Protective

I don’t talk a lot about what I do for a living. Not just here, anywhere. It’s not a secret – I teach GED prep classes to kids in a juvenile facility. They are goofy messes, almost indistinguishable from any other group of teenagers. Regrettably, their goofiness often gets lost in the larger conversations about these kids.

The job is also frustrating. Deeply so. All teaching jobs are, and most of the time, the frustrating stories are the ones that get told. They’re also the stories people want to hear. At least, they’re the ones that get the most attention. Add the additional bureaucracy and the inherent stigma people carry towards a facility like mine, and the frustrating stories often get blown out of proportion.

I don’t talk a lot about where I work because it is a way to protect the kids. Sure, a certain amount of anonymity is necessary, but I often find that even the goofy stories get misconstrued. This goes back to my St. Louis Public Schools days. I would laughingly share a tale about the absolutely normal chaos, and my listeners would fixate on some inconsequential detail that showed they viewed my kids through a negative lens. Not willing to put up with that, I became more selective about who got to hear my stories, especially on the rough days.

At SLPS, occasionally a student would ask if they could touch my hair. They were always polite and nervous. Being black kids from black neighborhoods, they hadn't felt hair with a texture like mine. Honored they trusted me enough to take the risk, I'd let them. I once shared this with someone who immediately interrupted with, "Isn't that a boundary violation?!" She would not hear me when I explained the request came out of having a relationship with the kids. She was too busy being offended at the idea. This was the last school story I told her.

​On a more personal note, I don’t talk about what I do because I love it. Sincerely love it. Even on the days I’m questioning my sanity for ever showing up to begin with, I love it. I have no idea why teaching hot messes is a good fit for me, but it is. I never had – and still don’t – any driving ambition to “make a difference” like many other people who begin work with struggling populations, whatever the field. I obliviously stumbled into it. I wonder if that’s part of my longevity. I entered with no preconceived notions. I learned the people as I learned the job.

So, what does loving something have to do with no talking? The truth is, the more deeply I care about something, the less I talk about it. This goes back to my own experiences of as a messy adolescent. I was teased about so many things I cared about that the most important ones remained unshared. So, I’m protecting myself, too.

I’ve known this about myself for ages. It’s a hard habit to break; I regularly catch myself holding back unnecessarily. This post is one of many intentional steps I’m attempting to take.

I’m also looking for ways to be more proactive and intentional in the way I talk about work. Of course this includes casual conversations, but I also want to be able to talk to people interested in doing things. For example, this summer I’ll be giving a brief talk to an organization my mom is a part of. I’ve been wanting to speak in this way and hope this is the first of many opportunities.

Additionally, I’m getting a better idea about what I want to do long-term career wise. Last week, a few things clicked regarding how my current work and Cage Free Voices could work together. (Yes, CFV is still here and kicking!) It’s early days and the possibilities are quite pliable. However, I’m ready to begin having the needed conversations.

I’m not just taking steps at work, a how this plays out in my life at large will likely appear in future posts. I’ve mentally outlined a couple already.
​
We’ll see what happens!