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Being honest with oneself is challenging. One might think that academics, committed to intellectual pursuits, would have an easier time being honest with themselves. I fear this is not the case, at least for me.Frustration and rejection abound in academia. Whether it be the rejection of a piece of writing, an unsuccessful grant proposal, or, more commonly, a teaching difficulty, academics face a smorgasbord of possible sources of strife. Some become defiant phoenixes, rising above disappointment and angst, sometimes becoming hyperconfident egoists. Others ignore the positives and engage in a Sisyphean pursuit of perfection, morphing into self-flagellating pessimists. Others are more even-keeled, particularly those who can separate a sense of self from their job, although I suspect this level of equanimity takes years, if not decades, to develop. Let me tell you what I hope is my first lie of this essay:If a professor is sufficiently skilled, all students will be motivated to learn, will put forth their best effort, will be completely attentive in class, will accept the professor’s judgment of their assessments, and will not violate academic integrity.At every educational level I have attended or worked at, some of the instructors were spoken of reverentially. Their pedagogical acumen was mythical, captivating their students and guiding them to produce work of remarkably high quality. I assumed that their teaching ability was not just better than mine, but categorically superior. To employ a baseball analogy, if they were Major League quality, I belonged in Little League. Although many of my students were graciously engaged, showed up prepared, behaved attentively, and accepted my assessment judgments, the fact that not all my students can be described as such reflected a deficiency on my part. Not only was I letting myself down by not being a better teacher, but I was also doing my students and my institution a disservice. I had to improve somehow. I could always explain course material more clearly. Perhaps I should grade even more generously. No, I should grade more strictly, then students would be more motivated to focus in class and to prepare for their assessments. It was so simple for the great teachers about whom I had been hearing my entire life.Let’s try to be honest.Even though I fall into the self-flagellating pessimist category outlined above, do I really think that every student issue was my fault? Let’s try another question. Do I blame my colleagues when they report struggling with a student who habitually shows up late or violates academic integrity? I would not, just as I would not blame other people who receive subpar treatment.So, why am I unable to excise the lie mentioned above from my psyche? It comes back to the mythically great teachers. They, certainly, have solved the problems I am having. Thus, a perfect, or nearly perfect teacher exists; I ought to work to be as strong an instructor as they are. Do I have empirical evidence that these instructors are, in fact, universally beloved? I suppose I do not, but that has not shaken my belief in their mythology. Here’s a second lie I’m going to tell that underlies the first one:You should want everyone to like you and you have the capacity to get everyone to like you.I’ve never been comfortable with anyone, let alone students, not liking me. I have been told that getting everyone to like you is like trying to fit a rug that is too big for a room—whatever you do, there will be a corner in which the rug won’t fit or lie flat. Even in classes in which most students reported on their evaluations that they would recommend me as a teacher, if it wasn’t 100 percent of them, I felt as if I had failed to live up to standards. This takes me to a final lie: Student satisfaction is a direct reflection of quality teaching.I accept this as a lie, despite institutional pressure to return high student satisfaction scores. If I acknowledge this, then the fact that I am not universally beloved by students does not entail that I am an inadequate teacher. The hard truth is that I would likely be a better teacher if I focused less on my perception of how my teaching is received. There is likely nothing I can do to make everyone like me. Perhaps the mythically great teachers are just that—myths I’ve held on to as a way of magnifying the negative at the expense of the positive.