Giving It My All -- Post-Bac Business School and Teacher Burn Out.

I'm having some problems at the moment, as always, with my students. To put it clearly and to stick to the facts, I am a professor in a Post-BAC business school which is the little sister of a French "Grande Ecole" here in the North of France. I teach first and second year students. I've been at this school for nearly four years and I've seen things that most people can't even imagine or wouldn't even believe possible. My students are supposed to be "the best of the best", from the most affluent families. The most wealthy. The most privileged with the best education.

As I've mentioned time and time again and often complain (or rave) about (depending on the day), I'm a teacher. It's an obvious career choice for Anglophones in France but I'm also a teacher by training. I went to teacher's college and I sat through numerous lessons taught by any number of teachers and professors in a variety of subjects. I observed, I applied techniques I saw and learned in class, and eventually one fine day I took over as the teacher of my own class room.

My first day of college, I attended a class taught by one of the single-most influential teachers in my entire educational career, Dr. Dockery. Dr. Dockery was an incredible professor. The entire class was captivated when he spoke. He had a way of engaging us in conversation, drawing us in to this world of mystery -- the other side of the desk -- and I hung on his every word. I knew in that moment that I didn't just want to be a teacher, I wanted to be a professor. If anything, I wanted to teach other people how to be teachers. I wanted to instill a passion for educating in others. That was (and maybe still is) my ultimate goal in life.

Over time, I realized that teaching in general wouldn't be enough to scratch my itch. I wanted to teach other people how to teach language. I wanted my two favorite things  -- educating and communication -- to be combined. I thought that working with other like-minded professionals would be the most fulfilling career in the whole entire world. Cue unicorns, rainbows, and canons exploding with daisy chains. 

Somewhere along the way, my path got crossed with somebody else's and before I knew it, I was in the center of the business world doing corporate training -- this is where the demand was, and I needed a job. I knew nothing about business prior to this first experience apart from everything I learned from my business man father, which was more than your Average Joe but not nearly enough to build a career on. I faked it long enough to learn what I needed to know to work with retailers, managers, etc., and before long the school of life had filled in a lot of the gaps that were left and I was off. 

I started making a name for myself. My network expanded. I still dreamed of getting back into a classroom. One fateful day I was lucky enough to get an interview. I even remember praying (back when there was still a shred of religion in my body) -- please God, let me get this job. I was 22 years old and suddenly I was faced with the chance of living my dream -- becoming a teacher at a university. I prayed so hard that the lady interviewing me would see some potential despite my age and give me a chance. I thought to myself, if I can just get this job, I'll be reaching a semblance of my dreams, and that alone would be a miracle. I'll never ask for anything else, ever again (as a unicorn runs past in the background). 

Fortunately for me, the lady interviewing me saw a lot of potential -- perhaps even more than I saw in myself at the time. She hired me on and encouraged me every step of the way. I started teaching there in March 2009. The group I'd signed on to teach were first year business school students that had already been through at least four other teachers in six short months. Two of the teachers came for one lesson and never came back. I didn't care -- I believed that everybody deserved a chance and that there was plenty of good in everyone. I knew it would be a challenge, but I didn't let that stop me. 

The first class period, I planned to get to know my students. I prepared some Q&A things. A girl in the back of the room said, "why do we have to do this? You're just going to leave like the others." I realized that they needed somebody who was going to fight for them and to stick around for them. I dug in my heels and planned to stay. I wasn't going to let a bunch of Freshmen in college put me off of my dream. 

As the semester carried on, I think the students and I came to an understanding. By the end of spring, I was ready to come back in the fall, and with more classes.

I don't want to re-hash the past, but in the fall a number of things happened to me. Students came to class drunk with one of their eyebrows shaved off. Students threw up in the middle of the lecture. Students who weren't even enrolled at the school ended up in my class somehow, claiming to be somebody else (a student who had never bothered to come to any lessons). A boy bigger than my husband cornered me and threatened me, waiving his fist in my face as he demanded an explanation as to why his grades were low. A girl went to the administration and tried to get me fired. She might have succeeded if the previous director had stuck around for any length of time. I was forced to write a recommendation letter for a student who had never exerted even the tiniest ounce of effort in any of my classes. I constantly watched my back and paid careful attention when I was in the dark parking garage or in a secluded hallway.

Then the third and fourth year students that were causing all of the problems left for their internships and their study abroad experiences. I was left in the spring with three adorable first and second year groups that actually liked me, and we were able to have a good time. Over the coming weeks, the hurt from the first semester faded. My evaluations from the third year students in particular were so harsh that my boss didn't even show them to me, in fear that I might run out the door and leave her high and dry. My first years gave me an overwhelming 90% "very satisfied" rating. The problem, clearly, was not with me.

In the spring something great happened and I found out I was pregnant. I worried about being offered a contract to come back because by this time, I'd grown accustomed to having all of that extra money in my bank account each month. I'd just been asked by the big sister school to teach some hours for them and I felt like my pregnancy would shoot all those dreams in the foot. In tears, I told my boss I wouldn't be coming back in the fall or spring, and she reassured me that there would be a place for me when I was ready to come back.

That was September 2011. I came back with my whole heart. I was ready to teach in the new school with better materials and fewer students per class. I knew better than to take 3rd and 4th year students so I loaded up on 1st and 2nd years. When one teacher had to drop out a couple of weeks into the semester, I was there to take over her classes. When there was one class left with no teacher, I jumped in. I recruited three people to our team and collected a number of CVs of other potential people. I contributed to the coursebook and participated with my whole heart in meetings and planning my lessons.

I guess I'm tooting my own horn, but what it comes down to is this : teaching is not just a job for me. It's my livelihood. It's my passion, it's my fuel. I don't just go to work and go home. I am 24/7 in teacher-mode. A girl on the train hears me speaking English and asks a question? I help her with her homework. A colleague sends me an email asking for an explanation of a word he doesn't understand, and I take the time to help him. I never un-plug, it never stops. It's plain and simply just part of who I am. So I like to think that makes me a valuable member of our teacher team.

This year started off well but it doesn't seem to be ending on a very high note. I regularly have over 50% of my class absent at the beginning of the lesson, and then they stand in the hallway shouting if I don't let them come in late. I've had a student threaten me in the parking lot, saying, "we're not in class any more, watch your back". I've confiscated a cell phone in use during the course only to see that the text he was writing was, "connasse de prof d'anglais" -- which is kind of like calling me a bitch, only a bit stronger (in my opinion). I've had students refuse to leave when told to get out because it's not my job to deal with their poor behavior. I've been accused of not grading fairly and having a personal grudge against somebody because I gave her "the lowest grade of her life". I've been told that I don't have the right to kick a student out because "she pays my salary" since they pay tuition. That I don't have the right to email the administration about a trouble maker. That I don't have the right to use a stern voice when telling a student off or asking a student to leave, because that's "rude". (does anybody see the irony here??) 


Yesterday I was peacefully working with my professional students in a warm, friendly environment. I had a number of emails from colleagues and administration alike asking me for more details -- why did you give this person this grade? Why did you write this comment? Why did you send this person out? Nobody ever thinks to ask the student why they didn't work harder for a better grade, why they didn't behave in a way that wouldn't merit a comment on the sign sheet, and why they didn't behave in a way that would allow them to stay in my class like the rest of the students.

"Do you know who my parents are?"
"I pay your salary."
"You don't have the right to talk to me like that."
"You can't do that to me."
"You don't have to be so rude to me."
"Treat me with the respect I deserve."

These are comments you can hear on any given day in any given hallway. Hidden in the mix are a few incredible kids who deserve a high quality education and a teacher who is willing to invest in them.

I continue teaching in order to reach those kids, and not the kids I've written about above. Teaching still is, and will always be my passion and what I was made for and I subscribe to the mindset that what doesn't kill me will make me stronger (and a better teacher). But if this snapshot of the university-aged population is a reflection of the future business leaders of France, then I'm not sure this is the field I want to teach in any more.