Doubt: to be uncertain about; consider questionable or unlikely; hesitate to believe.
Doubt challenges me, in my teaching profession. Most days, in fact.
I wanted to share a true story, in this teaching journey.
I have a soft voice.
Some may call it “quiet” or “gentle”.
It’s a voice that answers the phone and is often asked, “can I speak to one of your parents?” I find it challenging to project volume. I’m envious of the colleagues who project with deep tone and clear words.
For years, one of my dear colleagues would tease me about my voice. He’d often say, “I’m so surprised you’re a teacher with your quiet, little voice like this… (insert words he would say at an exaggerated high pitch). How do you teach with such a little voice? Little Ms. Berry…” He’d squish up his face and mimic my voice. Over and over he repeated this to me. I still don’t know what compelled him to tell me this so often. He wasn’t doing it to be cruel, or put me down, but it felt this way. Perhaps he thought it was in good humour. I never confronted him to ask why he made fun of my voice. I didn’t know how to bring it up.
If he know how it felt, and how much it hurt me, he would have stopped, I’m sure of it.
I’d avoid speaking in staff meetings. I’d feel awkward when he’d see me in my classroom. I didn’t want to speak in the staffroom. I started to feel more and more self-conscious about my voice. It made me truly question my chosen profession. I mean, I used my voice everyday. It was one of my important tools and it wasn’t very sharp.
I took courses to find ways to re-frame and empower myself. I struggled internally and started to believe the thought: “Teachers shouldn’t be soft spoken, especially in a challenging middle school.” I wanted to call it quiets. lol quits. (maybe that typo was meant to be.)
How could I possibly teach with a quiet, gentle voice in a room full of boisterous teenagers and not feel like I’d made a big mistake in my career choice?!
To be honest, the anxiety was overwhelming at times. I kept pushing myself and sometimes to the point of exhaustion. An internal battle between the voice of doubt and my heart quietly telling me something different. I always wanted to teach, and loved it for the passion of learning and inspiring young people.
I took toastmasters years before. I took a public speaking course at university. In 2012, I signed up for a transformational speaking course with Gail Larsen called, “Transformational Speaking”. I wanted to work with my voice, build my confidence, and get some clarity on what the group, and Gail Larsen, thought about my teaching voice.
I made arrangements to go over to Vancouver. It was a weekend long course. I had two boys and worked full time, so making this happen took some determination and support from family and friends.
The course was challenging, beyond my wildest nightmare. Not only was I speaking about a topic, but I was asked to be vulnerable and honest. It was focused on telling your authentic story in front of others. Public speaking from your heart. I was petrified. I could barely eat a piece of toast all weekend. The jitters overtook my body. My hands cold and clammy; sometimes I could’t hear what people were saying as they spoke. I missed out on some profound speaking because I was focused on the fear of getting up and telling my own story.
When it was finally my turn (I waited to be last, without wanting to). I just couldn’t get up the courage to put up my hand and go next. It took everything I had to get up, even though the group was incredibly supportive.
I spoke about my teaching career, and my small voice. I said that I was questionning my choice of profession. Maybe I should do something different? Maybe it wasn’t the career for me? I needed a louder, stronger voice to be effective managing middle school students in a public school. I needed to feel confident that I could raise my voice, with volume, to get the attention of students and command the room. Subconsciously, I was hoping the group would tell me to move on to another career path. I hoped they would say that it sounded like too much for me, and that my voice was a clear sign to change paths.
Overwhelmingly, the transformational speaking group encouraged me to stay in teaching. Even one on one, colleagues came up to me and said, “You need to teach. The students need you. You’re being yourself and teaching from the heart, as much as you can. A gentle voice is needed. This is you.” They sensed that students appreciated my gentle, strong manner. They were literally persuading me that I needed to be there and keep going. I was shocked. The message was clear. My voice was a gift, as well as a challenge.
“Damn!” I thought.
This is not what I wanted to hear, but maybe what I needed to hear. Stay on this path. The challenging path. The rewarding path. Work with my voice.
My quiet voice has been the theme of much self-reflection.
I continued in my teaching career.
I’ve come to learn that my quiet voice is a gift. It is who I am. It earns the ears of listeners, and other quiet souls, who may consider that not all teachers are loud and boisterous.
I’ve learned to manage my classes very differently than someone who may have a deep, loud, bellowing voice to command attention (I still can’t deny that I’m envious of this, at times!)
You may have a “quiet voice” – whatever that may be for you. You may doubt this part of yourself. Keep going.
Rise about the criticism.
Stay true to your own teaching style.
Believe in yourself.
Teachers, keep going. It is hard, important work.
More to come…
In wild blossom spirit,
gillian
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