Got Lost in the Game

People often describe their significant other as their rock. The person to lean on when times are hard.

I’ve always felt more like a pile of rubble.

Substantial enough if there aren’t any better options around, but prone to break under pressure.

And yet I somehow find myself in the position of possibly, maybe, I think… needing to be the rock for my family. Or at least avoiding the pressure that could make me crumble?

So yes, for those who are following along, I tried teaching. Again. 

And it didn’t work.

Again.

Not for me, not for the family. I again found myself having anxiety attacks in the faculty bathroom. Though this time surrounded by uplifting, neon sticky notes proclaiming “Don’t give up on what you were ment to do.” 

And yes, someone involved with education wrote that spelling error and chose to post it for everyone to see. (And yes I will probably make errors in this post now, because, life.)

But what, in fuck’s sake, am I MEANT to do?

Teaching apparently turns me into some horrid, anxiety-ridden monster who can’t handle her son leaning too close to her at the dinner table. 

Teaching also made me feel important, worthwhile, and like I was actually, sometimes, good at something besides scrubbing toilets. Which I’m not even that good at. (Anyone got any tips for the stubborn yellow ring at the water line?)

So when your husband tells you that the last five weeks have been like simmering in acid, what’s a girl to do?

I had to draw boundaries. Tell people no. Disappoint people. Well, people besides my family. They are probably used to being disappointed by now. 

I kept telling my fifth graders Bob Ross’s thing about “There are no mistakes, just happy accidents,” to encourage them to take risks with their math. And I’m trying to take that advice for myself. 

That teaching again wasn’t a mistake, just a happy accident that I can learn from.
So maybe here is what I will try to learn…

*I am sensitive and it weighs heavy on me to carry the emotional burden of 75 hormonal preteens. 

*My family is sensitive as well. Someone has to stay calm and sane. And somehow, that is going to be me???

*I can say no, take care of myself and my family, and it will be ok.

*There is joy in having time for the little things. Getting the kiddo dressed even though he is freaking 7 years old and can totally do this himself. But when we finish, he still climbs in my lap for a snuggle. And someday he won’t.

The painful internal conversation of “What do I want to be when I grow up?” is coming. And the decision to let go of my thousands of dollars worth of teaching SHIT. Which really is going to be more about letting go of my identity as a teacher and blah blah blah.

But right now, I have to be ok that I did it again. I called it quits on something I thought I really wanted. And it feels embarrassing. And disappointing. But also a relief because who really wants to argue with 10-year-olds all day? 

So here’s to the happy accident that felt like simmering in acid. At least this time maybe I will learn it’s ok to climb out of the pot.