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The end of March is a hard time for me. I start looking ahead — new curriculum, new goals, new possibilities — while simultaneously not knowing who will still be with me when April comes. There's a particular kind of limbo in that. But this year, the limbo felt different. Because this year, I created it. This year, I made them choose.
I want to be clear about something before I go any further: I love my job. I love these kids. I love the moment when English stops being something they study and starts being something they use. That moment — when you can see things clicking - a child reaches for a word in English without thinking about it — is why I do this. It's why I've been doing this for 28 years. And it's exactly why this year was so hard. Japanese families have carried this unquestioned assumption for years: English should be left to the professionals. It's common to hear "Don't look at me for help. I can't speak English." Hands up, stepping back, opting out before they've even tried. And honestly — I get it. They feel under-equipped. They feel like they'll do it wrong. But recently, I'm starting to feel as though I'm being put on the hook for more than teaching English. Somewhere along the way, the process has become backwards — the listening, the respecting others, the basic social-emotional readiness that should come before the classroom has become something I'm expected to build inside it. I saw two choices in front of me. I could keep chasing. Keep picking up the slack. Keep burning out quietly while smiling at the classroom door. Or I could challenge the assumption — not by demanding, but by showing families that what I was asking for wasn't the mountain they imagined it to be. And build something real with the families who were ready to see that. And somewhere in the middle of that exhaustion, I drew a line. Because the truth is — and I mean this — I can't do this without you. Not as a plea. Not as a warning. Just as the most honest thing I know how to say after 28 years of doing this job. This year, I gave all families a document that detailed their roles and responsibilities as members of my class if they wanted to continue. I couldn't hold space anymore for we hear what you're asking, but that's not going to work for us — and we're still going to come to your class. You want to stay? Please, read, sign and return it. Honestly, I expected pushback. I expected to lose more than one student. I didn't. And I'm relieved — but not sure if it's for the right reasons. Relieved because it makes the program look good. Relieved because it's one less difficult conversation with my employer. However signing a form doesn't necessarily change a mindset. I'm glad I said something, though. For a long time, it felt like there was nothing I could do but accept it. This year, for the first time, I did something. And that in itself feels like a step in the right direction.
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The PTA in Japan presents itself as optional, in the same way gravity is optional. As a result, every parent goes through the same rite of passage: either you serve on a committee, or you learn—quickly and creatively—how to avoid doing so.
During the elementary school years, it was “understood” that each child enrolled at the school represented one year of committee service—not because anyone agreed to it, but because this was simply how it had always been done. Being an educator myself, I know that teachers need all the help they can get. So I didn't really think twice about filling in the yearly surveys, but was also looking forward to the year when I didn't have to throw my hat into the ring. I thought I had served my time when my daughter was in fourth grade. But the following year, fate - apparently unimpressed by prior service, made sure I became the Chair of the Educational Library Committee. Wait, what? OK. 2 years on a committee isn't going to kill me. But then junior high came around. Them: Would you be able to serve on the executive committee? Me: What role? Them: We're not sure. Secretary? Vice President? Me: What would my commitment look like? Them: We're not sure. Thinking I'm helping them out I agree. I can get it out of the way in year 1. Stupid me. 2 years later as Vice President (one of 3 people 🤨) and I'm the only one who has said no to a 3rd. Too many meetings....too many weekends...too many "optional" but mandatory events - but not a whole lot that made me feel like I was supporting the school/teachers. April 18th is my last "official" duty and I can't wait. Until then, I'm keeping my head down and staying off the group chat. I served my time. And then some. I tried to write a blog around the time COVID hit.
Me, and a gajillion other people. I stopped because things started feeling...gross. Again. I was two years in a new city, in a new job and still holding onto a lot of guilt about closing my school. and uprooting my family for a new job, which I had been struggling with for some time. Nothing had been really wrong with my school, but I was spread thin. I needed something more sustainable and started working with someone who positioned themselves as one who had all the answers. But this person's road to making things better was tough and required an “influencer-style” presence. Visibility, consistency, personal branding. Things I wasn’t comfortable with to begin with. When improvement didn’t happen — when things didn’t get better in the way the “success” was framed — it was positioned as a personal failure. A lack of effort, a lack of alignment, a lack of commitment. When I started writing in 2020, all those feelings came back. If I wasn’t writing to attract an audience, if I wasn’t building a following, then there seemed to be no point. So I stepped away. But coming back to writing now - and hosting this website, it's not about influence. It's about connection. This space is for sharing ideas, reflections, and teaching philosophies—quietly, honestly, without performance, and without the need for it to turn into anything else. |
Lindsaywriting about whatever has my attention. ArchivesCategories |
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