Abstract
Phyllis Fagell answers work-related questions from educators. In this column, a teacher feels guilty about deciding not to return to in-person schooling during the COVID-19 pandemic. A principal wants people to understand their decision to leave administration and return to the classroom.
My school is offering a hybrid model this fall, with some face-to-face and some virtual learning. However, given the limited resources my district has, I just don’t know how we’re going to be able to swing all the complicated but necessary cleaning regimens, extra supplies, and extra staff we’ll need to get kids back in the building safely. I suspect that our central office folks are just trying to appease the masses with some kind of return.
I’m conflicted. On one hand, I think distance learning is the pits. Even though a lot of teachers have worked their butts off to make it effective, many students have been getting little or nothing out of it, for a variety of reasons — maybe they’re stressed and overwhelmed, or lack good Wi-Fi access, or have learning issues and need special supports, or have other family responsibilities that are getting in the way, and so on. Clearly, in-person instruction serves most kids much better, and we should all bend over backward to reopen our schools and classrooms. On the other hand, I just don’t feel OK about going back to school yet. I don’t have preexisting conditions, but I have family members who do and who spend tons of time with my family. I’m not a risk taker in any area of my life, and I worry constantly about worst-case scenarios.
Here’s my problem: I feel terrible about my decision not to go back. I know that thousands of doctors and nurses are working on the front lines without proper protective gear, not to mention all the people delivering mail and working in grocery stores, and I wish I were that brave. But I’m not. So how can I reconcile my views, and is there anything I can do to get myself to a place where I might be OK, emotionally, with heading back into the classroom? Because that’s where I want to land.
You are right on both accounts. First, it will be hard for some schools to reopen in person. Your district isn’t the only one trying to work through concerns regarding scheduling, transportation, liability, hygiene, physical distancing, and leave policies while also dealing with budget shortfalls and many safety unknowns. Schools are likely to need everything from extra staffing to more involved screening and cleaning regimens. There’s a reason for all the unanswered questions.
Second, you’re absolutely correct that students are falling through the cracks. In some cities, as many as 35% of students are getting no education at all. Kids from lower socioeconomic backgrounds are getting hit the hardest, so the opportunity gap is real and widening. The pandemic has exposed and exacerbated inequities in education, primary health care, mental health services, and many other areas. The sooner kids are back in school, the better their access to counselors, social services, and other resources.
Right now, everyone is weighing these pros and cons, trying to determine whether it’s best to reopen their schools or keep them closed. Which brings me to your question: How can you feel less scared about returning to the classroom?
First, recognize that you’re not alone. Many teachers are nervous about returning to brick-and-mortar learning. Your feelings are normal. But remember that it’s other people’s jobs right now to work through all the variables and plan and then plan some more for different scenarios. You don’t have that responsibility and may, in fact, be better off taking a step back for a while. Consider giving yourself a mental break while experts and decision makers collect data. Schools around the world have announced plans to reopen, which means that districts in this country have access to a ton of information that will help them develop new policies and procedures. They’ll be gathering evidence and weighing benefits and risks.
As they do that, try to focus on pulling any extreme thoughts to the center. You might benefit from seeing a cognitive behavioral therapist, making an extra effort to distract yourself when you find yourself ruminating, or reaching out to specific students you think could use support. We’re wired to want answers, to resolve uncertainty, to avoid risk, to attempt to control whatever variables we can. You’re struggling because there are still many unknowns, and you have little control. It’s OK to give yourself permission to set your concerns aside temporarily and revisit them later, when, I hope, we’ll have more data about how and when we can safely return to school.
Principal wants people to understand why she resigned
I’ve been doing some research into why principals resign, and I read your column about the principal who wanted out. I just resigned from my job after six years at a high school for a number of reasons, though a lack of support and central office concerns played major roles in my decision. I was a successful principal, and we made positive changes in school culture and student achievement under my leadership. However, the district’s board members and superintendent had an unhealthy (too friendly) relationship with each other, and they made it increasingly difficult for me to be an effective and ethical leader. Here’s my current problem: I have found that other educators can’t believe a principal would go back into the classroom, as I’ve chosen to do. I did it to keep my sanity and to get away from unethical practices, but who would believe me if I told them what was happening? It’s sad that principals can’t complete our careers now because we can’t be authentic and lead our schools. I would like others to know, first, that even good principals sometimes choose to return to the classroom. Second, I’d like to get some insight into how we can keep good principals in schools.
I’m not surprised that you feel distressed and powerless. Yes, you chose to leave your principal position voluntarily, but it’s clear you didn’t feel you had much choice. You articulate that staying would have compelled you to behave in ways that fly contrary to your values and beliefs. You also believed you would have had to deal with distasteful politics, and you weren’t willing to sacrifice your sanity. It’s easy enough to communicate those reasons to anyone who asks, but as you’ve discovered, you can’t control how others will interpret what you say. They may have difficulty believing you’d take a pay cut voluntarily, or doubt that you’d sacrifice status and conclude you were forced out. I can see why it’s frustrating that people won’t necessarily buy that you chose to go back into the classroom.
You also may be experiencing some cognitive dissonance of your own. After all, you didn’t abandon your leadership role because you disliked your day-to-day work or because you desperately wanted to work in the classroom with students again. (If that was your motivation, you don’t state it here.) Yes, you took control of a bad situation and acted with agency, but that doesn’t mean you can’t feel like you were fired. It may feel more like you ran from something than toward something.
So what now? You have two challenges. The first is to stop worrying about other people’s opinions, which you have no control over anyway. No matter what you say or do, some people are going to think you were forced out. Some people won’t care at all. Some people will assume you burned out. Some people will think you were abused by unethical board members or a power-hungry superintendent. Some will assume you simply missed teaching. And so on. None of that is important. There’s an expression: “Your reputation is what others think of you; your character is who you truly are.” Focus more on relentlessly policing your negative self-talk. Remind yourself often that you chose to leave a job that wasn’t working for you. That was a brave move. By leaving, you put yourself back in the driver’s seat.
The second challenge is to deal with your grief about leaving a job under less-than-ideal terms. Both of these goals will take time and hard work, but you’re instinctively doing all the right things. By researching why principals quit, you’re being proactive rather than passively accepting your predicament. You’re trying to understand what went wrong and help other leaders avoid the same fate. You’re trying to derive meaning from pain, and that will help you get out of your own head and heal. In the meantime, don’t forget to look for the positives. What, for instance, do you love about teaching? Recognize that it may take time for you to feel real joy, but consider counseling if you feel perpetually flat, angry, or sad. A good therapist could help you process and reframe your abrupt change in career plans and give you some tools for managing disappointment and frustration.
I’ll end by circling back to your question about principal retention. I think you answered that one yourself. As you note, principals are more likely to stay put when they have autonomy and are able to make choices that best serve their communities. They stay when they’re able to be their authentic selves, and when they’re confident they’ll be treated fairly and respectfully, and when they don’t have to sacrifice their mental health or their ethics to do their job.
Footnotes
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