Posted in memoir, Personal, writing

A tribute to my Memaw

A few weeks ago, my grandmother died.

She died of Alzheimers, and has had the disease for around 15 years. Doctors have been mystified as to how she had lived through such torture for so long. Finally, at the end of July, she was able to rest and become whole again.

COVID-19 put a whole new layer into the grieving process. No one was allowed in the memory care facility due to an outbreak. The visitation was limited to 10 people in the room at all times, and the funeral was completely spaced out with limited capacity. We wore masks the entire time (have you ever had a sobbing fit under a mask? It’s not my favorite).

I was able to be one of the family members to speak at her funeral. I wanted it to be loose, casual, off the cuff…but I should know better, because that’s not my style. I started to write, and the following came out. I wanted to share what I wrote with you, because my Memaw was a beautiful soul, and to know her is to be better.

My wedding, June 2011.

In the middle of my living room sits a coffee table. Made of wood, circular, edges worn down by time. Before it sat in my living room, it sat in Memaw’s living room. When my daughter Kinleigh first learned to walk, she would grab onto the sides of that table and walk laps and laps, just like I did before her, like Kyle, Karly, Cody and Cole…all of us did. In almost every Skinner family picture taken at Memaw’s house, you can see her table in the frame.

In many ways, Memaw was just like that coffee table- strong, supportive, long-lasting, and always there, always present, even in my earliest of memories.

When I was little, there came a point and time in my life that my dad and I needed a place to stay. Memaw never hesitated; she gave us a home  filled with joy and stability during a time in our lives when stability was hard to come by. I could count on the fact that at least 2 nights a week, my days would be filled with her giving heart, her goodness and her love. 

What did that love look like?

 Love looked like games of hide and seek, when I always hid behind the same big gold curtain and held my breath so that she couldn’t see me move, as she pretended to look in all different places as though each time was the first time I’d hidden there. 

Love tasted like turkey and cheese sandwiches- a taste I could never figure out how to replicate, no matter how often I’ve tried to make them exactly her way. White bread, butterball turkey, mayonnaise…or was it miracle whip? I never could figure out why hers were the best.

Love felt like playing under a fort made of a card table, every homemade quilt in the house…and books. Always books. Picture books that were falling apart, coloring books, books that had been well-worn and well-loved, that had been read by all of the grandkids at one time or another. It felt like a family game of Pictionary, one where Memaw never understood what the card said and always spent her turn laughing so hard that she couldn’t stop, drawing maybe 1 to 2 lines or circles at most.

Love sounded like a larger-than-life laugh, one that burst out of her tiny body without warning. Memaw always looked like she herself was surprised at its volume.  It sounded like a living room constantly filled with family, laughing, teasing, playing games, always celebrating life together. It sounded like the exclamation of “Catherine? Oh, I forget no one calls you Catherine anymore,” even though she was the only one I didn’t correct about it. 

Love smelled like homemade chocolate pie for any and every special occasion, a recipe that I still get to enjoy thanks to the many cooking lessons she gave Karly. It smelled like melted Mr. Goodbars that were hidden in random drawers all over the house so that no one else would eat them. It smelled like cheese enchiladas a la Carte at Campo Verde, her scrambling to find change so that each of her grandkids could take a turn at the crank machine, trying to win some kind of small plastic cup that just took up space in her hallway closet.

This love has crafted and molded the person I am today, or at least the person that I want to be, that I try to be. 

As an adult, people often say how much I am like my dad. I am meticulous, a hard worker, someone who loves a plan so much that I put together a binder with dividers for a Disney World vacation…I get things done. However, the more I’ve been looking back at Memaw’s life, the more I see her fingerprints on the person I am today.  She was a hard worker, a fast learner, and a devoted wife and mother. Memaw played many roles: switchboard operator, secretary, housewife, you name it.  Later in life, Memaw did data entry and was able to pay off both her house and her car while my Pepaw was sick with cancer. Regardless of her job, role, and life situation, Memaw pushed to make it the best possible situation for her family, without complaint, with a smile on her face. That’s the kind of woman I want to be; relentlessly making the world a better place for the people I love, and finding joy in everything along the way.

The coffee table in my living room isn’t going anywhere. Sure, it’s getting older, the scuffs around the edges getting more prominent, but like any table, it’s meant for gathering people together. Our memories do the same. To be a part of my family is to be a storyteller. It’s something we do every time  we get together. A couple of days ago, my daughter asked me if I had any “great stories” about Big Memaw. We laughed, I cried…and I could breathe a little easier. The memories we have will become stories we tell, over and over until we have them memorized backwards and forwards. Memaw is no longer with us, but she will always be with us in the way we love each other and the way we continue to share her stories. 

Memaw, I love you. Thank you for loving me, during good times and dark times. Thank you for never making me feel any other way but special, cherished and loved. Give Pepaw a hug for me, and save a spot for me on your Pictionary team in heaven. 

Posted in Fantasy, Reading

Slaying the Dragons: Why Fantasy is Vital to the 2020 Reader

Open any social media platform and you will certainly be bombarded with a mixture of dangerous rhetoric and dismal reality. As an instructional coach, I’ve been straddling the conversational line, privy to the experiences of students, teachers, administrators as well as parents, community stakeholders, and people who just shout as loud as they can so that they can be a part of the conversation too. With all of the negativity and the noise, we all are trying to take care of ourselves to make it to another day and still have something to give our families, our students, our community. Full disclosure: I am the worst at self care. However, I realized today that it’s been over FOUR MONTHS since we began incorporating stay-at-home habits and changing our entire way of life. I wondered, “How on earth am I okay? What self-care habits have I been employing accidentally that have gotten me to this point without losing my sanity?”

At first, I couldn’t really think of anything that had changed. I’m still working crazy hours, still randomly shoving shame-snacks away in my pantry like a gremlin…then it occurred to me to check my Goodreads account. Normally, I read approximately 30-40 books a year. However, it’s July and I’m currently sitting at 44…having read over 20 since March. This is craziness! When taking a closer look at my readerly choices, I found that most of what I’ve been reading falls into the category of fantasy.

I grew up a huge fan of fantasy, and have continued that love into my adulthood. However, it’s something that I rarely make time for as I have professional development books to read or YA realistic fiction to read and vet for teachers. Yet, in a time of crisis, I unknowingly returned to the world of fantasy. Wait…that’s not accurate. I’ve devoured fantasy. I’ve read four of the Harry Potter books aloud to my daughter. I’ve read two entire series by Sarah J. Maas, some days consuming multiple books. But why?

I reached out to a Facebook group I belong to full of people that love and discuss all things fantasy, and through their responses have put together a few points that I believe fully reinforce why both our students and ourselves need fantasy now more than ever.

Sense of Belonging and Community

Fantasy stories have a shelf life that far outlasts the publication of the last book in a series. Many fantasy stories such as C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia, J.R.R. Tolkien’s Fellowship of the Ring series, J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series, and many others have drawn together readers who are bonded in their common love for the texts. These groups, or “fandoms,” as it were, continue to give these stories life and momentum through the collection of shared reader experiences. Podcasts such as Binge Mode, Cast of Kings, and others dig deep into these stories and have a fan base that can compare in size to any professional sport. As a proud Harry Potter fan, I love the common language that we share. When I see a stranger wearing a Gryffindor shirt, I have 100 percent certainty that, when I exclaim excitedly, “I’m a Ravenclaw!” that I will not be looked at with fear or annoyance but will have instantly made a new friend.

My students always knew that I was a speaker of many “common languages” of fantasy.

Consider gatherings such as Comic Con, or even online forums such as fan fiction sites or the aforementioned Binge Mode Facebook group. These are places where we can go, share our love of these stories, and instantly find belonging. In a world and culture in which we are experiencing isolation in multiple areas, multiplied by the various effects of being at home 24/7, belonging and community are necessary to our survival.

The Need to Escape

As a little girl, things weren’t always lovely for me. I struggled a lot through understanding divorce, faith, perfectionism, anxiety, and guilt. I struggled to fit in, to find my footing in the popular social circles of elementary, then middle, then high school, never quite mastering the concept of “fitting in.” As early as 7-8 years old, I was drawn to fantasy stories. I remember laying face-down on a tire swing, reading The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis over and over, until the pages were yellowed and torn. In middle school, I was entranced by Harry Potter, captured in essence as he transitioned from the boy living in a cupboard under the stairs, penniless and loveless, into a boy with friends, talent, purpose, and love. When escaping into these stories, I was able to simultaneously take a break from my own experiences, yet deal with them through the safety and distance of a fantasy story. J.R.R. Tolkien delivered a talk at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland many years ago, titled “On Fairy Stories.” In explaining the need for escapism, he states: “We should look at green again, and be startled anew…by blue and yellow and red. We should meet the centaur and the dragon, and then perhaps suddenly behold, like the ancient shepherds, sheep, and dogs, and horses—and wolves” (p. 19). By escaping to a new world of fantasy, we begin to understand how to deal with our own issues.

Caring for Social Emotional Needs

Why does this resonate now? In my original Facebook thread, Kelly Ganzberger said it best when asserting that fantasy allows us to escape the “daily dystopian nightmare of 2020.” When your experiences and your worldview only extends to what you see in your home, school, community, and social media feeds, often the world can feel very small. Children and adults alike who experience mental health disorders like anxiety and depression can feel at times like the metaphorical (and physical) walls are closing in, that no one understands or knows their struggles. As a child who put crippling pressure on myself, fantasy stories offered me a reprieve from the bubbling panic in my chest while subtly showing me a light at the end of a tunnel. Dora Valencia, another member of the Binge Mode Facebook group, stated that she “needed to escape to a world that didn’t seem to end even if the books did. The moment my fears and anxieties were taking the most out of me, I had a place to go.”

G.K. Chesterton once said that “fairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.” How many of our students walk around battling “dragons” every day? How many of us do the same? When Aslan defeats the White Witch, when Harry Potter emerges from the Battle of Hogwarts victorious, it gives us all hope that we too can do the same.

Building Global Citizenship and an Activist Mindset

One look at someone’s Twitter post comments or seeing your great-great-aunt’s latest post on Facebook is living proof that many former students grew into adults who do not know how to engage in civil discourse, how to empathize with others, and how to understand multiple perspectives and beliefs. Tolkien refers to this as “morbid delusion,” saying that if this sort of behavior were to happen in a fantasy story, there’s no way that the story would end without the behavior being cured (“On Fairy Stories,” p. 18).

If you’re an English teacher, you’ve probably heard of (and taught) “The Hero’s Journey.” The hero, usually a naive, inexperienced youth, embarks on some type of quest. They encounter obstacles, and eventually gain something from their quest, most of the time that something being different than what they originally sought. Sound familiar? Not only do most fantasy stories follow this outline, but our lives often embody this parallel, over and over again.

Kellen Korinek said it best in her Facebook contribution: “Fantasy stories teach us lessons about the real world. They show us that Harry Potter, or Frodo, or Percy Jackson’s real powers aren’t that they can do magic and fight monsters, but that they have friends and families that help them be better and get better.I teach my students that the Hero’s Journey can be applied to real life as well as fiction. Some problem causes us to leave our ordinary world and be faced with challenges and villains (physical or mental) and learning how to deal with them makes us a better person. Then, once we’re back, the ordinary world is better or different and so are we.”

I mean, mic drop.

We can use the distance of fantasy to have safe yet difficult conversations about the things our students live with each day. We can address social injustice, bigotry, bias, prejudice, etc. through the lens of fantasy, and gain the proper language, structures and confidence to carry over those conversations into our lives. When we see Harry or Frodo or Luke Skywalker—though weak, inexperienced, unqualified and terrified—do the right thing, not because they are ready or equipped to win, but because it is the right thing…maybe we can go into our own homes, circles, and communities and do the same.

One of my FAVORITE HP quotes (found on

It is July 2020, and sometimes, I just need to turn off CNN and fill my head with fairies and wizards just to breathe. Students are coming back to school either virtually or in person, carrying with them the weight of a global pandemic among with several other inequities and injustices that they’ve worn long before now. It’s essential that we do our very best to give them, and ourselves, what they need. I believe at my core that fantasy stories should be counted as essential in classrooms and in our own lives, both now and in years to come. Fantasy isn’t an aversion to reality; rather, fantasy helps us live the fullest and richest reality possible.

What is your “reader origin story”? How do you feel about the genre of fantasy? Let me know in the comments!

If you’d like more information on how to better implement fantasy texts in the coming school year, please find me on Twitter and send me a message; I’d love to help you brainstorm some ideas!

Posted in Policy, TEA, Texas

A Texas Educator’s Take on the July 7th TEA School Safety Plan

I feel that I must begin this post with the ever-existing disclaimer that my opinions are my own, not that of my employer. Okay, we’re good? Great. Let’s dive in.

Around 3:30pm yesterday (July 7), the Texas Education Agency (referred to in the rest of this post as TEA) released a statement in which they outlined what they refer to as “Comprehensive Guidelines for a Safe Return to On-Campus Instruction for the 2020-2021 School Year.” I first saw this statement on Twitter and Facebook, where a few screenshots had been included with the post. The longer, official document can be found here, and I encourage you to read it as well before continuing with this post.

Upon seeing the first few bullet points and then starting to read the comments, I immediately realized that I would need to sit down in a quiet setting and read the document critically before posting any thoughts or criticism. In this current climate and setting, it’s so easy to immediately react and comment before rationally thinking it through, so I wanted to make sure I didn’t get ahead of myself. Now that I’ve read it a few times and had time to sit with the information, there’s just a few points that I want to go over and think through with you all.

First and foremost, as a former high school ELAR teacher, language and rhetoric will always stand out to me in close reading any text. Certain phrases and words jumped out at me. I invite you to do the same, just with this small clip of text. Read through and think about the word choice and phrasing: what do you notice? What do you wonder?

(Image is a screenshot of the actual TEA document, which can be found here.)

The main words that stand out to me are the words “should,” “are encouraged to,” etc. If I continue to examine the document, there are other examples such as “may,” “might,” even “consider.” One specific example applies to student-teacher groupings, suggesting that “in classroom spaces that allow it, consider placing student desks a minimum of six feet apart when possible.” In this one sentence, there are three different examples of conditional language. Take a look:

“in classroom spaces that allow it” – based on this language, only classrooms that are large enough to move desks around and keep the 6 foot separation need worry about this. Immediately I think about the classrooms I have been in across the state; I’ve yet to see a classroom that would allow for this kind of separation at their current capacity.

“consider placing student desks a minimum of six feet apart” – So, once we have established whether or not a classroom can allow for social distancing, we get another conditional statement. A school leader will consider, or simply think about, spacing out student desks.

“when possible” – Again, in case we haven’t already gotten the picture, the author of this text reiterates that this only applies if it is possible; what that actually means is left ambiguous.

Upon reflection, there’s much more being unsaid here than being said. What does it mean for a classroom to allow spacing? Because this is a consideration, can we assume that a class of 30 could, in August, contain 30+ bodies, as many classrooms do? What are the conditions that would make spacing desks possible, and the inverse, impossible?

This is just one of several examples of conditional language throughout the document. What I’m guessing the TEA is trying to do is provide choice and control to school districts, so that districts can make the decisions they deem best for their students. However, upon listening and reading many district statements, districts have been fiercely struggling with planning for the fall, and have been craving feedback and guidance from the TEA to help them with the non-negotiable pieces. By leaving much of this document vague and conditional, all that districts have been given are a list of brainstorming ideas with a few non-negotiables that don’t have much impact on the day-to-day classroom interactions. Based on this document, a district could choose to ignore any statement that does not contain the word “must” and create a learning environment that looks much the same as it did prior to March 2020.

The other glaring issue that I see in this document occurs explicitly in the first section and reoccurs thematically throughout the text. In examining the public health considerations, the TEA cites the Center for Disease Control (CDC) and their research that identifies children as at far less risk of serious COVID-19 symptoms than others who are infected, in addition to the American Academy of Pediatrics’ comment on the harmful effects of students not being in school. I’d like it stated that I see both of these sources as credible, and trust that the information they are distributing is peer reviewed and research-based. Just for the sake of context, I fully see the perspective of many parents and students who want, no, NEED, schools to reopen. For many students, the risk of staying at home is far larger than the risk of potential COVID-19 exposure. My own daughter has struggled socially and emotionally through the end of school and beginning of summer, emotions and anxiety flying high. My concern and criticism of this section is that it is missing vital voices. Whose voice is not being heard here?

When schools reopen, who are the people that will be doing the work, interacting with students, putting themselves at risk? Teachers. Bus Drivers. Cafeteria workers. Counselors. School Administrators. Paraprofessionals. Janitorial and maintenance staffs. The list continues. As a high school teacher, I saw anywhere from 70-200 students rotating through my classroom on a given day. Consider what this looks like, even if all of the “musts” and the “shoulds” are followed; what consideration is being given toward the risk that district employees will be taking just in doing their jobs? We are asking educators to not only put themselves at risk, but put their families at risk as well. This document is glaringly silent when it comes to the teacher voice, and any acknowledgement or empathy from leadership at this risk they are being asked to take. No, “being asked” isn’t the right language…”required” is more fitting.

Teachers already face criticism from society on a daily basis. I’ve heard teachers compared to childcare, heard parents speaking in board meetings that they should receive a teacher salary because “teachers are just sitting around on their computers all day” during stay-at-home. The reality is that most of the teachers I’ve spoken to worked tirelessly from waking up in the morning until 9-10pm every night, learning new virtual skills, making sure each and every student was not only learning but emotionally okay, etc. Teachers are exhausted, anxious, and fearful coming into the 2020-2021 school year. It’s painful to see educators waiting all summer for guidance, then receive an 8 page document that lacks this consideration for their own health and well-being.

Which brings me to the last thing I’d like to just mention and let sit with you; this document is 8 pages long. We have had 5 months since the beginning of this process. I simply expect more. I expect better. The announcement was made last week that 2020-2021 STAAR assessments would indeed take place this year (read more about that here), so it seems that some forethought has occurred; forethought that, in my opinion, is heavily misplaced. What does it say to all of our stakeholders that the testing manual for STAAR is over 100 pages, yet this official “comprehensive” document for school safety is eight?

I digress. I am just one person, an educational employee living in Texas that hopes for specific and strategic guidance, understanding, empathy, and collective efficacy for all of us during this time. I’m not bitter, I’m not ragey, I just…I just want better.

What are your thoughts? I’d love to hear some of the other responses to this document and its contents.

Posted in Equity, Leadership, Personal, Policy, TEA

Systemic Change: Why Not Ask “Why”?

In this work, it often seems like we are given reasons why something cannot or will not happen when change is pursued. Whether it’s teachers wanting to add a specific book title to a classroom library or book club, or an ELAR coordinator wanting to dismantle leveled libraries on a campus/in their district…the roadblocks feel so similar. We hear things like “change is slow here” or “our community isn’t ready”…or even a downright “No.” When I hear these things, only one word comes to mind…why?

Let me be more specific. I’m not asking for the specific rationale behind the response. I know why many teachers still level their libraries, or why certain titles make parents or administrators uncomfortable. I guess I’m asking for the “why behind the why”….why does it have to be that way? Who makes the rules?

Last summer at the Teachers College in NYC, Lucy Calkins discussed at length the origin of American education systems. She talked about the origin of the U.S. education system, a system that was not meant to educate all, but a select few. Challenging us to reflect, we questioned how much has truly changed about classroom instruction from this original model? Not a whole lot, from my perspective. But everything else has changed. The WORLD has changed…people has changed…what is considered “literacy” has changed. Text is everywhere, thanks to the digital age. The amount of information available online doubles every twelve hours. No longer are we teachers the gatekeepers of the knowledge, dispensing it upon those we deem worthy. Rather, we are tasked with helping students pilfer through the information, finding information that is interesting and useful, teaching them how to examine information through a critical lens, and how to use it in meaningful ways.

When I walk into campuses and still see archaic beliefs and practices, I don’t lay blame on teachers who are working hard to do the best they can with what they know and understand. I don’t necessarily “blame” anyone. The higher up the chain I go, I observe so many stresses and pressures that I can empathize with and see motive behind certain choices. However, in my gut, I cannot let go of the fact that, if we are ever going to truly be a part of transformative educational practices that truly empower all students, we have to start questioning our practices, and the people in power have to set the example.

Superintendents, Directors, Coordinators, Administrators—I beg you to examine the systems in place in your prospective districts/campuses, and simply ask “Why?” Why does the dress code include/not include certain things? Why did we choose this specific discipline policy? Why is there an imbalance in who gets office referrals in our schools? Why do students seem apathetic toward learning? Why are teachers seemingly exhausted/unhappy? We must also do this with the understanding that, when we uncover uncomfortable issues, a 6 hour professional development will not fix them. Neither will one more new initiative, or a book study. We must be vulnerable, and we must be brave. Change takes time, and teachers are waiting/begging for brave leaders who are willing to invest the time to lock arms with them long-term to make systemic changes for the benefit of kids, leaders who will get in the uncomfortable dirt of change without panicking and searching for the nearest cleaning station.

What happens next? Teachers will join you in this work. (Consider this your own personal “If you build it, they will come” situation) You will start to see teachers more willing to ask themselves why DO they have those libraries leveled, or those seating charts in rows. They will be brave, because you have given them permission to do so…but they can’t do it alone. They need an example. Consider yourself a living, breathing mentor text.

Posted in Personal, Reading, Texas, writing

#TCTELA20 – Top Five Takeaways

A little over a week ago, I was settling into a hotel room in Frisco, TX prepping for a weekend of being “on.” The Texas Council of Teachers of English Language Arts hosted their annual conference at the Frisco Convention Center, and I have the privilege of being a part of leadership this year (I am the Teacher Development Section Chair). This was my third TCTELA conference to attend, but my first to attend as a “leader” of sorts. I joined the board in September, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect.

Before I start reflecting on this year’s experiences, I’d like to take a second and talk about what TCTELA has done for me as a whole, in both my career and my person. About 4 years ago, I began to gain a sense of restlessness in my work. I was a high school teacher who LOVED students but wanted an opportunity to stretch my legs and grow. I’d seen TCTELA mentioned in a tweet or two, and saw a link for proposals. I took a shot in the dark and submitted a proposal for a session on digital writing tools, and was approved for a roundtable. My principal paid for my registration to attend the conference that year (Galveston 2018) as long as I paid for my travel, food and hotel. My family came with me and we got an Air BNB to make a weekend of it. I knew approximately ZERO people there. However, the overall electric buzz that filled the halls, rooms, and sessions gave me the sense that I was not just Caty Dearing, English teacher, one of many within my district. It was my first sense of the larger community of ELAR professionals across the state and even the nation, and that my school district was but a small cog in the larger wheel of this work. I started following the organizational leadership on Twitter and came back to my classroom inspired and re-energized to teach and teach well.

That summer I left teaching to serve at one of the 20 regional service centers in Texas as a secondary literacy content coach/consultant. Talk about a huge leap—and feeling like a fish out of water! I shifted my Twitter account to be mostly educational (goodbye, Bachelor recap posts!) and started gaining the confidence to dialogue with the literacy leaders I so admired. By the time TCTELA 2019 arrived, I’d been accepted to another roundtable and had developed Twitter relationships with several of the attendees and board members. I had the courage to introduce myself to several of these people, and ask to get plugged in. Again, each session felt like chugging a Gatorade in the desert; I returned to my cubicle with a sense of purpose and a few new connections in the work.

In September, I had the opportunity to dive into the behind-the-scenes work of TCTELA. As a section chair, I have the privilege to facilitate discussions across the state with coordinators, coaches, principals, professors, all seeking ways to support other teacher developers. I knew it would be a great opportunity to develop more leadership skills, but after reflecting on TCTELA 2020, it has become so much more than that…which leads me to my top five takeaways from this weekend.

5. Getting my professional cup filled by incredible, dynamic speakers.

Clint Smith, author of Counting Descent

If you follow me on Twitter, you may have noticed that I’ve taken a bit of a break from the edu-conversations. I’m extremely passionate about a lot of things, things that are hard, things that hurt, things that feel big and heavy and immovable. Sometimes (and this speaks to my privilege) it just feels like too much, and I have to step back. Laurie Halse Anderson spoke about rape culture and consent with such boldness, and Clint Smith talked about the single story narrative of history we often experience, and how to challenge and question this. By the end of the weekend, I really felt more energized and focused to dive back into those difficult conversations as an active participant, not a bystander.

4. An invigorated sense of purpose and interest in the Teacher Development section

All of our section hangout work!

Coming on in September, the few active members of the section and I decided to start from scratch. We consistently had about 5-6 people that would show up on our monthly Zooms, contribute ideas, and share their expertise. I remember the feeling of pride we felt when we released that first newsletter in December!

At the conference, we each had tables for our sections. Every time I passed our table, I saw a section member talking to others and handing out buttons. We had a full table at our Sunday “Coffee and Conversations,” everyone excitedly talking about all of the ways we can address leader burnout and other heavy issues. I’m pumped to take that enthusiasm into the new year, and I think that by TCTELA 2021 our section will have created/shared a wealth of new resources! It was truly so much fun and warmed my heart to share space with so many COOL people.

3. Rebekah O’Dell’s session on teachers as writers

This session gets its own bullet point, because it tapped into a part of myself that’s been dormant for a really long time. In my last post, I talked a lot about the crippling fear I’ve been experiencing every time I try to write. Rebekah approached this idea of teacher-writers from a different angle, providing ideas and options to just start the process. I found myself excited about several ideas, where before I’d found myself drowning in a sea of “I have nothing new to offer here.” I’ve been able to set aside time to write/journal in small chunks. Hey, this blog post is proof of that! I’m excited to see what I’ve written by 2021, even if it’s all writing that’s just for me.

2. Friendships, friendships, friendships

As I said at the beginning of this post, my entrance into the TCTELA world was one of a stranger in a sea of strangers that had developed into professional connections, mostly via Twitter. This weekend I was able to spend actual face-to-face time with the teachers, coaches, coordinators, and professors that I’ve only ever Zoomed and tweeted with. We spend each night down in the lobby, laughing and brainstorming over wine and hummus. It’s amazing how this conference brings people together, and I’m entering the 2020 year with a cadre of people who care very deeply about this work, and about me, and that feels pretty cool.

  1. A newfound sense of confidence in myself as a literacy leader (bye bye imposter syndrome)

Something unlocked in me this weekend. I’ve lived most of my adult life fearing the concept of leadership, and considered myself more of a follower. Every time I encountered a promotion or an opportunity to lead, I chalked it up to “right place right time” or a really great interview. Over the past few months, I’ve been feeling a sense of pride in the work that I’m doing at the service center and a desire for MORE. I’m fairly certain that the other four takeaways listed contributed to this, but I truly had a “come-to-Jesus” moment with myself. I am a literacy leader, and that has nothing to do with a board position or a job.

I have contributions to make to this work.

I can confidently introduce myself to people in the field that I look up to without worrying if I’m good enough, smart enough, etc.

I can write things that might help other people.

I can confidently volunteer my thoughts, ideas, and concerns without apologizing first.

What I hope other conference attendees gained from this past weekend is a similar understanding. Cornelius Minor said in a presentation I attended last year (and this is paraphrased based on my memory), “If you’re waiting for someone to give you permission to lead this work, you will always be waiting.”

Your voice matters. You have something to contribute to this community. You are valuable to the ELAR collective, not because of position or job, but because you dedicate your time and heart to students, and that is important, and people need to hear what you have to say. I’m dedicating myself to this mantra, and would love to support you as well!

Let’s be bold, brave, and unapologetic together.

Posted in Personal, writing

Disrupting the Edu-Writer Persona: Some Reflections

There’s nothing like great professional development that returns me to this space. For the past six months, I have grappled and struggled through the reality of “educator as writer” in the digital spaces I navigate daily. I began this blog as an attempt to practice what I preach, and yet—time after time, writing is the thing that always gets pushed to the side.

Time. There never seems to be enough time. I’m constantly pushing writing aside for the other more seemingly urgent needs of my family, my colleagues, the teachers I support…pretty much any and every need except for that of myself.

But when I really consider my time, I don’t think that it’s the scheduling that really keeps me from opening up the browser and tapping key after key…I still struggle with that ridiculous demon of imposter syndrome, consistently feeling as though what I have to say is nothing new to the conversation, that someone has already written something more articulate and better-researched about whatever topic I’d like to approach.

I put a lot of pressure on myself to deliver “academic discourse.” As an educator, the personal of digital “edu-celebrity” is real. We see leaders in the field leading Twitter chats, each set of 280 characters full of insight, pushing the thinking of others in the field with each like and retweet. Each blog is full of hyperlinks, citations, current research in the field, student samples…and so much pressure on the educators like me who want to be a part of the conversation but feel just so inadequate to do so.

This post isn’t a solution to imposter syndrome by any means. It’s also not a criticism of the people who do such incredible work to write and inform on Twitter, blogs, etc. It’s more of a self-affirmation that I don’t have to be edu-famous, and that is okay.

I’m giving myself permission to write about things that I’m thinking, regardless of how long the conversations and research have been happening in the field of education or other.

I’m giving myself permission to write about non-education related things, to explore topics and ideas that are important to me not just as an educator, but as a human being.

I’m giving myself permission to write imperfectly, messy, redundantly.

Finally, I’m giving myself permission to write for myself, not for others. My top writing goal for 2020 is not to become published, acquire x amount of followers, subscribers, etc. My goal is to connect with my writerly identity: who is Caty Dearing, writer? What does she care about? What topics bring her joy, peace, satisfaction through the writing process?

If you’re like me and you need someone to give you permission, I invite you to join me. Let’s shift back to writing as an exploration of identity and thought together, casting off the pressures of the digital edusphere and see where writing for joy takes us.

Posted in Leadership, Professional Learning, Reading, Workshop, writing

#TCRWP: A Week at Columbia University

I just got back home to Texas from the best professional development week of my career. I attended the Grades 6-8 Summer Writing Institute at the Teacher’s College Reading & Writing Project, at Columbia University. TCRWP is manned by Lucy Calkins, the mother of workshop model and creator of the Units of Study. As a secondary literacy coach for 70+ districts, I have been doing my best to support teachers as they voice a need for more time, for help understanding how to give students choice, what “self-sustained reading” and “reflective writing” look like in their classrooms, and for ideas on how to build capacity in their below-level readers and writers. I have been a proponent of writing workshop for years, workshop being the single most joyful time I spent in my classroom, and the structure within which students saw the most growth. I arrived in New York on Sunday, eager to explore the city and learn as much as I possibly could.

The first morning, I arrived 20 minutes before registration to an already lengthy line. I was given a tote bag with a notebook, a binder of materials, a book on writing workshop, a book full of mentor texts, and other various goodies. We were ushered into Riverside Church, a beautiful architecture that took my breath away. Over 1,200 educators, grades 3-8, filed into the church, all eager for the first keynote, given by none other than Lucy Calkins herself.

Stood in line to get a photo with Lucy herself!

Though small in stature, Lucy’s words had large impact on myself and those around me. She challenged us to see the value of writing as it helps us cope with trauma, as it gives us voice and power, and as it helps us to access new information. She reminded us that this work, teaching writing, is ultimately about “I see you.” Writing is vulnerable…it is revelatory of the people we are, the people we pray we don’t become, and the people we want to be. “I want us to be brave rebels…dancing for a writing workshop that invites students to be open, vulnerable, passionate…let us dance for a writing workshop that helps us truly see our kids, where they truly see each other,” Lucy stated. I couldn’t write fast enough, my hands cramping from notetaking within an hour on Monday morning.

This feeling of finger fatigue was a common theme throughout the week. Each day, we would meet with a small group specific to 7th & 8th grade instructors. My group was led by Cheney Munson, who was an absolute delight. Have you ever been around a teacher who made you think to yourself, “I would have LOVED to have been in his class!” ? That is Cheney. The way in which he spoke to us constantly felt like a friendly invitation rather than a rigid command; as a result, I wrote more (as a student) in his small group than I have in years. Small group time consisted of the “nuts and bolts” of writing workshop. Cheney would teach us about a structure, then would model pieces in which we became students. We learned about mini lessons, gathering spaces, conferencing, small group instruction, sharing and celebrating, and gained specific tools to help students generate ideas and be intentional with talk. We learned about partnerships and strategic coaching. And we wrote. We wrote daily, and often. By the end of the week, we had developed a closely-knit writing community with our group.

I also went to a large group session each day for 6th-8th grade educators led by none other than Mary Ehrenworth! Mary was so clever and funny, and clearly so passionate about working with adolescents. Mary would approach the work we did each day in small group through a larger lens. She would give context to the theory behind the work and would provide other methods and ideas to help students gain access into the work. Each day, Mary would make fun “NYC” recommendations and would model various strategies for us, regaling us with stories from her adolescence that left us audibly reacting (ask me about the stapler story)!

After large group, we were dismissed for lunch, then returned for choice workshops. I gained more resources for offering representation in texts, went to a session on management and structure within workshop, and went to two graphic novel/cartoon workshops that were so enjoyable!

At the end of each day, we had a collective keynote. Two of my favorite keynotes were Gene Luen Yang and Cornelius Minor. Gene Luen Yang, author and illustrator, used comics to tell his own story as well as giving insight into how comics bring stories to life. I had never known the history of Superman as an opposition to the Klan and am so excited for Yang’s issue of Superman coming out this October! Cornelius Minor had come to our literacy conference as a keynote speaker in July, and I really enjoyed chatting with him then. We’ve since become Twitter friends, and he truly inspired me to continue pursuing leadership and refusing to sit silently, waiting for others to make change happen in the world.

If you follow me on Twitter, you know that there is an entire other level of PD happening online! I so enjoyed sharing my thoughts and hearing the thoughts of others during the week using the #tcrwp hashtag. I even recorded some Periscope recaps on the first 3 days!

Ultimately, this week was the best professional development I’ve ever attended, hands down! Being around likeminded educators in an environment that focuses on the heart of students and our belief in students definitely recharged my batteries. I can only imagine how incredible the reading institute will be next week, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sad to miss it.

Stay tuned for more blog posts focused on specific reading and writing topics, strategies, and tools! I can’t wait to share my learning with all of you!

Posted in Equity, Leadership, Personal, Professional Learning

Moving from the Safe Space to the Brave Space

Selfie with Cornelius Minor at our literacy conference…an educator who inspires me so much!

Last week, we hosted a literacy conference at work. Incredible educators such as Cornelius Minor, Lester Laminack, Pam Allyn and Dr. Lindsey Moses were all there sharing their work with 450+ teachers in Texas. Every time I get a chance to learn from the “best” in the field, I simultaneously feel inspired/full and slightly insecure. You see, one of my lofty goals in life is to be a writer. I’m a researcher and a voracious reader, and I can play school like no one’s business. However, when it comes to actually putting pen to paper, I withdraw.

One of my colleagues put a term to this passivity last week. In a moment of inspiration/word vomit, I shared how I was feeling about my own inadequacies. “Oh, you have imposter syndrome,” she said. She later explained that imposter syndrome is this feeling of inadequacy, the instinct that there is someone better/smarter/more well-equipped than you to accomplish a thing. When I go to write, or collect my thoughts, I often think about the incredible scholars publishing text and speaking all over the world on the subjects I’m passionate about, and I withdraw my voice every time. Why would I write about text access when Donalyn Miller already does it so beautifully? Why engage in written conversation around LGBTQ+ literature and student support when I’m straight, and there are queer educators already elbows deep into the work? Why write my queries about privilege and race when, as a white woman, I’m almost certain to make a misstep? I constantly try to convince myself that my voice isn’t a necessary part of the conversation, although this sentiment is the polar opposite of what I would teach my students. I recognize this “imposter syndrome” as an unhealthy thought/insecurity. But what next?

Earlier in the day, I’d been chatting with a group of literary educators and we’d been talking about the terror of using our voice and putting our thoughts out there for the world. “We just need a safe space,” I’d stated. Brian, a work friend who was working in close proximity to us, whirled his chair around. “You gotta get out of your safe space,” he said to us. I was confused–don’t we all need a safe space to test the more risky thoughts in our heads? “You have to move from the safe space to the brave space, or you’ll never accomplish change,” he stated.

This phrase has been running on repeat in my head all week. What does it mean to move towards the “brave space”? When I truly reflect on my research and teaching, I find that I indeed tend to play it safe. In my attempts to address my privilege and biases, I often discuss these with close friends that I know will correct me out of love if I am wrong or misinformed. When attempting to establish myself as an ally to the LGBTQ+ community, I hold back from having conversations with specific audiences because I don’t want to deal with the conservative backlash. My heart demands radical thoughts and radical change, but I’ve been paralyzed, self-imposing voicelessness onto the words in my brain and heart.

This blog is proof of it. I started this page in October to battle the hypocrisy I noticed in my practiced. Here would be an online space to use my voice, to explore new ideas, to speak my truth! The last time I’ve written anything? October.

One thing is for sure…the brave space is a space where I want to live. What does this mean for me? I’m going to, as Brene Brown says, “rumble with vulnerability.” I am going to be my authentic self, and I am going to write about my thoughts and wonderings even if I am the only one who sees them. I’m going to take risks. I’m going to start brainstorming projects and seeing them through. I’m going to work on/through getting in my own way, because ultimately, I care about students and I care about my fellow educators. I’m proud to do the work that I do, and I believe in the future of education.

Raise a glass to living in the brave space. Deep breaths, everyone!

Posted in Personal, writing


This blog is a step of faith.

It’s an experiment, a dumping ground, one big question, a million different answers.


On Saturday, October 20, NCTE encouraged teachers and students everywhere to share why we write. There were videos, lesson plans, all sorts of great resources shared. I reflected on the writing life of my students and shared many of my beliefs on writing.

What I soon realized was that I should have been using the hashtag #whyIshouldwrite.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the work of learning about literacy that I forget to foster my own craft. I’m going to do my very best to use this space as a place to curate, create, and contemplate all things literacy…and maybe a little bit of life also.

One of my students used to say often, “I never know what I think until I write about it.” My hope is that through writing, I will be able to truly extend my understanding of literacy, of voice, and of people.