Maybe We Should Go Back

Thoughts on teaching near the year's end

I am still very much in Fuck My Life mode at this point, but there is a single thin line of gray sunrise beginning to materialize on the horizon.

For one thing, we went to the doctor and the baby is doing fine. Heartbeat and all.

Secondly, next week I'm going to Vegas and saying Fuck This Place to my job for 5 days. That feels nice.

Thirdly, it's April and by the time I get back from my trip it'll be April 18, and that's almost the end of April. May is full of testing and barely counts, so I have almost made it through the most horrific year of my career.

I'm probably going to have PTSD again after this year. I did after my first year of teaching back in 2012. Maybe my meds will keep me from that fate though. We will see. And no this isn't a joke; I don't joke about mental illness. I legit had PTSD after that year. All the symptoms. I think I developed it less from the trauma and more from the amount of daily stress I was required to live with, which I think is going to trigger this bout as well, but this year has also been traumatic due to the amount of abuse, threats and acts of terror I have endured from the kids this year. I've had some really truly psychotic and dangerous students who have threatened and terrorized me. I've also been belittled, disrespected and treated as less than human most days this year. All of this is a recipe for a seriously fucked up mental state.

I actually was going to walk away from teaching completely because my husband offered to get me an editing job at his company, but yesterday I found out you need a special certification so I'm stuck where I'm at for another year. Hubby did give me the green light for going back to school though to get the credits I need to be a counselor. I still want to work with teens but no longer want to be responsible for teaching huge groups of kids. It's too much now. The Right Wing is sticking its nose into every facet of our classrooms and increasing hate and distrust of teachers, books are getting banned, the kids are traumatized by this pandemic and no one seems capable or willing to help heal the massive amount of issues that have arisen, parents are checked out, judgmental assholes a lot of the time. The parents who DO care have the kids who aren't problems in the first place, so that's not where our suffering is. (I just don't want to put out a blanket statement like all parents aren't trying, because I'm aware of those who are.) It's just that SO MANY are now dealing with their own stuff that they are neglecting to help their kids who are acting out all over the place.

In short, this job I used to love has become a source of great misery in my life. I no longer find joy or purpose doing what I do. The only part I still enjoy is talking to kids one on one about their lives and problems and helping them. Hence the counseling credits I'm wanting to get.

I'm sick of crying. I'm sick of feeling like I'm descending into the Hunger Games arena every single morning. I'm sick of that dread in the pit of my stomach that seems to eat up any time I have away from this place, because I know I am doomed to go back. I'm sick of getting kicked when I'm down. I'm sick of caring so much about everyone else and having no one give a single shit about me in return. I'm sick of pouring out and never getting poured into. I used to get something BACK from this job, but now it only takes.

I owe myself more. I owe Ethan and this baby more. I owe my husband more. They are getting the worst parts of me, the leftovers, at the end of every day. I'm feeding them the scraps of my presence when they should be eating the feast of all my love and attention.

I can no longer play Mom to hundreds and hundreds of wounded kids year after year. I'm just one person. I've given all I have for this job, and it's nowhere near enough.