Three Twelve.
I still had eighteen minutes until I was free.
As I walked back to my desk, I browsed my surroundings. Colorful and bright, I had made the classroom an inviting place, but at that moment I wanted out.
I wanted to run,
to throw open the doors,
offering my resignation as I ran by,
escaping the complete and utter chaos that was my class.
This was not the job I had imagined.
My naivete in full bloom. Promised a class of language and learning disabled kindergartners, instead multiple social and emotional impairments met my novice self. Resources were lacking, and being a new teacher I had yet to understand the need to advocate for myself.
Instead I wallowed in silence.
I brought it all home, but candy coated it for my family and friends.
Through gritted teeth I'd say "It's not so bad" or "I know it will get better", knowing the opposite.
I dreaded each day, but each morning arrived one of the first in the building.
I dreaded not being there, for fear of what would happen in my absence.
It was too much.
I dropped my head onto the desk, and wrapped my arms around. In this little cocoon, I hid my tears. It was only October. The thought of eight more months made me nauseous. How could I do this, I wondered?
I heard the knock on the open door.
Lifting my head, I saw Chris, a fantastic occupational therapist assigned to the majority of my students.
"Can I come in? I need to talk about a few programs." she asked.
Wiping the tears from my face, I faked a smile and shrugged an okay.
The next thirty minutes programs were never addressed, instead the flood gates opened and I confessed all my misgivings.
The fears and struggles I had been embarrassed to share, the frustrations, the irritations, the sadness. There she sat, listening as the tears returned.
Emotionally spent, I looked to her and she said what I needed to hear:
Validation,
Encouragement,
Friendship,
and
Levity.
As we walked out together that day, I realized I would be okay and maybe even happy in the class, eventually.
That was nearly nine years ago and I still consider Chris one of the finest unofficial mentors I have every had. She saved me, honestly, from changing fields.
Thank you Chris!
This week you were asked to write about a mentor, someone who guided or inspired you. How did your mentor impact your life?
As a teacher, I feel this post in the bones.
ReplyDeleteYour head upon the desk, that cocoon, the "I can't."
Thank goodness for the Chris-es in this world!
what a powerful story, and a moment you probably remember and draw strength from every time you are faced with a situation where you need to overcome and see possibility. Rally inspiring, thank you for writing it!
ReplyDeleteStopping over from TRDC.
ReplyDeleteWow, you benefited so much from Chris's presence, not to mention the kids that benefited from your continued presence after her pep talk.
You did a wonderful job expressing the overwhelmed panic you felt, the sickness and flood of tears threatening to destroy the facade of calm you constructed.
Nice work. Glad you recovered.
I am so glad Chris was there for you. We all need someone to talk us off the ledge!
ReplyDeleteWhat a great tribute to Chris. I could feel your fear and frustration. Both of my parents were public school teachers and I know how hard the resourcing issues are. You did a great job with this.
ReplyDeletePraise for the Chrises of the world.
ReplyDeleteHow wonderful for you and as a result, for your students.
And praise to you. I felt your frustration, your angst, your pain.
Well done!
Aww, what a great tribute to your mentor...I sure hope she reads your blog :)
ReplyDelete