When I get into an Uber, it's kind of a game to see how long
it takes the driver to ask me where I'm from. It usually only takes a block or
two for them to realize I'm a foreigner, but sometimes it takes a little
longer, like until we reach the beltway. It starts when the driver confirms my
destination, and then, usually makes comment about the weather, which I'll
respond to, as briefly as I can, but sometimes choosing to share my husband's
indigenous family knowledge of the way the clouds and winds work in the valley.
Though I despise small talk in any language, I try to play the role I'm
expected to play, and hope I can keep that fine balance between what is expected
of me and avoiding it altogether, all while being true to myself. In a foreign
language. But of course, if it's not my accent or a small grammar mistake that
gives me away, it's the odd way I'll choose to interpret or challenge the norms
of small talk. And, so, by the time we've reached the beltway, every Uber
driver knows that I'm an "impostor," not from São José, or even from
Brazil.
Accents are part of our identity, and they are absolutely
nothing to be ashamed of--I always remind my students of this. But sometimes we
just want to fit in. It's part of human nature sense a need to belong to the tribe, and so,
especially in higher-stakes situations, we try our best to blend in and play
the role we've been given.
My first day teaching an English lesson, almost eleven and a
half years ago, I put on a smile, grabbed the whiteboard markers and
desperately hoped that these students would take me seriously as a teacher, and
not find out that I had only obtained a TEFL certificate the month before, and
barely knew the material I was teaching. Though I had passed the course with
flying colors, and had previous teaching experience, I still had much to learn,
and, for the first year of my career teaching English, I felt like an impostor.
I'm grateful for mentors, for resources in books and on the
Internet, and for a supportive school where I was encouraged to grow and
thrive during my first few years of teaching. But, let me tell you, although English is my first language, and
despite always being a bit of a word nerd, I had the hardest time teaching
grammar early on. Countable and uncountable nouns totally threw me off--I
remember getting confused over them (why is fruit uncountable while vegetables
are not?) while an inspector from the accrediting organization was observing my
class. And, although I
know grammar very well now, there are some topics—even more topics in pronunciation—that
I’m still a bit fuzzy on. If I only rely on my knowledge of English as a first
language for these, I will inevitably confuse my students in a lesson if I
don't take the time to review those points and think over how to present them.
Teaching English as a "native speaker" affords me
lots of privilege that most of my colleagues don't have. I won't get into
native-speakerism in this post, though it is something very real and ugly that I try to use
my position to break down. What I do want to bring up is the constant sense of
guilt that teachers feel, along with the fear of not being enough, of being
found out to be a fraud, even though, more often than not, we actually work
miracles in the classroom. It's called impostor syndrome, and, though it's been talked about, it's something we often don't realize that the people we most
admire have dealt—or are dealing—with it.
I’m becoming known as somewhat of an expert in the maker
movement. The funny thing is, that’s the last thing I would consider myself to
be. I have so much to learn about it, and my STEM skills are minimal! I’ve
never programmed a robot or touched a 3-D printer. I love chain reactions, but
I never took high school physics. What I do have is creativity, which was able
to thrive from years of childhood playing and drawing, and honed together with
critical thinking in college and in art school. This creativity sparks to life
when two odd things are put together, like Klingons and Muppets, or English grammar and chemistry. I’m pretty good at finding connections between things,
and I’ve found ways to let simple making be relevant, even central, to learning
and using a language, and also accessible to schools with fewer resources and
people who don’t know how to tap into their creativity.
People tell me I have something valuable to offer. So I’ll
keep offering it! But the first time I was asked to get up in front of a
microphone and share these things, I thought everyone would find me out as a
joke, someone who just takes things from Pinterest to make her classes more
Instagrammable. But there seemed to be a good reception of it—the connections I
made not only look great on Instagram, but are shared because they add
something valuable to language learning. By the time I started giving these
talks more professionally, I had just started taking medication for anxiety,
and it brought a much-needed relief to the physical symptoms that had been out of control. I’m
still working on the thinking patterns, however.
So now that this—appearing in front of lots of people and sharing my knowledge of something I’ve only just scratched the surface on, but am passionate about—is
becoming somewhat more regular, shouldn’t it
get easier? Well, it does and it doesn’t. I have to remind myself to breathe,
do a power pose, dwell on positive thoughts—sometimes even before teaching a lesson I’ve
already taught many times before. And I wouldn’t be doing half the things I do
today if it wasn’t for the great community I’ve found here. So I guess I have
to just keep being true to myself, whether I’m responding to small talk in an
Uber, getting up in front of people, or just trying to have a good time at yet
another barbecue. I might be found out for who I am—a gringa hippie trekkie
who’s trying her best (and on some days, my best is the bare minimum) and wants
to empower people through language and making.
Who knows, maybe there’s a place in Starfleet for me, too.
What’s your experience with impostor syndrome, and how do
you deal with it? How can we get rid of teacher guilt and empower our peers?
What beautiful true self are you hiding behind conformity and fear?
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