I realized my blog is starting to be peppered with this rhetoric of the “broken TFA alum” who had a hard two years—disillusioned, jaded, broken, cynical, and sad.

Truth: I’m not that.

This took some realizing, though. It took me a minute to realize that the fact that I didn’t come out the ass-end of TFA still sweating kool-aid out my pores doesn’t mean I’m damaged goods. Yes, I’ll acknowledge a little dysfunction in my more honest moments, and maybe that’s a result of having done my first two years of teaching TFA-style. But critical is not the same as cynical.

Interesting thing: I collect TFA-quitting stories (that feels like a confession, for some reason). It turns out this is not because I’m a pessimist detracting misanthrope, but because I’m ravenously interested in the stories of these people who weren’t as lucky as I was. If I ever use these stories for anything other than my own reading enjoyment, it will be to make TFA better, not to rant or complain or scoff.

So. Enough about that.