"How do I seem so relaxed?" I repeated the question asked to me by a classmate last winter... "It's a little concept I like to call selective apathy."
While my brilliant, Harvard graduate classmate had no problem understanding what I meant, he cocked his head, signaling that I should elaborate.
I went on to explain that I had learned not to let every little thing get to me. Students were going to misbehave, they were going to refuse to do their homework, they were going to struggle with lessons I had spent hours crafting. I told him that if I didn't choose to be selectively apathetic, I would drive myself insane... like he was. I know what the connotation of apathy is. I see it every day out of people at my school. Part of me was being facetious. Part of me was being dead serious. Most of me was lying in an attempt to find a solution for my friend who seemed to be falling apart in front of my eyes due to the pressure of this job.
In all honesty, I was good at letting certain things slide off last year. I guess I knew myself well enough to know that I over-analyze EVERYTHING, so in order to keep myself sane, I had to ignore some things. I had to throw my hands up and trust that everything would just work out, and for the most part it did.
Somehow this year has become a different story. I've been trying to heed my own advice and tap into that surprisingly wise mantra that I stumbled upon last year. Part of the problem may be that I know I don't have that "She's a first-year teacher" excuse I would've been able to claim had something truly gone wrong last year. I think most of the problem, however, is that I've changed. I've made no secret of the fact that I have grown over this past year. I question things more, I argue more, I expect more, I want more... out of myself... out of my students... out of my colleagues. Unfortunately I seem to be getting less out of everyone. I'm driving myself nuts and wearing myself out trying to make things perfect. Last night it took me four hours to fold two loads of laundry because I kept dozing off. Today at work I was exhausted. I was not a good teacher. A friend told me that it was ok to take some "me time" because it made me better at my job, but something about that seems counter-intuitive.
What I do know is this: I have students who need me. They have parents who don't meet their needs. And we all live in a world where, unfortunately, there is so much bureaucracy, so much red tape, so many rules, requirements, and ineffective but mandatory procedures, that those of us who want to step outside of it all are stymied. How can I take a day to relax, spend a day at the coffee shop, when obviously I am not doing enough?
Let me stop here.
I know this sounds cliche and irrational. Just one more teacher who thinks she can save the world, right?
I'm not so naive as to think that I can (or even have the right to) change things. But I don't think it's too much to ask for me to be allowed to simply help when I want to. At least I know I'd get a little more sleep if they'd let me try.
A student came to me today, one who I've been trying to mentor over the last month or so. She's brilliant. She's well-behaved. She has a tough home life to say the least. She's crying out for someone to help her... and I can't. All I can do is sit and listen. I can recommend that she go talk to our counselor - our one counselor for 1100 kids. Today she told me she thinks she's pregnant. Trying to hide the fact that I was devastated for her, I steadied my voice and asked her if she was sure. She spelled out for me, with extreme clarity and candor, how she had made a big mistake, how she's so nervous she can't function. She's 13 years old.
Without disclosing her name or too much about the situation, I went to ask my assistant principal what I could do.
"Nothing," she said. "In fact right now, you could get in a lot of trouble for simply having that information and not telling her parents. Tell her she needs to tell them or you will."
I can't do that. I can't just sit back and watch her go through this alone. I can't betray her trust. I can't do anything.
As I sit typing this blog, I'm aware that it's a heavy subject. I'm aware that it's something most people don't want to read... so I guess it's good I only have 6 followers :) It does feel good to get it out though. I know I can't do anything about it tonight, or tomorrow, or maybe not even for a couple weeks. I'll figure something out, I'll talk her through it. Until that time comes, I guess I'll try to recapture that selective apathy I had mastered last year, but it's sad that the system leaves me no other option.
While my brilliant, Harvard graduate classmate had no problem understanding what I meant, he cocked his head, signaling that I should elaborate.
I went on to explain that I had learned not to let every little thing get to me. Students were going to misbehave, they were going to refuse to do their homework, they were going to struggle with lessons I had spent hours crafting. I told him that if I didn't choose to be selectively apathetic, I would drive myself insane... like he was. I know what the connotation of apathy is. I see it every day out of people at my school. Part of me was being facetious. Part of me was being dead serious. Most of me was lying in an attempt to find a solution for my friend who seemed to be falling apart in front of my eyes due to the pressure of this job.
In all honesty, I was good at letting certain things slide off last year. I guess I knew myself well enough to know that I over-analyze EVERYTHING, so in order to keep myself sane, I had to ignore some things. I had to throw my hands up and trust that everything would just work out, and for the most part it did.
Somehow this year has become a different story. I've been trying to heed my own advice and tap into that surprisingly wise mantra that I stumbled upon last year. Part of the problem may be that I know I don't have that "She's a first-year teacher" excuse I would've been able to claim had something truly gone wrong last year. I think most of the problem, however, is that I've changed. I've made no secret of the fact that I have grown over this past year. I question things more, I argue more, I expect more, I want more... out of myself... out of my students... out of my colleagues. Unfortunately I seem to be getting less out of everyone. I'm driving myself nuts and wearing myself out trying to make things perfect. Last night it took me four hours to fold two loads of laundry because I kept dozing off. Today at work I was exhausted. I was not a good teacher. A friend told me that it was ok to take some "me time" because it made me better at my job, but something about that seems counter-intuitive.
What I do know is this: I have students who need me. They have parents who don't meet their needs. And we all live in a world where, unfortunately, there is so much bureaucracy, so much red tape, so many rules, requirements, and ineffective but mandatory procedures, that those of us who want to step outside of it all are stymied. How can I take a day to relax, spend a day at the coffee shop, when obviously I am not doing enough?
Let me stop here.
I know this sounds cliche and irrational. Just one more teacher who thinks she can save the world, right?
I'm not so naive as to think that I can (or even have the right to) change things. But I don't think it's too much to ask for me to be allowed to simply help when I want to. At least I know I'd get a little more sleep if they'd let me try.
A student came to me today, one who I've been trying to mentor over the last month or so. She's brilliant. She's well-behaved. She has a tough home life to say the least. She's crying out for someone to help her... and I can't. All I can do is sit and listen. I can recommend that she go talk to our counselor - our one counselor for 1100 kids. Today she told me she thinks she's pregnant. Trying to hide the fact that I was devastated for her, I steadied my voice and asked her if she was sure. She spelled out for me, with extreme clarity and candor, how she had made a big mistake, how she's so nervous she can't function. She's 13 years old.
Without disclosing her name or too much about the situation, I went to ask my assistant principal what I could do.
"Nothing," she said. "In fact right now, you could get in a lot of trouble for simply having that information and not telling her parents. Tell her she needs to tell them or you will."
I can't do that. I can't just sit back and watch her go through this alone. I can't betray her trust. I can't do anything.
As I sit typing this blog, I'm aware that it's a heavy subject. I'm aware that it's something most people don't want to read... so I guess it's good I only have 6 followers :) It does feel good to get it out though. I know I can't do anything about it tonight, or tomorrow, or maybe not even for a couple weeks. I'll figure something out, I'll talk her through it. Until that time comes, I guess I'll try to recapture that selective apathy I had mastered last year, but it's sad that the system leaves me no other option.
My heart hurts. I'm sorry. You matter. Just know that--in ways no one else does--you matter. You might be the only person who truly cares, but at least she has you.
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