Teaching

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”

#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.

When Life Hands You Lemons…

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Acceptance, Adversity, anger, Build connections, Challenges, Community, Fitness, Fitness for Men, Married Life, mindfulness, School, Teacher Life, Teaching, Updates, Yoga / Autoimmune, Autoimmune Disease, Blessed, Chronic Illness, Community, Disease, Donation Yoga, Fitness, Giving Back, Helping Others, Never give up, Positive Mindset, Positivity, Scleroderma, Southern California / 12 comments

July 17, 2017

One of my beloved honor’s students from 2016-17. She bought us matching dolphin necklaces after our unit on marine mammals, their rights, captivity, and activism.

My relationship with my job as a public school teacher is touchy. Many days I love it and I am emboldened by the work I do. Many days I am angry and bitter about the work that I do. And many days I am too depleted to even process emotions other than count down the seconds from waking to sleeping. But as my life evolves and the more I think about the legacy I want to leave behind; working with children to improve themselves to be better humans socially, emotionally, and academically seems to routinely hit the nail on the head as far as fulfilling me.

Despite that fullness though, for years I have complained and begged my husband to let me quit my job to work exclusively in fitness. And for years, he begrudgingly agreed I could leave my teaching position, so long as I could make enough money teaching group classes, training clients, and even with my writing. It finally seemed like 2017 was going to be my year. My group fitness schedule swelled, my classes were packed, I was getting good feedback, and I was so swamped that I had to start turning down personal training clients! I was so close. Sooooooo close to finally getting what I wanted when the universe had different plans.

[More on my teaching job later]

Four months ago, my beloved husband was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease called Scleroderma. To say the diagnosis rocked our worlds is an understatement and immediately thoughts of fear and terror took over.

How much time do we have left?

Would my husband die?

Would I have to morph into a caretaker?

What’s going to happen to Greg’s body…?

The day of Greg’s diagnosis, we left the doctor’s office in shock. I found myself unable to really process much and Greg kept pushing me to ‘talk about my feelings’. I came straight home and crawled into bed—jeans and all, immediately falling asleep. For me, sleeping is my escape and avoidance behavior. It’s my way of running from things I choose to not address or cannot face. Perhaps Greg needed me in that moment to hold him as he cried, but what I needed was stillness to allow things to fully sink in.

The days that unfolded consisted of lots of crying. Much of that time I held my husband as he divulged how scared he was of dying and leaving me. As a newlywed of only 2 years, the thought of losing my husband is completely unfathomable. But during this time, through the tears and initial distress, something magical happened.

Greg sprang into action instantly and started reaching out to members of the Scleroderma community. He spent hours online conducting research, learning about his disease, finding support groups, learning about treatments, etc. Through his search, we connected with the Scleroderma Foundation of Southern California where we met Tina, a patient advocate not afflicted with the disease. Tina spent hours talking to Greg and sent us both many emails during those early days of his diagnosis with support groups and other resources. In one of her emails, she invited us to attend a patient information day at Cedars-Sinai so we could meet others battling Scleroderma, learn more about how to live, manage, and treat the disease. Both nervous and excited at the same time to attend the patient day, we signed up immediately.

While attending the patient day at Cedars, Greg and I looked around the room and both had the same thoughts: How could we help these people?

Scleroderma affects mobility in its patients. It targets connective tissue and the skin thickens, making it hard for many people to move their faces, hands, and bodies. Some patients suffer internal organ complications, gastrointestinal distress, and some may struggle to breath as a result of pulmonary fibrosis. Sure, Scleroderma could be devastating and ravage someone’s body, but the spirit of the people I kept meeting touched my heart. Their indomitable will inspired me to my core.

I kept asking myself over and over and over again, how can I help?

The answer I kept coming up with was yoga.

Chair yoga.

Yin yoga.

Restorative yoga.

Yoga with props and balls for myofascial release.

Yoga.

Yoga!

And so, things come full circle (remember all that stuff about me being a teacher and all…).

My heart right here. Sam and Nadia, two beautiful young souls that without fail always made me smile and happy to inspire them!

Whether it’s in my full time job as an English teacher to underserved minority youth in Los Angeles, as a personal trainer, group fitness instructor, or coach; everything about my life has been and shall be dedicated to lifting others up (literally and figuratively).

I have spent so darn long trying to suppress my gifts, hell even run from my gifts while trying with every fiber of my being to NOT BE A TEACHER, but as life would have it; I AM A TEACHER. Being a teacher simply IS my path. And truly in recent months it has become more obvious than ever that my place in this world is a bold call to action to serve others: To teach children how to analyze text, think critically, be socially responsible. To empower others to take control of their lives and bodies, to move with joy, to sweat, and above all—to love themselves unconditionally.

So I am not working exclusively in fitness. This duality and polarization of my life has been tough for me to wrangle over the years, but the more and more I moved forward with my life I have realized that being a teacher has made me a better fitness professional and working in fitness has in turn made me a better English teacher. Being a school teacher has allowed me to do so much more than I could have imagined with my life. At times, I feel burdened to elevate my community and those kids in my efforts to get them to college so they can change their lives, circumstances, and this world. Other times—well, much of the time, I feel bestowed insurmountable power to positively touch peoples lives. But I need to be totally honest here, that is all I know how to do: Push people to strive for excellence at all times—regardless of the modality.

Photo credit Craig Stubing

And while I chose my career in education, and I chose my incredible husband, Scleroderma chose us. We could very easily succumb to the diagnosis or we can rise up and channel our efforts positively because friends, never forget—positivity is a choice. Ultimately, we’ve decided to use our presence in our community and talents as fitness professionals to help others afflicted with this rare and little-known, and little-talked about disease.

Both Greg and I truly feel a higher calling and pull to help others feel better in their bodies while raising money for research and patient support. Talk about turning something seemingly negative into a positive!

In a few short weeks, I will be leading a donation yoga class for those fighting Scleroderma with my husband and our new friends. I couldn’t think of a better way to use what I know, while sharing what I love to do while doing some serious good in this world.

I am going to say it again because it never gets old, but I feel honored and blessed right now. I am grateful that my job as a teacher affords us phenomenal health care and treatment. I am grateful that my work in the classroom transforms kids lives. And finally, I am also grateful that my work in fitness enables people to feel better in their bodies, to get healthy, and stay healthy.

How we choose to look at our lives and circumstances are a choice. Things do not happen to us; they happen for us. Being sad and angry about something is ok—but we must not allow those emotions to overrun our lives and existence. And trust me, there are times we cry and crying is allowed but wallowing is not. I promise even amidst the darkest days there will always be light, and sometimes rather than constantly seeking the light can choose to be the light.

Lean on others. Ask for help. Find your people. Let your community support you. And remember, when life hands you lemons; make lemonade.

The Face of Courage

Arielle Miller / Acceptance, anger, Celebrate, Challenges, Community, Teacher Life, Teaching / Coming Out, Community, Courage, Homosexuality, Love, Middle School, Safe Space, Teacher, Teacher Life / 12 comments

January 12, 2017

As many of you know, my recent years in education have been very difficult. I’ve endured verbal abuse from students and parents, been viciously sexually harassed, accused of and investigated for egregious and baseless claims regarding my teaching practice and craft, worked for inept and simply uninvolved administration—and the list goes on.

In an effort to find my light, love, and a home school to rediscover my love for my work in public service, I landed back at Virgil Middle School—my very first home in Los Angeles 12 years ago. My fall semester was agonizing and I will leave it at that. Every single class on my roster except my honors class had failing averages. I made countless parent phone calls, met with virtually every single parent (some more than once), and honestly, my spirit was broken. So when I assigned my most recent oral project to my students; as you can imagine, my expectations were admittedly quite low. What happened next are a series of events that will forever be etched upon my soul that have truly transformed me.

The assignment was simple: Depict yourself in the duality of how the world sees you juxtaposed to how you see yourself. Students could choose to convey themselves in human or animal form.

One after the other, my students stood in front of their classmates and authentically shared their darkest deepest hurt, insecurities, battles, and above all their revelations.

One girl in her power stood in front of us and said (and I paraphrase), “I am tired of hiding, pretending, and feeling different. I am tired of fighting who I am and I need to tell you, tell the world that I am gay. And I know that many people in the world will have a problem with that, but I am just so confused and I am so tired of not feeling like I can be myself. But here I am—I not hiding any more. I am gay.”

Every single student in my class had started crying. Tears flowed from my face and onto my sweater. I was so engrossed in what was unfolding before my eyes, I hadn’t bothered to wipe my face. I stood up and applauded loudly. I hugged the young girl and looked her in the face and told her how brave she was, and that her courage inspired me.

Then, a young boy raised his hand, “Can I go next?”

In his soft and delicate voice, he told us that he much prefers to hang out with the girls. That he’s afraid that he won’t have friends or that people will judge him if he tells them who he really is, how he really feels, and of his struggles with his sexuality. He tells us that he’s fearful the people on his sports teams will not accept him, bully him, and treat him differently if he tells them who he really is.

Then, he looked at the young girl who previously shared, she is sobbing and the entire class is too. He thanked her for giving him the courage to stand tall in front of his classmates and share with us that he was bisexual.

Students raised their hands, asking if they could talk to these young people. And right there in room 325, lives were changed, perspectives forever altered, compassion facilitated, and bridges were built. Student after student, with tears staining their faces exclaimed that they have these students backs forever, that they love them, support them, and that love is love—who the hell cares what someone looks like as we are all human and deserve to feel worthy in this world.

My students lined up to hug these pioneers. Audible sobs emerged from the masses of huddled bodies congregating in various parts of the room and I couldn’t help but someone think that every single bit of what I have been through led me to this very moment in time. Every time I sat in an office and was reprimanded for my rigor and high standards, every parent complaint that I gave too much homework, every kid who cursed me out, and even the parent who verbally attacked me in room full of parents was supposed to happen. It was preparing me to be able to hold space for these young people and gave me opportunity to create a safe zone for my students. And the thing is, I would do it all over again. What happened today was supposed to happen. I was supposed to be a vessel for these young people to find safety, stability, love, a voice, and above all—I helped them find themselves.

You know, they say that the greatest lessons to be learned about life, love, purpose, meaning, and priority are to be learned from children. Today, I saw the many faces of courage and that love always, always, always, wins.

Teaching

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