Challenged, Changed, Connected

Tonight’s slice was supposed to be about the responses to my most recent survey. I had a whole plan: check and respond to last week’s comments (oops), write, post, and “meet up” with other slicers. To prepare, I spent a few minutes gathering information on Sunday evening and mentally digging for my notes on Brene’s feedback wisdom. I just needed to book the time to write fast and furious between Monday meetings.

That didn’t work. This week’s calendar had a mind of its own. I should have known better.

By 4:00 PM, I knew I’d have to write in the evening. Tired. Drained. Eager to embrace my pillow instead of those words that deserve a more awake me. Still, the idea had enough pull to push excitement over discouragement, so I ran to pick up Elena and get home. I thought, “Maybe I’ll rehearse on the voice memo when traffic on 17th grants me a few minutes.”

As I buckled her in her seat, I heard the typical “ping” of a text message. I looked quickly to see if it was Tim with an update from the airport. I saw his name right under Lizzie’s. He was at his gate, waiting. She had sent me a link to the slice she wrote.

Oh, that’s right. She told me about this.

As I read, I felt an abrupt tug of emotion. I listened to her words as they entered my brain, fast and furious. Her reflection on our work together gave names to much of what I’ve done this year in what often felt like pure improvisation. This position of supporting teachers (supporting her) has been built with each meeting, conversation, and planning session we’ve had—like gigantic colorful Lego blocks. In her words, however, I also found a hidden fear that kept me company week after week: What if this doesn’t work for them? What if I confuse them even more? What if they don’t reach the expected outcome?

Lizzie and I have met endless times—to unpack units, look at/create assessments, plan certain lessons, rethink a unit that doesn’t “feel” right for her, and even write several new units this year. I don’t mind if what she ends up with is very similar to the already-written unit I had suggested; I can give her what she needs by making something new together.

Of all the people I work with, she pushes back the most. She challenges and makes me rethink so much of what we plan. I know why I make certain suggestions, but she demands clarity, scaffolds, different scenarios, and action plans—meeting with her requires an arsenal of ideas and theory.

Lizzie keeps me on my toes.

As I reread her words with less emotion and more cognition, I realized that the tug of emotion I felt earlier, as she wrapped me in her beautifully written lines, was a reflection of the job I did not see coming—not a gold star or a nod of affirmation, but a sense of connection to the core of what I do: lift a teacher’s practice in a way that honors them.

That fear with three heads, like a mythical monster? It requires this sort of connection and trust to be defeated—a teacher’s trust in me as much as my trust in a teacher’s craft and growth.

Lizzie turned on the lights that I didn’t know were off. She named something for me today, and I pray that light keeps guiding me in every meeting, conversation, and planning session with every teacher I work with.

Thank you, Lizzie, for what you’ve taught me and for giving me a surprising reason to save that other slice for another day. Feel free to borrow my space to write whenever you’d like!

P.S.: Elena took 50 minutes to fall asleep, so I will give myself grace for going straight to bed after posting this. I know where my slicers will be this week.