Tag: teaching

Teaching

More than teaching

Alexandra Diane

What is the legacy you want to leave behind?

Everyday someone’s son or daughter walks through my door. They are called students. In elementary school, students spend more time with their teacher than they do with their families. In middle school, students suddenly face six teachers. The comfort of seeing the same face every day is broken. Watching sixth graders adjust to this new world is adorable and scary all at the same time. Moving to high school, I watched a lower amount of anxiety pour out of the freshmen. Maybe it’s because I’m a mother or empathetic, but I try to remember that these adult looking bodies in my room are still children. 

It’s frustrating to deal with students who just don’t care. In some classes, it becomes a cancer that spreads and students who were working eventually stop. I can’t lash out or treat the cancers like I would an adult. There’s a root to the issue and most of the time it’s outside the classroom. The seniors who are graduating in a few days grew into their own during covid so their reality is warped. The adults didn’t know how to handle what was going on, so they didn’t hold the students accountable and gave them chance after chance to make a half-hearted effort. 

This was a failure on our part. How could we expect children who entered high school to care when they grew up watching everyone shut down? Their freshman year, the year where teachers are supposed to instill deadlines and expectations, was null and void. They were still robbed of their sophomore year, where students pick up on social cues and are growing into mini adults. Half online, half in the classroom. Students just weren’t working and those who did work felt like it wasn’t fair. 

I was teaching middle school. Kids complained about how it wasn’t fair that the people online didn’t have to do the same amount of work. I had to figure out the nicest way to say “life isn’t fair. It’ll never be fair.” But how do you explain this to someone else’s child without being a dick? I am straightforward, in an age appropriate manner, with my own children. My husband and I don’t hide things from our kids, but that doesn’t mean my students get the same honesty at home. I’ve learned that the hard way when I speak plainly and have been told that I am too harsh and should be more sensitive. I had a student not complete his work, and he responded with a very sarcastic “sorry I didn’t do it.” This was the third assignment that the student hadn’t completed for the quarter, so I was peeved when I responded to him. His mother went to administration saying I was too cruel when I responded with “It’s your grade that’s going to be sorry since you didn’t complete your work.” 

I held my tongue that day. I wanted to tell his mother that her child was lazy, disrespectful to me and rude to his classmates. Instead, I smiled and said, “well if he just completed his work, there wouldn’t be a problem.” This student is now a junior at a different high school from where I teach at. His girlfriend is in my program and she’d told me he still doesn’t like to do his work, however he misses me because “I keep it real.” 

I don’t want to be mean to my students. I don’t want to raise my voice because I don’t want my son and daughter to deal with that at school. However, it’s a losing battle. My freshmen were in sixth grade during covid so they are little electronic junkies. Headphones in no matter where they go. Glued to their cell phone FaceTiming with friends in class, just like they did when they were at home pretending to care about their classes. I must raise my voice to be heard over their loud chatter, and with 30 people in one room,I’m still not heard. 

I wish I could collect all their phones and stash them away. But their parents get upset if they can’t text their child right away. I have to remove myself from a parental mindset. Yes, I want to text my kids during class, but they should give their teacher their full attention. I think covid broke the adults too. They were so used to the consent connection with their child that they don’t know how to function without the instant response.  

But then I have students who come to me because they don’t have that connection with their parents. My classroom door needs to be replaced with a revolving one, so I stop having to answer each knock from a girl having a meltdown. My teacher hat kind of goes away although I don’t really put on a mom hat, but I just listen. Sometimes they like what I have to say, other times I get a whining “Mrs. Jenkins!” because I didn’t take their side. I try to give them real life advice for the problems they are facing. Mean girl issues don’t go away just because you graduate and crappy relationship issues only get worse. 

One of my male students came in his last few days of school and just word vomited about the problems he was having with his ex. He was graduating, and she was mad about how things ended. I take everything my students tell me with a grain of salt. However, the drama he was dealing with was a lot. The only advice I could give him was you’re graduating. You won’t be seeing her anymore. If she needed him to be the villain in her story, so be it. Someone is always the villain and if you know you did nothing wrong, then let her process that way. 

I know these students are people’s sons and daughters. My heart hurts when I listen to their stories that they cannot share with their parents. I wish they could talk to their parents with the honesty that they share with me. My kids know they can open up to me without judgment, but they may not feel comfortable discussing their problems with me. Children don’t ever want to disappoint their parents. They don’t want their parents to see them in a negative light, and sometimes it’s easier to talk to a neutral party. I hope other teachers open themselves to their students, being that ear for their students to vent their frustration and fears. 

Teaching, Writing

My Career has never been one direction

Alexandra Diane

What is your career plan?

What’s my career plan?

Well, that’s a loaded question.

Twenty years ago, I would have told you I wanted to be a scriptwriter. I had all these wild dreams about heading out to Hollywood and writing movies. However, after spending a summer in Santa Monica, Venice Beach, and exploring California, I decided that it wasn’t the place for me. It wasn’t long before I gave up this dream. I never stopped writing, but scripts were no longer my focus. This was back in the early 2000s, the idea of working virtual wasn’t an option. So I changed directions. 

One direction was where I would live. I love the east coast. It’s the best coast. The people, the weather, and the speed of life  — something about it fuels my soul where the west coast sucked the life out of me. Now I had to add something else to my plan. Where I would live. I had always thought I could live anywhere. That wasn’t true. I need humidity to thrive and the sea breeze washed away my worries. So my living situation had become a key factor in my career search. Virginia, North Carolina, Savannah or even my home state of Florida were where I wanted to grow my professional life. 

My professional life needed to match what brought me joy. That’s being creative. I have had jobs in the past where I was stuck in a cubical filling out excel spreadsheets and staring at the wall daydreaming when I could leave. This meant applying for jobs out of state. Florida is great for hospitality but not so much for those who want to work in film, news or marketing. The rational part of my brain knew I might have to leave Florida. But because I was young and dumb, I received more than a few job offers I regret not accepting. 

Sometimes I want to shake that girl. Tell her to take the risk before starting a family. I traveled enough to know that I could leave. I could survive. However, I didn’t want to leave the person I was dating. Even when I knew it wasn’t a forever, end game type of relationship. All of this is laughable because in my late twenties I left a job in political news to move to a different country for my ex husband. 

That didn’t last. I felt lost for the months I lived there. I was supposed to focus on writing, but depression set in.I didn’t have something that was mine to keep me busy. Other things also fueled my negative experience. I wrote short stories and wrote the manuscript Angelic Findings. But none of that left me satisfied. I needed to know I was doing something worthwhile. 

When I returned from Brazil, they offered me my job back. But things weren’t the same. The election ended, and the company did a massive downsizing. I was one of the handful of  people cut. This sent me down a different path. For about six months, I was an editor and producer for a financial show. It was weird. Every edit was under a microscope to be sure it was in compliance. Eventually, I left that job and ended up working for a local news station. 

I liked it there. I love how busy and chaotic things were. Hurricane days and breaking news kept things busy. Only I was missing time with my family. Birthdays skipped, vacations missed, holidays put on hold until my shift was over or I woke up from a nap. I needed a change. But I couldn’t follow my dreams of accepting a job in Virginia. We couldn’t leave. My parents are here and they help with my kids. And my stepson’s mom lives here as well.  I wanted to leave. I still want to leave. But I couldn’t. I can’t. So I left the only thing I could. I left my career in news. 

`However, I didn’t leave the world completely.  I ended up teaching, and it’s been oddly enjoyable. 

I work with students, teaching them how to write scripts, create films and edit mini news packages. I’m able to do all the things I love everyday, without having a boss breathing down my throat for insane deadlines or people trying to undercut each other for a raise. However, the students do that to each other daily. I try to explain to them that A. We’re not saving lives, it’s not serious. And B… to just do the work their lives would be that much easier. 

Sometimes I stare at them and wonder what the future of our world will be. They do some dumb shit on the daily. It makes my brain hurt and I wonder if they eat lead paint chips as babies. But at the same time, most are incredibly sweet. They genuinely want to learn. I’m talking about my high school students. My middle school students had me wanting to jump off a bridge with cement feet. 

So this is my twisty turny career path, always something creative, never leaving Florida. One day I’ll escape. I’ll have a cottage in the woods, far away from people. But until then, my students will slowly drive me insane, wondering if their strange ideas doom or save humanity. 

Writing

A Very Monday Monday

Alexandra Diane

There are days when I just want to work, not teach, but work. The last few days I have been compiling the 2-hour video premiere showcase thing that my school hosts at the end of the year. It represents the collective work of all the students. Not all but the best of the best. Some aren’t the best of the best but have great moments or highlight students that have put effort throughout the year. But I miss it. I miss just editing and fixing sound. In this case, I didn’t play with the color. I felt it was important that parents should see the color and the video that their kids created. Although I leveled the sound so eardrums didn’t burst and I made sure the audience could hear the words that were recorded. 

I started working on an after effects template that highlights pictures students sent me. I wanted the parents to see how much fun their kids are having and realize that their support has been worthwhile.

But I just miss focusing on working. 

I try to look at teaching as if I’m training the next set of creators. But somehow I have become a sounding board for my students. 90% of the time I do not mind it. I love listening to gossip and I no longer watch reality television or much TV anymore because the shit they say is highly entertaining. But at the same time, I wish I could just shake them. Tell them everything that they’re freaking out about is not that big of a deal. For the seniors that are graduating. All the drama that they’re facing right now goes away. They are moving on with life to an adult life where nobody cares. The campuses they’re about to enter are massive, so even if they have a former classmate at the same university, they might never see each other. 

I just miss working. I miss being creative without having to listen to my students bitch and moan about stuff that I’ve taught them repeatedly. I don’t understand why they can’t just get it through their thick skulls to write it down. I have them fight me tooth and nail to take notes. I look at my desk and it’s covered in sticky notes. I have notebooks filled with information and ways to help me, so I don’t forget things. But my students, dear God, you think I was asking them to run a marathon with a weight strap to their ankles. When I say hey, bring out your notebook and write this down, so when you forget, you don’t have to ask me 15 times. 

Today was exhausting. I woke up at 3:00 in the morning with a baby who is teething. He did not fall back asleep until 5:00. I slept through all of my alarms and somehow made it to work on time because of my husband. Thankfully, he took both children to where they needed to go this morning then drove 45 minutes south to work. 

I’m just tired. Only 16 school days remain and they will be packed with one exam after another. And I wish I could use those 16 days to show my students how to do something amazing. Instead, even if I tried to do that, the school district is picking up their laptops on Monday. So we will have two weeks of no computers. Which is great for a television production class. I wonder who makes these decisions and if they actually know the stress that they’ve just put on teachers. I doubt they care because most of the people that make these decisions were never in a classroom. 

Strangely enough, I looked at teaching as a way to earn my freedom back. Being an adult is so consuming. You work more than you see your family. You spend more time in an office or a cubicle with no windows. And if you’re a teacher, your windows must be covered. You cannot open them to see the sunshine in fear of somebody losing their shit and doing something violent.

But as I sit here in traffic, staring at the sign that tells me two miles to my exit, I am thankful that the universe stopped me. For an hour I stare at the sign, looking up from my book. After today, I needed to shut down. I needed to breathe after the chaos that was the last period of the day. I didn’t want it to be a turned over tractor trailer blocking my exit and I hope everyone involved is okay. But I am grateful for the reprieve. Because I had a chance to sit and think and I know the words that I want to use for the closing credits of our premier show. 

Tomorrow I get to go back to editing Angelic Findings. This has been a nice break, but I miss living in that world fleshing everything out. 

Lent

Day 24: Lip Dub

Alexandra Diane

What is the last thing you learned?

I am absolutely exhausted. Today I participated in our school wide lip dub. Holy shit, was that fun. It reminded me why I love working in production. The energy everyone brings to performance can not be matched. Even working through tech problems. They are stressful, but it’s like my brain feeds off of it. I love watching all the pieces fall into place when the world seems against it. My mentor, Mr. Wright, started producing lip dubs in 2014 and I have always wondered how they could produce a high-quality video. Well, now I know. 

Today was insane. If you check out my Instagram reels, you can see some of the behind-the-scenes footage from organized chaos. This production was months in the making. Wright spent months sending out emails to the school, ensuring that all clubs and sports were included. Everyone had the chance to submit a song of their choice. Some people slept on this chance and were not happy with the song selected for them. But it wasn’t just up to my mentor. The film club and SGA were a critical part in selecting music and comedic bits throughout the lip dub. 

Late days and missed lunches were in abundance. My mentor would walk the path that we would take, mapping out everything to time the music just right. In the weeks leading up to today, he emailed out the final audio mix. He held rehearsals to prepare students for the parts they were supposed to lip sync. Even with all this preparation, problems arose. 

The day before the event, we found out that some students were upset about their song selection. We didn’t know they were upset until a teacher overheard students discussing their plans to protest. They would not sing the song that was picked for them by SGA. The club was called women leaders of tomorrow or something along those lines. Remember how I said they’d had months to pick out a song and weeks to listen to the music? The day before the production is not the day to complain. Their complaint was that they were in the cafeteria, and that the song that was selected for them was called stir fry. Apparently, they found this sexist saying “women were being put in the kitchen.” The problem was that they weren’t the only people in the cafeteria. The cafeteria is an enormous space. They shared the scene with multiple language honor societies and wrestling. Thankfully, there was no protest.

We ran through the first part of the lip dub three times. But production even started, students were outside for close to 45 minutes. They were setting up the inflatable helmet that the football players were going to run out of. The Cheerleaders were practicing their stunts, and the band was preparing to play their instruments. Our principal even did a skit in the beginning that was a callback to the year previous and a meme that one of our seniors created when he was a junior last year. It’s a lot of fun to see the student body work. The reason it took so long for us to start was that there were multiple people who weren’t in the correct place. The people who were supposed to be singing were missing, and certain academies just weren’t ready.

When we finally started, it was incredible to witness everything. We did the skit again and then the music seamlessly flowed into the senior class’s lip sync. That’s when the controlled chaos began. After the senior section, they broke apart and were running to their next locations. Football players magically appeared in the helmet. Some showed up in the cafeteria as a part of the national honor society in, or wrestling and flag football. From the cafeteria, we had the next set of singers hop on golf carts and head towards part of JROTC where they were doing the raiders rope bridge event. That went into the step team and the BSU. And straight into JROTC followed by automotive and into construction. We did this three times and every time things got better and tighter. Despite a few minor errors, witnessing the high school kids wholeheartedly engage in their tasks and show professionalism was the most enjoyable aspect of my day.

After that, there was a small break when everybody reset and moved on to phase 3. We recorded Phase 2 earlier because it was complicated. But understanding the match cutting that’s going along with it and how it’s going to flow. Here is the final product! I would love everybody to see the hard work of all these students, teachers and administrators.

After Wright walked phase three and made sure everybody was ready, filming began. I’m pretty sure the universe just wanted to test us today because we had complications in all the strangest ways possible. We almost got done with the first take and something happened in biotech and we had to reshoot. We did a race golf cart scene with our principal and the superintendent of the school board. It was amazing and fantastic until the Osmo’s battery died. This is something that’s never happened in the years of production. We had a group of boys infiltrate the basketball scene and the basketball players could not hear the music, so they didn’t know what to lip sync. Finally, we had 11 minutes left until lunch and we were doing our very last take. We were told that the superintendent had left, and we were going to have to figure out how to match cuts into that scene. But then the universe gave us a break.

When my mentor came out of the soccer scene and the superintendent was in the rival golf cart. The amount of pressure that was lifted off of his shoulders for editing was astronomical. There was a bit of delay in recording, but not much that anybody would truly notice. We got through the softball scene, SGA and basketball. We went through medical and biotech and finally finished phase 3.

Phase 4 was when everybody went to the courtyard. This was utter chaos. The original plan was to have all the students spell out the word hawk. That did not happen. We also still had to record the IT room and the drone room. There was a bit of a pause as we organized the students and went into IT to ask them if they were ready.

Wright moved from using the Osmo to filming with a drone. That meant we had to do another walkthrough just to understand what the framing was and the pacing for the drone. After completing the walkthrough, they sent me outside to assist the students in ensuring that the outside was prepared. Everyone was clueless about what they were doing. Because of course. After a swift talk from Wright to the students, everything proceeded without a hitch. We had two takes, and both were fantastic.

The day was chaotic. Everything happened between 8:00 a.m. and 11:45 in the morning. But it was wonderful. It epitomized everything I love about our industry. Showcasing our students and our school. We let the world know how well our administration works with our students and how our teachers communicate with our student body. This is something that other schools try to reproduce and they can’t do it. And I think a lot of that has to do with the social structure within the school itself. It’s not just the fact that Mr. Wright has been doing this for 14 years and has mastered the experience. It’s all the work that goes into it. The students’ effort to ensure this is an amazing production is commendable.

My favorite part about the whole thing was a surprise. Our 9th grade guidance counselor had a baby a few months ago. Her husband is the baseball coach and while we were preparing to do phase 3, I saw her holding this little tiny infant. He was wearing a baseball jersey. It was adorable. My absolute favorite thing was watching the senior baseball boys holding this little nugget. They tenderly held him while singing, showing their love for their sport, their coach and their coach’s wife. This is the stuff that needs to be shown. This is what people need to understand what makes a successful school. It’s not just about grades. It’s about the atmosphere in the social dynamic that is produced. 

Lent, Teaching

Day 6: I’m tellin’ y’all, it’s sabotage

Alexandra Diane

Today was a teacher’s work day. Students were supposed to be off, teachers were supposed to be in meetings, and having the chance to organize their lives. However for me that wasn’t the case. The TV production students are preparing for the Student Television Network (STN) competition out in Long Beach California. They will be participating in the team challenge Crazy 8 as well as individual challenges for two other days. 

The Crazy 8 challenge is two fold. We have news students and film students. The film students are given a title, a character line, prop, and shot required to be seen through the film. They have eight hours to write, film, and edit the final cut. The news students are given a topic, like “service with a smile,” to create a newscast around. They also have the same eight hour window. 

Last month when we held a mock competition I was right with my students. Held them to their times, reviewed their script, gave them suggestions on their shots. But we were unable to repeat the same magic. I had to participate in mandatory training which meant the students were on their own. I peeked at their final script and cringed but there was nothing I could do. They had to manage it on their own. 

There was more than just a poor script that sabotaged them. The location they based their story on was closed due to it being president’s day. The crew wasted an hour trying to find a new location and rewrite their script. While they adjusted the story there were still major plot holes. The script lacked a true first act. We were thrown into a fight between the only characters in the short film. There was nothing redeeming about them and I even texted a student about fixing the problem, however they did not take my advice. 

When we were all able to finally meet together the cast and crew were actually cordial with each other. While the editor got to work the rest of the crew relaxed and we started planning what we will be doing in California. This was a high contrast to the news students who were running around in a panic. There were attitudes being thrown left and right. One student came in and screamed at their partners. While I understand frustrations run high in a competition that is no way to treat the people you rely on. I am insanely petty and if my partner would have spoken to me in that way I would have flipped the bird and told that human to figure it out on their own. I know I have done that in the professional world. 

While that student was being handled by the news teacher, I was watching our editor break down. While our shoots were beautiful the audio was trash. Adobe has a new AI podcast web based element that helps clean up audio. We tried that and it resulted in the whole room laughing. Instead of fixing things it made the two actors turn into a mix of minions and chipmunks that sucked about seventeen helium balloons. Although this was not the result we were looking for, it did make us laugh. It was the mental break we needed after coming to the conclusion there was no saving the audio in the small window we had left. The editor took a song that fit (ish) the mood of the film and prayed it would mask all the issues. 

** Plot twist, it did not.**

When it came time to watch the news cast and film the problems followed. First the short film that the students submitted was not the three minutes that we shot.  It was only 49 seconds long. While my co-teacher / mentor teased the students about checking the exports, he pulled up the newscast. It was supposed to be 8 minutes long, however it was only 42 seconds. That’s when the whole class burst out laughing and teasing one another. The students who submitted the files opened the files, and at first glance they looked correct. The time codes gave the proper time, however when playing out the videos they both stopped at the 40ish mark. They were corrupted. We waited for the files to be fixed and then returned to watching the projects. 

The film students covered their heads and avoided stares from the news students. Of course our garbage sound was not covered by the music. And while we watched I just cringed waiting for it to end. I couldn’t connect with the characters. The varying audio levels made my ears want to bleed. As soon as it ended my co-teacher repeated all the comments that I had made during our editing process. 

When we started the news students project things started to go well. Although they had some soft focus shots their levels were far better than our film. Everything was going pretty smooth until a news package was cut short. That’s when my co-teacher ripped apart the news cast.

This was supposed to be our last practice before the competition. But this is not what not the level of work any of these students usually produced. I kept suggesting over and over again that we needed to hold another practice. That way we had a clean palette and no shame hovering over us. Eventually all students agreed as well as my co-teacher. So hopefully this extra practice will ensure that we won’t sabotage ourselves in California. 

Writing

Do what terrifies you

Alexandra Diane
Bloganuary writing prompt
What’s the thing you’re most scared to do? What would it take to get you to do it?
View all responses

I’ve taken bold steps like skydiving, leaving my old life behind to live in a foreign country where I didn’t speak the language, and transitioning my career from something I’ve done since I was fifteen years old – to teaching teenagers. However, I find nothing as terrifying as sharing my writing with the world. If skydiving takes a wrong turn, I’m dead. If living in a foreign country doesn’t work for me (which it really, really, really, didn’t) I could just return home. And my students will eventually graduate, leaving whatever memories of me to just that, memories. But when I bare my heart and soul into my work, I am leaving myself exposed to criticism from the world. I am allowing strangers a chance to read my work and comment on what I’ve shared. 

Growing up, I would write short stories and scripts. I didn’t know how to write in proper screenplay format, but that didn’t stop me. I would warn whoever read my work that I was still learning, and they were my friends. They didn’t know any better. But something happened when I reached college. I still wrote as an escape, especially from math class, but I stopped sharing my work with nearly everyone. I went from sharing my work with anyone who had an email address to just a very select group of people. I became terrified of two things: 

  1. People not liking my writing and telling me it was trash.
  2. I didn’t want anyone to know I had severe dyslexia. 

I was an awful speller and had atrocious grammar. Part of me feels that the public school system failed me. However, after working in the system, I know it did, but it wasn’t the teachers’ fault. So much red tape ties their hands that it is nearly impossible for them to actually teach. But that is a story for a different day. I didn’t become secure with my writing until I graduated from college. Even then, I had to break out of the technical academic writing and return to the creative style I love most. 

My biggest breakthrough was working with my writing life partner that I’ve tortured for nearly the last decade. We would spend hours going over my work in google docs. Watching him live, edit my writing, and explain what I’ve done wrong was better than any degree I could have achieved. He helped me understand the points that I missed in school. I’m sure they were taught at some point, but my young brain didn’t absorb the information. Another thing he did was tell me when my work was trash. But he didn’t just say, “Alex, this is shit.” He would say, “Alex, this is shit because….” and we would work on expanding and correcting the issues. Our edit sessions have whittled because of time as we have grown older. Kids have gotten in the way of my hobbies. He, apparently, has something called a life. However, he has not been released from his blood oath of helping me finish my work 🙂 

Time, care, and attention is what pushed me through my darkest moments as a writer. I’ve learned time and time again that the masses may not enjoy my work. However, I learned to appreciate those who like my work. Maybe one day I’ll be a famous author. Maybe I won’t. But I won’t let my fears trap me again. 

Teaching, Writing

Well, I’m not okay.

Alexandra Diane

Hormones and body dysmorphia is fun.

When your brain thinks it’s still in its twenties but you’re closer to forty. You looked at my hands and wondered who they belong to? Why do they seem to belong to a person who is decades older than you? You wonder if someone has replaced my skin with an alligator’s. There are days when you wonder how you’re an adult and you need an adultier adult to fix the situation, but you are the adultier adult now.

I wonder how I’m in charge of helping the three young beings grow into being adults. It feels overwhelming and exhausting and rewarding all at the same time. I wonder if I’m going to fail? How much will I give to watch them succeed? I know I will never give up, but how much of myself will I have to sacrifice for them?

I feel the same way about my students.

 I know my seniors, for the most part, really don’t give a fuck.

They just want to graduate and get out of school. I grasp that mindset completely. I wanted to do the same thing at their age. But my younger students I work hand in hand with. I try to make sure, as many of them as possible, understand what we are doing and how to create different things. But it’s just so frustrating and demoralizing when some of your students either won’t do the work or lie to their parents and say that I don’t care. I can only do so much. I am only one person. But I will never brush a student aside. I am always willing to help them. I make myself available outside school hours; they have my phone number, and know that they can text me if there’s ever an issue. I just really wish sometimes I could record my classes and show the students who put no effort and how I call them out in class. When I ask them where their assignment is and show their parents the shrug or nonchalant response that I receive. You would think I was asking them to recreate End Game instead of requesting them to put just the tiniest bit of effort into their schoolwork.

I have enough shit on my plate to deal with. I’m not completely sure why I thought being a teacher could be rewarding. Thankfully, transitioning to high school there have been more positive days than bad. However, on days like this, where I already hate myself, I just wonder if it is easier to return to the newsroom. Maybe 2am wake-up calls weren’t truly that bad. 

Bloganuary, Writing

As a Mother, Educator, or Writer?

Alexandra Diane
Daily writing prompt
What is your mission?
View all responses

The prompt today is: What’s your mission? But that’s not a straightforward question to answer. I wear many hats, so how do I know which mission they are asking about? So I’ll answer for all. 

As a mother, my mission is not to raise assholes. Children are only children for such a short time. They will spend a majority of their lives beyond my home and care, making it my duty to raise decent humans. I know it may be a silly concept, but I am not talking about raising people pleasers either. I want my children to know when to be respectful, when to reach out to those in need, and be able to work with others. To know right from wrong, when to seek help or when to problem solve. More importantly, I want them to know when to stand up for themselves and how to leave a dangerous situation. 

Parenting is about love and care, and so is teaching. My course is an elective, a choice program that students apply to be a part of. It is considered a career and technical educational course. And for me, it’s so much more than teaching students how to use a camera and edit. I heavily focus my projects on critical thinking and problem solving. I want my students to understand how to research their topics and find credible sources. The aim is to expose the dangers of unquestioning information and to showcase the ease false information can be created. I usually go off script when students are required to engage in the school-wide Mental Health lessons. Most teachers just have the student watch the videos and answer the questions and leave it at that. The students find the lessons to be a waste of time because they include dated examples. However, I speak to the class about my personal life experiences that relate to the lessons. Many students have thanked me because they feel uneasy or need time to process the information after the lessons. After the Techsafe lesson, I have all my students take out their cellphones. I explain to them how metadata works and show them how their pictures create a map of everywhere they have gone. We then go through their settings and turn off different location trackers.

As for being a writer, I don’t have a mission for anyone aside from myself. Writing is therapy. Sometimes I use it to express emotions and negative feelings, and other times to share thoughts I don’t want to keep to myself. I have had thoughts that have been beneficial to others and have found the readers who needed to know they are not alone. However, I don’t market my work or seek attention for what I write. I write for myself, be it my blog, my short stories, or my book. I write because it is a passion, not a mission to make money.  

Teaching

New School – New School Year

Alexandra Diane

This year was different. Instead of walking into the Bear Den, which has been my professional home for the last three years, I walked through the gates of the Hawk’s Nest. To say I was apprehensive about my first day back on a high school campus is an understatement. Imposter syndrome had hit me hard over the summer. I know the work my future students can create and, to be honest, that’s not how my brain works. 


I can edit breaking news until I am blue in the face, but that’s not what I was doing. I was now in charge of the junior and senior film students. My strength is writing, not production. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to correct people’s work. I am a manager at heart. I love training people and giving them the tools to succeed. 


Accepting my new role was a two month long mental process. In July, I headed to a new classroom with my co-teacher and mentor for the last twenty years. The room was a hot mess. The cabinets were filled with abandoned papers, folders, and work that had been in here since the school opened in 2005. I didn’t know where to start. I felt like I would never be ready with how much I had to purge and set up. But God sent angels in the form of two of my former students. They just were at school with their mom/aunt. I lost count of how many times I would receive a text from that asking if I was going to be on campus and even if I wasn’t, they would go into my room and clean. I don’t think my room would have been done by the first week of August without their help. 


My mentor helped me transform my boring room into something fun because my brain was broken. I was struggling to figure out how to take three classrooms’ worth of stuff and fit it into one room. But fortunately, I wasn’t alone. My mentor totally had not been planning what room I’d be taking over for the last ten months or more. If you didn’t read that with sarcasm, I don’t know what to tell you. Walking into a classroom with functioning equipment felt strange. Knowing there was a budget at my disposal made the situation even more peculiar. However, the hardest thing that I will have to get used to this year is not being alone. Finally, I had a colleague in my profession, someone to bounce ideas off of. Which I will be forever grateful because right now I’m just trying to keep my head above water.


As time crept closer for the students to return to campus, I faced an additional problem. I had to make sure that my first-year students would live up to my mentor’s expectations. Once more, the lifesaver that eluded me during my initial three years of teaching was present. Yes, my mentor helped me out with getting ideas for my middle school students. However, I created all my lectures and developed my curriculum. I wasn’t sure what I was doing was right. I just knew that the kids were learning and could create content that was unexpected for them at the middle school level. But this year I had everything in front of me. A part of me desired to change it, but I didn’t feel ready.


I wanted to see how my mentor taught his classes. It had been twenty-plus years since I had been face to face with what he teaches and I am not that arrogant to think I know better. His system works. Students from this program win awards, they get jobs; and they are admitted into amazing colleges. Students who graduate from this TV Production Academy have life skills and I am proof of that. 

However, I’m basically sunshine mixed with a little hurricane, so of course after I digest everything from this year I’ll have to put my spin on it. 


This week my TV 1 students are learning about basic camera shots and shot composition. When I opened the lecture, I legitimately laughed out loud. I came face to face with the same images that I used in my lecture that I created three years ago. It looks like we had the same sources. Undoubtedly because he gave me a bunch. But he threw so much information at me I wasn’t sure what he used and what was just given as a “here figure it out” source.  


As we went through the lecture, I noticed something. I went way more in-depth on certain subjects. When reviewing the rule of thirds, he only had one slide. I have an entire lecture dedicated to the rule of thirds. It’s just funny what people focus on. 


The apprehension that I had with my upper classmen has also begun to fade. When I introduced myself to my first class, four boys sat there, radiating a “too cool for school” vibe. They underestimated me when I didn’t call them out. Instead, I intended to let their work speak for itself, yet their first project contained silly errors that a 4th year student should not make. When I could point out their mistakes, the laughing stopped. The next day, when I was bringing up the new assignment, they were all ears. I explained to the class what I would be challenging them with and everyone had a look of challenge acceptance on their face. 


We’ve only been in school for two weeks and I can already see why my mentor kept saying he needs a female in the academy. Some of these girls are intense. We are an arts program and that means we get some exceptionally interesting students. I have one who is interested in being a writer, however she hyper fixates on things. I could spot this out before he ever warned me. Another girl thinks she’s quirky and can get away with her unlying rudeness by squeaking. That shit will not fly. And then there are typical issues that girls face. A freshman who is being vindictive to her ex-boyfriend. Another who has a crush on a guy who doesn’t know she’s alive. Gossip is already flowing and I can’t say I hate it. I think the gossip keeps the day entertaining. 


So do I miss my middle school, in a way yes. I miss the professional friends I made. But graduating simultaneously as the students who I have been with over the last three years has made the change easier. I don’t doubt myself as a teacher like I did when I came into this field. I know my shit. Now comes the hard part and ensuring students can produce content that far outshines what the adults expect them to do. 
I always enjoyed a good challenge. 

Mommy Blogs

D is for Depression not Demonic possession

Alexandra Diane

Please excuse any errors. I wrote this at 3am when I couldn’t sleep.

I find it easy to believe that people once believed depression or other mental illnesses were considered a demonic possession. I mean, do you really want to take responsibility for the thoughts of wanting to drown yourself and wonder if anyone would miss you? No, it must be the devil messing with your head. But I didn’t blame any evil forces for those thoughts. I sought professional help. I probably should have also sought spiritual help, but that’s for other issues entirely.


Since being on summer break, I’ve really had the chance to reflect on some of the differences in my postnatal life with Bennett compared to Adelyn. The first and biggest was being emitted back into the hospital the day after being released and told I would be separated from my newborn son. My logical side knew how dangerous my condition was, but that didn’t mean my emotional side could process what I was going through. Instead of trusting the healing process and getting better, I was bitter. I was alone in a place I detest and fear. To make matters worse, I was about to spend my 36th birthday alone. I have issues with my birthday. My cousin died on my birthday. I’ve had multiple years of people being flaky and disappointing me that I would leave the state so no one could make me feel less on an already horrible day. Physically I was recovering, while mentally, I felt myself breaking and falling apart the longer I stayed in bed with wires attached.

When I came home, I didn’t trust myself to be alone. I knew something was wrong. I loved my children and husband but felt like a shell of myself. There were a lot of moments that I know were faked. Holidays were taxing. Finances were tight. I was only bringing home 60% of my paycheck, and the extra insurance I’d been paying for the last three years just told me my coverage didn’t cover C-sections. Apparently, to them, they were an elected surgery, and they didn’t pay out the hospital stay like they would have if I had a vaginal birth. So that was 600 dollars I had budgeted that disappeared along with three years’ worth of payments.

Instead of thoroughly enjoying the time with my family, I was bombarded with emails and text messages from my students. The person left in charge was less than a glorified babysitter. He didn’t assign the detailed work I left, and the chaos students shared made me feel like I failed them. I know I couldn’t pick their sub, but good Lord, it weighed on me.

For nearly two months, I was at my doctor’s office battling an infection in my incision. Apparently, a small part of my body was reflecting the stitches. There was a laundry list of other things my body was doing, but I don’t fully remember them. I remember thinking everything was happening so fast and slow all at once. I remember, at three weeks, I was sitting in my doctor’s office telling her about how I needed something. Something to help me heal the wounds that no one could see. She said I couldn’t take anything while breastfeeding. I guess my body knew this before I did because my milk had dried up two days before the appointment.

I was nervous about taking a daily antidepressant. I didn’t want to lose myself. But the little voice of my logical self reminded me I was already lost. The shell I was presenting to the world wasn’t me. She ordered me Zoloft. I was warned about weight gain, and it possibly blocking my ability to climax, but I should feel like myself again. I had to fight with the crazy person inside my head, telling her that I could return to normal. Things would just have to change.

Slowly the unexplainable tears stopped. I was more in control of myself. However, instead of weight gain, I had to remind myself to eat. I was dropping weight fast and waiting to the point where I would get dizzy and nearly pass out. Being an appetite suppressant is not one of the side effects; however, I got it. When my cycle finally returned, my PMDD was under much better control. I was far less of a bitch those few days before my period. But I started noticing something strange.

A girlfriend, who used to be a nurse and was prescribed this drug, warned me about a side effect that the doctor didn’t address. Or maybe I didn’t think it would be an issue. I was starting to forget words. I’ve always had small moments when I forgot a word or two. However, while on this little happy pill, I forgot far more than a word or two. It was slowly progressing and becoming more difficult for me to explain things because it felt like a block between my mind and my mouth. A few weeks ago, it went fast passed word. There were moments in my day gone.

That was it for me. It didn’t matter how stable the medication was making me. What was the point if I had no memory? I no longer wanted to kill myself, and I had picked up my house that my depressed state destroyed. I felt better. So I stopped taking the pill of happiness. I was on the lowest dose, so there was nothing to ween off from.

For the last few weeks, things were good until the other day. Adelyn and I were talking, and she told me how her feelings were hurt by someone she thought was her friend. The friend said some really nasty stuff. It reminded me of the fake people I’ve encountered in myself. Only I was much older than her. I had to hold back tears because I hurt so much for her. I never wanted her to feel that way, especially at six years old.

The over feeling of sadness for others’ pain was something new and definitely not something I felt while taking the medication. I’m not sure how I would have felt on the pill. That mental state already feels like years ago.

I’ve also started to dream again. My dreams stopped after having my son. I guess being trapped in a hospital for a week was a living nightmare that my imagination didn’t think it could do better. While on the pill, I’d have dreams but not remember them. They would fade away as soon as I would wake up. Now I’ve returned to the moves that fill my head. Only they are disjointed and not yet useful for me. I wonder, once my brain is fully detoxed, what weird shit it’ll come up with.

But being off the happy pill has brought back my PMDD. I was not prepared for the emotions to be so strong. The rage is the worst. Everyone is doing something wrong by existing. I’m trying my best not to lash out. The kids do not deserve it. It’s not their fault their mother is unstable. I guess that’s why God gave me Bennett.

He’s the happiest little chunk. However, the only time he truly cries and gets upset is when others raise their voice or cry. Bennett is pure innocence. He’s a baby who only knows love, and when others are upset, he doesn’t understand why and will cry too.

I’ve had a few small outbursts that have brought him to tears. It has broken my heart, but it has also quickly changed my mindset. I can’t stay in the negative space because I have to comfort him. And it has to be me because he’s a pure momma’s boy, and Dad just isn’t good enough. Even though his first word was daddy… Which he said clear as day, yelling at Tyler.

So now I’m learning how to be me again without the outside chemical change. It’s uncomfortable, but I no longer feel like I’m fighting a demon whose main goal was to take me to the underworld. The only monster is me, and learning how not to release the angry red panda on my kids or husband. I’ll get through it. I’ve already survived once I know I’ll do it again.