The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
I have had a lot of time over the last two (glorious) summer months to reflect on the year that is now behind me, and to gather myself for the year ahead.
Let me start off by saying that I could not be happier about where I am in my teaching career at the moment. The students who go to my school are incredibly diverse, which is really cool, because it is so representative of our world today. I have a support system of educators where we lift each other up rather than tear each other down. I am a part of a school where parents are involved, and the PTO supports their teachers so hard. I am happy where I am.
Rewind six months ago? And my outlook was completely different. I spent A LOT of time questioning my professional choices. I did everything I was "supposed" to do. I went to college. I got a job. I showed my boys that hard work and perseverance really can pay off. I proved to people who had once doubted me that even though I got pregnant in high school, I was still able to live a "normal" life- with a husband and kids and a big-girl job. So why was I feeling so depressed?
The stress put on teachers is immeasurable. I knew that going in. Well, I thought I knew that going in.
I was responsible for 21 nine, ten, and eleven year olds last year. I spent countless hours researching the best methods to help them learn the material, and trying to match those methods with the way the curriculum was asking me to teach them. I re-arranged my room at least six times, because I knew one of those times it would be "perfect". I built relationships with each student, and then continued to build the heck out of those relationships, because that is what my students needed to succeed. I was convinced that with relationships as strong as ours, no one could fail. No one could not succeed in my class.
Then, somewhere around the beginning of second semester, reality started to sink in. I had spent 4 months with these kiddos, and some of them hadn't moved up ONE reading level. Some of them still couldn't multiply, much less add and subtract fractions. I had (what felt like) 832 more chapters to cover in math, and we only had 4 more months until THE TEST. I started spiraling. I started having horrible headaches. There was never enough time in the day for everything that had to get done. I woke up with a headache, I went to bed with a headache. My students could tell when it was getting worse. "Mrs Lipson, do you have a headache again?". It was my new normal. And I was failing at it.
Remember those three, beautiful boys I talked about in my previous post? They were suffering as well. Parenting comes with immeasurable stress too, apparently. All I did was work when I came home. I had time to make them a quick dinner, but after dinner I had my nose in my computer. I ignored Easton when he asked to be held. I yelled at Tripp for being too loud. I expected Noah to keep everything under control. And then, most nights I would end the night by screaming at my kids because I couldn't get anything done. After, I would curl up on my bathroom floor and cry because not only was I failing at school, I was failing at home. My kids would knock on the bathroom door and tell me it was okay. My kids would wipe my tears when I was supposed to be wiping theirs. My husband would help when he could, but he worked late nights, so most of the time I was on my own. The mommy guilt was real, y'all. This was my new normal, and I was failing at it.
After about a month of this, my girlfriends scheduled a happy hour at our typical watering hole. I was thrilled, and ready for a slice of normalcy. Instead, I ended up bawling over chips, salsa, and margaritas about how I was failing at every aspect of my life, and that I wasn't sure if I could continue to work and raise a family. I had worked so hard for this life, and I felt like it was slipping away. That was my breaking point. Nobody is supposed to cry over margaritas, guys. So I called my doctor.
I have been on anxiety medicine for the majority of my adult life. After talking to my doctor he agreed that it wasn't helping like it should, and he upped my dose. But he also reminded me that if I did not take time for myself, I wouldn't be good for anyone. Not my husband, not my kids, not my students.
After about two weeks I started to feel lighter. My nights weren't ended by curling up on the bathroom floor. My headaches stopped. I stopped obsessing over perfection. I prayed, and asked God to help me accept the fact that I could not be "perfect" to everybody. Not only that, but I realized I shouldn't want to. Life is supposed to be messy, but it's also supposed to be manageable and enjoyable. I started going home and shutting off my computer until after my kids went to bed. I started reading them books again, or watching their favorite show with them. I started focusing less on my time constraints in the classroom, and more on what my students needed to know to succeed. I started enjoying the little people in my life again.
I am a better parent, wife, and teacher now, because I am a happier, healthier person. That all truly started when I made time to take care of myself. I took the time to listen to my body and to call my doctor when I needed help. I took the time to carve out an hour or two a week to just focus on myself. I took the time to pray and ask God for help, even though I haven't consistently gone to church since I was in high school.
I am enjoying this time at home with my family, but I am so looking forward to tackling my 2nd year of teaching starting in August. I am equipped with the support of my family, my co-workers, my friends, and God. Bring it on 2018-2019! (Well, in a month or so ;))
Until next time,
XOXO Aly
