A Series In Testing (Part 2): I Was A Student With Test Anxiety

I remember very well the first time after I had taken a standardized test, being praised by my mother.  "You read as well as a twelfth grader!" my mother exclaimed, looking at the test results.  I had never been so proud of myself.  I loved reading, and it was the number one connection I had with my father, so this meant more to me than anyone ever could have imagined.  I wasn't just a good reader... I wasn't just a "Blue Jay"... I was better than high school readers!  In my head, it actually made perfect sense.  I was always a child with a book in my hand, racing through a text.  My father was an avid reader, and so clearly we were a lot alike. 

The very next year I took standardized tests, and was beyond ecstatic.  I was good at these tests!  I could read anything!  After all, I was reading at a 12th grade level.

I'll never forget the moment when my mom got those results.  I had qualified, and was going to be attending, remedial reading.  I didn't understand.  I still don't.  How had I gone from reading at a 12th grade level in 3rd grade, to needing remedial services in 4th?  And I was the only child in the family that LIKED to read - what did this mean for that connection I had with my Dad?  Although I wasn't thrilled about attending, I went, and only because the teacher was so kind.  Within months I was discontinued from services.   I didn't understand why.  I still don't.

I don't remember performing as well as I was capable on a single test after fourth grade.  I'm sure I did adequate, but I don't remember doing well. I do remember always questioning what was really being asked.  I was never a child that could rule out more than one answer on a multiple choice test.  And I always second-guessed what I knew and did the opposite.  I would suddenly lose all confidence in myself when any form of a test was placed in front of me.   

I vividly remember sitting in Global Studies 10 trying to take a final.  I had written my name on the test, but beyond that I couldn't remember a single word.  I didn't know about the times and places that were being tested - I had sat in class every single day, and had studied several nights in advance, and yet, none of this sounded familiar.  Global Studies was an area that was challenging for me to begin with, and I knew that I needed to perform well because I had struggled on all of the previous tests. I could feel the teachers glare, as I often had, perusing the room.  Panic set in, and it was all I could do to fight back tears.

I climbed into my mom's Black Cherry minivan, and the fear, frustration, and defeat poured out of me.  "I don't understand why I can't remember anything when I take tests.  I failed.  I can't remember any of the words she has said all year."  I cried the full thirty minutes home, and my mom instantly got on the phone with a psychologist in the hopes to figure out what was going on with her youngest (and favorite) child, as I prepared for attending summer school.   

After a multitude of tests, and conversations with an amazing psychologist, she deemed that I struggled with anxiety - specific at this point was test anxiety.  She was a bright woman who understood more than I ever said, and I imagine, foresaw the struggle with anxiety that would come in the future.  She put into place a plan where I had extended time on regular tests, and an alternate location.  My all girls, private, high school was more than willing to assist with this accommodation, and I quickly saw my grades begin to improve.  I was touched by my Physics teacher, who on more than one occasion would come and check on me and my progress.  She would reword questions if I didn't understand the language, or tell me to stop and think.  She believed in me, and with that helped me to overcome some of the anxiety I had associated with testing.  By the time I headed to college, I knew that I could and would be more successful.  I knew that I would never do as well as my peers on a summative assessment that was typical to a classroom, but I had figured out enough to express my thoughts on anything written. 

I still struggle with anxiety.  I am prone to the tightening of the chest, and sleepless nights, during high stress situations.  But I watch the occasional student, whom at the mere age of 11, can't put into words their struggle.  I watch them understand, participate, and correctly complete their classwork and homework... And then I watch them fall apart on the tests.  I hear his words when he says, "I know it until the test.  And then everything... well, I just forget it all." I hear her words when she says, "They put so many words for each question, and on each page.  Then I start to think I must not know the answer.  I don't know what they're say and I forget everything I know, just trying to figure out what they are asking.  Then I forget everything for the whole test."

It has been many years since I sat in school taking standardized tests.  It is confusing to me that the same mistakes are being made at a state and a national level.  Why have they not figured out that a standardized test is not the most informative measure of student ability?  That in fact, it only measures that student, on that day, given the tested skill/strategy that the test creators deemed was most important? 

A Series About Testing: NYS Says I Am Nothing More Than A Number

This piece was written last September in a reaction to student test scores and teacher evaluation.  

"You all get A+++!" I exclaimed to my students sitting all along the floor in front of me.  I sat down on the pink velour chair feeling really great about myself as a teacher.  None of my students ever spoke during instruction or talked back, their answers were always right, and they were all great friends.  I knew looking at Teddy, Froggy, Raggedy Ann, and Prima Ballerina that I was meant to be a teacher.

Unlike other teachers, I wasn't the model student.  I was never disrespectful, but certainly known as a "Social Butterfly".  I didn't memorize my multiplication facts, making division near impossible, and I had a tutor at the mere age of 9.  It never mattered to me that I wasn't the perfect student; I still wanted to be a teacher.  I thought all of my teachers were amazing.  Mrs. Dakota was my first grade teacher.  She was the first African-American woman I was really close to, and she would speak French!  I remember feeling like she was one of the smartest women in the world.  Mrs. Mahoney, my third grade teacher, who always smiled and helped me with a very gentle voice- I knew she loved all of her students.  Mr. Harvey challenged me and questioned my thinking, but he valued my strengths.  Mrs. Van Buren in sixth grade really listened to what I had to say.  Ms. Gleason encouraged me to take physics despite the principal telling me it was too hard and to drop the class.  She took the time to read my tests to me 1:1, afterschool, to ensure my anxiety stayed under control.  Being a teacher in a small private school, she made it clear that she was never in teaching for the money.  She challenged us to think about real world issues that we were always taught were "wrong" and "sinful".  Ms. Gleason was the first woman to teach me that it was okay to stand-up and fight for what you believe in - that as women we owed it to one another.  She believed in me, and taught me more about being a teacher who loves and respects her students than any other single individual.  I went off to college to be trained to be a teacher.  I believed in my heart I was meant to be a teacher, and to this day I don't question that my purpose in this world is to educate.  I don't envision a second career, or another place in the world where I am more passionate. 

However, no college program in the world could have prepared me for the actual nuances of education at this time.  It never would have occurred to me that one of the noblest of professions would be radically questioned and so violently disrespected. 

See, last week I became a number.  Last week, my students became a mere score.  Every teacher became a label, and panic set in.  I allowed a number to dictate my feelings about myself, about my profession, and most tragically - my students.  I began to use words like "effective" and "highly effective", "developing" and "ineffective". 

The assumption that I was defined by a mathematical equation was insidious.  I began to question everything I believed as a teacher.  I began to wonder if I had wasted countless lunch periods relating to my students, and helping them solve their personal issues, because that wasn't added into my equation.  How many Saturdays had I spent at softball, baseball, football, and basketball games just to see them shine outside my classroom?  That didn't help my confidence interval at all.  Questioning whether or not to keep our students with special needs in my class in the future raced through my head because their "growth" might be less.  I was spewing out factual data about the growth of remedial readers versus the complexities of the test.  Analyzing my former students test scores, and comparing my current student tests scores began making my chest tight. 

With my head in my hands, alone in my darkened classroom, I just sobbed.   

And for a moment, I believed that the state was right.  I was just effective.  I would never want an "effective" doctor.  I would never want an "effective" pilot.  I would want the best for me, and my loved ones, and I want the best for my students.  This equation made me question myself, and whether or not I was best for my students. 

And then I remembered sitting on the pink velour chair, and knowing in my heart that I was meant to teach.  I remembered getting my first job, and knowing that I had finally found my soul mate - teaching.  I remembered that I am an individual that is willing to learn how to be better, but will also stand up for what I believe.  Most importantly, I remembered the 25 faces that sit before me each and every single day, whom need a teacher who believes in herself, and is confident in her teaching. 

I will take my score, and my label, from NYS.  I will read about my confidence interval and how that changes the scores, and follow the arrows on the flow chart, to eventually lead to my label.  But, I will not let this define me.  I will not let a highly ineffective group of non-educators decide who I am - not today, or any day.  I will continue to do research and inquiry into best teaching practices.  I will continue to be reflective about what my students need.  I will be a teacher who develops every single day because that is what we SHOULD do, rather than putting that label on an evaluation with negative connotation.  Shouldn't we all, as professionals in all areas, be developing every single day?  I will take the words "highly effective, effective, developing, and ineffective" out of my vocabulary, and choose to find words that describe me as an educator, just as I do my students. 

I encourage accountability.  I don't believe teachers should be immune to being held to a standard.  However, speak to the professionals.  Hear our words.  Listen and debate with us, rather than against us.  Meet our students - see these children.  Find out where they come from, and not just their standardized test scores.  Ask parents what they want for their children in life, and how you can assist.  Ask educators what we need to see the improvements necessary - we will be very honest.  Set standards for all associated with children.  Acknowledge the facts about literacy in the early years, before children even enter our school system. 

I encourage you, Governor Cuomo - come into my classroom.  Come speak to our teachers.  We don't want to be your target, we want to work together and possibly even be a team.  Didn't anyone tell you that it takes a village to raise a child?  Certainly not just a teacher.