I’ll take a shit sandwich, please.

Do you still have nightmares about school? Last night, I dreamt I was sitting in a classroom as an adult, and I was supposed to be there as some kind of support staff, maybe a speech therapist? Anyway, the teacher was assigning some reading passages with comprehension questions, and I busted out, chanting, “This is dumb, this is dumb, this is dumb,” or something equally silly. In the dream, it seemed much more intelligent, yet also clearly petulant and ineffective. The teacher and students looked at me with disgust, clearly annoyed at the disruption, but other than that, my protest fell on deaf ears.

I woke up and wrote another scathing post about education. I realized that’s all I’m producing right now and may be portraying myself as just angry and cynical. So I thought I’d schedule that one for a later date and try to write about something a little less depressing.

Let’s talk a moment about the culture of Strengthsfinder 2.0. I love this assessment, mostly because I love how individualized it is and I love what I call “labels for good.” Most personality tests have 16 possible boxes to place people in and anyone who follows my blog knows how I feel about boxes. Is there such a thing as a box phobia?

Whoa!! I just realized a weird contradiction in myself. I always claim to hate metaphorical boxes, yet I am an obsessive collector of actual boxes. I have the strangest aversion to getting rid of any type of potentially reusable container, be it square or otherwise. There are numerous shelves in my house storing unsightly stacks (though nested whenever possible!) of empty boxes of various sizes. Hmm, what does it mean?!

Okay, climbing back up out of that rabbit hole. Maybe that’s an analysis for another day.

First things, first. When you ask someone what is meant by strengths and weaknesses, typically that person will say “strengths are what you do well and weaknesses are what you’re not good at.” If we broaden the definition of “strengths” we can start imagining a very different world. In Strengthsfinder culture, strengths are those activities that make you feel strong, they energize you, and have the capacity to put you in flow—that creative state where you lose yourself and all track of time in the doing. And the opposite, your weaknesses, are those things that drain you, that suck the life out of you, those things you desperately wish others would just do for you.

Now we may or may not be talking about your talents. Typically your strengths are also your talents, but you’ve probably engaged in activities you were naturally good at and had them drain you. When this is the case, I encourage people to really explore the context of the activity. Why, where, when, and with whom you do the activity often matter and can totally destroy something that could actually bring you much joy and energy.

And on the flipside, there can be things you are obsessed with that you’re not at all good at. If you’re energized by the learning and driven to push through the tough times (or willing to eat the “shit sandwich” that goes with learning that particular skill as Elizabeth Gilbert talks about in her book, Big Magic,) then consider it a strength!

I’m not going to get into the details of the Strengthsfinder 2.0 assessment and all the many reasons I love it, and I think it’s important to share than I am not affiliated with Gallup and thereby not incentivized by them to promote this personality assessment, but I consider myself an evangelist because I am passionate about the culture around it.

I am passionate because I can imagine this world where more people have spent their childhood free to discover and engage in their strengths. Using these discoveries to guide and motivate their activity choices and explore possibilities for lifestyles that keep them in their strengths zone. How different would this world look if more people figured out how to make meaningful contributions that kept them in this zone? A world where when we met anyone new, we were looking for the unique contribution that person is here to make (instead of what’s wrong with them that needs fixing?)

What if we were energized by and valued for our work purely because we discovered our zone? Would we care as much about keeping up with the Jones’s? Would we have the same levels of anxiety and depression? What about lifestyle diseases? Or even cancer?

We know that stress is the culprit in most illnesses of all types. Wouldn’t a culture where we have meaningful work (that I would argue can be found in any field) that calls on our strengths and keeps us highly engaged, lead to reduced cortisol levels, increased empathy, increased intuition, increased creativity and innovation? How could it not?

There’s a movie coming out soon, Self-Taught: Life Stories from Self-Directed Learners, (the Kickstarter Campaign) that I cannot wait to see. In it we’ll meet adults who spent their childhoods outside of the mainstream schooling complex, adults who weren’t reprogrammed through years of “education.” I’ve been a member of the Alliance for Self-directed Education for awhile now and I finally have hope that such a world can exist—if only we have the courage to step away from what we know to try a different way.

It’s a huge cultural shift to imagine and we’re nowhere near the tipping point, but there’s still rapidly growing communities who can see this world also. They’re out there. And thanks to modern technology, if you’re truly ready to free your children and your family, you can find one–or create one. Are you ready?

Imposter Syndrome: My Story, Part Two

I was one of the original teachers at that shiny new International Baccalaureate charter. The school became a quick success despite the ongoing tension in the culture, and it grew much faster than originally planned. Year two, they added an additional class for each grade that only had one the first year, including second grade. My good friend, another OG, became my second grade teaching partner and we worked exceptionally well together, designing a really fun Programme of Inquiry for our 7-8 year old students. She was a gifted educator and I was so lucky to get to work with and learn from her.

Despite getting to collaborate with one of my best friends, being in philosophical alignment with the school model (at the time and on the surface anyway,) being recognized by many of my families and students as their “favorite” teacher, being well-liked by my immediate administrator (the ED was a nightmare. I could have a whole separate blog about the abuse the faculty endured under his leadership,) and being chosen to be on the team that researched, developed, and delivered professional development for the faculty, I managed to find intermittent enthusiasm but mostly I was a miserable wreck who was neglecting her family.

I was always depleted at the end of my 10-11 hour days of “performing” for children who, for the most part, had already lost interest in “learning.” This was also the 5th job in a row that I was certain I was underqualified for. Remember, I didn’t have a teaching degree, just that stupid test that said I knew what I was doing. I had chronic imposter syndrome.

Rather than recognizing that I must present as capable and intelligent to pull off these longshot hires, I would beat myself up for not being a “legitimate” expert in my field since I hadn’t completed the required education for any position in this string of employment: wilderness therapy instructor (a clue- and degree-less city girl,) field medic (remember the EMT test? I did the rushed version—two weeks instead of a full semester—of that training also) speech language pathologist (ha! I was SO underqualified for this one, it was considered unethical,) then two elementary teaching positions (just those stupid tests for the latter.)

In each of these positions I’d received recognition for excelling, but I still blamed my lack of qualifications for my chronic stress. Cortisol was my constant companion. I was always seeking to better “educate” myself and worked stupid long hours so I could feel like I was worthy of the meager paychecks these jobs paid. I still have to laugh ironically about how I left a cushy credit union job with excellent benefits because I was seeking “more meaningful work,” only to take on far too much student loan debt (that continues to haunt me) for an exhausting career that paid less than what I was making at the financial institution.  

Midway through year four, as the level of stress crescendoed at the charter school along with my sense of impotence to improve my working conditions, my mother asked a pivotal question on the phone one day in response to my chronic complaints, “What would you do if you were to leave teaching?” I spent that night into the wee morning hours researching this very question. Joel Hammon, in his TED talk on liberating teachers, jokes about his own online search for “What kinds of jobs are there for teachers who hate teaching?”

My search turned up life/executive coaching among other things. I signed up for an online certification course that I couldn’t afford (and would be another “alternate route” to expertise—seems I never learn!,) decided I was starting my own coaching business, and let the school know I wouldn’t be renewing my contract for the fall. What I couldn’t have articulated at the time was the real reasons I had to leave the teaching profession. I claimed too much self-respect to tolerate a persistent toxic environment as my reason, and while I’m certain and extremely grateful that expedited my departure, it was really that square box that would never accommodate my not-square nature that I was running from.

I have so much more to say about that box—if you’ve been following my blog, you probably know I’m just getting started. Oh, the reprogramming, self-worth stealing box that we call school…