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Being Helped

4/21/2015

2 Comments

 
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I do not like asking for help.  I never have, and I probably never will.  In fact, my husband teases me for waiting to take headache medication until I'm absolutely miserable.  I don't know why I do this - pride, stubbornness, the skewed belief that suffering implies dedication...probably a little of them all.  I have no illusions that this is an attractive habit.  In theory, I love the idea of humans reaching out and helping one another.  I just want to be the one helping, thanks.

It makes sense then, at least superficially, that I'd love being a teacher, particularly a teacher of young children.  It can feel that I'm needed constantly.  I'm needed to wipe noses and dry tears and tie shoes and give hugs.  I love the break-neck pace of my work day, and I love my role as the ultimate helper in my students' lives.  Even when I have the luxury of an assistant or co-teacher, I want to do it all.  You can find me cheerfully cutting and gluing during nap time, staying late to refresh bookshelves, and hand-making activities over the weekend.  Because I want to. 

So striving to be a Reggio-inspired teacher is rocking my world a little bit. 

I need to ask for help all the time, and from everybody.  First, I asked if I could pilot a Reggio-inspired classroom in my school.  Then, I asked if I could have some updates to the space.  I asked for administrators' observations and feedback.  I asked for my fellow teacher's perspectives.  I asked parents how they felt about the changes happening.  I asked the children for their ideas and reflections.  It immediately became clear that this was not an endeavor that could be done - or, at least, be done well - on my own. 

Now, in my second year of study and Reggio-inspired work, I'm finding that I need to ask for help in even more ways. When a moment of inspiration hits in the classroom, I just start asking. 

To a colleague: "Do you remember that book you read two years ago about...? Can I borrow it?"
In a class newsletter: "Please save your extra paper towel tubes/milk lids/newspapers for us!"
Calling a local shop: "Could I bring a group of 13 three- and four-year-olds to buy something for a project?"

It's a humbling experience to ask for so much help.  It means acknowledging that I can't do it all.  That I may not have all the answers.  But it's even harder to accept that I'm working to make myself un-needed to my students.  If a nose needs blowing or a shoe needs tying, I now teach the child how to do it themselves.  If a conflict leads to tears, I now ask, "What would you like to do about that?"  It's absolutely exhilarating to see the magic that happens when children are trusted as powerful and competent.  Still, I wrestled with a bit of selfish heartbreak that I'm not the "helper" who simplifies and makes life easier

In so many ways, Reggio is teaching me lessons outside of the classroom.  Can I do it alone?  Sure.  But the good stuff - the wild, scary, messy, meaningful, beautiful stuff - happens when I ask for help. 

There is a kind of grace in the asking.  And to not just ask for help; to ask and then accept it. 









2 Comments
Keela Fowler
4/21/2015 07:02:01 am

Beautifully written! Great things to keep in mind. . .coming from someone who ALSO does not enjoy asking for help. :)

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Sia Willie
4/21/2015 09:58:45 am

Friend, you speak my mind!

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