I've just finished my fifth week of teaching practice.
It's been a tough but enjoyable five weeks and, at times, I have wondered why I am doing this. One morning I even considered driving straight past the gates and taking myself off somewhere... I didn't though, and the Head of Department has been pleased with my progress, so it can't have been too bad a start. I do, however, feel like I've spent it wearing a mask: a mask of competence when I have most felt like I have no idea what I am doing; a mask of certainty when I have most doubted myself; and a mask of calm when I have most wanted to go and cry in the English Resource Room...
While I have enjoyed the experiences I have had in the classroom, I have also had moments when I have wondered whether this has been a mistake... That's not to say that I want to return to my former life - in many ways that would be easier - it's much worse to have a stomach-churning, 'I'm not happy' moment, fully aware that you weren't happy in your former life either, because that makes you feel like perhaps you won't be happy anywhere, and that's one realisation I could do without...
Six months ago I was an independent adult (although not always a very good one) and now I live with my parents (ostensibly in an annexe), am a student and, once again, a beginner. I'm not very good at not being good at something and it's hard to give myself time to learn and even (gasp) make mistakes...
This feeling of lack of control has triggered all kinds of reactions and suddenly (despite some resistance of my part) old, familiar coping mechanisms move quickly (much faster than ever before) from a momentary lapse, to a crutch, a friend... And before you know it, you're wearing an entirely different mask altogether: a mask that, ultimately, isn't much of a mask at all.
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth our myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
Paul Laurence Dunbar
