f%&# it, maybe I'll teach
The good, bad, and ugly of higher ed
I love students. In all shapes and types, from bold to shy, from young to old, from uncertain to pompous, from irreverent to reverent, from the super serious to the academically challenged, I love them all. Except that one guy, but really, that was just a one-off, and why would we even bring it up.
My favorite line from this blog (and it wasn’t even my line!) was from a colleague, Eric Erickson, who wrote:
“f%&# it, I’ll just teach writing; I’m already poor”
Truer words. The poverty thing is more true now than when he wrote them in 2022. In his post “Very Little Assembly Required,” he goes into the logic or illogic of choosing to teach in higher education. I highly recommend you give it a read.
If you’re reading this and you teach or want to (from K-12 to college), please let me know what you like or dislike about it. Because this post is for you.
The purple prose that started it all
I knew from the 5th grade when Mr. Pittman assigned a creative writing prompt that I wanted to be a writer. I wrote that first short-short story in the finest cursive using purple pen on purple paper (because obviously this was too important for regular paper! Or you know, a word processor).
Never in the course of this fantasy come to life did I consider teaching. My mother had wanted to be an English teacher, and I did not want to be my mother.
My mother’s concern about writing was that I’d die impoverished, which really is an open question at this point, but it wasn’t until grad school that I considered teaching when the course Teaching College Composition was on offer, and I thought, well, I should have a backup plan. Mum would be proud.
The whole reason this came up is that I’m teaching a class on teaching online classes, much like that life-changing Teaching College Comp class, and students are grappling with why they want to teach, if they have the temperament and discernment, and I wondered how the hell I got here (ten years too late).
In the course of my professional life, I have been an admin (for my mother who called me her mind reader), in customer service (Spencers, and yes, it was eye-opening for naive teenaged me), a summer cook for a theatre company, in the military, a military spouse, a software store manager, a travel agent (really short gig), a multi-level marketer, an optician, a library worker, and more short-term gigs than I can remember, and none of them made me want to stay. Even the library, which is unfortunate, because libraries are the best places.
None of them made me think, “this is it!" Except writing, and teaching.
I’m pretty good at imagining myself into a dozen or more jobs (event planner, interior designer, fix-and-flipper (did that once), international spy (I wish), world traveler (did that a couple times) but I could never be in the medical field (please don’t tell me your really gross stitches story) or a corporate type or a visual artist (again, I wish), but none of those called to me in the way writing did. None of them won me over the way teaching did. I’m where I belong, but I didn’t always believe that.
Impostor Syndrome is a synonym for fear
It wasn’t until this semester, teaching this class, that I realized that I wasn’t debilitated by Impostor Syndrome anymore.
I know where I belong, but I started in higher education convinced of my inadequacies. Impostor Syndrome haunted me. I questioned everything. I let other people tell me I didn’t belong. The list of reasons why was long but distinguished. I wondered why the hell I thought I could teach. I even quit for a time when I went to Ireland, but I couldn’t really quit. That’s how you know it’s a calling.
Like writing, when you try to quit and the words won’t quit you, you’re stuck. With teaching, the academe is now your place and faculty members your tribe.
Like writer’s block, Impostor Syndrome is real, even if it is in your head, and the only way past it is to do the work. Some of my favorite instructors feel it and believe it, but teach anyway. They are a gift to their students.
The good, the bad, and the unforgettable
The calling is the good. You will never forget the student—the artist—who didn’t get the assignment until you put the colored EXPO markers in his hands and let him draw it on the whiteboard. You’ll remember every student whose lightbulb writing moment happened in your class. You will fall in love with students’ humor, their metaphors, their hopes for life after college. And they will make the rest of it worth it.
Because not everything in higher education is sunshine and rainbows. There’s the workload, which is excessive and borderline abusive. Students tell you more than you want to know in their writing. You’ll never forget the student whose best friend, less than 18 years old, is shot and killed, and he tells you because… who the hell knows why he tells you. You’ll befriend the Behavioral Intervention Team, because students will write about sexual assault, PTSD, and other experiences that weigh on their souls (and now yours). And then there’s grading hell, when you have 3 days to grade 100 essays and turn in final grades before collapsing in exhaustion in front of the streaming service of your choice, and you still won’t be able to quit it.
Because you’ll remember the good more than the ugly.
The answer to how I ended up teaching is who the hell knows. But thank whatever deity you believe in, because I ended up where I belong. I hope the same for you, but you may not thank me for it.
👇 Tell me in the comments.
If you’re reading this and you teach or want to (from K-12 to college), please let us know in the comments what you like (love) or dislike (hate) about it. Because we’re on winter break, and it’s a good time to reflect on why we do what we do. Plus it will help inspire those poor sods following your footsteps.
Cindy Skaggs is a writer, book coach, public speaker, and military veteran who holds an MFA from Pacific Lutheran University and an MA in Creative Writing from Regis University. She is an advocate for military and veteran issues, mom to two humans, and an avid traveler. In 2022, she moved to Ireland to study Irish Literature. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
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I'm so thankful for my creative writing professors at 2 universities. Both pointed out that my personal writing was far superior to writing what I thought I should write and was turning in.
However. I've never wanted to teach. I'm glad for the talented people that do.