I’ve been so transparent about the idea that having my own classroom is not for me. I love what I do. Yes, it only impacts one child, but that one child has made more leaps and bounds than I ever thought was possible. That one child… well, he has opened my eyes to a whole new world. He has taught me more than I ever thought possible. Every day is a new adventure and I’m so unbelievably grateful for that. I can wake up every day excited to go to work to see what his next breakthrough will be. Sound familiar? It should. It’s the same thing you have with your 20-30 kids, except for I can see all those wonderful moments like I’m looking through a microscope. I didn’t accept this job for the money. I accepted it because I felt called to do it and it’s where my heart truly is. The money means nothing. It’s never a promised thing. What is promised is the joy of that child who discovers what they are truly capable of.
#grateful #stillateacher #teaching #paraeducator #bestjobever
So I’m going to admit something I haven’t even admitted to my counselor.
I often wonder just how many people would miss me if I was gone. How many would notice? Would it matter? I can think of maybe 7 people who would truly care. The others… well, they would be great at caring until the funeral, but would be gone after that.
I’m so tired of working so hard. Working on myself and my health needs. I’m so tired of working myself to the point of sickness because I’m so exhausted. I’m so tired of seeing my goals on the edge of the horizon, to have them ripped away time after time. I’m so tired.
No matter what I do I’m never good enough. I’m either too vocal or I’m too silent. I could be silent, but be in the room while something was said and yet it’s my fault.
At what point in my life did I become the bartering ram? When I try to stand for myself I get persecuted. The only people that don’t are the only ones I know would be impacted if I disappeared tomorrow.
I used to cut. Only two people knew that before I typed it here. Instead of cutting I now pinch myself to the point of bruising. That’s easier to explain than a cut mark. It’s nice to know I do still feel pain, but why have I started to feel so numb again?
It doesn’t matter what I do, or how hard I work. I’m never good enough for most people. Never. It’s always “why didn’t you get your own classroom,” “why aren’t you working your Mary Kay business more”. It’s never enough.
They don’t see that most nights I lay in bed, starring at the empty wall, trying to find my way back to reality while my brain is telling me my world is falling apart around me. They don’t see the tears I cry. They don’t see the many times an hour I zone out while crunching numbers to make sure that everything is going to be okay.
No one understands me. I’m so tired of fighting…