging for extra food, then I would spend every day running the halls until 10:00 before we got to reading books or solving math problems. I've found that I need a thick skin to survive the day. But, really, when it comes down to it, I'm a big faker, because those heartbreaking stories actually do break my heart. I just have to become a great actor for them and keep on keeping on as best I can. But again, I digress. Back to the comment. 

The comment that was made to me had to do with a classroom observation. This individual overheard one student being rude to another while they were working independently. And this person asked me what I thought about students being mean to one another in my classroom. I responded by saying I model kind language and continually reinforce why we need to love one another, but six-year-old children who are sponges in a world where a lot of the words they hear on a daily basis are not nice, nor loving, will have a tendency to spit those back out in their own usage. Knowing that kids are mean to one another doesn't make me happy, in fact it does break my heart, but in the reality of their lives, I understand that it happens. No matter where you're from, you will hear children saying mean things to one another. Kids are mean sometimes. I hate it. But it is true. And I want to keep trying to change that. 

In response, I was told that I was making excuses for the behaviors described in my classroom. I was told that it was on me to control the language in my classroom. I was told that I don't believe in my kids. I was told that maybe I should consider my foundational beliefs in the work that I'm doing. 

Now. That thick skin. That thick skin that I have? The one that helps me brush off the craziness all around me so that I can keep on teaching? Keep pushing through? 

It's not thick enough for comments like that. 

To be told that I don't have a belief in my kids? To be told that I don't have a belief in the work I'm doing? 

I'll never have a skin thick enough for that. 

I kept a professional appearance and tone to finish the conversation, but as I walked away, learned that weird paradox about thick skin. I do have to have blinders on sometimes, just to keep us all moving ahead, looking forward, and learning more. I do state the realities of the harsh world that's left for my kids and look it in the face and show up to work every day and teach in that world anyway. But, at the same time, my heart does break every day. I do believe with all my heart in my kids. I am affected by every single story and hurtful word and missed breakfast. So when someone insinuates that I'm not grounded in some pretty passionate foundational beliefs, it tumbles me down completely. If only I had a thicker skin for comments like that. If only I could let that go and mindlessly move on to my next objective so that I can take on more responsibility and check my next box. 

Or maybe not. I don't want to be like that at all. I don't think I ever could. I don't think I'll ever be okay with anyone thinking I don't believe in my kids or believe in what I'm doing. 

So it's a funny thing, that thick skin. You can't survive without it. But your soul can't survive with it.