Queen of Swords

Today is my last day in the classroom.  The closet, filing cabinet and desk are mostly empty.  The counter tops are clear and the walls bare.  The room is mostly ready for the new person to make her own mark.  

This week has been a cornucopia of emotion as each “last” ticks by.  I expected to feel sad, and happy, but was  taken aback at how angry I felt.

I am leaving education for a few reasons, but the primary reason is the toil it has taken on my mental health.  When I started teaching thirty years ago, I was expected to teach content, but now I am expected to be a counselor, a parent, a jail warden, a psychologist, an entertainer, a life coach, a behaviorist, and if there is time in the day, an educator.  The expectations are impossible and the pressure is intense.  I sit in my car in the mornings with pains in my chest, my heart racing,and tears running down my face.  At the end, I return home and it takes hours for me to decompress from the noise, the demands, the constant barrage of raw emotion and neediness of kids who are wanting to be seen and validated at every turn. There are wins, but so many defeats that the triumphs seem insignificant.  So I am leaving, but I am angry that I have given my life to this work and feel so very defeated at the end of it.  

I used to be afraid of anger.  But I see value in it now.  Anger can be a catalyst for change and a way to stand in the truth. The truth is the educational system in America is broken and it is not failing kids, it is failing the adults who are trying to hold up the crumbling walls and being crushed in the fallout.  Letting go and walking away isn’t defeat for me,  it is survival.  So I guess I feel like any survivor–sad, happy, angry, triumphant, strong, proud, lucky, humbled, and grateful.  All the feels are showing up to take their turn and help me let go of this life and walk on.  Anger just needed to do its part.  

I am not sure what the last day of my teaching career will look like and what emotions will show up, but I am ready to cross the finish line.  And that feels redemptive.