Today was spent in orientation and training for a new gig – teaching college students at the local community college. Much of the conversation, as could be expected, was how to be effective in helping students learn. To increase their love of learning. To share a passion for learning that will be embraced. To empower students to create the life each one desires, rather than accepting the proverbial “lot in life.” During this event, I was reminded of a recent conversation I had with my “lifeline friends” regarding the interview for this position, and a string of associated thoughts came to mind.
I have always
hated strongly disliked tests. In elementary school they weren’t so bad. The occasional standardized tests didn’t faze me and I didn’t do too badly on the typical regularly scheduled ones. In fact, I did quite well on spelling and grammar. (I made a point to memorize the spelling of weirdly spelled words after I overheard my parents commenting on mispronunciations, e.g., potpourri, Chihuahua, etc.) My first difficulty with tests was related to high school algebra. (I wouldn’t have passed two years of algebra without a smart friend who helped with the daily homework.) And general science. (We would need to know metric conversions in the future, they said. It would be easier, they said. Has someone created a related meme already, or do I need to do that?) And biology. (Thank you, Mr. Higgins, for assigning drawings for homework that helped me pass, since your handwritten tests were so intimidating.) And American Literature. (I love to read, but essay questions were not my thing. At all. Details do not want to stay in my memory.)
Unfortunately, the difficulty with tests, coupled with significant loss in 9th and 10th grades, became the start of the I-can’t-do-math and the I’m-not-smart belief, followed by the I-can’t-do-college-so-I’ll-bail choice after only three semesters. A few years later, I discovered personal computers, motivated by the need for a job and a boss who, somehow, believed I was capable of running his small, start-up life insurance office. He handed me the manuals and told me to go for it. I was hooked, completing the tutorials and learning the basics of word processing and merging, long before Windows was The Thing. (Yes, I know you youngsters are thinking I’m ancient to have worked with DOS and Basic programming.) I took a few classes at the Junior college and surprised myself at how well I did, and those got me a better job when the other one ended. However, I moved across the country just short of completing a certificate in computer science, and the motivation to finish was replaced by the joy of a coming baby.
In the last 10 years, I returned to school, transferring in some credits to finish a baccalaureate and two graduate degrees. Fortunately, most of those classes did not include major tests, although my fingerprints have been altered due to the hours of typing papers and answering discussion questions online. Therefore, when I was required to take board exams for two different licensures in my field, I became paralyzed with fear. The I’m-bad-at-taking-tests bug hit me and I was shaking and nervous, thinking that I was guaranteed to miss the mark “by that much.” And I felt the same trepidation when I interviewed for the adjunct position I will be starting in a few days.
When I was leaving the interview, which was the most casual interview I have ever experienced, and realizing on the spot that I not only had the job, but also had a choice of not only one, but possibly two classes, it finally dawned on me that tests were not the problem. My own self-doubt is the problem. I got to thinking about the major tests that I have taken over the years (other than my driving test, that I firmly believe was due to taking it in a car I wasn’t used to driving). Every. Single. One. I. Passed. The. First. Try. Go Figure.
“Crash” Course for the private pilot’s exam, immediately followed by the exam – Passed. (Yes, bad choice of names for a course on passing an exam for flying an airplane, but, I kid you not, that was what it was called.)
Flying exam – Passed. (First week of January. In freezing-cold Oklahoma. Flying two hours to a different airport to take the exam, where a pilot had crashed due to ice earlier in the week and knowing the examiner was
Two American History CLEP exams – Passed. (Huge savings of time and money, as they replaced six credit hours! They were no picnic.)
Life insurance sales exam – Passed. (What on earth I was thinking, believing I could influence people to buy life insurance, I do not know.)
ABCAC exam for substance abuse counseling licensure – Passed. (It took six weeks to get the results, and I had to catch my breathe before opening the envelope, then contain my excitement because the rest of the house was asleep.)
NCE exam for professional counseling licensure – Passed. (The proctor surely thought I needed counseling as I hyperventilated and started crying when she handed me the paper with the results.)
So … finally. FINALLY. I get that tests are not the problem. I am the problem. I second-guess myself far too much. I forget the success I have already experienced and somehow focus on the failures, believing those are the points that matter. That FAILS are what define me. Those things have an impact, sure. But they do not define who I am or limit what I am capable of accomplishing. At all. Should the fails be forgotten? Only after the lesson is learned and a fresh, new TRY is implemented. Should they be focused on? NEVER.
Maybe I’ve finally passed this test – being done with self-doubt – by writing it down to get it out of my head. And occasionally coming back to read it – as a reminder to focus on what has been accomplished and move forward with confidence.