NEW:
This one hit me a little. This is another piece I found sitting in the drafts vault, never to be finished because teaching took that much out of me, especially during my first year as a teacher. I remember this feeling. I remember realizing how God-awful and crazy this profession was, and yet some reason, just like after the birth of a child, I would manage to forget the pain and displeasure and do all that again the next year as if the trauma never occurred. I remember every year where I would question if I was going to do this whole thing again. I often wonder how many other jobs that this occurs in: questioning all your life choices every single year like clockwork? Wondering if it's weird to make a career change after YEARS of college debt going for something that you thought was going to be completely different than it really was. And all the while, people continue to remind you how little your professional actually matters, how obsolete it is becoming, and how you signed up for this kind of mistreatment. Oh yeah...I remember this girl. She would take 4 more years of abuse before calling it quits.
I will say that over the next 3 years, things would get progressively better, as I gained experience and a handle of the curriculum, and didn't have to keep making resources and learned how to save time. But this girl climbed right back out when I moved to Arizona and basically started all over again as a 5th year, first year teacher. This girl was working 60+ hour weeks, and I saw her misery again as the same thing happened this last year. But that's a chronicle for another post.
Without further ado, from the draft vault circa May 2019, unedited and unfinished, as it was originally written, "Almost there...":
OLD:
It's crazy to think how long it's been since I've sat down and written. A whole school year has passed. And as I sit here, 5 school days left in my first year of teaching, I don't really wonder where the time has gone. I counted down each minute. Making it weekend to weekend, I somehow made it through. And I don't want to sugar coat my first year, causing others to think that it was all sunshine and rainbows, helping students to achieve their dreams. In fact, I can't remember a year where I cried more. And it's strange to realize how hopeful and full of life I was, planning out that first unit plan, coming to the table with fresh ideas and a happy-go-lucky attitude. Its an odd feeling to compare that brand new teacher, full of life and vibrant lesson plans, to the hollow husk of a seasoned