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I’m done. . .and wait what I’m graduating?! I need to repeat that again to make it feel more real. I’m done student teaching, and in two weeks, I’m graduating college.
The next time I enter a classroom, it will be my own. After (at least) 600 hours in the classroom, the universe has determined that I am ready to be a teacher. Soon, I will receive my licenses and officially become Miss Hesterman to a group of curious, goofy agents of change. Throughout the past year, I have jumped from one end of my licensure to another. (For those of you who are new –hello!– I will earn a license in both general and special early childhood education.) In those 24 weeks of early mornings and endless adventures. . . I sat in on IEP meetings. Built warm connections with students, families, staff, and other student teachers. Anxiously filmed lessons (involving awkward tape markings on the carpet for a tripod) and scrambled to put together lessons at the beginning of the school year. Put on a face of confidence everyday, wondering “Can anyone see through me? I don’t know what the H-E-double-hockey-sticks I’m doing.”
I have failed, tried a strategy that didn’t work, and stood back up. Oh, and you have no idea how many days I have left school thinking, “Absolutely nothing went right today.” I have spoken out of turn. Said something when nothing sufficed. But I have also said the one something that a student needed to hear. I asked an excessive number of questions (and those of you who have shared a class with me know exactly what I’m talking about). In special education, my questions were an attempt to decode the dialect of acronyms, assessments, and criteria. Across all of my placements, however, I took every opportunity to reflect through questions like, “What could I do differently?” and “What should I do when (insert an overly specific situation here)?”. I am my biggest critic. Teachers, professors, family members, coaches, and friends often tell me, “You’re too hard on yourself.” And it’s true. When I stumble or falter, my immediate reaction is self-deprecation; I focus on the 5% I got wrong instead of the 95% I got right. But then I always remember the chalkboard plaque that sits above the kitchen table in my childhood home: “Remember, there are no mistakes, only lessons.” I work tirelessly to prevent myself from sitting in the yellow chair of self-doubt. (Sorry, I’m writing this after a professional development. The metaphor of chairs as our reactions to behavior is still stuck in my head. Red chair: attack. Purple chair: connection. You get it. But I still wonder. . .where is the orange chair?). As I end the chapter of student teaching, I leave with strategies to maintain a growth mindset and a renewed perspective on reflection. Instead of picturing reflection as an avenue for negative self-talk, I use it a tool for objective self-criticism and evolution. Entering this next chapter: “the first years of teaching,” I remind myself that the rest will come. My attitude, dedication, and resilience will carry me far. These attributes are the foundation for my evolution and sustainability within a career that often expects perfectionism. I know these first few years will be hard. I will be entrusted with the responsibility of developing curriculum, creating a classroom environment, collecting resources, and building relationships with students. In moments when I will feel alone, I will look to my colleagues, mentors, friends, and family for support. I know that this chapter will be painted with mistakes – no wait! I meant lessons. (But let me be real. I am going to make some plain old mistakes too.) Each year will be one of discovery, reflection, and transformation. And although I am still terrified for the first day of school, I have the basic skills that will help me persevere. A message to my host school (in Minnesota)I often say that one of the biggest predictors of a “good” student teaching experience is the relationship with cooperating teachers (CT) and school community. And to put it simply, I could not have asked for a better experience.
I was lucky enough to be placed at the same school for both semesters, so I was able to maintain relationships with my students, CT, and the school staff. But I was luckier to be welcomed into such a caring, committed, respectful, supportive, and loving school community. Let me be clear: a school community includes the principal, paraprofessionals, specialists, interventionists, volunteers, social workers, and all other supporting staff – not just the teachers and students. During my eighteen weeks at this school, I was given the space and grace to experiment, explore my developing practice, and bring in new ideas. I established a pen pal system with my international students in Zagreb, Croatia. I brought in my cello (Harmony and Hairy the bow: the dynamic duo) to share my love for music across the school. I set up small-group puppet shows for an edTPA lesson. But above all, the school community encouraged my expression of creativity and contributions to school culture. Now, a nod to the teaching teams. In both third grade and preschool, I was impressed by their commitment to each other and to their students. They were each their own little communities, and they showed up for each other every single day. I have not met another group of teachers who cares as much about their students. Even on the hardest days, they show love, patience, and kindness to their class. They speak up for their students’ and families’ emotional and basic needs; they advocate for changes in curriculum and contract language. They exemplify how teachers and staff work together and build community. Although I cannot name all the lovely people on these teams, thank you for being positive models for your students, your school, and me. Last (but absolutely) not least, a message to my two cooperating teachers. I know I have already thanked you countless times in private, but I’ll do it again in this post – you deserve it. It takes a special teacher to open their classroom or office (“the broom closet," as it is so warmly referred to) to someone new. To entrust an emerging teacher –a stranger– with your students, your schedule, your services, and your classroom is challenging. But it takes an outstanding teacher to coach that newbie while meeting the diverse needs of your students. My first CT and I faced a challenging task at the beginning of the school year: sharing responsibility in those arduous first six weeks while building relationships and routine. I admired her style that anticipated breaks, incorporated movement, and motivated independence and daily connection. She understands what children need beyond traditional academics and benchmarks. I hope to emulate her patience, fun energy, and expertise in my future classrooms. My second CT made her mark wherever she went. Every time I met someone new, the first thing they’d say was, “She’s the best. You’re going to learn a lot.” And they were right. Whenever she began working in SPED forms, introduced an assessment or tool, or encountered any other novel concept, she instinctively explained it. In a job infamous for its stress and burnout, she approached each day with humor, patience, and humility. She is a respected, strong presence within the school. And if that isn’t enough, she is a passionate spokesperson for young children, their families, and educators. One last time, an encompassing “thank you” to all of the aforementioned teachers and staff. I am so grateful to have shared this chapter of my teaching journey with you. . . .So with that, I close this chapter of my teaching journey. Do not fret! I will still share the next chapters as they come. However, I believe a new title is in order. Because soon, I will not be a “future teacher” anymore; I will be a real, licensed teacher (I still can’t believe I get to say that)!
Well you know what that means? Another list. I guess it’s time for my second coffee of the day. Gotta go! previous posts:
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AuthorMeghan Hesterman (she/her) is an aspiring educator, storyteller, and traveler. Through regular posts and commentary, she candidly reflects on her evolution as an educator and young adult. Categories
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February 2025
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