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You Don’t Owe Social Media Anything

Visibility online is not the same as value in your classroom, so focus on music-making not creating content.

I guess their kids are just… better than mine? That’s the thought I had at 11:42 p.m. as I scrolled through Instagram when I should have been sleeping. The post was from a band director I didn’t know. I marveled (and seethed) at the perfectly angled photos of a perfect-looking rehearsal. Kids smiling. Neatly arranged chairs. Some caption about “grateful hearts and hard work paying off.” It had 217 likes.

Meanwhile, my last rehearsal ended with a kid getting their thumb stuck in their third valve slide ring. No photos. No hashtags. Definitely no gratitude in sight.

For a while, I let myself spiral. Maybe their band is just better. Maybe they work harder. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.

I’ve had to remind myself of this more than once: Social media visibility and real-life value are not the same thing. Not even close.

I knew that the band director’s post didn’t show the full story. Mine wouldn’t have either.

Stop Measuring Your Worth by What Others Post

You already know that Instagram and TikTok aren’t real life. But for some reason, teaching makes us forget that.

Especially when you’re new. During those first few years, everything feels like a competition you didn’t even know you signed up for.

Who’s got the bigger band? Who’s pulling off the harder music? Whose kids are wearing the snazziest uniforms or posing with the cleanest downbeats?

And social media pours gasoline on that fire.

I remember sitting in a department meeting my second year, wondering if I should be doing more — more posts, more updates, more … something. A colleague said, “Your program isn’t real unless people can see it.” I wrote that down in my notebook like it was gospel. I believed it for a long time.

But it’s not true. Or at least, it’s only a little true.

Your program is real every time you unlock the door and say hi to the first kid who walks through it. Whether anyone sees it or not.

Those posts you’re comparing yourself to? They don’t show the full picture. They don’t show the 17 reminders it took to get kids in the right shirts. They don’t show the broken reeds, the forgotten mallets, the student crying in the hallway because of something that has nothing to do with band but still showed up in your room. Even if a post shows a band that’s a well-oiled machine, it doesn’t show the 10 to 15 years it took to get to that “overnight success.”

Social media doesn’t show you, sitting alone after school, staring at a schedule and wondering how you’re going to make it all fit.

You’re comparing your worst day to someone else’s highlight reel. It’s not fair, and it’s not helpful.

Also, half of those highlight reels are scheduled weeks in advance. I’ve done it. I’ve posted a glowing photo of my band right after a rehearsal where I wanted to hurl a music stand through the window (our room is on the second floor, by the way).

We’re all faking it a little. Remember that.

Social Media Is a Tool, Not a Requirement

Here’s a secret that took me longer than I’d like to admit to figure out: You don’t have to be on social media to be a good teacher.

Yes, it can help with recruitment. Yes, it can help with advocacy. But it’s not mandatory for your program to survive, and it’s definitely not mandatory for you to survive.

There was a stretch where I posted everything. Concert photos, pep band hype, fundraisers, kids moving stands. I was chasing “engagement” without really knowing why. Likes went up. Followers went up. My stress went up.

I noticed I was spending more time crafting captions than crafting lessons. I cared more about whether the lighting was good on a picture of my trumpets than whether they were ready for the concert.

That’s when I realized: This isn’t for me. This isn’t for my kids. This is for … who, exactly? Other directors? The admin scrolling through at night?

My students didn’t need proof that we were doing good work. They needed me to be present enough to actually do the work with them.

Now? I post when it feels useful. When there’s an alumni update someone might care about, or a concert announcement that helps get butts in seats. Not because I owe anyone proof that we’re trying hard.

If you love posting and it lights you up? Great. Keep going. If it drains you, distracts you or makes you question your worth? Opt out.

Your program won’t vanish. Your kids won’t stop learning. You’re allowed to be a teacher, not a content creator.

guitar instructor in front of class with students seated in front of her

Focus on Your Actual Students, Not Imaginary Audiences

This sounds obvious, but it’s worth saying out loud: Your job is not to impress strangers on the internet. In fact, the majority of these people will never even see your group live and only watch about 15 seconds of the Facebook livestream.

Your job is to show up for the kids who are in your room. The real ones.

The ones who forget their music stands. The ones who play too loud. The ones who ask you every Friday if there’s rehearsal even though they’re already in the room.

They don’t care how many likes you get. They care if you notice them. If you listen to them. If you show up, over and over, even when you’re tired or frustrated or convinced you’re the worst teacher in the building.

I had a clarinet player once — sweet kid, always late, never had a pencil, couldn’t count to save their life. Every week felt like starting over. But then, senior year, they came to me after the final concert and said, “Thanks for not giving up on me. Band’s the only place I felt like I wasn’t screwing up all the time.”

That didn’t happen because of a Facebook post. That happened because I kept showing up in the room.

You can build a solid program and change kids’ lives — and no one on the internet ever has to know. (Pssst — yes, it really does happen if you don’t tell anyone on the internet!)

The people who matter will notice.

Your Value Isn’t Tied to Visibility

It’s easy to forget this when everyone’s busy “building their brand.” But teaching isn’t content creation. What matters isn’t how many people follow you.

It’s measured in the kid who finally nails that scale. The senior who says thank you. The parent who tears up after the concert. The alumni who comes back to visit after college and tells you that your class still helps them get through hard days.

None of that shows up in your analytics. But that’s the stuff that sticks.

Remember, there are teachers changing lives in classrooms who no one ever sees. They are quietly and consistently doing their job without anyone clapping for it. You can be one of them.

The teachers who make the biggest difference usually aren’t the ones posting the most. They’re the ones so busy doing the work that they don’t have time to curate it.

If that’s you? You’re not behind. You’re exactly where you should be.

And if you really need the exposure? Get an approved parent to do this for you (just check with your district first). This saves so much time and energy that you can put back into your program in the way that only you can do.