I wrote this a few weeks ago.

May 12, 2011 

I’d love to talk a teacher who has made it. Someone who has managed to have a whole career in teaching and not gotten their heart broken. Mine hurts all the time, there have been so many moments throughout the year where I’ve fought off tears around these little people. They are so helpless and vulnerable to whatever happens in their world. It is just crushing to me. They arrive with dirty feet, dirty bodies, stained clothes that smell, they act like wild children because they’ve never had anyone set a boundary, show them what is ok and what is not. 

I feel their pain when they wrap their skinny arms around my neck and nuzzle their noses against my shoulder. I feel all their sleepless nights, I hear all the yelling in their houses, see all the violence, hear the sound of police sirens. I smell the smoke and see the bleary eyes of the adults around them. I feel the hunger pains in their bellies and the uncomfortable fullness you feel when your main food is a frozen pizza. My eyes are sore with their restlessness from not sleeping, from all the disturbing noise, from not having their own bed. 

The hardest part for me is that once they leave my classroom door for the last time, I will never see them again. I put all of my soul into these children and then a date in June passes and our time is over. I’ll never be able to offer comfort, love or a simple hug again. I can’t play songs for them and dance, making them giggle. I can’t praise their efforts with crayons and paper. I can’t help to guide them away from patterns that won’t help them, guide them away from their distrust and show them that not all of us are unreliable. 

All I can really do is control how I feel about all of it. All I can really do is find peace inside of myself to deal with it all, to process and let go. That task right now, seems so insurmountable. Its enough to battle my own brain, but now adding all of this additional pain, it just becomes too much. Sometimes I think I’m just not cut out for this job. That I’m too sensitive, that maybe I’m making a big deal out of things that aren’t so bad. That maybe I’m showing a weaker side of myself every day, that I am not strong enough. Maybe not strong at all. Maybe its not even the tough lives of these kids, maybe its the way I lead mine that makes being surrounded by them so difficult. Maybe its all the times I’ve had my heart broken before. It could just be inherently weak now, it no longer knows how to beat through the adversity. I cry at Glee every single week. When the gay kid gets beat up, when the average girl gets abandoned for the pretty girl. I cry when the dad gives an honest speech to his son, guiding him exactly how a parent should. I cry at TV commercials, watching a wedding, hearing a story about someone else who is having trouble. I cry just thinking. This all started when I began this job, instead of the years building a tough shell around me I have become a big, blob of compassion. I almost can’t hear other people tell me about what is wrong in their lives because then I bring it inside of me, wrap it up warmly and hold it there. There is almost nothing left of me. 

At the end of the day I am exhausted. I want to do nothing but sit and stare at the television. I have begun to abandon all the shows I used to enjoy, like Grey’s Anatomy because I can’t handle watching the dramas unfold. Instead I watch The Real Housewives because there is nothing real about them. 

Tonight I rediscovered the album “Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie” by Alanis Morissette. Two songs that I’ve been listening on repeat as I’ve written this: That I Would Be Good and Thank U. 

That I would be good

That I would be good even if I did nothing

That I would be good even if I got a thumbs down 

That I would be good if I got and stayed sick 

That I would be good even if I gained ten pounds 

That I would be fine even if I went bankrupt 

That I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth

That I would be great if I was no longer queen 

That I would be grand if I was not all knowing 

That I would be loved even when I numb myself 

That I would be good even when I am overwhelmed 

That I would be loved even when I was fuming 

That I would be good even if I was clinging 

That I would be good even if I lost sanity 

That I would be good whether with or without you 

After all, isn’t this the message of what we all truly want? Aren’t we happiest if we know that despite everything and nothing that we are, we are OK?