I left my classroom for maternity leave feeling tired. Not just 39-weeks-pregnant tired. It’s the most insane kind of multi-layered tired that teachers feel from time to time.
It’s a joyful tired; it’s hours of joking with middle school kids, spending your lunch playing Bananagrams with competitive sixth graders, designing lessons and activities that are creative and fun (even though you could have just gone with what you did last year), getting hugs from former students who say they miss you.
It’s also a physical tired; it’s being on your feet for hours, running to the copy machine for last minute copies only to discover that it’s out of order and you have to run to the copy machine upstairs, postponing a bathroom or water break to finish an email or rearrange desks, it’s shelving and re-shelving books in the classroom library simply because you can’t wait to hear, “Oh my gosh, that book was SO GOOD!” Staying up late at night thinking about a certain student or parent and researching ways to help.
It’s an intellectual/emotional tired; it’s trying multiple strategies to help move a student forward and having difficulty seeing results, it’s managing a class of middle schoolers whose particular group dynamics are arguably academically toxic no matter what you do, it’s trying a new activity in class on the day your administrator comes in for an evaluation. It’s being told your lesson “was a mess” and being given a new book to read. It’s coming home to get dinner on the table before heading out to soccer practice and losing patience at bedtime with your own children.
When I left for maternity leave, I was at a place that my intellectual/emotional tired was much more pronounced than my joyful tired. And to me, a teacher and parent who is mentally tired more than he/she is joyfully tired needs to take a step back and find joy in his/her teaching, his/her kids, and him/herself. With a tiny human joining my family, I saw what I eventually determined to be a necessary opportunity to refocus and reenergize. I owed it to my students, my family, and myself. I decided to take a year off.
So today is the first day of not middle school. I’m not in my classroom anxiously waiting for sixth graders to walk through my door. I won’t have name tags set out, and I won’t walk anyone to class. I won’t give high fives. I won’t be memorizing names. I won’t be looking around the corner for my now-seventh graders who are coming to say hi after a long summer. I won’t be calling any parents, telling them that their once-nervous new middle schooler had a fantastic day. I’m somewhere between an identity crisis and a slow realization that I’ve won the lottery (only this decision to stay home this year has been very expensive). I have this feeling that I’m at an important crossroads - I’m able to explore myself as a mother, as well as put some time into figuring out what my gifts are and how to use them meaningfully. Why is it that a year off from teaching is what it takes for me to really be able to do this?
In some ways, it feels like I’m standing on a cliff of “what ifs.” As a teacher, by nature, I plan things, and the next 180 days or so are largely...unplanned. So, what if I realize that staying home with my daughter is something I’m not “good” at? What if, despite my intentions to renew and rejuvenate, I actually feel more isolated and confused? What if I love teaching so much that I have trouble enjoying being away from it? What if I love being away from teaching so much that I don’t want to go back?
I guess I have to go with what my gut is currently telling me. This time right here...it’s a gift. I know a hundred teachers who love their job intensely, and yet crave time to nurture their creativity and personal talents. They wish their buckets were more full for their families. That’s me. So I’ll put my hands over my eyes, take a deep breath, and step over the ledge, trusting that the breeze will carry me to an unseen destination where I can take root in new soil. When I get my bearings, I think I’ll look pretty much the same, but with a new view. With any luck, I’ll see that the landscape is friendly, the air open, and the fruits ripe for the picking.
It’s a joyful tired; it’s hours of joking with middle school kids, spending your lunch playing Bananagrams with competitive sixth graders, designing lessons and activities that are creative and fun (even though you could have just gone with what you did last year), getting hugs from former students who say they miss you.
It’s also a physical tired; it’s being on your feet for hours, running to the copy machine for last minute copies only to discover that it’s out of order and you have to run to the copy machine upstairs, postponing a bathroom or water break to finish an email or rearrange desks, it’s shelving and re-shelving books in the classroom library simply because you can’t wait to hear, “Oh my gosh, that book was SO GOOD!” Staying up late at night thinking about a certain student or parent and researching ways to help.
It’s an intellectual/emotional tired; it’s trying multiple strategies to help move a student forward and having difficulty seeing results, it’s managing a class of middle schoolers whose particular group dynamics are arguably academically toxic no matter what you do, it’s trying a new activity in class on the day your administrator comes in for an evaluation. It’s being told your lesson “was a mess” and being given a new book to read. It’s coming home to get dinner on the table before heading out to soccer practice and losing patience at bedtime with your own children.
When I left for maternity leave, I was at a place that my intellectual/emotional tired was much more pronounced than my joyful tired. And to me, a teacher and parent who is mentally tired more than he/she is joyfully tired needs to take a step back and find joy in his/her teaching, his/her kids, and him/herself. With a tiny human joining my family, I saw what I eventually determined to be a necessary opportunity to refocus and reenergize. I owed it to my students, my family, and myself. I decided to take a year off.
So today is the first day of not middle school. I’m not in my classroom anxiously waiting for sixth graders to walk through my door. I won’t have name tags set out, and I won’t walk anyone to class. I won’t give high fives. I won’t be memorizing names. I won’t be looking around the corner for my now-seventh graders who are coming to say hi after a long summer. I won’t be calling any parents, telling them that their once-nervous new middle schooler had a fantastic day. I’m somewhere between an identity crisis and a slow realization that I’ve won the lottery (only this decision to stay home this year has been very expensive). I have this feeling that I’m at an important crossroads - I’m able to explore myself as a mother, as well as put some time into figuring out what my gifts are and how to use them meaningfully. Why is it that a year off from teaching is what it takes for me to really be able to do this?
In some ways, it feels like I’m standing on a cliff of “what ifs.” As a teacher, by nature, I plan things, and the next 180 days or so are largely...unplanned. So, what if I realize that staying home with my daughter is something I’m not “good” at? What if, despite my intentions to renew and rejuvenate, I actually feel more isolated and confused? What if I love teaching so much that I have trouble enjoying being away from it? What if I love being away from teaching so much that I don’t want to go back?
I guess I have to go with what my gut is currently telling me. This time right here...it’s a gift. I know a hundred teachers who love their job intensely, and yet crave time to nurture their creativity and personal talents. They wish their buckets were more full for their families. That’s me. So I’ll put my hands over my eyes, take a deep breath, and step over the ledge, trusting that the breeze will carry me to an unseen destination where I can take root in new soil. When I get my bearings, I think I’ll look pretty much the same, but with a new view. With any luck, I’ll see that the landscape is friendly, the air open, and the fruits ripe for the picking.
