Observation Anxiety (and sensitive teachers)
We’ve all been there. You hear the door handle jiggle, the door creaks open and shut, and before you even look, you can feel the watchful gaze and energy of your principal who’s just sat done to complete an unannounced observation. The whole vibe changes. Your breath quickens, your palms begin to sweat, your voice wobbles and shakes as you continue your lesson hoping the kids won’t notice, but of course they do. The minutes seem like hours. In your periphery you catch a glimpse of your evaluator furiously scribbling on a notepad, and then, all of a sudden, they get up and leave. The relief is ecstasy. You can breathe again and you share a laugh with the kids who ask if you are alright.
Observation anxiety is real. As the student teacher I’m supervising prepares for her 4th observation in the short two and a half months she’s been working with me, I can empathize so hard and so I’ve been thinking about this topic a lot lately. The classroom is such a deeply personal and intimate space, any outside presence is going to have a huge impact on the culture, energy and flow of learning. I can only hope administrators can grasp this. However, In this age of hyper accountability in education, it is not only expected but required we open this normally air-tight container to whomever expresses interest. I get that teachers need to receive feedback to improve and that we need to share our practices with our colleagues, but there comes a point where it feels invasive. It’s a fine line.
As a sensitive educator, I think the whole observation experience is magnified. My body becomes dysregulated, my brain becomes foggy, and I enter a fight or flight state. It’s uncomfortable but I get through it, and since I’ve begun studying mindfulness, I am able to apply some spiritual practices. If I have a planned observation coming up, I make it a point to meditate in the morning on one of the following mantras: “ I am a competent and effective teacher,” and “I deliver my lessons with joy and ease.” When I get to school, I’ll write these on a sticky where I can see them throughout the day. I also might write the word “breathe” as a reminder to come back to the breath, especially when I feel my nervous system kicking into high gear. Leaving these mantras up in a place where you can see them everyday may help during the dreaded unnanounced visit.
At the end of the day, your evaluator might not witness the magick you create day in and day out with your students. They may not be able to see that magick, which comes from a deeply personal classroom culture, simply because their mere presence acts as an energetic block to that frequency. It’s a shame, and I’ve had to learn to be ok with this, but it does not mean that the magick doesn’t exist. I’ve also had to learn how to regulate my hyperactive nervous system which is an ongoing battle and for me requires commitment to spiritual practice, healing and traditional therapies. If I ran a teacher preparation program, I would for sure have a class titled “Mindfulness practices to survive observations.” Let’s give educators the tools they actually need to make it in a field that constantly judges and examines them under a microscope. Or better yet, trust our magick and leave us alone.
