By: Stephanie Hartline
TLP Letter Writer

I’ve experienced the joy of wearing many hats through my life: wife, mom, student, writer, gardener, fitness instructor, and one that I’ve worn the longest: teacher. My profession as a high school English teacher has become such an integral part of my persona that I sometimes feel that I want to wear a sign in the summer that says, ”I’m a teacher” just so people know that I really do work hard—I’m just taking a short break for a while.

Unnecessarily, people apologize for their speech or writing when they know they are talking with an English teacher. “My spelling isn’t that good” or “I don’t really like to read” are confessions I’ve received. What they don’t know is that teaching language arts through the years has become so much more than analyzing characters or putting commas in the correct places in a sentence. As a language teacher, I am gifted with reading about my students’ life experiences and innermost thoughts. I’m often overwhelmed to be the person in whom they place their trust to share the highs and lows of their lives.

Some students, of course, have stood out to me through the years for various reasons. Three young women have secured a bond with me even after high school and college—and even into their adult lives.

Kate was the first to reach out to me at a high school dance as I was the chaperone. It was my first year in the building, and she knew I was a little hesitant. She pulled me onto the dance floor, and it was all uphill from that point on. It sounds like a plot of a love story; no, but it was the start of a mutual love and concern for each other. I saw Kate though some tough times at college, and some rough dates post-graduation! I was present at her wedding, and one of the first to know about each of her pregnancies.

I just saw another student friend, Katie, last week. She is now a school guidance counselor and we were talking about the stress of COVID-19 on her students. She said she wanted to give them a safe place to talk “like you were for me, Steph.” The idea that some encounters that I provided for someone years ago was now being used as a role model to help young students fills me with great pride. Katie brings her three boys to my pool for a yearly swim and catch-up. (Side note---they play with my son’s old dinosaurs and sharks!) They joy comes not just in seeing these little guys as they develop and grow, but sharing time with my friend.

I see Kelly most frequently. We share a love for books, travel, and education. You see, Kelly is now a high school teacher herself! We compare notes, and I welcome her insights and borrowed lesson plans. We can talk for hours without taking many breaths…and I know she considers me one of her good friends.

The best part of these friendships—and I think a pretty impressive one-- is that all three of these young women do not see the 25 year age gap as a barrier to our friendship. They always ask about my kids and their relationships and jobs. The reach out when they know I need support. I treasure these young women—I tell them that often.

As I approach another school year I look forward to meeting a new group of young, anxious, eager faces. Ninth graders are so scared, but I always aim to ease their fears and anxiety. Little do they know that they have adults in their lives who will not only teach them math skills, map skills, sentence structure and a new language, but who may provide safety and perhaps a lifelong friendship.

Not an Introvert

For a long time, I thought I was introverted, that I just kept to myself because I didn’t want to bother speaking. Really, that was what I told myself, a means of consolation. The truth was that I shook at the mere thought of making friends, speaking to people, and having to maintain eye contact with someone. In fact, one of the most awful parts of high school was an activity in which our teacher forced us to shout as loud as we could, an activity to release our tension. I was able to shout, but my insecurities had straight-up attacked me, and what should’ve been a lion’s roar was the sound of a squeak.

That moment was all in one mortifying and beyond embarrassing, yet somewhere along the line, I never realized that I wasn’t just reserved but I was afraid.

I was even afraid of how my shout would sound that day.

I was afraid every single day of my life, afraid that I wasn’t good enough, not confident enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough.

I was not an introvert, I was anxious and terrified.

Eventually, I grew sick of my entrapment. Rather than one moment of realization and a flood of emotions, it had all built up over time until it just struck me. I stared at my cracked ceiling every night and I wondered about every single time I was ignored and pushed over. Most importantly, I thought about how I cared whether someone liked me or not all the time- but did I ask myself whether I liked them?

Unfortunately, this change wasn’t immediate, then again, change never is. It started with merely taking the time to get used to hearing how my ideas translate into words and mentally reciting and rephrasing the same sentence 100 times before I even let the words leave my mouth. When I did begin to use my voice, whether at get-togethers or gatherings, people looked at me in bewilderment.

Like I imagined, not everyone was happy with my change. To name a few, my aunts disliked my interjections when they spoke about appearances. My boisterous classmates hated the idea of not being able to speak over me. Even some of the people, who I thought were my friends, got angry when they saw I wouldn’t oblige to their every request.

In a way, this made me come to a bigger realization, that this fear had stemmed from a long line of judgment I had known existed and fostered in people’s minds. The only difference now was I started to ignore it. I was so sick of wishing and dreaming to the point where I knew I couldn’t see change if I didn’t commit to it myself.

This large transition was not easy- I lost many, and in a way, I lost part of my old self as soon the word “no '' was added to my dictionary. But I was okay with it.

Thinking back, this transition could have been so much easier, if only I had someone to tell me that I could rely on them and that my voice mattered. That’s why, I’m here to tell you that you do matter, and that life is too short to be living as someone else. Some words of wisdom: “Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes.”