There are two things that I committed to doing this year:
1. Stop saying "sorry" for things that don't require my apology.
2. Allow disappointment.
Following through on commitment No. 1 was like learning how to talk all over again. What I mean to say is that I say "sorry" a lot, and I didn't realize just how much and how unnecessarily I said it until I deliberately tried to stop. For instance, I found that I often preface my voice with "I'm sorry to bother..." or "I'm sorry if this is a dumb question..." or my favorite: "I'm sorry, but..." But what? What am I so sorry about?
I know that this is a disproportionally common experience among women as compared to men and even more so among women of color, and perhaps even more so among Asian and Asian-American women. Is it a reflection of cultures that systematically make women feel undeserving of our voice and space? Is it out of bad habit? Probably both.
The point is, I do have a voice. I do take up space. And I am not sorry.
Commitment No. 2 has manifested in a number of ways. Most days, it has taken the form of me crouched down on the floor of my shower, sobbing. People keep telling me that it's normal to cry a lot as a first-year teacher, and I've actually taken a liking to crying in the shower. It's therapeutic. It lends itself well to washing away snot and tears. And it has been absolutely key in keeping me sane.
What I've learned is this: Disappointment is a part of accepting imperfection. And it's been the most freeing experience I've had since I started teaching. I come home from a 17-hour day that consisted of traffic, public transit, twenty busy-bodied students, unhappy co-workers, lackluster attempts at maintaining long-distance friendships, and to cap it all off, nighttime graduate class. I crawl into bed. I say, "Wow, today really sucked and I really sucked at handling it." No contemplation. No excuses. No self-loathing. I simply acknowledge my disappointment. I let myself be imperfect. And then I do the most important thing of all: I go to sleep.
It allows me the freedom and grace to wake up the next morning and want to try again. And that's the best thing I can do for my students. In fact, it's the best thing that I can do for myself.
Wake up every morning and try again.