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Fallon Griffy is a National Board Certified Teacher (NBCT), a Lower Elementary Montessori educator at Boundary Street Elementary School. This is her 10th year teaching, and nine of those have been in Montessori. She completed her undergraduate degree from the University of South Carolina and obtained her Masters of Instructional Technology from Lander.

Christie Allison is a third-grade teacher at Reuben Elementary School in Newberry, South Carolina. Since graduating from the University of South Carolina (1994), Ms. Allison earned a Master’s in Elementary Education from Catawba College (2000) and became a National Board Certified Teacher (2012). Ms. Allison has worked as a classroom teacher in public schools for over 25 years.

Lorilei Swanson is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist and Licensed Professional Counselor with a PhD in Educational Leadership from Clemson University. She is the Upstate Family Liaison and Project Lead for the Carolina Family Engagement Center (CFEC). CFEC is one of 17 statewide family engagement centers funded by the U.S. Department of Education and housed in the SC School Improvement Council (SC-SIC) at the University of South Carolina College of Education. Its mission is to support family engagement capacity-building for educators and parents and promote equity in opportunity and high academic achievement for all students through effective evidence/research-based family engagement. Before working as a CFEC family liaison, Lorilei was a school-based mental health counselor in the School District of Oconee (SDOC). She also served as Co-Chair of the School Improvement Council (SIC) at Walhalla High School, winning the Dick and Tunky Riley Award for SIC Excellence in 2019.

Dr. Robyn Mixon is a South Carolina native and a Charleston County School District graduate. She resides in Summerville, SC, and currently serves as a Transition Specialist in Dorchester 4 School District. She has worked as a special education educator for the past 20 years, supporting students with various disabilities. Dr. Mixon is strongly committed to impacting students through family engagement.

Day 2: Future-Focused Leadership and Learning

Teaching teddy bears, producing homemade playdough, creating characters’ costumes, and recycling instructional resources. This was my childhood as the daughter of a kindergarten teacher. Early on, I experienced the passion, purpose, and power of the education profession. I was determined to follow in the footsteps of my educator ancestors.

Flash forward to my 21st year of life and senior year of university studies. I was continuing to progress in my teacher education program when opportunity knocked and unexpected information simultaneously knocked me down.

Across the nation, negative news bemoaning the severity of our nation’s teacher shortage flashed across the headlines of multiple media sources. Diverse solutions had been proposed, but the education profession was repeating old patterns by doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different outcome. Hope-filled future teachers continued down the path of traditional student-teaching scenarios while the teacher shortages deepened.

And then something different happened.

During the summer of 2015, the state of South Carolina announced an innovative opportunity for well-prepared student teachers. State department-initiated internship certificates came into being, and I leapt at the chance to become a teacher of my very own classroom while concurrently finishing the final semester of my educator preparation program. The caveats were significant, but I was ready, willing, and able with a high GPA, my professors’ approbation, passing scores on my content area teacher certification exams, and an ambition to excel. The icing on the cake was the news that this would be a paid internship.

Was I prepared for this massive responsibility? Would there be enough support in place? Would my students succeed?

Brimming with questions, I remained enthusiastic about the possibility of contributing to the teacher shortage solution in my own backyard and earning compensation as I honed my craft of becoming an exemplary educator.

In the blink of an eye, I went from college student to full-time teacher.

Will this paid practice persist? My fervent hope is that my struggles and my successes will facilitate positive change and help to enhance our profession. I think about my tale of salaried, solo teaching before graduation with the acronym of BATS: Balance, Acceptance, Team, and Self-Selected Supports.

Balance
The importance of work-life balance was addressed in my freshman seminar course and interlaced throughout some of my educator preparation pedagogy courses. It took my first week of student- teaching to recognize the realities of what balance really meant. My new bedtime became eight o’clock! I had never been so exhausted in my entire life. It was easy to take work home and to obsess over my teacher obligations or to take ownership of student, parent, and colleague challenges. Gaining life balance through this experience added to my resilience and kept me in a positive state of mindfulness and gratitude. Over time and with support, I became energized rather than depleted.

Acceptance
In my capstone philosophy of education paper, I emphasized the acceptance and inclusion of all students. But I soon realized that the power of acceptance is not just about students. I too was seeking acceptance in a new school community filled with experienced educators. I felt like a lone fish in a deep sea, but the slow process of gaining teacher friends, forming harmonious relationships, and letting go of things that really did not matter provided the path I needed to accomplish goals and gain acceptance.

Teams
Being part of a collaborative team is a necessity for novice teachers. My kindergarten team consisted of an eclectic mix of professionals with 3 to 30 years of diverse teaching experiences. Learning is a social process, so growing in my profession with the help of my team was no different from the learning experiences of my students. Planning, prioritizing, praying, and even partying and celebrating together made my internship experience both palatable and pleasurable.

Self-Selected Support
Another component of the internship certificate process is assigned mentorship. Each intern is assigned a mentor. Often, assigned mentors are teachers within the same grade level, so the planning period is concurrent with their mentee’s. Sometimes shared time may not be feasible which can lead to challenges.

My saving grace was a self-selected support system.

I found a mentor extraordinaire who was kind, caring, and a kindred spirit. Mentorship is key to a novice teacher’s survival, and finding one who fits through self-selection can be more valuable than formally assigned mentors.

The bottom line is that my internship certification semester was a bumpy road that started me on the path to my profession in which I am continuing to love, grow, share, and shine. For that initial experience, I will be forever grateful.

My unexpected knock arrived the fourth week of my internship life.

I received news pertaining to my hero, my first teacher, my confidant, my best friend, and a kindergarten teacher of 24 years: my mom. She was diagnosed with stage five breast cancer. My world was shattered, and within six short weeks, my anchor was gone.

I share this because being a teacher is tough, and if I, as a novice internship teacher, can survive and thrive during a time of trauma and grief, then others can too. My mom taught me to love, appreciate, and “keep on, keeping on.” She wanted to make the world a better place one student at a time.

Everything has come full circle because I am now walking in my mom’s footsteps as a kindergarten teacher who was kindled by the opportunity of a paid internship. This opportunity
occurred during a dark time but brought light to my life and the education profession.

This opportunity occurred during a dark time but brought light to my life and the education profession.

Paid internships are not the only solution to offset our shrinking population of teachers, but it is one of the viable possibilities. It worked for me, and I encourage others to embrace this
opportunity. Seasoned teachers and administrators must continue to accept new means of growing teachers and step up as official and unofficial mentors for their newest colleagues: paid interns. Helping to create a team and form new collegial relationships are essential ingredients for the success of both novice and veteran teachers.

The face of education is changing. Being open to new and creative means of teacher preparation is a step toward having continual, competent, and caring teachers in all South Carolina classrooms.

This story is published as part of a recent storytelling retreat hosted by CarolinaCrED, housed in the University of South Carolina’s College of Education. Mira Education, a CarolinaCrED partner, facilitated the retreat and provided editorial and publication support. Learn more about this work and read additional stories by following @CarolinaCrED and @miraeducation.

ABSTRACT
This article, written by a third-grade teacher, provides a first-hand account of collaboration and reflection with a student teacher intern while teaching in a Professional Development School (school-university partnership school) during the COVID-19 pandemic. The teacher details the process of pivoting during technology issues before and during instruction.

NAPDS NINE ESSENTIALS (2nd Edition) ADDRESSED IN THIS ARTICLE:

1. A professional development school (PDS) is a learning community guided by a comprehensive, articulated mission that is broader than the goals of any single partner, and that aims to advance equity, antiracism, and social justice within and among schools, colleges/universities, and their respective community and professional partners.
2. A PDS embraces the preparation of educators through clinical practice.
3. A PDS is a context for continuous professional learning and leading for all participants, guided by need and a spirit and practice of inquiry.
4. A PDS makes a shared commitment to reflective practice, responsive innovation, and generative knowledge.
5. A PDS is a community that engages in collaborative research and participates in the public sharing of results in a variety of outlets.

A lone ballerina with her toe down, head up, constantly spinning is the image I conjure when I think of pivoting. Yet my experiences with pivoting are vastly different and less graceful. During a global pandemic, these experiences have multiplied.

At 5:30 p.m. my district’s Google Suite disappeared.
At 5:30 a.m. the next morning, the Google Suite is still down.

Walking to the classroom takes forever; the hallway extends another 30 feet. I mumble, wave, and smile at my colleagues hiding a heavy cloak of anxiety. I begin to think about the implications of not having access to Google Suite and its impact on my students. My concern is escalating.

I teach third-grade students. Most years, I have about 17 students on my roster. This year is different. I still teach third grade, but now I have 28 students. The drastic change in class size is due to teaching through a global pandemic. In the age of COVID-19, changes to how we think about teaching and learning are a part of our “new normal” as educators. Not only has the number of students on my roster increased, but I am also teaching in a unique setting. I am a virtual teacher, and I teach all of my students online. All of my lesson materials are online, and students access them through Google Suite.

I take a deep breath and start the mental process of pivoting.

Up until this point, I knew that teaching through a pandemic had its challenges, but to date, this is the moment that is most out of my sphere of control. In my peripheral view, a figure emerges in the classroom doorway. It’s my intern. In the light of her smile, I am able to mask some of my anxious thoughts because as they say, “The show must go on.”

I don’t inform her of the power outage because I feel sure somebody from the district office will cancel school. I turn my cell phone on a very loud chime so as not to miss an email stating such.

No one from the district cancels school, so my principal does not send the text. Bridget and I exchange pleasantries.

Over the course of 14 weeks, Bridget has become acquainted with the students. She led small groups during synchronous times, using her own Google classroom as a breakout room. In the beginning of her leading small groups, she was a little unsettled because students were not as responsive as she remembered in her previous face-to-face placement. I confided in her that I felt the same pang of rejection. I reassured her that giving students her focused attention in small groups is impactful in a virtual setting and that with time they would respond. I modeled elaborating on one student’s response and having students respond to each other by providing prompts such as “I agree with Kamarie,” and, “I would like to add….” As the semester continued, Bridget’s pivot was illustrated through her ability to facilitate discussion through peer-to-peer communication, which led to increased observable student engagement.

I gently break the news to her about the Google Suite outage. In her eyes, I anticipate my students’ worry. I know that when students become aware of the outage, they will fret over what to do in the interim. Her eyes suggest she is waiting for an alternative plan, just like my students will.

I hope I reflect an air of confidence.

It is now 7:31 a.m. and still no Google Suite, but we do have the internet.

As a mentor teacher, I am aware that presentation matters as mentees are impressionable. So, I remain calm even though I am in knots on the inside. I take a mental retreat to a situation when professionalism was practiced in the face of pivoting.

Prior support came in the form of collaborative moments with our university partnerliaison, Dr. Thompson. Killian Elementary is a professional development school (PDS), which means that we have an ongoing and reciprocal partnership with the University of South Carolina. Our liaison of 20 years has dual roles at Killian: when he is not teaching an immersion science methods course to preservice teachers, he is supporting faculty with professional development. For three years, we have practiced professionalism as we have co-planned and collaborated on teaching full science units that incorporate what he calls “sense-making” activities. We share in making and collecting knowledge from our shared experiences; our work enables both tall teachers (the adult teaching candidates) and small teachers (the children) to have lots of opportunities to make sense of difficult science concepts like erosion and weathering.

For instance, we spend time after every lesson reflecting and pivoting for the next session. During one reflection session, we noticed that there was not enough time to teach the full cycle of a guided inquiry science lesson in one class period, so we decided to chunk the components across a three-week lesson sequence. This pivot made a positive impact on student engagement as we noticed that his students, the tall teachers, were able to concentrate on one part of the inquiry at a time, and my students, the small teachers, were better able to articulate science thinking within small groups. And I, through this professional pivoting paradigm, have moved from needing scaffolds to teach to planning units of study on my own. Ultimately, we noticed where we needed to adjust our plans to meet the needs of learners. Our relationship strengthens our shared collegial pursuits; I was interested in becoming a better science teacher and he was interested in giving preservice teachers authentic experiences in a classroom. Those times of collaboration prepared me for this moment when I need to illustrate to my intern what to do when what you plan has to shift due to circumstances outside of our control.

We sit for a moment and gather our thoughts.

The applications and extensions in Google Suite are easy to use and student-friendly. I hyperlink websites into the lesson plan. Websites such as Readworks.org, Flocabulary, and, my favorite, Nearpod are class staples. I have spent the first nine weeks creating videos using WeVideo for core content and explaining how to access and enter various websites. During check-in times, my students started sharing shortcuts they use to navigate the internet, and I captured their demonstrations in multiple videos. At that moment I realize that my students are prepared to pivot alongside us.

On opposite sides of the room, we begin to plan an asynchronous lesson for the students called a student pathway. We collaborate on a shared document before we create a lesson plan for students. Teaching through a pandemic is innovative. We begin to brainstorm a lesson. Today is Veterans Day. So, we set out to design a student pathway about “Thanking A Veteran” using the Wakelet multimedia tool. As a colleague, she offers her expertise, and together we craft a learning module for our students. Because of the need to shift today’s plan, Bridget is able to experience not only the demands of our profession but also the rewards. Our mission is complete.

It’s 8:15 a.m. The Google Suite is still down, but together we pivot toward possibility.

How will you use your support system to become an agent of change in your school context? What will you do to ensure that preservice teachers get the practical experience of collaborating even during a pandemic? What expertise will you model to ensure preservice teachers have authentic and meaningful experiences before they have a class of their own?

Teaching through a pandemic has been challenging, yet my image of pivoting has expanded beyond graceful ballerinas. My experiences with pivoting are grounded in the daily cultivation of practicing professionalism as an educator. Being reflective, supportive, and collaborative is my new image of pivoting.

Aisja Jones (ajaisjajones@gmail.com) is a third-grade teacher at Killian STEAM Magnet Elementary, doctoral student at University of South Carolina, mentor teacher, and PDS Fellow

That teacher over there. Yes, that’s the one.

The one demonstrating strong relationships with her students. The one with 12 years in the profession. She understands the skills needed for the workforce.

She’s also the one whose mother is in the hospital. The one who showed up every day during the pandemic.

Her? Yes, her. She’s not certified. She’s facing a barrier. She needs to pass Praxis, a national educator assessment for certification.

Alternative certification works, but how do we attend to challenges to the alternative certification process?

I am an alternatively certified teacher.

I know and understand the challenges to certification in South Carolina for people who would like to enter the profession and actualize their dream of becoming a teacher. These include limited access to entrance into educational programs, insufficient funds to complete a degree program, student teaching full time without a source of income, a low college GPA, and passing Praxis. Passing Praxis stands as a hurdle for many. Specifically, licensing exams have a disproportionate impact on minority teacher candidates: 62% of Black and 43% of Hispanic candidates fail the elementary Praxis test even after multiple attempts.

Some time ago, states tightened up requirements for teacher licensing. Instead of removing challenges, they contend that tighter regulation of teacher training programs and additional requirements on the pathway to certification are the only solutions. Although well-meaning, such submissions are not based on sound research or factual data

Now, faced with a national teacher shortage as states report their supply and demand data, the impact those efforts are having on teacher diversity, coupled with evidence that Black and Latinx students benefit from having teachers who look like them, some states are moving to loosen or even dispense with some requirements. For example, Arkansas rallied to raise its teacher certification test cut score, but considering the shortage, has left the cut score as is.

Too often energy, time, and money are put into “hoop jumping” by candidates with nothing to show for their efforts. South Carolina policymakers have a responsibility and duty to increase, diversify, and qualify South Carolina’s educator workforce for our children. The shortage is even more acute than currently estimated. Qualifications for certification should align with proof of meaningful research-based practices for improving the educational welfare of all students, considering state requirements and state assessment proficiency scores are not the same.

Teachers are planners.
Teachers are proactive.
Teachers are problem solvers.
Teachers are professionals.

But teachers’ spirits, their tenacity, their drive, their ability to overcome all things can be stifled, muffled, dimmed, altered, and diminished by consistent challenges.

As with traditional certification, we must streamline the process to alternative certification so that even more future educators can begin making a difference for students, parents, the community, and the profession.

Today’s college graduates have numerous career options and opportunities. If the path into teaching is too burdensome or costly, graduates will abandon it for other professional pathways (Finn, 2001). As with traditional certification, we must streamline the process to alternative certification so that even more future educators can begin making a difference for students, parents, the community, and the profession.

New Jersey, Massachusetts, Florida, Washington, and Colorado rank as the top states for education. These states provide professional preparation and education for would-be teachers by allowing them to work and learn simultaneously, putting into daily application what they are learning in theory (Department of Education, n.d.). For example, in the state of New Jersey, in order to obtain a standard certificate, all novice teachers must complete the Provisional Teacher Process (PTP), during which they are evaluated, mentored, and supervised by their district or school while working under a provisional certificate. A candidate must obtain a Certificate of Eligibility with Advanced Standing (CEAS) or Certificate of Eligibility (CE). These certificates allow the candidate to seek and accept offers of employment as teachers while completing coursework toward a standard license. The support of mentors, apprenticeships, and instructional coaching helps alternative certification-seeking candidates to be successful, ensuring program quality and constructs which align with student outcomes.

The single approach of teaching while earning certification helps to mitigate economic barriers for many.

South Carolina also has strong examples of alternative certification pathways that work. Carolina Collaborative for Alternative Preparation, also known as CarolinaCAP, is a collaborative effort among South Carolina school districts, the University of South Carolina, and the Mira Education. CarolinaCAP provides the opportunity for paraprofessionals and industryknowledgeable candidates to become certified through graduate-level coursework, microcredentials, coaching, and collaborative inquiry. Applicants must possess a bachelor’s degree from a regionally accredited college and have a minimum 2.5 cumulative grade point average. Applicants applying for certification in Early Childhood Education, Elementary Education, and Special Education: Multi-Categorical (PK–Grade 12) need a minimum 2.75 undergraduate grade point average. Having these qualifying requirements and after passing Praxis, applicants move to candidates and may become the Teacher of Record, taking the lead in their own classrooms through Eligibility of Employment.

The single approach of teaching while earning certification helps to mitigate economic barriers for many.

CarolinaCAP attracts diverse candidates who mirror the student populations they serve. Representation is critical for students (our state’s future teacher pipeline). Eighty-one percent of candidates who participated in CarolinaCAP identify as Black, ranging in age from 20 to 60 years old. Eighteen percent of candidates are male (CarolinaCrED, 2021). CarolinaCAP candidates bring a wealth of both life and professional experiences to their classrooms.The program’s structure addresses the economic barrier as well. Along with the aforementioned requirements, candidates who pass Praxis and become eligible for employment may begin receiving a teachers salary.

How does this translate to the person? The educators trained under alternatively certified programs such as CarolinaCAP might provide some insight. Anisha is a second-year teacher working in a rural district. She’s producing students who will leave second-grade reading and writing with confidence. She’s also a teacher who is having challenges passing the Praxis certification exam.

This is Anisha’s challenge.

She has attempted the exam. She has noticed the longer she teaches, the more she feels Praxis is assessing her instructional classroom practices. Her score has increased each time. But her initial journey was very stressful. She knows a test “doesn’t make you who you are,” but for a person like Anisha, whose heart is in teaching, it “messes with your mind. It makes you say, ‘Gosh, I went to school, and I can’t even pass a certification test.’” Anisha has taught for two years, serving in the roles of interventionist and teacher. She has strong relationships with her students and works with all of them, regardless of how many she has, to ensure they are performing at or above grade level in reading comprehension and math.

I see myself in Anisha, once a new teacher facing a hurdle to becoming fully certified. How do I support her by removing obstacles which do not align with student outcomes?

Anisha has also taken the Praxis test five times. She notes, “When I saw my score go up, it made me feel a little better. But having to keep dishing out that money, I know something has to go lacking because of the test. But I have to do it because my job requires me to be certified.” Anisha is a single mom and among many who have to tackle the financial hurdle associated with repeated testing.

The path to certification will give Anisha the opportunity to be able to live out a dream and weave a connection with students and families for years to come. Certification will give her the final piece of being confident in herself and in growing the educational development of students.

I see myself in Anisha, once a new teacher facing a hurdle to becoming fully certified. How do I support her by removing obstacles which do not align with student outcomes? Obstacles that initially decreased the number of teachers in the profession? Obstacles that marginalize people who have limited economic, social, or educational resources?

A South Carolina Solution

South Carolina has made strides in opening the door to alternative certification.

But it’s not enough.

Statewide programs like Program of Alternative Certification for Educators (PACE) and Centers for the Re-Education and Advancement of Teachers in Special Education and Related Services Personnel (SC CREATE) allow candidates from anywhere in the state to seek certification. Locally based programs, such as Alternative Pathways to Educator Certification (APEC), Carolina Collaborative for Alternative Preparation (CarolinaCAP), and Educator Preparation and Innovation Pathways (EPI), focus their efforts in certain geographical areas of the state. Additionally, some programs such as Teach for America (TFA) seek to bring top candidates to rural areas in South Carolina.

Despite these efforts, there are still challenges to certification.

Some programs only serve secondary candidates, those looking to pursue special education, those who live in the Midlands, or those residing in rural counties.

South Carolina has made strides in opening the door to alternative certification.

South Carolina can do even better. What if we add to these options and create a solution that works in every district, hometown, and classroom, whether candidates are in the upstate region seeking to become certified in elementary or residing in rural Jasper County seeking to teach chemistry? What if this model pulled together resources versus requiring school districts to compete for them? What if this model could be adapted to fit the needs of individual districts without feeling “cookie-cutter” while promoting quality, research, rigor, and best practices? What if this model incorporated local ownership or even allowed smaller districts to collaborate to ensure candidates were exposed to full-scale opportunities? What if we grew our own?

The Tennessee Department of Education has developed a Grow Your Own teacher pipeline program as a partnership between the Clarksville-Montgomery school system and the Austin Peay State University’s Teacher Residency program. The program paves the way for teaching and educator workforce development nationwide. The state-approved Teacher Occupation Apprenticeship programs between school districts and educator preparation programs (EPPs) are now among many Grow Your Own programs in the state of Tennessee offering free opportunities to become a teacher, thus clearing the path for any other state or territory to launch similar programs with federal approval.

The program allows participants to earn a wage while learning to become teachers. Applicants have the opportunity to participate in an alternative route to certification by working directly under the guidance of a skilled, certified teacher. The partnership model includes both two- and four-year colleges and has developed three different pathways for educational assistants to earn their degrees or certifications in teaching.

The model provides other states the opportunity to structure programming to their specific needs. States can target high school seniors, paraprofessionals, or those who already have degrees and need a pathway to strengthen their knowledge in pedagogy and research-based practices.

Policymakers, will you advocate for this solution? Concerned citizens, will you support the policymakers who pledge to adopt this? Parents, will you hold our Department of Education and its stakeholders responsible for making this a reality? School board members, will you advocate for a statewide approach requiring federal approval and involve the state’s educational entities? It must be an approach that can serve every school in every district and every student in every classroom and aligns local resources with community support and community ownership.

Will you ensure South Carolina has numerous educators with diversified backgrounds who represent the landscape of our future workforce?

You!

Yes, YOU, racing your eyes across the page, coming to grips with your responsibility as a reader of this story, will you ensure South Carolina has numerous educators with diversified backgrounds who represent the landscape of our future workforce? South Carolina has made progress, but there is more to be done.

South Carolina is ready. Are you?

Support inclusive pathways which will capture the exquisite talent of our state. Encourage your senator to further explore Tennessee’s national model for a teacher residency program. This same Grow Your Own approach can be successful in South Carolina.

According to the February 2022 Supply and Demand Update report, there were a total of 7,870 teacher departures (resignations) and a total of 2,154 teacher vacancies/positions in South Carolina schools up to February 2022 during the 2021–2022 school year. If I do nothing else, if we do nothing else, we are certain those numbers will increase. If you and I take up this call to action, we will begin investigating additional alternative pathways that support building South Carolina’s workforce, increasing future teachers’ capacities, and filling South Carolina’s classrooms. We further awaken the senses and the abilities of others to demand a solution for our children, families, homes, communities, and our state.

And we successfully dismantle obstacles and challenges—for you, for me, and for the numerous Anishas in the State of South Carolina.

References

CarolinaCrED. (2021). CarolinaCAP Year Two Annual Report. https://carolinacred.org/carolinacap-year-two-annual-report/

Department of Education. (n.d.). Recruitment, Preparation and Induction. https://www.nj.gov/education/rpi/induction/

Finn, C. (2001). Removing the barriers for teacher candidates. https://www.ascd.org/el/articles/removing-the-barriers-for-teacher-candidates

Have you ever been so tired you can’t see straight? So tired you can’t even sleep? There’s not enough melatonin or essential oil diffusing that can cure the tired I’m talking about. I mean, the kind of tired where the inside of your body hurts.

That’s where I was.

Every situation that came across my desk, phone, or computer was a FIRE. Nine times out of ten, they weren’t even perceived fires, they were real emergencies that involved the health of a student, legal implications, irate parents, worn out teachers — you know the situations.

Ya’ll, I was exhausted. I was tired of being a leader. I had no motivation. I was about one revision away from submitting my resume to Target (love Target, no slight to them, just the place I think about when I consider a career change).

Being a leader takes a lot out of you, and I finally came to the realization that I had to admit defeat. But wait — leaders don’t do that! They don’t let their people see that they’re struggling! What a conundrum I was facing: admit that I can’t meet expectations anymore (hindsight will tell me they were my own expectations, not the expectations of others) or keep dragging my body through the grind every day?

When I stopped to consider this question, I found myself going way back to before I was a leader. What I found was that I don’t ever remember NOT leading. Ever. When I think back to elementary school, I was always trying to “lead” others, even if it meant not considering what I needed. Isn’t that crazy? At the ripe old age of nine, I remember being in Mrs. Hunter’s class trying to rally my classmates to get an extra recess just because my best friend, Jennifer, wanted to climb on the monkey bars again (which, by the way, I was successful in this negotiation — twice).

Upon reflection of my leadership journey, I realized that even though I always thought I hated cliches, it turns out I live my leadership life by them implicitly. Go figure!

My all time favorite cliche: Jill of all trades, master of none. If you’re in education and reading this, you get it. I’ve always believed I was a Jill and not a Master and, actually, I’ve been ok with it. I simply thought my role was to get the “stuff” done. I work behind the scenes while wearing 432 hats and then move on to the next thing. No problem. I’m good at this, right?!

Being a leader is exhausting. Nobody warns you about it. Sure, once you’re a leader, all the research-based books and inspirational quotes are readily available, but no one tells you going into this that it involves your blood, sweat, and tears. Well, maybe not blood, but sometimes it feels that way. Finally, it hit me. Like a wrecking ball.

Burn out.

Ugh. Not me, right? I had so much experience and time invested in this leadership gig. Surely this wasn’t true. I approached Dixon, my principal from my first year of teaching and now one of my supervisors in the instruction department, and shared this epiphany. He listened and said little, like he always does in the beginning. (True wisdom comes from processing, he would say and I, who tended to shoot from the hip, would now agree.) If you met me before ELE and I had to blurt out three things I’m good at it would be these: I’m occasionally funny, I often volunteer to be the group historian on trips or at special events, and I’m good at making small talk with people I don’t know (as I get older, this last one becomes more difficult, but still makes top three). As educators, we often neglect to focus on our own strengths, what we bring to the table, because we’re constantly trying to build up our students, their families, and our colleagues.

More time passed. Same slump. I shared my struggles with Regi and Emily, two of my best friends since college. I talked to my mom. I talked to my supervisor. I talked to my dog, General. And circled back to Dixon. Talking wasn’t helping.

Then, my life changed. (This statement is semi-dramatic; but really, it was a VERY exciting moment for me).

As corny as it sounds, I remember what I was wearing when I got the email that I had been nominated to participate in the Education Leaders Experience (ELE). Some leaders in my district that I have the utmost respect for had already participated in this experience, and I was VERY jealous every time I heard about what they were doing in their classes. In short, ELE is a collaboration between Colonial Life and the Center for Educational Partnerships at the University of South Carolina (Go Gamecocks!) to help educators connect to the business world and an opportunity to celebrate leadership in education. LEADERSHIP! Could this be what I needed?

As it turns out, yes! It was exactly what I needed, but not in the way I anticipated. ELE was refreshing. It was raw and uplifting. But it was also painful. As educators, we often neglect to focus on our own strengths, what we bring to the table, because we’re constantly trying to build up our students, their families, and our colleagues. I expected kumbaya, some corny, yet tear-jerking quotes or speeches and some of the other standard leadership PD. (Disclaimer: I genuinely LOVE kumbaya and tear-jerking quotes and speeches from time to time.)

To my surprise, this was not the case…they rolled out the red carpet! At each session that was held, we were greeted with meals, cool swag, and the most rare gift of all: the gift of time. We spent time with real people in the business world who shared how education impacts what they do and how they plan based on current trends in education. We spent time meeting new people and networking. As it would turn out, the most impactful use of time for me, personally, was participating in Clifton’s Strengths, a survey tailored to outline your top five strengths based on your responses to a series of timed psychometric questions.

If you met me before ELE and I had to blurt out three things I’m good at it would be these: I’m occasionally funny, I often volunteer to be the group historian on trips or at special events, and I’m good at making small talk with people I don’t know (as I get older, this last one becomes more difficult, but still makes top three).

As educators, we often neglect to focus on our own strengths, what we bring to the table, because we’re constantly trying to build up our students, their families, and our colleagues.

After investigating my strengths through Clifton’s Strength’s Finder and my participation in ELE, my list is different now. As it turns out, for example, I’m very good at making complex information easy to understand for other people, and I’m good at encouraging growth and performance in others — who knew!? (For any of you Clifton groupies, this falls under the “analytical” and “input” strengths). Did I mention that my day-to-day work life involves communicating and creating guidelines? BINGO! I’ve felt like these tasks have been the things that weigh me down sometimes, but when I use my new, positive thinking, I can see that I’m valuable in my current position. I didn’t need a change of scenery or a swift kick in the rear. I needed to understand that I, Emmylou, have talents and can use them to help others and even thrive in my current role. What a tiny, yet novel revelation? Sometimes you just can’t see the forest for the trees (see what I did there?)

Since my ELE experience has ended, I’m happy to report that things are wonderful and perfect and I got a raise (clearly kidding). All jokes aside, things are still hard, and there are still fires, and sometimes I go home and want to cling to my good friend, Tito, instead of responding to emails after hours. But now I’m armed with the reminder that I serve a purpose. When things are difficult, people depend on me to help them navigate hard things and difficult situations. ELE couldn’t have rescued me at a more opportune time.

Here’s what I know: If you’re tired to your core and you find yourself stagnant as a leader, it is imperative that you act now on re-energizing. When talking doesn’t help, I’d strongly encourage you to look for a reputable, impactful program, like ELE, to boost your spirits and motivation.

Here are a few things to consider if you feel like you can relate to any part of this tantalizing tale:

• Know your village. You’ve got to have people that you can trust and that genuinely care about you and your career in your life. Your village people might be at your job, they might be at home, they could be anywhere! But the key to knowing your village people is that you trust them enough to actually hear what they have to say; it might not be what you want to hear, but what you need to hear. You’ve got to be open to what guidance trusted people have to say (even if they want time to process the info and get back to you. {Thanks again, Dixon!}).
• You ARE a Master, in spite of also being a Jill. Guys, we’re in education. We’re ALL going to have our hand in a million things all the time, but we HAVE to honor our value. We have to build one another up as well as remind ourselves of what we have to bring to the table. If you’ve never taken time to do that, do it right now! You don’t have to have a fancy survey identify your strengths. Think right now…what are they? Write them down on a post-it note by your computer. (You can thank me later.)
• When you can’t see the forest for the trees, look up. Whether you’re looking up to take a breath, say a prayer, yell a cuss word (in your head only if on a school campus), or just plain take a short break, do it. See bullet of consideration above for a reminder that you have a lot to do. It’s ok that it gets overwhelming. It’s not ok to not take a break so that you see each student in your class or each teacher in your school and see their needs. (I realize this sentence has a double negative… please look beyond that). Recharge yourself so that you can meet those needs.

Here’s what I expect of myself moving forward: Less. I’m hoping that I expect less of myself moving forward. I encourage you, too, to set realistic expectations of yourself. Goals that you can accomplish but also challenge you appropriately. I’ll always struggle to some extent with crazy high expectations for myself, but now I know that I can stop for a moment and remember that I’m an important part of my team.

Am I still tired?
Sure. Are fires still burning?
Yes. Am I on my way out? Not in your wildest dreams.

The work of the Carolina Family Engagement Center (CFEC) is focused primarily on underserved families and their students (low income, English learners, those with disabilities, those in foster care, migrants, homeless, and marginalized communities). Housed within the SC School Improvement Council (SC-SIC) at the University of South Carolina College of Education, CFEC provides tools, trainings, and materials statewide through its website and other venues.

By: Julia Beaty, MSW, LISW-CP

I knew this route by heart: one long stretch through the city, a turn onto a county road, and another turn onto the unpaved road, left muddied today, before I turned right — into the place where hopes and dreams hung cautiously in the air. With my fair-skinned face a visible mismatch in the community, for once I was grateful for my unmistakable, obnoxiously colored vehicle that no covert operation would use coming into this community.

Arriving as the sun’s rays dimmed the wet, red clay leading to her home, I made my way to the familiar, weathered wooden steps, carefully minding the toys precariously placed, evidence of an afternoon of delight for her two young children. Two raps on the front door, then three, my usual greeting, followed by “Hola, muy buenas tardes,” through my native accent, native to South Carolina that is.

She welcomed me in, wearing a smile wearied by what I had come to recognize as the loving, faithful concern of a mother whose parenthood was a heavier journey than most. A pink, squealing swirl of a child peeked out from the corner, crumbs of galleta falling from her plump cheeks as she locked eyes with the funny gringa at the door, a mischievous smile of welcome quickly appearing on her face. Across the room sat the mother’s eldest child, absorbed in the world of his sacred afternoon routine: a toy car and afterschool snack of galletas con leche on the kitchen table.

We exchanged pleasantries as her day’s anxieties quickly surfaced, with a question of when the new therapists would be able to come help, paperwork still tied up with a state-level office where I’d submitted it for review, part of my role as his case manager. His behavior, his communication, his stubbornness, and that teacher—all sources of distress for this mother— explained through an almost convincingly flat affect… but I recognized the imperceptible tightness in her face, holding back what might be an eternity of tears, waiting to be released.

Tears for her homeland, her extended family, her dreams of a physically present spouse, her vision of motherhood with typically-abled children, her ability to live without fear of questions about “papers” hiding behind every corner.

She poured herself out each day, rising early to soothe the soul of her anxious-hearted son, giving him all that she could before he was transported to school to begin another day of surviving learning. Her warm, loving embrace snuggled him close before she planted a kiss on his forehead above fear-filled eyes, his reluctance visible, despite the barely risen sun of late-autumn, rays filtering through tall pines. He trudged heavily up the steps: one, two, three, four, five, taking his seat with other students on the petite, orange bus, while prayers in her native Spanish covered him in blessings, petitions, and pleadings for merciful understanding from the teacher that would receive this mother’s precious son for another day.

Two waves quickly crashed down in the room, one of relieved partnership on her and one of uncertain anticipation on me.

“¡Por favor!” she animatedly answered when I offered to attend the upcoming IEP meeting at her son’s school, after translating the letter that had been sent home—in English—with notice so short that her palpable anxiety started to make its way into my mind, too.

Knowing her desired expectations for her son and his learning experience, as well as a less than noteworthy history with his teacher over the prior school year, I realized I’d stopped breathing… I was bracing myself for battle: clarity, communication, power, resources, and trust on the line. One deep breath in, one out, wiggling my toes to re-ground myself amidst the swirl of thoughts, mental notes, and trepidation so I could offer her one gift of hope before leaving.

“Sí, yo asistiré consigo,” I said quickly, before losing the nerve to commit.

Two waves quickly crashed down in the room, one of relieved partnership on her and one of uncertain anticipation on me.

***

It was a chilly morning, a slow-motion walk from my vehicle, filled with butterflies and mental rehearsal, scanning the horizon for her as I made my way to the front door. I pushed the button, stated my name, my purpose, showed my state-issued ID, and was then permitted entrance into the building. Would she be so fortunate with the unlabeled, impersonal metal button or the thick southern drawl communicating the same instructions I’d just heard?

As I passed through the door, I glanced over my shoulder to see her coming, the exhaust from a neighbor’s vehicle contrasted against the cold air of the morning as it drove away. Her red scarf and black winter coat jostled as her dark blue jeans and black tennis shoes ran toward the building, front door open for her, with my simple gift of a trusted, welcoming smile extended; she exhaled a relieved “Gracias” as she passed through the entryway and we walked, together, to get our visitor’s passes from the thicker-than-honey, southern-drawled secretary. “IEP Meeting” I stated, and we were given our passes and directions—in English—to the conference room where the administrator, staff, and professional team members were esperándonos, though we had both arrived ahead of the start time stated in the letter.

Inconvenience, nerves, exhaustion, power, and indifference were all seated around the table when we walked through the conference room door.

With their stacks of papers in hand and conversation already in progress, we sheepishly entered the conference room, looking to see how we could fit a second chair next to the only empty one at the table. Six voices spoke over one another as she and I hurriedly made space at the table and took our seats. Introductions began quickly, and a wave of relief washed over me as he introduced himself: el intérprete! “At least that makes three of us,” I thought as we started the meeting, grateful for another ally at the table who would offer support.

Inconvenience, nerves, exhaustion, power, and indifference were all seated around the table when we walked through the conference room door.

Overfilled schedules and intentions of leaving part-way through the meeting were announced by multiple team members; their expertise and knowledge of her son would be limited to the two-to -threeminute summaries of progress they could offer that morning. Frustrated by this meeting before it had really even begun, I started taking notes: names, roles, observations, and recommendations, writing furiously as the information poured out from the experts, their legs visibly readied to exit stage left the instant that their part in the drama had concluded. Intermittent flurries of Spanish traveled across the table with such sparse detail I was glad I’d been taking notes, wondering when el intérprete would share the summary of what had already transpired.

One, two, three left the room, and suddenly, the teacher, vice principal, and interpreter’s chairs were the only ones still filled apart from ours. I glanced over at her, noticing that the color in her caramel-colored cheeks had changed to a warmer, reddish hue and her eyes were filling with tears as the teacher’s explanation of her son’s limited participation and motivation in the classroom this semester was interpreted casually into Spanish, with a cool indifference in el intérprete’s voice. Before I knew it, tears and her voice, angered by misrepresentation of her son whose desires and capacities she knew better than anyone at the table, rose above the tenuous narrative that was being relayed. Love for her child, an insistence on justice, and a powerful, maternal confidence of her child’s needs and abilities filled the notably vacuous room as her impassioned voice spoke with authority in her native tongue, citing poor communication, failures on the teacher’s part the school year prior, and the empty promises that the teacher had offered to support her son over the summer.

A paltry, anemic summary was offered by el intérprete, leaving me with doubt about what meeting he was attending.

I could feel my heart rate rising, an outcry of injustice and pressure to set the record straight welling up inside me and coursing through my veins, countered by an equally strong current of fear: being accused of misrepresentation, non-native linguistic status, and interjecting as an undesignated communication broker. “Am I breathing?” I wondered as time slowed around me, simultaneously taking in the detail of her worried expression, the casual posture of el intérprete, the now-worried expression of the teacher, and the suspiciouslyraised eyebrow of the first-year vice principal, knowing all that was at stake for her son’s education, and the chasm between what had been communicated and what had been interpreted.

“That’s not all she said!” I exclaimed loudly, powerfully looking across the table at el intérprete, quickly turning my head toward the vice principal with unambiguous passion and conviction.

With those five words, emotional shrapnel went flying through the conference room as blood drained from el intérprete’s face, a mother’s deepest fears were validated, a teacher’s empty promises were exposed, and an administrator’s suspicions of incomplete details of a student’s barriers to learning were confirmed.

“I thought I wasn’t getting the whole story; what exactly did she say?” asked the vice principal. Locking eyes with el intérprete across the table, I dared him to not interpret every word and sentiment of this mother. Not overstepping my role, we exchanged a knowing glance that I was oyendo a cada palabra, so he’d better be precise, and he’d better be thorough. For what was likely the first time, she was able to share her experience, knowledge, and expertise of her son and his needs in school, and she was heard.

For what was likely the first time, she was able to share her experience, knowledge, and expertise of her son and his needs in school, and she was heard.

With her pen moving quickly across the draft copy of the IEP, the vice principal made note of fears, desires, hopes, needs, dreams, and promises gone unfulfilled. Unsurprisingly to us, it became evident that with the fallout from the communication bombshell that had been dropped, we would not be signing a finalized IEP that day… unresolved concerns, unclarified needs, and unformulated strategies too numerous to count. With sincerity of heart in her eyes, the vice principal offered a full-length, fully-staffed follow-up meeting on a date of the mother’s choice, with the entire IEP team present and school district supports represented, alongside a sincere apology to us both for what had almost transpired: a casualty of federally-guaranteed services and supports for her son, lost to miscommunication.

***

Now I sit at a desk in another part of the city, still working to support families—including ones learning English —and their relationships to their school communities. I’m a few wrinkles and several years closer to wisdom, and the plentiful work to be done in South Carolina remains. But with shared commitment to the heavy lifting of linking arms with organizations and agencies to build trusted partnerships for school communities, stories like this one are becoming la excepción instead of la norma.