This is a post I wanted to write back in October. Perhaps my anger and frustration led to a writing-paralysis, or maybe I didn't write because I was simply lazy. At any rate, many of the frustrations and anxieties I felt then have eased because the next four-plus years of my life have a purposeful direction that I am both pleased with and, frankly, intimidated by, though that is a state of mind I rather be in than the anxieties that plagued me just a few months ago.
Last September, just a month or so after we moved to BG, I started to feel the mental and financial pressure of not having a job. Javier had started work, we were settled in our new house, and the novelty of having endless hours ahead of me to do as I pleased was beginning to wear off. Though I had applied for jobs since April--as soon as Javier accepted his position--and I had been informed of candidacy status for a couple positions, none of those panned out. I reduced my career expectations and began applying for wage jobs. I had an interview with an agency that contracted substitute teachers for local school districts . That seemed a sure bet, but it was taking several weeks for the agency to check my references. Meanwhile, my savings were dwindling, I had only catastrophic health insurance and a concerning looking mole on my belly, plus I had to get a new credit card to pay for the course I enrolled in at BGSU (a privileged choice, to be sure, but one that was part of the successful grand plan to get in to a doctoral program). My ability to pay off my credit card every pay check was gone and now the dollar signs were growing, in a not happy way.
Having been financially independent for the past four years with a salary that took care of all my bills, student loan debt, excellent health insurance, in addition to being able to sock away savings, go out as I (reasonably) pleased, plus travel, it was difficult to transition to relying on my partner for most of my financial needs. At one point Javier gave me an "allowance" (we joked) to get coffee at the local cafe so I could get out and do school work in a less isolated manner.
Before I go on, it is only fair to once again point out how privileged I am. I
do have people I can, and have, fallen back on for financial security. It was a choice I made to be with Javier in Ohio, and therefore give up the multiple, great jobs I had in Tucson. Javier takes care of my living expenses and the majority of my travel expenses. My parents have helped with some other travel expenses (when visiting family). My mom helped me with a medical bill and car loan payments. My dad is helping with student loan payments. Now that Javier and I are married, I have insurance again. This has relieved my health-related anxieties: what a feeling I took for granted, and that I won't again, of being able to make a doctor's appointment whenever I want and know it'll set me back, on average and while I'm in good health, $20. I don't have children I have to take care of, or a house I may lose because I may not make a mortgage payment, and I'm back to being credit card debt free thanks to help from my dad, a sweet tax return, and some deep savings I set aside several years ago.
So, though my pride prevented me from asking for help at first, especially with medical bills, which I now realize was ridiculous, monetarily, I am doing a lot better. I did, thankfully, get the job through the sub agency and have worked steadily throughout the year. Not to say I'm where I want to be financially, of course, and it is a bit worrying that I won't make a decent salary for another five years so that I can sock away more savings, get rid of all my student loan debt, contribute in any significant way for a house, children, etc. But, I am eternally grateful for what I have and realize I am an extremely fortunate position.
The second part of this post is not about the economic aspect of being career-stunted, but rather the fall from hubris of having a job where I experienced a range of, mostly, negative emotions. I'll try to keep this brief because though these feelings were legit, a pity-party is never pretty.
Besides sometimes feeling bored, which may be one of the more positive aspects of subbing , if looking at the sub- -spectrum, I also often felt defensive and prideful, especially when I subbed as an aide. It was difficult for me to be in a position I had been in five years ago, in a position I had moved from to being a certified teacher with my own classroom and my own pedagogy. I often wanted to--and when I could, often did--explain to faculty I met that I was a certified teacher, that I had taught in Arizona; the only reason I was doing this gig was because I had moved with my husband who had gotten a tenure track position (yes, obnoxiously, I couldn't help throwing that in sometimes) and now I couldn't find a full-time teaching position in a flooded market.
Thankfully for my pride, many people did understand this. The education program at BGSU is, reportedly, excellent and so it cranks out many graduates and therefore the market in this region is over-flowing with qualified teachers. Nearly every other sub I met was either a recent graduate from a teaching program or, like me, someone who left their K-12 job in another state and moved with their partner, a recently hired prof at BGSU. Other teachers I spoke to in faculty rooms assumed I was in the first category--I guess because I look young, like a recent undergraduate (?)-- and I was always quick to say I was an experienced teacher.
Of course being a sub means being used and abused in ways different than how public school teachers are often demeaned. Though I have grown a pretty thick shell over the years working with adolescents, one comment a student made to me (which, was, thankfully, only representative of attitudes of a few students; at least I think) completely made my blood boil. I was in a long-term position teaching freshman English and this kid already had demonstrated that he had an ugly, ugly personality, so it should have come as no surprise that one day when talking about future careers with his friends he asked me if I had always dreamed of being a sub. The way he said it made it clear what he thought of me and the working position I was in. Writing about it still makes me angry. Mainly this comment bothered me because it struck a nerve. I didn't know him well, but he certainly didn't know me and what I had done as a teacher, nor did it seem that he had any deep sense of the world.
Most importantly, though, is that he had little regard for the tough work it is to be a substitute teacher, especially for a sub who is actually
teaching. Subs often have bad reputations for legitimate reasons: I often came back to my classroom after being out sick, dismayed to find all the many things the sub
didn't do. However, I put a ton of emotional and intellectual effort into being a sub, both before and after having a teaching certificate, and always considered myself
teaching the students I was with, if only for a day. (Thankfully, some students did recognize this effort. Though both a compliment and somewhat troubling, I have been told on several occasions by students that I was a better teacher than their regular teacher, and one student wrote about me for Teacher Appreciation Week!)
Though I often felt frustrated with how others treated me, or how I imagined others thought of me, as a sub, especially as an aide, this is not to say I disrespect people who are professionally in these positions. Many of the aides/paraprofessionals (these titles now have a new/loaded meanings for me) I have met, particularly a group of women in a special needs classroom at an elementary school in BG work so incredibly hard and don't get, as far as I can see, the recognition they deserve, nor the money they deserve, for the work they do. These are modifying lesson plans the certified teacher writes up, and they are the adult working one-on-one with a child who has sever cognitive, behavioral, and/or cognitive disabilities. They put up with the tantrums, the endless repetition of activities and lessons, the bathroom messes, etc. Often when I worked with this group of women as a sub-aide for an extended period of time I would become angry
for them because I thought they deserved an awards ceremony, and a raise.
Clearly, during this time I was fraught with class, intellectual, and professional identity issues. Once I was accepted in to the doctoral program at BGSU, I was elated. I was back on the career path I had wanted to start years ago--to teach full-time in higher education. I'll be immersed in theory, and the practical elements of writing and rhetoric pedagogy, among other challenging and creative projects.
In addition to my own angst, this post, back when I began thinking about it in October, was also supposed to be about my anger towards the situations the majority of people across the world find themselves in. There are those in underpaid, under appreciated jobs, or hose who are under-employed, or not working at all when they desperately want to be working. There are those workers, like me, who are under-employed in jobs that leave them creatively and intellectually unfulfilled. This year has taught me many things about labor, and though my position is shifting in a direction I am more comfortable with, I know I'll stay mad about the state of work in the world for a long time coming.
