When I finally got up the nerve to tell my parents I’m not sure teaching is for me anymore, there was a lot of crying.
We were at a restaurant and I was blubbering and, literally, sobbing and very thankful we were on a patio because I was wearing my sunglasses and so half of my ugly cry face was covered up.
I tried to explain how I still love my students, how my heart breaks for them, and I thought I would be a teacher forever, but assessments, teacher evaluations, growth models, standardized testing, calendars, data, and the sacrifices I’m making for someone else’s kids while neglecting my own aren’t worth it anymore. If actual teaching was a large part of my job, I’d still be able to do it. But somehow teaching has gotten lost in the mess of restructuring education.
And I got lost in the process.
Of course the first thing my mother says after my rambling is “Oh, did you get a bad evaluation?”
And I had to fight the urge to scream at her.
Because the thing is, I’m a great teacher. A really great teacher.
I’m not saying that to be cocky. I don’t do
most many things well. But I can teach.
I got a great evaluation and I’m in no danger of losing my job.
But I don’t want to teach anymore. My joy is gone. My passion is gone.
My family is suffering because of the job I do. I treat my own kids differently, with less patience than they deserve, because of the bull shit I put up with at my job. I’m in charge of teaching 100+ kids every day not just English, but manners and respect, responsibility and organization, how to treat others and how to talk to adults, how to dress and what are appropriate ways to handle anger, the difference between right and wrong. Things that I didn’t sign up for.
Things I don’t want to do anymore.
It’s scary not knowing what comes next. But it’s also exhilarating.
I’m trusting that I’ll be taken care of, that I’ll end up where I’m supposed to be, and that I’ll find what I’m looking for when the time is right.