You deserve...
You deserve to take up space.
I wish someone would have told me this a long time ago.
With the current climate, it is safe to say that I am past tired and have dived headfirst into exhaustion. Right now, it is very hard to be black. I don't want to make it about race, but given the circumstances and what several people are fighting for, I'm here to say this- it is about race.
For weeks, I have been limiting my time on social media and refraining from posting about George Floyd's murder and the protests that have followed. As a teacher, we are held to a higher standard than most people. One photo or post shared and sent to the right person and you can wind up jobless and possibly losing your teaching certificate. So, even now, as I type, I am choosing my words carefully.
I'm not here to tell you how you should feel. I want to share my truth.
I fell in love with music because it was something that made me happy and I was good at it.
I fell in love with teaching because of the countless choir directors that poured into me from 6th grade until I graduated high school. By the grace of God, the hard work of my mom and family, and my perseverance, I graduated from a wonderful university and landed my dream job as a choir director.
I knew that this job was an option for me, but I never truly saw myself until I was attending an All-State Camp at a HS in my home district. I participated and clung to her every word with every fiber of my being.
Was she electric and fiery? Yes.
Did she command a room? Absolutely.
Was she an incredible teacher with an insanely good vocal model? You better believe it.
Was she black? Yes.
And I knew that if she could do this job and ignite the love of music in someone like me, then I wanted to do the same.
Since then, I have taught for 7 years. My first 5 years were in a predominantly white district where I found out a lot about teaching. Not only as a young teacher, but as a young black teacher.
I could count on my hands how many black people worked in my school.
I constantly had to monitor my actions and tone because I didn't want to fall into the angry black woman trope.
I had students tell me that they thought I would be "more ghetto" since I was black.
I was questioned on many accounts and made to feel small.
When a student hid behind a screen and typed a racial slur that ended with a hard 'r', I was told that there was nothing they could do and no way to pinpoint who actually sent it, even though a name was attached.
When I look back at my time there, I don't think about all of the hard stuff because I know I made an impact and that's all I wanted to do. I built something incredible while also building relationships with some wonderful kids.
I just wish I knew that I was allowed to take up space.
I can speak up even when my voice shakes.
I can be passionate and knowledgeable about my content and not be perceived as sassy or rude.
I can wear my hair in its natural state and feel confident in telling someone "No, you may not touch it."
I can own the fact that I am a young black woman who speaks eloquently.
I can and should be able to hold a seat at the table.
I deserve to take up space.
These last two years of teaching, I am in a much more diverse community. I love that I can look at my students and see myself in them. To be that representation can drastically alter a path and I am grateful for that opportunity and trust me when I say that I take it seriously.
In the midst of this very dark and scary climate, I am at a loss. I am still coming to terms with the fact that I don't know everything about being a black choir director. We are few and far between. I just wanted to say this because I know there will be more moments when I don't truly believe this:
I deserve to take up space.
I wish someone would have told me this a long time ago.
With the current climate, it is safe to say that I am past tired and have dived headfirst into exhaustion. Right now, it is very hard to be black. I don't want to make it about race, but given the circumstances and what several people are fighting for, I'm here to say this- it is about race.
For weeks, I have been limiting my time on social media and refraining from posting about George Floyd's murder and the protests that have followed. As a teacher, we are held to a higher standard than most people. One photo or post shared and sent to the right person and you can wind up jobless and possibly losing your teaching certificate. So, even now, as I type, I am choosing my words carefully.
I'm not here to tell you how you should feel. I want to share my truth.
I fell in love with music because it was something that made me happy and I was good at it.
I fell in love with teaching because of the countless choir directors that poured into me from 6th grade until I graduated high school. By the grace of God, the hard work of my mom and family, and my perseverance, I graduated from a wonderful university and landed my dream job as a choir director.
I knew that this job was an option for me, but I never truly saw myself until I was attending an All-State Camp at a HS in my home district. I participated and clung to her every word with every fiber of my being.
Was she electric and fiery? Yes.
Did she command a room? Absolutely.
Was she an incredible teacher with an insanely good vocal model? You better believe it.
Was she black? Yes.
And I knew that if she could do this job and ignite the love of music in someone like me, then I wanted to do the same.
Since then, I have taught for 7 years. My first 5 years were in a predominantly white district where I found out a lot about teaching. Not only as a young teacher, but as a young black teacher.
I could count on my hands how many black people worked in my school.
I constantly had to monitor my actions and tone because I didn't want to fall into the angry black woman trope.
I had students tell me that they thought I would be "more ghetto" since I was black.
I was questioned on many accounts and made to feel small.
When a student hid behind a screen and typed a racial slur that ended with a hard 'r', I was told that there was nothing they could do and no way to pinpoint who actually sent it, even though a name was attached.
When I look back at my time there, I don't think about all of the hard stuff because I know I made an impact and that's all I wanted to do. I built something incredible while also building relationships with some wonderful kids.
I just wish I knew that I was allowed to take up space.
I can speak up even when my voice shakes.
I can be passionate and knowledgeable about my content and not be perceived as sassy or rude.
I can wear my hair in its natural state and feel confident in telling someone "No, you may not touch it."
I can own the fact that I am a young black woman who speaks eloquently.
I can and should be able to hold a seat at the table.
I deserve to take up space.
These last two years of teaching, I am in a much more diverse community. I love that I can look at my students and see myself in them. To be that representation can drastically alter a path and I am grateful for that opportunity and trust me when I say that I take it seriously.
In the midst of this very dark and scary climate, I am at a loss. I am still coming to terms with the fact that I don't know everything about being a black choir director. We are few and far between. I just wanted to say this because I know there will be more moments when I don't truly believe this:
I deserve to take up space.
