#firstyearofteaching

The contents of my 2013 kitchen: multigrain bread, flax muffins, Neufchatel cheese, hummus, smoked salmon, heirloom tomato, cucumber, cooked beets, frozen mushroom & leek pupusas, sweet peppers, kale, almond milk, and egg whites. 

On Learning How to Feed Myself 

(You would think a woman who is a quarter of a century old would have this figured out by now...)

The year of my residency with the Boettcher Teacher’s Program (think Teach For America stretched out 5 years) was a balancing act in which sacrifices had to be made. I  completed a masters while student teaching full time-all while having the fortune of an empathetic boyfriend who left warm dinners out on the dining table. 

The first year of teaching -I was on my own. If a meal wasn’t portable/wrapped in a burrito -or I couldn’t devour it while driving or fighting with the copy machine -I didn’t have the time for it.  The contents of my 2011 kitchen: Kashi cereal  greek yogurt   Nutella  moldy raspberries   Jameson 

If it weren’t for Fage’s Blueberry Acai yogurt or microwavable edamame I would have starved that year. I had some distorted delusion that I was healthy, convinced by the percentage of fiber and protein the nutrition labels said I was taking in. I was so consumed by being a first year teacher that losing 10 lbs in the first 2 months went by unnoticed until I visited my parents during winter break. While it’s typical (and forever appreciated) of Indian parents to feed you until all the buttons, zippers and seams of your clothing burst -my parents reminded me of how good it feels to sit down at a table to eat. That eating was something you make time for -not something that is taking away from time that should be spent on working. 

Not too long after, I broke down at school. I had 20 minutes for lunch and needed to prep for a geometry lesson for my first graders that involved sorting shapes. What I didn’t realize the night or morning beforehand was that part of that prep involved photocopying 25 sheets of various shapes. About 200 something shapes had to be cut out and sorted into ziploc bags for this one 30 minute lesson. If this feat were to be accomplished in the time frame that I had -it meant I would have to sacrifice the frozen Amy’s lasagna I was (earnestly, albeit pitifully) looking forward to. 

Often when I’m hungry and my needs aren’t being met I get angry or -hangry. (I consider it a hybrid of Hulk rage with some of the symptoms of Annuale) 

As I saw each copy of tiny rhombuses and trapezoids being churned out by the copier, my stomach began to growl and whine about the grande Americano I called breakfast that morning. But I didn’t find myself being hangry. I was hungry…and sad. Sangry? Whatever it was, it is one of the only times in my adult life that I cried in public. (although truth be told finding places to cry in private at school was a frequent occurrence that first year of teaching...)

I was fortunate: my instructional coach walked in at that moment, shooed me out of the room and made me eat my microwaved lasagna as she figured out a short cut method to prep for the math lesson. 

After that I started to go to a real grocery store (one with real produce, not Walgreens) and make meals on Sundays. When you know a goat cheese and proscuitto salad is waiting for you at lunch -you begin to prioritize. You begin making time in the school day. The picture above displays the spoils of a grocery shopping exploit from earlier this year.

I used to think I deserved to be regarded as a good teacher because I was dedicated and driven, putting my work above everything else. I had mornings of getting into the building at 5:30 am, and nights of leaving at 9 pm. I wasn't a good teacher; I was just exhausted and grumpy. 

Re-establishing my relationship with food and rekindling a love for cooking helped me survive the first year of teaching at an urban school. I realized that year -and am still continuing to realize that being a good teacher hinges on being a happy teacher.