Year One


I have no idea how I made to January. People talk about “blacktober,” but for me it was more like black October, November, and December.

I have a folder on my computer of all the NOT TEACHING jobs I was planning on applying to for next year. I get emails from an assortment of graduate programs from which I requested information.

I’ve visited DC twice (RIP college) and the first time it was pretty okay. I told some funny stories, mentioned some upsetting events that had gone down, but overall I was pretty upbeat – y’know until I had to leave.

Something flipped a switch on that plane ride. I don’t know what it was, or if I should be regretting going to DC or what, but I was really convinced that there was no way in hell I was supposed to be in South Carolina right now.

When I came back a month later, *everyone* I talked to heard a long speech from me about how I can quit after one year. They didn’t even have to bring up TFA. I would just leap into a lecture about how I was miserable but I was going to stick out the year and then move back to DC, etc.

I probably worried a lot of you, and I guess maybe I should have, I was pretty miserable. But this is because, I have learned, that the first year, specifically the first semester, of teaching is miserable. It is the worst. If you surveyed everyone in November asking if they were planning to do a second year, you’d get a resounding FUCK NO. (can you say fuck on the internet? sorry idk)

I don’t have any idea if it’s going to be better second semester, but like there’s no way it can be worse, right?

Year One


I often ask myself how on earth I ended up here. My answers vary from, “because you’re an idiot,” to “because you’re a majestic soul.” At the core of it though, the first step I took on this journey was motivated by my friend’s inspiring tale of transformational change. She (a cute little 22-year old sorority girl with a big heart like myself) taught 12th grade English. She turned around a group of kids who weren’t planning on going to college to a group of college-bound high school graduates in just nine months. She’s a rockstar. I wanted to be her. I want to be her.

So, I came here. The plan was two-fold.

Step 1) Teach math to a gaggle of unmotivated high school seniors.

Step 2) Magically inspire them all to attend a four-year college and help them make all their dreams come true.

It wasn’t entirely unrealistic. I have a pretty good understanding of the college application process. I’d tell them about my incredible college experience. I’d motivate them with statistics about the financial benefits of a college degree. Then together, we’d study for the SAT, pick out colleges to apply to, write essays, apply for scholarships, and send in the deposit before the May 1 deadline. It would be a lot of work, but it was (and is) something I am committed to.

I knew (and know) that there were (and are) many barriers standing between my kids and Harvard. The financial burden alone is overwhelming. I had an idea that my kids weren’t going to want to go far from home. I thought they might have families, siblings, or even daughters and sons to look after. I would stick to colleges in the Carolinas, or Georgia. I tried to imagine every possible roadblock, and I would try to find a remedy. I would drive them myself to tour colleges. I would call admissions offices to explain circumstances, to clarify policies. It was going to work. This was my plan. This was why I came here.

I never imagined that the most critical factor standing between my kids and college was the simple fact that they aren’t college ready. Yes, I get frustrated that they can’t think critically, but even if they could, they can’t write in complete sentences. I ask for an estimate of the height of the room, and after they spend way too much time thinking about it, I get answers that range from 200 cm to 200 feet. I ask them to explain their answer in a few sentences, and they do, but when I read their responses, mentally I have to rearrange the words, change the subject to match the verb, put the verb in the right tense, and then correct the spelling. Word problems are confusing to them half because they’re word problems, but half because they just find words to be confusing.

My sister (who I love the most) spent thirteen years at a lower/middle/upper school where the singular mission was to prepare its students for college. She failed chemistry her first semester of college. If that is what happens to my sister – bright, intelligent, from a well-educated family with a strong education behind her – what will happen to my students?

Year One


Hi pals! Sorry I’ve been super MIA, but I promise I’m still alive hanging out here in SC. Below is a video I showed my kids a few weeks ago. I loved it, they loved it, and I’m sure you’ll love it too. Besos.