Teacher Life

2019, A Year in Review

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Acceptance, Accountability, Adventure, anger, Central Coast, Central Coast California, Challenges, Community, Fitness, Motivation Monday, Remembering, Santa Ynez Valley, School, Teacher Life, Teaching, Updates, Yoga / 2020, Change is Hard, Honest reflections, Leaving Los Angeles, Motivation Monday, New Year, New Years Resolution, Reflecting on 2019, Reflections, To Live and Die in LA, Year in Review, Yoga / 3 comments

January 6, 2020

If you told me at the start of 2019 what the year held in store for me, I would not have believed you. At this point, I think it’s safe to say that things have reached a point where I can only laugh, because if I do not laugh, then I will cry and that certainly won’t change what has happened in the last 12 months.

Over the course of 2019, I was forced to address tremendous obstacles including the death of friends and family, moving away from Los Angeles to move to Santa Ynez to begin teaching at Lompoc High School, and struggled to acclimate to life in a small town while being ‘The New Teacher’ in a rural agricultural community. Without a support network and stronghold in a fitness community, I grappled with accepting the choices that I made to commit to this move, and found myself overrun by regret.

I felt that by leaving Los Angeles, I ‘walked away’ from a life I built. As my plans and dreams unraveled before my eyes, this itch my husband and I just haaaaaaaad to scratch seemed to blister and fester into a gaping wound.

As I attempted to navigate all sorts of emotions surging through my mind, the most persistent one, was anger. I was angry at myself, angry at my husband, angry at the people who moved my husband and I here. And above all, I was enraged with The Universe for conspiring to get us here.

As my frustrations mounted with respects to the direction of my life, doubt crept into my soul and passions such as my yoga practice fell by the wayside. At one point, my yoga practice waned to nearly non-existent which had a devastating impact on my psyche, overall mental health, and spirituality. Then, next to go was my fitness. With no cohesive fitness community in the Santa Ynez Valley, I felt a massive void in my life. The gym, taking classes, teaching classes, chatting with members, meeting new people, socializing with fellow instructors, having access to such high-end, state of the art facilities, and just being immersed in that scene left me without the motivation to bring myself to push myself to the limits needed to challenge myself physically. Finally, I just stopped doing things that brought me joy all together. And not because I was too busy or discovered new interests, but none other than the simple fact that I was crippled by regretting a decision I had made [ahem, moving to the country] and my depression set in.

I started neglecting the things that I previously garnered happiness from like my social media, drawing, writing, and recording podcast episodes. Any semblance of self-care disappeared [aside from keeping up with my roots that is] until I stepped up to coach the Girls Wrestling team at Lompoc High School…it was not until this point that I presumed all was lost, I can now see what I gained. I gained experiences that shaped me, that showed me what I need and want in this world. Spending my afternoons and weekends coaching the most badass group of gals I’ve ever met has transformed me. There are no words to convey how darn special my wrestling girls are to me. Coaching my small team of misfits gave me renewed purpose and if I am being candid was one of the major factors WHY I considered not going back to LA. Yes, I love my girls that much. Furthermore, I discovered kindness in new friends and colleagues. My department welcomed me warmly, with my department chairperson always offering earnest assistance and guidance. And my favorite, being in Lompoc gave me the the joy of educating children that hugged me when they walked into my classroom, and told me they missed me when I was out.

So, as I pack up my life [yet again] gear up to resume my ‘normal’—whisking off to a gym after work to teach fitness classes; I unroll my yoga mat with humility knowing that no matter how far I have ever moved away from my practice, it always lives within me.

As of late, I’ve made my way back to the mat. And the greatest lesson 2019 has taught me is that in spite of how lost I’ve felt and wondered who I was, that all along I was me—always standing in my power, owning my awesome, and facing life and what it hurled at me head on.

2019, it has been a WILD ride.

2020, I AM SO READY FOR YOU.

Draw Me a Map

Arielle Miller / Acceptance, Central Coast, Central Coast California, Challenges, Santa Ynez Valley, School, Teacher Life, Teaching, Updates / Country Life, Draw Me a Map, Going Country, Overcoming Obstacles, Teacher, Teacher Life / 0 comments

November 1, 2019

When I was in college, my then boyfriend introduced me to country music. Now, being from Long Island listening to country music was blasphemy, but this was during the early 2000’s and country music was booming with the likes of Keith Urban, Big and Rich, Dierks Bentley, Gretchen Wilson, and more. Country had taken on a more mainstream approach and immediately I took to its storytelling and compelling lyrics. So, here we are in 2019 and oddly enough, like the darkest hours of my life during the Pop2K era circa 2000-2005, I find myself longing, reaching, and clinging to the words that carried me through what at the time was the most devastating thing in my life:

When my college boyfriend dumped me after I moved to Plattsburgh, New York for him because he ‘wasn’t ready for city life,’ after I turned down my job with Los Angeles Unified School District, AND after he had gotten into graduate school partly because I wrote his admissions essay.

It was a brutal blow. I cried for weeks. Ok, I cried for months, even well into my move to Los Angeles I still pined for him. But this isn’t about one of the many times my heart was ripped from my chest. This is about how the music of that very difficult time period in my life helped me heal and now, on the brink of a very different kind of madness, I am rediscovering and redefining the woman I am, and will be as a result of my new perspective.

Life right now is tough. Well, if I am being completely honest, that is a complete understatement. This whole move to the country thing has truly proven to be literally one disasterous thing after another. From the spider infestation in my house, and yes, that is what I am calling it, to the state of my classroom when I arrived, to the courses I was assigned to teach this school year, to my classroom not having air conditioning or heat, to my husband being disenchanted with his job, to locals spreading rumors and trying to run us out of town, to my windshield shattering, to my husband then being laid off…WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN, and this isn’t even all of it!?

It just seems that while the universe set us up to get here, it was like a colossal joke because nothing is what it seemed. Think Cher in Clueless, this whole country gig is like a ‘Monet.’ From a distance it looked and sounded like a good idea; but in actuality it turned out to just be a big ol’ mess.

Living in the country and starting a new life has presented new challenges, and as a result a host of other things have surfaced. And perhaps, that is precisely why I am here—that I needed to be here for those very reasons. But right now while in the thick of it, it is so hard to see the light while walking in this giant shit storm. After all, I moved away from a city I loved, left dear friends I loved, gyms and group fitness classes I loved, a job I loved, an apartment I loved, restaurants I loved—should I stop now? Or shall I continue wallowing in self-pity?

What is my purpose for being here? What am I supposed to learn?

I ask myself that over and over and over daily. Usually though, it’s after a serious of WTF’s, but that’s neither here nor there. And in asking myself these questions, it has lead me to deep reflection and to seek solace in the familiar, which for me are the country songs that helped me pull myself out of my break up post college. Literally, I will listen to the same songs on repeat while scanning my brain for deeper meaning and the universe’s message to me in all of this. Often times though, I find myself wishing and asking for the answers. Like, what am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to be? Am I supposed to continue teaching in Lompoc? Go back to LA? Move to Santa Barbara? Ugh, I have all these questions, but no answers.

And much like a country song, I romanticized being here, living here, and what I would do here.

Horses, cowboys, rodeos, Stetson’s, long stretches of rural roads and wide open spaces.

I saw all of it so clearly in my mind before moving here. I pictured myself integrating seamlessly into my country life, personifying a country song. But now, while living this life, I cannot help but feel like a foreigner in my own life. I don’t recognize the house I live in, the school where I work, the gyms and studios where I teach fitness classes, or the life I walk through daily. It almost feels like I am watching someone else’s life play out. Or like this is a really bad movie where EVERYTHING and I mean everything that could go wrong for the protagonist does go wrong and you roll your eyes because it’s just that ridiculous?! Yea, that’s my life.

I spend much of my time confused, pondering what lessons I am to learn from my current struggles and the answer is always the same: it’s too soon for me to see what I am to learn from all this.

Still, I cannot help wondering why and how did every thing align to get us here? Why did it all go so right, to then only go so terribly wrong? And again, more questions. And if I am being honest, sometimes even pleading where exasperated, in desperation I ask my mother to tell me what to do.

What should I do?

Try to make it work here? Move to Santa Barbara? Try to get a new job somewhere else? Or go back to LA? What is the right thing to do? I just wish that someone could draw me a map to ensure that the next step I make won’t be the wrong one…Or was this the right step all along? A step the seemingly wrong direction to help me find the right direction?

I guess only time will tell.

PART II: Feelings, Truth, and More Truths about Life

Arielle Miller / Acceptance, Accountability, Adventure, Alive, Build connections, Celebrate, Celebration, Central Coast, Central Coast California, Challenges, Community, Gratitude, LAUSD, Lifestyle, mindfulness, Remembering, Santa Ynez Valley, School, Teacher Life, Teaching, Updates / Be there for others, Gratitude, Tell Someone You Love Them / 0 comments

June 6, 2019

As a heads up: If you haven’t checked out PART I: Feelings, Truth, and More Truths about Life that was published on May 23rd, 2019, before you continue reading this, be sure to check out that post for context.

But before I continue with Part II, I wanted to point out that you may [or may not] have noticed a common theme from my last few posts on this blog, Instagram, and on my podcast, Leveling Up with Arielle Miller.

My colleague made me this beautiful cake for me as an early birthday present and to serve as a send off as I gear up for my new adventure in Santa Ynez and with Lompoc Unified as a high school English teacher.
It’s little things like this, well this wasn’t so little, it took her two days to make this cake, that show others they matter to you and that they have positively impacted your life. This cake made me feel so special, loved, and valued.

As of late, I’ve been spending a lot of time reflecting on life and the relationships we choose to foster with others. And in leaving what I consider to be some of the most important years of my life, it has shown me what I mean to others while reminding me that the only time we have is the present. Tomorrow is never promised, so please, please, please take the time to celebrate people you care about in real time. Do not wait for a deadline before wanting to call someone, grab drinks, go to brunch, or to host people in your home. Reach out now, don’t wait for great change or catastrophe–let those know whom you love that you love them.

I am by no means a perfect person. I have made mistakes. In fact, I have made many. Some that haunt me even today, and I can still feel the bitter sting of my past actions and choices, but I deserve that. I have hurt friends by not being there for them, not showing up for birthday parties, or dinners and more.

Nearly, eight years ago I lost my Uncle Craig. A beloved family member to all, adored for his eccentricity. Nevertheless, when he fell very ill from his diabetes, and was in assisted living, the drive from my parent’s home on Long Island was ‘always too long’ or ‘too much’. There simply was never ‘enough time for a visit’. Therefore, I never went. I never visited my uncle in his last few years and months on earth because I was too selfish, unable to carve out a few hours to ease his suffering. I mark my Uncle Craig’s death as the impetus, illuminating how I needed to reformulate the manner in which I was living my life. I said then and now live this truth: There is always time for anyone who is suffering, ailing, or in need of company. Period.

In the wake of my Uncle’s death, one of hardest things I have ever faced was reflecting on what I did, and in this case, did not do while my Uncle was alive. I vowed to never make the same mistake again. Subsequently, when my grandmother had a series of strokes after hip replacement surgery, rendering her bed ridden and in a care facility, I made sure to ALWAYS visit her when I came back to New York. ALWAYS. It did not matter how long or short my trip to New York was, and it did not matter how inconvenient going to see my grandmother was or potentially could have been. I made a promise to myself that I would not make the same mistake I made with my Uncle Craig ever again. Truly, I have tried to live my life in accordance to what I have learned from my past mistakes so that I could become an honorable person. One that when I looked in the mirror, I was proud of.

As we ushered in 2019, I consciously recommitted to go out of my way to support friends in any and every way I could. That meant showing up to grand openings of new businesses, for performances, parties, baby showers, and more. I started feeling better about my renewed purpose in being there for others. Showing up to these things felt right and has contributed to a wholeness I missed feeling. Sadly, I think all too often that people show up for others and events out of necessity, and that is not what I am talking about when I say to be there for others. Being there in the physical sense is not enough. Being there, fully committed to someone else is what I am talking about. It is about letting go of this notion that our time is somehow more valuable than others, that our shit is more important than being there for someone, and that there will always be time later on. Well, what happens if there is no later? There is only now.

Show up for others, and in turn, you are showing up for yourself. And hell, if people like you enough for being there for them, perhaps you’ll be lucky enough to have someone bake you a killer unicorn cake to show their appreciation for you.

Just saying.

To Live, Luv, + Leave El Lay

Arielle Miller / Adventure, Alive, balance, Blog, Build connections, Central Coast, Central Coast California, Challenges, Community, Fitness, LAUSD, Lifestyle, Santa Ynez Valley, School, Teacher Life, Teaching, Updates / Begin Again, Being Courageous, Equinox, Leaving Los Angeles, Lompoc, Lompoc Unified School District, Los Angeles, Los Olivios, New Job, New Life, Overcoming Obstacles, Podcast, Proud Teacher, Santa Ynez, Santa Ynez Valley, Starting a New Life, Starting Over, Teacher, Teacher Life / 7 comments

May 8, 2019

The last 15 years of my life have been the absolute best, most challenging, formative years of my life.

Immediately after my undergraduate studies, I ran off to Los Angeles after my college boyfriend broke my heart. I left behind family and virtually no friends, as I did not cultivate relationships with people from high school. While in college, I struggled with my own demons, making it hard for others to want to be around me, so leaving the few lasting friendships did not faze me.

So, at 22 years old, I ran off to Los Angeles to escape myself, masking it as self-discovery and reinvention. I started my new life teaching 8^thgrade English at a low-income, high needs, and ‘rough’ school in the heart of urban LA. I did not know of gangs, LA traffic, lip fillers, butt implants, which hipster neighborhood to live in, the meaning of cholo, or how to get into the coolest clubs. Nonetheless, I leapt head first into a life where ignorance was bliss, thus allowing me to thrive. Precisely because I had zero sense of failure, it never crossed my mind that I could actually fail at something.

My love affair with Los Angeles blossomed virtually instantaneously, and I was smitten with this city. From the late night burrito and taco spots, to the laid back nature in which teachers dressed for work, to the upper echelon of bougie Beverly Hills, fancy restaurants, bars, and clubs, to the beach, to the gritty and tough environment of my teaching jobs—I loved this city and she loved me.

Los Angeles embraced my incessant desire to express myself through clothes, hair, and tattoos. Various administrators turned a blind eye to my self-generated, edgy, and contemporary English Language Arts curriculum, thus allowing me to find my place as an educator and flourish. Even my no nonsense and unapologetic approach to teaching my fitness classes was welcomed [in most cases, haha]. Los Angeles just seemed to get me and LA looked damn good on me.

Oh, to live and die in LA.

Los Angeles is my home. In fact, if you were to ask me where I were from, I would respond, “El Lay”. Yes, I was born and raised in New York, but Los Angeles is where I grew into the woman I am today. Los Angeles has shaped my belief systems, passions, politics, and so much more.

I am a proud Angeleno through and through.

Life in LA is not just good for me. It is great.

And so, it seems only fitting that after the best years of my life, having established myself in working for Equinox, one of the most prestigious fitness brands in the world and recently getting promoted at the school district, it is time for a new adventure…Right?!

Recently, while on Spring Break in Los Olivos with my husband Greg, we were presented with an opportunity to relocate to our Happy Place. A place that we dreamed of living ‘one day’ without ever really thinking that ‘one day’ would actually come [well before retirement that is].

After a beautiful love affair with Los Angeles, my husband and I will be moving to Santa Ynez Valley, California’s Central Coast to begin a new life and adventure in Los Olivos.

Before I get into the details, I do want to share something with you all.

When I first met my husband nearly six years ago, I told him I dreamed of moving to this ‘small town called Los Olivos’. Greg scoffed at the idea of me—ME, living in a small town. But after our first trip up to the area together in June 2014, Greg said to me, “Now, I get it.” It was then our little dream started to incubate. We toiled with moving. We chuckled while drinking wine in the tasting rooms and talked about how “One day…” while telling everyone we met during our trips to the Santa Ynez Valley that ‘we want to move up here’. I mean, come on. How many tourists say shit like that?! Ahem, like everyone, but how many actually do it?!

Then, in November of 2018, I made a vision board. Upon arriving home from another blissful trip to our “Happy Place”, I started gathering images evoking positive feelings associated with the life I wanted to live…The life I wanted—no, was going to manifest. These images were simple, capturing rolling hills, wine, horses, books, some athletic clothing, and a simple life. Quite the departure from the life I lived in LA. I looked at my vision board and if I am being honest, I didn’t think much other than it was pretty badass. Before landing on my closet door, my vision board remained propped up on our bar in the living room for a few weeks.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think, could I think, or would I think that in a matter of months, literally every single thing on that vision board would leap off the page to become my new reality. Talk about The Law of Attraction, that’s for sure!

Greg will soon, and by soon, I mean very soon, transition back into managing a restaurant as the General Manager for The Bear and Star at The Fess Parker Inn. In addition, I am eager to report that I too have gotten a new job at Lompoc Unified School District (LUSD). Talk about mind meld—from LAUSD to LUSD that sure is going to take some getting used to on my part. I am thrilled to share with you all that next year, I assume my new position at Lompoc High School teaching 9^thgrade English and English Language Development (ELD). Now, as someone who has just spent the past year in an out-of-classroom district role, the terminology used to reference this transition is, ‘I am going back to the classroom’. And I need to tell you, I never liked that phrasing and I like it even less now seeing it ascribed to my venture moving out of LAUSD. The term ‘going back to the classroom’ implies some sort of demotion, or assumption that the role of a classroom teacher is somehow lesser than working in an out-of-classroom capacity. Simply, that is not true. I am not going ‘back’ anywhere. I am returning to a place where I am needed most. A place where 150 bodies walk through my door every day and it is my job to empower, inspire, and educate them. A place where what I say and how I do my work can potentially alter the trajectory of someone’s life for the better. A place where hormones, out bursts, pimples, and boyfriend/girlfriend drama are commonplace. A place, a place…

A place where I feel whole, overwhelmed with purpose doing the best work in the world. A place where I know what I say may not resonate in the immediate, but will reverberate years down the line. A place where I learn everyday through the eyes of a child. A place where I am the best I can be.

That place is THE CLASSROOM.

So, when I say I am ‘going back to the classroom,’ I am going home. I am going to MY PLACE where I shine brightest by helping others tap into their greatest potential.

Now, that is not without saying that I am not scared to take this step, because I am. I am terrified to leave the only meaningful friendships I have ever known. To relinquish my fitness classes that I worked so hard for, earning my place on a schedule, and then building a following. To leave a well-respected district position with LA Unified where I thrived and looked at my career in education and said, “It’s all up from here!”

And trust me, I saw it all. In two years I would be an Assistant Principal…then a Principal, then…

Nevertheless, sometimes things change. Sometimes plans, ambitions, and dreams evolve and that is OK! For the last seven years, I have taught group fitness, six of those years for Equinox. The grind and hustle of working, maintaining, and remaining at the top of my craft in two career fields has taken everything I had deep within me. Also, it has taken my time from self-care, social engagements, and didn’t leave anything left for passion projects like this blog, my motivational speaking, my new podcast Leveling Up with Arielle Miller, and so much more. My entire 30’s have been dominated by work, work, work, and all I have to show for the ferocious commitment to my careers are some Instagram followers, extreme fatigue, low self-esteem from the fitness industry since I will never ‘look good enough’, and a wholllleee lotta leggings.

Seriously though, we celebrate this no-days off mentality, this constant “I’ll sleep when I am dead’ mentality but that’s just it—you’ll be dead, so you won’t be able to reap the joys of your constant laboring. There must be—no, there IS more to life than zipping through life at a million miles an hour. How can I, rather, how can one, enjoy this life if you are too busy to even experience it? For me, this move is about re-establishing balance and boundaries in my life. This move is about giving myself the permission I would have never been able to give myself living in Los Angeles. Permission to begin again, to step back, to give up classes, to work out more purposefully, and to simply DO ME.

Wow, do me. Now, that frightens me. How does one go from having seemingly ‘no time’, to now being able to have the accessibility to pursue matters of the heart and soul simply because one can as opposed to IFthey can…?

Sure, some may call me brave for willingly catapulting myself into the unknown, but remember this:

People are only brave because they are scared.

Moving is scary. Leaving a fitness community, gym, job, colleagues, routine, and so much more that is familiar, safe, and comfortable is a lot for me to grapple with and I would be lying if I told you that I was so strong that I handled this in stride. I have cried every day since Greg and I said “YES” to us and a new life. And I haven’t cried for any other reason than lamenting leaving whilst being SO excited to hit the reset button on my life. Also, in some respects I am mourning a figurative death as I leave my beloved El Lay and all that I have come to love in all its familiarity.

In deciding to leave LA, I feel like I am letting so many people down. I feel like I am turning my back on those who need me, even though we damn well know I am doing nothing of the sort. It just feels like I am choosing to throw away a life I have worked tirelessly to build, even though I know that is not true and it’s only my silly perception. However, in reflecting with my husband…Should we move? Should we not move?

Me and Greg at a Carhartt wine tasting in LA in March/April 2018

What if it doesn’t work out?

We kept asking ourselves,What if it DOES work out?

For the both of us, the resounding thought was, what if in 20 years from now we looked over at one another and wondered what could have been…What if we said aloud, “Remember when we could have taken a grand adventure, but we were too scared to…”

What ifwe don’t take this chance?

Shoulda

Coulda

Woulda

Truth be told, I am more terrified to take this giant step then words can convey. But you know what’s even more scary? Not taking this leap of faith and living a life of what if, and wondering. Frankly, I believe the greatest tragedy of one’s life, is to not live life to its fullest capability because of fear. That is not living. That is always playing it safe and never growing or learning because one was too afraid to leave their comfort zone.

I really cannot think of anything more tragic than wishing, wanting, hoping, and never DOING. Life is meant to be lived by taking risks. This risk needs to be taken.

My friends will always be there.

Work will always be there.

Fitness will always be there.

But this chance to jump head first into the abyss of the unfamiliar, most certainly won’t.

Fifteen years ago I ran away to LA to flee a life I did not have. Now, while this move looks as if I am walking away from so much, I do not see this as walking away from anything, so much as running towards something.

The LAUSD Teacher Strike, Part II: Gratitude is the Greatest Gift!

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Build connections, Celebrate, Community, Current Events, Featured, Giving Back, Gratitude, LAUSD, LAUSD Teacher Strike, Motivation Monday, News, School, Teacher Life, Teaching, Top Stories, Uncategorized, UTLA / Community, Community Support, Education, Grateful, Gratitude, LAUSD, LAUSD Strike, LAUSD Teacher Strike, Middle School, Proud Teacher, Public Education, Public School Teacher, UTLA / 0 comments

January 28, 2019

Outside Virgil Middle School picketing when a few of my former students came out to show their support

PART II:

During the rain, parents, members of the community, and former students came to Virgil Middle School to bring doughnuts, homemade goods like hot beverages, tamales, tacos, and other tasty treats. One passerby stopped to drop off a stack of ponchos. Teachers took turns bringing food to share, setting up and breaking down the tents daily, purchasing various necessities like mega phones, batteries, and materials to make signs. People looked out for others—guarded their gear when venturing to rallies, gathered materials and items left behind, and above all, no one got left behind. Every single person on the picket line wasn’t a friend, they were family. We took trips to local businesses to use the restrooms. We painstakingly helped one another peel the layers upon layers off when breaking for lunch. We shared food, offering bites of burritos and pizza that we may have waited an hour in line to get at a rally because they were free. We took photos with and of one another, and giggled in delight after deciding if we should take another picture. These weren’t just people I have known and worked with through the years, these people became my brothers and sisters. What we shared out there, marching, walking, protesting, singing, dancing, chatting, yelling, and crying, can never be recaptured. Nor can the feelings of support from the community, city, and nation for the teachers of Los Angeles.

Thank you.

Me enjoying a much needed hot beverage. This is arroz con leche (rice and milk) that a parent of a student at Virgil Middle School made for the picketing teachers. Check out the size of that pot!
I am forever grateful to the parents of the community that I serve, thank you doesn’t seem like enough for the things you have done for us

For me though, one of the biggest things I am walking away from this experience with is feeling like I must have done something right in my life. During the strike, I received countless communication from students I’ve had over the years. These messages were former students sharing how my work as a teacher positively impacted them and included extensive gratitude for walking the line and taking a stand.

Rain or shine, and even if the strike went on for longer–every single bit of the effort I put forth into standing up for public education was worth it. It’s a pretty fantastic feeling to know that by proxy of being the teacher that I am, and for being who I am, that I changed people’s lives.

Marlen and Ashley, now 8th graders are two students I had in the 7th grade

Some powerful highlights of the six days were when one of my students, now 22 years old surprised me by showing up to the picket line with doughnuts. But that’s not even the best part! This young lady wanted to tell me in person that she is in graduate school to be a teacher…because of me. It’s ok, you can cry now. But wait, it keeps getting better.

Another one of my students came to show his support before heading to class. He now attends Syracuse University in New York and heralds his time in LAUSD and his teachers as the reason for his success[es].

And finally, another highlight comes from a man—I cannot even say young man, because he is now 27! He was in my first ever group of students when I started with LAUSD and now works in law enforcement. He is a single father with full custody of his two beautiful children that he is raising with the help of his parents. He is articulate, bright, responsible, and informed. The one thing though that spoke to me most that he is a thriving adult and proof what good teachers can do for a child’s future. Great teachers forever arm people with the skills and capabilities to live life wholly and completely on their own accord. Unable to picket with us due to his job, he took me to lunch. See, it’s the acts of kindness that reverberate for me.

Astrid, 22 years old, Graduate Student, future teacher.
Franklin, 20 years old, Syracuse University
Eduardo, 27 years old, Father and works in law enforcement
Leah, 9th grader at Bravo Medical Magnet
Karla, 8th grader, Virgil Middle School, Medical Magnet
Some of my former students showing their support
More students showing their support during the LAUSD Teacher Strike
Me with more of my former students, AKA my heart

It’s not that I taught these kids to write a kick ass essay (though that’s super important and really cool too), it’s that these kids clearly got ‘it’. And by ‘it’ I mean what it takes to be good human, to show compassion for others, to be an active participant in your community and society, to support others, to stand up for what you believe in, to view life’s challenges as opportunities, and above all, the value in expressing gratitude.

This strike wasn’t just about a fair contract for teachers. Well, in part it was. But it was a message to the world that teachers can and will stand up for what is right for students. The strike also showed me just how valuable a good teacher is (not that I didn’t already know and all). Teachers possess the power to forever alter the trajectory of one’s life for the better and the proof exists in the faces of those children, now adults, who stood by my side, reached out to me, or quietly watched their former teacher talk the talk and literally walk the walk.

This is the legacy I choose to leave behind.

Karla and Kimberly, now 8th graders were in my honors class and homeroom in the 7th grade–oh, the great times we had together!

Simply, I walk away from these six days with my newfound family, and a better understanding of how much both my colleagues and I matter to the kids we serve. I say this a lot and I will say it again. Being a teacher is a privilege. I have and will continue to take every single second I stand in front of kids seriously, and I thank you for calling me your teacher. I proudly wear the title Teacher (or ‘Miss’). And while I didn’t need a strike to show me the importance of the work I do and its impact, it only reinforced that quality teachers are needed more than ever.

The LAUSD Teacher Strike, Part I: What Happens When It All Ends? And What Happened To Those For Which It Never Began?

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Adversity, Build connections, Challenges, Community, Current Events, Hard Work, LAUSD, LAUSD Teacher Strike, News, Teacher Life, Teaching, Top Stories, Uncategorized, UTLA / Austin Beutner, Hard work, Huelga, LAUSD, LAUSD Strike, LAUSD Teacher Strike, Picket Line, Protest, Public Education, Scabs, Strike, Teacher Strike, Teachers of LA, Tentative Agreement, UTLA / 2 comments

January 27, 2019

Nothing and everything has changed at the same time.

How do you go back to the way things were, when you are no longer the same person before nothing and everything changed simultaneously?

After being on a six-day strike that has now been resolved, I am sitting here alone, anxious and overwhelmed with emotion. For six days, four of which occurred in torrential rains and wind that eventually culminated in Southern California’s signature sunshine; the LAUSD teacher strike is now over.

Me outside Virgil Middle School during the strike and picketing

Hours of chanting, marching, helping others make signs, taking bathroom trips, venturing to rallies on the Metro, shouting on a megaphone at oncoming traffic [that very well may have just been me], or hunting for something to eat, are over. I know I am supposed to feel happy, even elated that I am going back to work, but I’m not. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and cannot wait to settle back in to the rhythm of my routine; but how does one measure a lifetime lived over the course of a week? How does one press on with the mundane after the extraordinary?

It’s hard to really quantify the week’s events, but I am going to do my best to illustrate that the ending of the strike, is ironically really anticlimactic. There’s all this tension, build up, and intensity funneling into what’s believed to be grand finale of sorts. But in reality, it’s not like that at all. There are no bells and whistles, signal, or culmination of all your strike efforts. It all just abruptly ceases.

Things went down like this:

We got word there was a tentative agreement via text message on Tuesday, January 22, 1019 at 9:30am.

Union representatives went to learn the details from Union officials at 2pm, then brought the ballots back to school sites anywhere between 4-5pm.

Between 5-6pm we voted, went home, and by 8pm the strike was officially over which was confirmed by an 80% ‘YES’ vote to approve the tentative agreement.

And that was it.

No swan song. No grand finale—it was just over. I’m not going to lie, even now the shock of it all coming to an end feels so unfinished and like a total let down. If you’ve ever been on a picket line, you likely understand how this feels. The overwhelming sense of sorrow that has engulfed me since has been intense and at times made me so anxious that I find myself wondering why my heart is racing while at rest. See, while there is some semblance of resolution with the tentative agreement, all of the energy spent on the picket line just seems to evaporate like morning dew, leaving the lasting feeling as if the whole thing was just a dream. Did it happen? Was it really like that? Did we really all just stand in the pouring rain for four whole days? Did we all just share something so special together that it forever binds us in a closeness that only we could possibly fathom? Holy shit, did we just make history?

I am not going to take you through my day-by-day, but what I will do is try to bring you ever so much closer to what life really looks like on a picket line.

First, for some reason people in the city of Los Angeles and maybe even elsewhere were confused. When an entity such as UTLA (United Teachers of Los Angeles) members vote, approve, and actually strike, the people on the picket line do not get paid. They do not call in, leave sub plans, check nor respond to email, or fulfill any of their job duties. Now, if someone chooses to cross the picket line, meaning they choose to work, they are a scab. If someone calls in a sub claiming to be sick, they are still paid even though they do not report to work, and they are a scab. If someone conveniently gets a doctor’s note riiiiight before the strike and is miraculously healed when the strike is over; while I cannot prove it, I am going to call them the worst kind of scab. Period.

The picketing teachers at Virgil Middle School. Sadly, there wasn’t 100% participation and several teachers did not strike. There were a handful of Teach for America (TFA), first year teacher’s who did not, fearful they’d lose the loans awarded by TFA and shamefully three veterans that did not strike. There are also several other teachers in question as to their whereabouts and whether they called in sick, etc.

You may view me harsh for my judgments, but let me teach you a thing or two about how a strike, or at least the LAUSD Teacher Strike of 2019 went down. Buzz of strike was brewing for about a year. On August 31, 2018, 98% of UTLA members voted YES to authorize a strike. Read that again, AUGUST 2018. The initial strike date was October, then it was pushed to November, then it was announced that UTLA members would work two days of the second semester to precure their health benefits, THEN would strike on January 10, 2019. However, due to Austin Beutner’s efforts, an injunction prevented the January 10th start date and the strike was pushed off yet again. This time until Monday, January 14, 2019. So, why I am telling you this? Why am I giving you this timeline?

Because I heard some people defend scabs saying things like:

– Everyone has mouths to feed

– You don’t know someone’s situation at home

– People have bills to pay

And that bullshit isn’t even all of it. Yes, that rationale is bullshit. UTLA members knew a strike was coming FIVE MONTHS before it actually happened—FIVE FREAKING MONTHS. If one could not sock away a little cash over the course of five months to prepare, then the state should revoke this person’s teaching credential. I’m sorry. Actually, I am not sorry for feeling so strongly about scabs and not crossing the picket line.

My husband and I live very modestly and I am not ashamed to say, we live paycheck to paycheck. I don’t have much in the way of material wealth to account for my 15 years of service as a public school teacher for LAUSD, but at least I have my dignity. There were 30,000 teachers standing in solidarity, fighting for the rights of our students, to improve our schools, save public education, and to advocate for the tools needed to do our jobs better. WE ALL TOOK A FINANCIAL HIT. Each one of us didn’t earn money to stand up to “The Man” (and we won by the way, hell yes!). But you know who got paid, didn’t take a stand, AND now reaps the benefits of the new contract? Guess.

The scabs.

Yup. For whatever excuse, because I refuse to call it a reason, these people crossed the picket line. There were teachers in wheelchairs, using walkers, canes, and some even running fevers from the inclimate weather on the picket line. What was their excuse? As far as I am concerned, when it comes to my comrades, you are either in or you are out. And if you are out, then you have committed social suicide. You are now and shall forever remain a pariah. Scabs deserve whatever backlash ensues in the wake of the strike. Thanks to the hard work of 30,000 other people that decided there was a just enough cause to forgo pay, the scabs walk away from this all with cash in their pockets; but it sure has me wondering about their conscious. How can they sleep at night? Drift off to slumber, knowing they didn’t play a role in all this?!

But hey, what do I know?

What I do know is that the as a result of the six-day LAUSD Teacher Strike, I am not the same person I was before the strike. I am more fired up than ever. More inspired to become active in my union, to truly understand collective bargaining, negations, and the innards of union work/leadership. I am inspired to empower myself so that I may in turn unify and mobilize the masses.

Walking the picket line in the rain showed me something about humanity.

It showed me that people are watching, listening, and care about our cause. Teaching is a thankless job, that we all already knew. But what I saw in the rain, the cold, the marching, and the sunshine, was that people come together in times of adversity. While we tend to think as challenges and hardships as catastrophic, the opposite is, or could be the case. I am awed by the outpouring of support we received from parents at charter schools, students, community leaders and members, and the parents. Thousands of people made the choice to stand by my side—no, our side, during this battle for public education. I will never forget the kindness people are capable of when it seems like you have nothing and like no one is listening. Because the truth of the matter is when you stand up for something you feel passionately about, you are more wealthy than you could imagine. And when you use your voice, people are listening to what you have to say.

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s follow up to today’s piece,The LAUSD Teacher Strike, Part II: Gratitude is the Greatest Gift!

Dear Teacher, a Letter for You

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Acceptance, Awareness, Build connections, Challenges, Community, Giving Back, Motivation Monday, Teacher Life, Teaching / A Letter to My Teacher, Dear Teacher, High school, Middle School, School, Stay the Course, Student Teacher, Student Teaching, Students. Los Angeles, Teacher, Teaching / 3 comments

February 12, 2018

I have been spending a lot of time thinking about my work as a public educator. This recent introspection has been brought on but the fact that currently I am mentoring a student teacher. And it wasn’t until these last few months in working with him that I had a new reverence for my profession. As a matter of fact, this recent experience has shown me that the work I do day in and day out cannot be quantified. On a daily basis my work is all-consuming. From the constant adjustments to my lessons based on the needs of my students, to grading paper after paper, to the tedious documentation of student interventions in our district-mandated system, to meeting with and calling parents in my free time, to making copies, grading more papers, and finally doing it all with a smile and grace–I am simply amazed at how demanding ‘just being a teacher’ really is!

Now, even though I have mentored several student teachers throughout my career; it is right now in this very moment and school year that I feel I am at my very-best self. The nuances of how I run my class truly are all-encompassing. At any given time, I am navigating 2-3 different novels, facilitating individual and group projects, creating and giving assessments, and preparing for what’s to come next. Wow, being a teacher is HARD, especially when you write your own curriculum. So, you can imagine just how difficult it is to help guide someone in their quest to become a teacher then layer on your discipline policies, grading scale, organizational techniques, and classroom management approach. Ugh, it is beyond me why people still devalue the teaching profession and why we pay our educators so little…but I digress.

But the reason I wrote this piece was not to tell you how friggen awesome I am. Trust me, I am fully aware of my gifts as an educator and there is no shortage of self-confidence. I wrote a letter to new and struggling teachers and I wanted to share it with the world.

Recently, another student teacher at my school, (not under my guidance) abruptly pulled out of her teaching placement. After 6 months of being in the classroom, she just couldn’t do it anymore. She reached her breaking point, citing not being supported in her classroom, and ultimately the needs of our students being too much, ultimately causing her to crumble under the weight of our work.

My heart hurts for this young woman and for all the others whom have come into this profession and given up before her. This job is not just a job, nor career. Teachers are charged with the greatest task of all, sculpting today’s youth into tomorrow’s leaders, doctors, lawyers, mechanics, writers, painters, innovators, movers, shakers and more! My brain struggles to make sense of how we demand so much of teachers, yet compensate them so poorly while allowing them to be disrespected by multiple entities such as administration, lawmakers, the press, parents, and more. But for me, out of all this darkness must come light—it always does.

To my fellow educators, new and veteran, from far and wide; this is for you.

Remember you matter and have a place here.

Thank you for all that you do in shaping young hearts and minds.

Dearest Teacher,

This work is HARD. It is soulful and soulless at the same time.

You are expected to be everything to everyone at all times—while being your best self, day in and day out regardless of what may be going on in your personal life; all while delivering culturally relevant and rigorous content to the masses.

The demands are never-ending. The stakes are high and the cost to you and your soul is heavy.

It takes a strong person, almost one with a hardened heart to do the work we do in urban schools, but also someone with a soft-gooey center to let the kids in. To love them when they need it most, yet also just hard enough to push them to reach beyond themselves into the vast unknown.

This job and this work isn’t for everyone. It demands a ferocity of heart and soul that can fizzle out faster than a candle without oxygen IF you do not take care of yourself FIRST and FOREMOST, always. Cardinal rule number one of leading a life of service is to serve yourself FIRST. You must always remain number one in your life. For in order to be a great leader, to guide these children; you must ensure you are protecting your head and heart at all costs.

As a teacher, your heart and soul is boundless. You see the good and untapped potential in every child that walks through your door. Your unbounding positivity is precisely what sets you apart from others and why you sought out this profession. But doing this work, being of such great importance to so many people comes at a price and often times, since we do not protect ourselves from such vulnerabilities, it is us whom must pay the toll. However, you must learn how to adapt, how to survives, and above all how to preserve yourself. And while you do not see it now in the midst of all the trials of your day, and trust me you cannot—what you do and what you say matters to these kids.

California Science Center Field Trip January 2018 with my 7th graders

Take it from someone who routinely is branded “The Mean Teacher” because I have high standards and push my students to produce meaningful work. What the kids say about me hurts. It hurts in ways I cannot convey. BUT, I am the teacher they never forget. I am the teacher they know would do anything for them. I am the teacher they come back to see years later, contact, and herald as the person who helped get them to college. So, while it’s hard to see the light now…You are igniting the spark to a fire that will burn brightly for many, many, many years to come.

Stay the course and keep fighting the good fight.

Yours in Solidarity,

Arielle Miller AKA as my students call me “Miss”

When Given the Choice Between Being Right or Being Kind, Choose Kind

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Acceptance, Adversity, Autoimmune Disease, Awareness, Build connections, Challenges, Chronic Illness, Community, Giving Back, Gratitude, Hard Work, Married Life, Scleroderma, Teacher Life, Updates, Yoga / 2018, Autoimmunity, Choose Kind, Fitness, Helping Others, Holiday Season, New Year, New Years Resolution, Scleroderma, Sclerosis, Wellness, Yoga / 2 comments

December 30, 2017

As the New Year rapidly approaches many of us turn our gaze inward for our annual forced introspection and goal setting. For me though, I like to check in with myself periodically to hold myself accountable to the things I love in an effort to live my best life; but like many of us, I too cannot help but feel that same pull as 12:00am on December 31^st inches ever closer.

This year for me has been filled with unforeseen trials, tragedies, and triumphs. From competing in my first ever powerlifting meet, to taking a hiatus from teaching yoga after 5 incredible years, to sharing a blissful 2^nd wedding anniversary with my love, to my sister’s engagement (it only took long enough!), to sadly my grandmother suffering multiple strokes and landing in a nursing home, to coaching at Orangetheory Fitness [then quitting], to gaining 22 pounds, and so, so, so much more.

But also amidst 2017, I was voted onto various committees at my school where I started assuming more responsibilities in pseudo-leadership roles. This year, I have thrived in my classroom as a middle school teacher, and experienced a rejuvenation for my craft I haven’t felt in YEARS. It seemed that my life, while filled with challenges was [finally] falling, no—it was settling into place.

My second life and career in the fitness world teaching cycling, yoga, and other fitness formats for One Down Dog and Equinox was coming full circle. I was being sent to trainings, teaching more formats, and getting recognition in being selected to participate in high-profile events through Equinox like Cycle for Survival and Cycle for Heroes. It seemed that my life was hurling right ahead in all the positive directions I had intended until one fateful April morning when my husband Gregory was diagnosed with Limited Systemic Sclerosis, more commonly known as Scleroderma.

As I have previously written, those early days are hard to recall. They are kind of a blacked out blur. And to be completely honest, much of what I take away is the fear in my husband’s eyes and the ceaseless crying. Just flirting with 2 years of marriage…my beloved husband was delivered earth-shattering news that would forever alter both our lives…

Would Greg die?

What would happen to his body?

How would I assume the role care-taker?

The questions didn’t stop and they haven’t stopped—that’s one of my husband Greg’s greatest and most irksome qualities: His ability to ask incessant, albeit mostly great questions.

We mobilized immediately and jumped head first into the Scleroderma community meeting new people, touched by their stories and strength, making life-long friends, attending galas, donating money, but above all—giving back. Together, side-by-side, Greg and I held a fundraiser at One Down Dog where we got our yoga on and auctioned off donated goods from community partners in raffles and a silent auction for the Scleroderma Foundation of Southern California. Jessica Rosen, One Down Dog’s owner graciously donated the space, matched donations, and helped us do something great for others for no reason other than it was the right thing to do–help those in need.

Inspired by the success of our first fundraiser, Greg and I set our sights on a second fundraiser, but as fate would have it; Greg was promoted to Group Fitness Manager at an Equinox club out of the initial proposed location—putting the fundraiser on hold for the moment. Again, so much darn good this year—that’s for sure.

Look at that smile! Michael, a Scleroderma Warrior!

The holiday season rounded the corner and Greg stumbled upon someone’s Instagram page that piqued his interest. It was of a mother sharing photos and the story of her 9-year-old son Michael fighting Scleroderma (click HERE to visit Tiffany’s Instagram). Immediately, Greg and Tiffany started talking via social media. We came to learn much about Michael’s struggles and bravery. At just 9-years-old, Michael had been battling Scleroderma since he was 3-years-old! Additionally, Micheal’s condition was further complicated by his Parry-Romberg Syndrome, (also known as progressive hemifacial atrophy) which is a rare disease characterized by progressive shrinkage and degeneration of the tissues beneath the skin, usually on only one side of the face (hemifacial atrophy) but occasionally extending to other parts of the body (Wikipedia.com). Needless to say, Michael’s story touched our hearts deeply.

Both Greg and I repeatedly poured over Tiffany’s Instagram…our hearts aching for poor Michael. At times, I even felt ashamed of myself for having the audacity to pity myself by calling myself fat, or ruminating on the 22 pounds I put on—I mean, c’mon. There are people who have REAL struggles and my biggest issue in my life is at times I think I am fat?! What in the actual hell is wrong with me?!

Michael’s mother posted to her Instagram about his upcoming surgery—a fat transplant procedure that would help restore some symmetry to Michael’s face. She discussed an online giveaway she had entered with the hopes of winning a Nintendo Switch to give Michael for Christmas. Tiffany went on to discuss in her post that her husband was trying to work overtime to afford the pricey console. It was then when Greg turned to me and said, “I want to buy Michael the Nintendo Switch.”

The Brave Michael pre-surgery

There was no hesitation, and no discussion needed. Immediately, I responded, “Great. So buy it.”

Greg reminded me that we’d be spending money on a complete stranger and that spending this kind of money would have its repercussions; but we both didn’t care. This was the right thing to do, just like the many others that have done the right thing/s for us. Finally, it was our turn to pay it forward.

To me, money is just that—money. If something I have can alleviate the pain and suffering of someone else, then so be it. Seeing Michael open his Nintendo Switch on Christmas…knowing that Greg and I were able to do something truly altruistic this holiday season was all the thanks we both needed. We knew buying Michael that Nintendo Switch was money well spent.

In looking back, to say I lived a lifetime this year would be an understatement. Filled with lots of good, some bad, and few very ugly parts; I need to say that Greg’s diagnosis has come as a blessing in disguise. Greg has been entrusted to be the face of this little-talked about and very rare autoimmune disease. Greg’s diagnosis inspired him to head back to school for a Master’s in Public Health so that he can help others afflicted with autoimmune conditions. We have collectively fundraised thousands of dollars to help in Scleroderma research and patient advocacy. And as of yesterday, Greg officially registered for the LA Marathon and will be running to raise awareness and funds for Scleroderma!

Yes, there isn’t a day that doesn’t pass that I do not look at my husband and worry about his health. There are times where my eyes well with tears in a collective sadness, lamenting for my husband’s lack of mobility, range of motion, and incredible discomfort in his body. Nothing about Greg’s daily life, or mine for that matter is, nor will remain easy—and that’s ok! Personally, I wouldn’t have it any other way. For it is only through trials and tribulations does one truly cultivate perseverance, wherewithal, and character.

So, while we may not have had a choice in what 2017 dealt us when Scleroderma chose us; in 2018 it will not define us. There is no time to be sad, worry, and feel bad for ourselves as that won’t change anything. The only way I see my year and moving grandly into 2018 is by taking action. We won’t stop, and can’t stop.

Wishing you all a very happy and healthy New Year, here’s you my friends and family as we rise up together to live our lives as our best selves.

#MeToo

Arielle Miller / Accountability, Adversity, Awareness, Challenges, Current Events, News, Teacher Life, Teaching / #MeToo, Current Events, Equality, Harvey Weinstein, LAUSD, Me Too, Me Too Movement, Mistreatment of Women, Public Education, Reblog, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Harassment, Teacher, Women's Rights / 0 comments

October 16, 2017

As the “Me Too” movement sweeps the worldwide web, I am compelled to retell an experience that was particularly harrowing for me to endure a public school teacher. Almost exactly 2 years ago to the date, I was sexually harassed by a group of male students while walking to my car after staying late at school to grade papers. For me, it wasn’t so much the verbal abuse I suffered, so much as the way I was treated when I reported it [and by a woman no less!].

My supervisor Mrs. Jones*, a petite and attractive woman sat across from me in her office and leaned across the desk before speaking, “Are you sure Ms. Miller that the boys weren’t 9^th graders?”

She paused waiting for me to respond, then continued “Because, well you know how these 9^th graders are…”

Mrs. Jones paused again, then sighed before laboring on, “Look, I’ve been where you are Ms. Miller. It even continued to happen to me when I was pregnant! It’s just how these things are. Boys will be boys.”

Stunned, I am certain my face wore the look of shock and terror as I flatly retorted, “It doesn’t matter how old the boys were. What matters is what they said, how they said it, and to whom they said it. I want to make a report. These boys need to know this kind of behavior and language will not be tolerated and is wrong.”

“Well, Ms. Miller we can consult School Police” she said, “but since the boys who harassed you won’t admit who made the comments, we cannot punish them.”

“So, punish them all!” I firmly stated.

My administrator called the School Police officer into her office. The officer didn’t bother to sit down, shake my hand, nor introduce himself. Instantly, I felt like I was a burden and could sense his annoyance with being summoned to meet with me. I hurriedly rehashed my story. There was hardly a pause between when my story ended and the officer’s response, “Yea, so there isn’t anything we can do here since we cannot confirm the origin of the comments.”

“Again” I began, then continued, “Like I told Mrs. Jones I do not see why we cannot discipline all students involved. If anything this is an opportunity to educate these boys. I mean, is that not what we do here?!”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not how we do things, Ms. Miller” replied the officer, before turning his back to me and leaving.

I vividly recall that conversation and moment in time. I felt let down by the very systems I represent and uphold. I felt like as the victim, my claims were diminished and I was bothering the people to which I was attempting to report my harassment to. And yet even some few years later, I still cannot fully wrap my head around what happened or even why I didn’t speak up. Why didn’t I fight for myself and all those other women? Why did I allow this situation to be so grossly mismanaged?

All I can say and speak to is what I know, and what I know about survivors of abuse, sexual harassment, and rape is that we are failing these people—we make them feel like they are wrong. We shame the victims. We ask them what they were wearing, question their choices, and even say ridiculous things like “boys will be boys”. So, it’s no wonder people remain silent and quietly accept the abuse [or report it years later]. It’s no wonder that my newsfeed on social media is an outpouring of #METOO. We simply do not take sexual misconduct seriously and it disgusts me.

In an effort to bring further light to this issue, I am reminding you of my tale. Sadly, this is only one snapshot, an anecdote, a quick glimpse into my life and work…I have so many other stories to tell…

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of the people mentioned in this piece

To Be a Woman: Originally posted on October 2, 2015

While working in the professional world I’ve learned that as a woman with a well-developed derrière and what society likes to call “curves,” I must not wear any sort of form-fitting clothing to work. Society has conditioned others to view my body as sexy when in reality my physical-self is just that; a shell that warehouses my mental, social, and emotional-self, but the world doesn’t see any of that. The world or shall I say men, only see a short girl with a fat ass and for some reason that’s carte blanche for men to comment, heckle, and harass me and other women alike.

While leaving campus today at around 4:15pm, I saw a group of young men congregating near the only exit available to me to leave. Throughout my years in education, I have become increasingly aware of my body and sadly uncomfortable by it. Walking the crowded halls of a campus through throngs of adolescent men has taught me to walk briskly, head down, and at all costs; avoid groups of young men if I want to minimize the onslaught of unwelcomed sexual advances, comments, and cat-calling. Today was no different.

Grab your phone.

Look down.

Appear busy.

Move deftly.

Do not make eye contact.

Must get to car as fast as possible.

As I approached the circle of boys, I recognized a few faces from the halls but I didn’t know any of their names. A boy sharply shouted, “MIZZZZ MILLER!”

I pretended to ignore them as they weren’t my students and I didn’t know them.

Grab your phone.

Look down.

Appear busy.

Move deftly.

Do not make eye contact.

Must get to car as fast as possible.

Finally, an anonymous male voice from the crowd:

“Look at all that booty.”

Immediately, the words accosted my ears. And right then and there every single fiber of my being tightened, my face reddened, and I felt naked and completely exposed. Time seemed to slow and halt in a stillness that felt like eons as I ruminated over my response and how to react.

I contemplated mouthing off to the boys, demanding who was responsible, and asserting my teacher-ness but alas, I did not. Instead, I felt intense shame for my body. I was embarrassed and hyper aware of my butt—was it jiggling? Can they see it? What are they thinking as they watch me walk to my car?

Was this really happening to me?! Again?!

Hot with shame, and feeling grossly exposed, I didn’t stand up for myself. I was paralyzed. My body and my mind couldn’t respond.

By the time I got to my car, I was crying. I opened my car door and sat sobbing in the stale warm air of my car while I replayed the incident in my head. I felt disgusted with myself, and my body all because I am a woman.

What the fuck has happened here?! How is it that as the victim of sexual harassment I am blaming myself?! Wrought with guilt for what may appear to someone as not a big deal, I skipped my workout, and cried the entire 20-minute drive back to my house.

There is something seriously wrong with how women are perceived in our culture. For years, I have made sure that I do not wear anything to work that alludes to my womanly figure because women with bodies are considered ‘voluptuous’, sexy, and temptresses. First off, that’s bullshit. Second, I work hard for my body. It’s lean, muscular, and something I shouldn’t be made to feel guilty about. But when skinny, tall, and lanky women wear fitted clothes, they’re not seen as sex objects. I don’t get it. It really doesn’t make any sense to me—we emulate the model-like body in beauty magazines and Hollywood, but somehow a curvy woman’s physique is considered sensual??? Someone PLEASE explain this to me.

Here’s what I know: I am not letting what happened today on campus die with me.

My silence would only affirm that if women do not stand up and speak up for themselves, nothing is going to change. While I may not have spoken up for myself at the time, I refuse to stand idly by to misogyny and sexual harassment at my school or in society.

Together we must take a stand and speak out against such verbal assaults against women. And while I may have been silenced once by my own insecurities, I am stronger now.

I am ready.

America, The Time for Reform is NOW

Arielle Miller / Accountability, Adversity, anger, Awareness, Challenges, Community, Hard Work, School, Teacher Life, Top Stories, World / Addiction, Columbine, Education, Government, Gun Control, Internet and social media addiction, Las Vegas, Mass Shootings, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Psychology, Public Education, Reform, Restorative Justice, School Shootings, Social Media, System, Teacher Life, Teachers, Video Game Addiction / 2 comments

October 3, 2017

In the wake of the mass shooting that occurred in Las Vegas late Sunday night on October 1, 2017, we are a nation in mourning. Overwhelmed by sadness, why’s, knee-jerk responses, passionate social media posts, cries for gun reform, and blame; we are desperately searching for answers. Where does one even really being to process such a senseless act of violence and tragic loss of life? How do we explain the world in which we reside to our children? Who is responsible? Why did this happen? And how on earth did this happen?! Our questions are endless and sadly, many of them will remain unanswered. However, I would like to offer my insight to mass shootings in this country.

Growing up, I lived Columbine and other school shootings. Not lived through or experienced in the literal sense but the fear I felt, worrying if my idle Long Island town would be rocked by such violence was very, very real.

It was a terrifying time to be a teen. The media had dubbed the time period surrounding Columbine ‘Shooting Season’. Daily, my peers and I came to school and walked the halls with trepidation…

Wondering…

Watching…

Alert.

Anonymous notes flooded in to our counselors reporting any signs of odd behavior, depression, Goth kids, and anyone we considered to possibly perpetrate violence on a grand scale. It was a scary time coming to age during this era, all while the world was also on the brink of a cyber revolution.

According to MarketWatch, the break down for reasons the 10 Most Deadly Mass Shootings in U.S. History are as is follows: Both Mental Health Issues and Terrorism/Crimes of hate each account for 8/10 crimes committed. The remaining 2 acts of violence cite work place revenge and most recently; the massacre in Las Vegas is still a mystery as the motive is currently unknown.

What I am about to unearth are my theories regarding mass shootings in America. Some of my theories are deduced from my own experience, some research, and anecdotal evidence garnered as a public educator for 13 years. Much of the lens I am examining this problem is though the current youth, our education system, and other problems that I have identified in American society. You may very well not agree with me, but all I ask is that you keep an open mind and are receptive to my points. I aim merely to offer perspective and insight in a time when lucidity gets muddied as our emotions get the better of us.

1. Inability to Appropriately Address and Treat Mental Health Issues Properly

The mental health crisis in this country is one of great concern. It is truly an abomination how we recognize, treat, and care for our mentally ill. Depression, anxiety, and personality disorders are stigmatized, not talked about, and presented as if some dirty secret.

Additionally, health care is not readily available nor affordable to much of the population; therefore, compounding the issue for people trying to seek help.

Social workers and other mental health providers are over worked and underpaid. Schools often have only one social worker, who is shared between multiple school sites. Students are shuffled in and out of the system quickly because it’s overloaded and as if that weren’t enough, our society criminalizes the mentally ill!

As a public school teacher, I have read countless journals from my students about depression, self-harming behavior, and bullying. I have also observed/been privy to information regarding many disturbing behaviors in children from sexually assaulting other children with foreign objects, to children killing their pets and gloating about it. I have seen these problems get swept under the rug, dismissed, or not adequately addressed because we simply do not have the man power or resources to treat these children.

Every adult that has carried out mass shootings, was once a child—a student in someone’s classroom. Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris were teens who wrote disturbing pieces in their English classes, maintained online websites, and personal journals all leading up to the horrific Columbine Shooting in Littleton, Colorado on April 20, 1999.

Where were the teachers? Why weren’t services offered to these boys? But really what I am talking about here, or wondering rather, is why haven’t we learned? Why can’t we have a real conversation about real issues and real things that matter? Who really gives a shit about Keeping Up with The Kardashians?! We have people who need our help and we are too busy distracting ourselves and cannot see the real issues deserving of our attention.

2. Cyber Revolution: Social Media and Instant Gratification

In 2000, as the millennium rapidly approached, accessibility to the internet, email, and a super highway of information was unleashed on the world. It is a known fact that Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris used the internet as a means to conduct research to acquire weapons, build homemade bombs, and publically post their dark stories of death and murder. What we saw at Columbine, sadly would not be the end of the internet’s role in influencing mass shooter’s mindsets. Whether from exposure to Islamic radicalism, to self-imposed isolation/reclusiveness, or compounding depression and other mental deficiencies; the internet and access to information anywhere, anytime is certainly a factor in such violence.

According to the American Psychological Association, people toggling between 3 or more social media platforms are at greater risk for depression, anxiety, poorer concentration, and changes in mood. Other risk factors associated with extended use of various social media are the effects of cyber bullying, and the pressures of keeping up with the culture of various sites, etc. Ultimately, studies found that these kind of factors lead users to ruminate over their time on social media even when not using it, eventually leading users to negative thoughts about self and low self-esteem.

Our current world is one of instantaneous gratification. Our youth are accustomed to getting answers and communicating in real time. They send texts, direct messages, emails, and Snaps as a means of what they believe to acceptable forms of communication. All too often my students will send me direct messages on Instagram inquiring about class or homework as opposed to emailing me. Read receipts allow people to see when messages were viewed and if a response isn’t rendered immediately, hostility and anger brew within the sender. We are in dangerous water, living in this digital landscape. People expect, no, they demand a double tap on their Instagram photo, a follow for follow, unfollowing on Instagram is a personal affront, texts need to be answered instantaneously, and emails responded to in mere minutes.

Our thought processes are rash and impulsive. Keyboard warriors are hitting send and eagerly anticipating a response as they wage war on others and engage in discussions online in their efforts to communicate. So, as far as I am concerned, people’s ability to wait for things—anything, no longer exists. Science has continued to prove that the internet, social media, [and excessive gaming] have countless negative effects on the brain, social development, and mood.

Why are people so violent? So angry? So quick to act? Simple. Because in the world that exists between their thumbs, life plays out every time you slide your screen down to refresh your feed.

3. No Failure Mechanism in the Face of Moral & Societal Decay

Every generation looks back at their childhood and wonders what in the actual fuck happened to society in their adulthood. At present, I am in my mid-thirties and I find myself looking back at my youth thinking “Ahhhhh, it was a better time” AND the music was a helluva lot better. But perhaps it’s not that things were even better back in my childhood, so much as adulting seriously sucks when you realize the shit storm in which you reside.

We live in an era where words no longer have the meaning they used to. Everyone is overly sensitive, offended, triggered, or incapable of functioning ‘because their feelings were hurt’. Our society has completely and utterly degraded to the point where feelings take precedence over job and academic performance. People are rewarded not for winning or demonstrating mastery, but merely because they tried. Children are given participation awards—no more do we have winners, but everyone who showed up is a winner! Hooray! I do hope you are sensing my sarcasm here. We’ve bred a society of children, young adults, and millennials with zero coping skills and no ability to take feedback to improve because their feelings may get hurt. So when things don’t workout, or go their way; these young people are unable to unpack, cope, and process situations which ultimately culminate with poor behavior, violence, or depression.

Our culture of Nice has produced a bevy of people unwilling to honestly reflect, strive for excellence, and maintain a sense of integrity. In my 13 years in the classroom, I have personally witnessed accountability fall by the wayside as parents, students, and even administrators point fingers to assign blame rather than teach ownership. No one assumes any sort of responsibility; hence, failing to teach people consequences. Cause and effect are shadows of a bygone period. Schools no longer suspend and rarely, if ever expel students. Instead, Restorative Justice is offered as an alternative to Deans of Discipline. Students and teachers sit in a circle and share their feelings with the goal of ‘repairing harm’.

In our society, we are failing miserably at instilling character in our youth. We are not guiding or leading people and showing them how grit and determination will get you far in life. And conversely, we are not showing our youth what happens when you make poor decisions.

Friends. Family. Students. Fellow Americans. We must stand together and make positive change to see this nation soar again and prevent any more violence on such a large scale. Sure, compassion and love are part of the answer. But so is structure, taking care of people’s health, unplugging from social media, and putting an end to unjustly rewarding people/students.

Isn’t it clear that what we are doing isn’t working?

Isn’t it clear that we are failing one another tremendously?

Isn’t it clear that we can do better by those that are suffering?

Isn’t it clear that we need less time on our devices and more time making eye contact?

Isn’t it clear that our country needs radical change that isn’t just legislation?

The time for reform is now before more tragedy unfolds in our country.

Teacher Life

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