You have to go through it. 

This phrase is something I found myself saying since the beginning of the 2023-2024 school  year. It was one of those wise things I’d say to the kids when things looked tough, like during the last two weeks of our fall show PUFFS when the Monday tech rehearsal was over three-and-a-half hours long and it didn’t look like it would ever come together. It became my mantra when we had to do a very last minute cast replacement because of a family emergency and someone had to go on with a script in her hand. (She was brilliant, btw). 

I stood in front of the company, and told them that no matter how hard this thing felt, the only way to the end was to go through the muck and mire of the process. It wouldn’t always be comfortable, but perhaps they’d learn something about themselves and their resilience. 

I believed so much in my messaging that I think I was really talking to myself, trying to fortify my resolve not to run out of there screaming “I’VE HAD ENOUGH I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE I WANT TO GET OFF THE RIDE!!” I found, less than four years from retirement, that it felt as though my teaching resolve was fading. The things I loved most about the job, the things that fueled me and kept me moving onwards and upwards, seemed to be fading from a fiery passion to a slow burn. It was making me sad to think that this long and unique career I had built from the ground was losing it’s oomph.

Figuring out why

If I’m going to get through the next few years, I have to come to terms with why I’m feeling a bit slump-ish. Of course it’s complicated, as most things are, but peeling the layers back is important to being able to understand and tolerate being in this uncomfortable place.

The students

Maybe it is the shift in the kids; more detached, less motivated, and generally not as passionate as I remember. There were a few throwbacks to the kids from my earlier days, but for the most part, there is a general disconnect between the kids and the activities we offer them. Part of that problem is that most of the kids in the building now do not speak English. We are teaching in a very different environment than we were ten years ago. It affects everyone in the building and we are working hard to juggle all the moving parts so we can connect with our kids.

Everyone’s getting old

Maybe it is that my colleagues are also aging around me. I have less hands-on help as they move through their own “getting older” phases. I recognize the need to infuse some new blood, but there is a very real question: “Will the new people stay?” Will all of the effort we put into our programs continue? How much longer will I be able to keep up?

Is it me?

Maybe, I’m just getting tired of being the driving force of what sometimes feels like a sinking ship. The combination of factors—exhaustion, expired contracts, failed budgets, climbing mountains, language barriers—feels like a signal that it is time to go. I’m losing steam and that feels terrible. There is so much emotion to unpack. 

Is there a future?

Our district is, and has been for years, in dire financial straits that continues to worsen (more on that later). Along with my colleagues and I getting older and not knowing who will take the reins when we’re done, will the programs even be running? What will happen to the legacy that I had carried forward from Iris’ careful, loving hands: who would carry the torch? Will these programs exist, or would they be the casualties of a broken district? With they just be a mere memory to the thousands of “kids” who benefitted so much from them? 

Changed for the Better

I think with those future questions looming in my brain, I felt the need to explore the past. What was my legacy, and what meaning did it have to put the rest of my career into some sort of context?

I needed to look at the impact I had on people through the programs I ran, by asking my alumni ten questions about what they’d learned, how they’d grown and what they held onto from going through the experience. I think I needed to reconnect to my former self, the one before the pandemic took away the connection kids had to school; before all I could think about was retirement. I wanted to make sure that my time teaching at Spring Valley High School, especially the last few years, was impactful and important to someone. At the very least, maybe it could infuse me with a shot of inspiration and resolve to see the next few years through with more oomph.

Over a year and a half, I published 49 episodes. 49 “kids,” now adults, who all sat in the same seats, enjoying the same traditions, learning the same life lessons. Each year, it was like a record on repeat, just with different faces looking back at me. The podcast was a reflection of those shared moments together. I sat with each guest for an hour or so, reminiscing, smiling, laughing, and sometimes crying. I’d write about them in a lengthy blog post, and publish everything for the world to see how proud I was of them, of us, of how we helped each other grow. What they didn’t know was how important they were to my own personal development. 

These are just a few ways that they enlightened me in the process:

• How to maintain grit through adversity
• How to trust my instincts and experience to get me through the doubt
• I am strong even when I falter
• Lessons come in unexpected ways and I should take advantage of every teachable moment I can
• The chaos of creativity can lead to a grounded conclusion
• We don’t know what we are capable of until we choose to commit to it
• Mistakes are more valuable than anything as you are learning

For me, Changed for the Better was a beautifully cathartic and energizing exercise. It’s something I can use to charge my teaching battery and I can take into my future life. I had to put it on hold after I published episode 49, since the new school year was getting ready to start. I fully intend to pick it up again and publish more episodes, but for now, it will remain on my to-do list.

Redefining normal

Following the deep dive into the past, September is always the time to move forward into the future. Alongside the familiar exhaustion that a new school year unleashes, my husband and I were also getting ready for empty nesting, sending not one but two kids to college. So many things were shifting in our lives.

However, the empty nest wasn’t my biggest challenge of the moment. No, I can’t just have one big transition in my life, I like a challenge.

Suddenly, all of my energy went into navigating a much more complicated and challenging existence; as if life at work wasn’t complicated enough.  First day jitters talks about going back to school and Sometimes You Break Yourself, part 6 goes into that first week back.

The foot required me to slow down, pull back, take more time, and rethink every move I made. I had borrowed two knee scooters to navigate the hallways; one for each level. I taught ballet in a chair. I taught PE on the scooter. People were entertained seeing me race down the hallways and having too much fun doing so. Despite the entertainment factor, I had massive frustration having to adapt to being and feeling “broken.” I was determined to show myself (and everyone else) that this 50-something chick would not be stopped by a fractured foot. 

Eventually, the foot healed enough so that on the surface, everything looked like I was back to normal. However, “normal” seemed to be in a constantly transitional process of redefining itself. The truth is, I am facing the reality of age. I’m feeling body aches more frequently and acutely. While I work to maintain mobility, I have to warm up for much longer before doing anything strenuous. Afterwards, everything gets stiff and sore so quickly. In the past few years, I had cycled through injuries in my rotator cuffs, hips, lower back; pretty much everywhere an “old person” feels things. And my foot? Well, maybe the bone healed, but my soft tissues usually have something to say to me whenever I stand up.

I also feel like I’m moving much slower than I had in the past. Demonstrating a side fall ten times is no longer an option: once or twice has to suffice. I take more breaks as I make my students demonstrate skills and be more “accountable” for their knowledge. My pace is slower as I walk the halls. I am very aware that this is not the same body that had carried me through the rigors of my work day for over two decades, and it is messing with my head.

What does this all mean?

Teaching is hard. Doing my job ranges from tough to grueling, depending on the time of year. It isn’t necessarily thankless, but I have less patience for the continuous slings and arrows. I have less patience for the things that don’t serve me or my students, and less motivation to suffer through the administrative demands that keep changing in the name of serving students.

In the first half of my career, I remember how critical I was of the older teachers who looked like they were “checked out.” They seemed less committed, less interested, more jaded, and I questioned whether they should still be teaching. What were they holding on for? If they were so unhappy, why stay? 

Of course now, I think I understand the unraveling malaise of the soon-to-be-retiree. Increasingly, I’m starting to feel it too. You see the end in sight, but it’s still far enough away that you have to keep moving forward. You have to find ways to keep your enthusiasm and excitement even through an undercurrent of dread. When you look back at your career, it feels like you peaked years before. Your students aren’t the same as they were and even the familiar spaces feel much different.

Add on the fact that the expectations keep changing. For example, everything we do must be presented in at least two languages. If we want to engage the majority of our students, we have to meet them where they are. That means learning content vocabulary in Spanish and French and making sure we use it as often as possible. It’s a tall order for anyone at the front of the classroom.

District troubles

In my case, and many of my colleagues who are in a similar time in their career, we are dealing with some more specific things that are informing these feelings of dread.

1. We are working under an expired contract (for over two years) and every attempt at coming to a resolution seems less likely.
2. A news article came out detailing how the district’s credit rating was one level above junk status and lenders would not be willing to support us. That inflates the problem of #1.
3. The general tone in the building is that of trudging through wet cement. No one is motivated to do what we all do best: go above and beyond for the sake of our students, and it sometimes feels like we are standing still.
4. It is getting harder to hide the feelings of malaise as we walk through the hallways. You know the feeling when a boat springs a leak, then another and another? There are not enough bandaids to fix over a decade’s worth of leaks that keep getting worse.

Truthfully, that’s just the short list. If I really thought about it, it would be a list longer than my arm, but I really don’t want to spiral into an abyss. I’m trying to work through it, and it gets more challenging every day. I can almost hear the retirees saying “do you get it now?”

I have to go through it

Despite the long list of challenges, I am still showing up. I am going through it all to get to the other side. I am bearing down, getting out of bed, putting on my big girl leggings, and doing my best to make whatever positive impact I can for the students I have. And let me be clear: my love for them remains strong. These kids, my students, need our focus, attention and love just as much, if not more, than all the kids before them. They need us to be their role models, their leaders. From me, they need a strong, steady, female force in their lives who cares and who will make them do hard things even when they doubt they can succeed. 

I have to go through it for them, like they do for me when they show up and choose to commit. I have to do it for me, to see this 30-year effort through to it’s conclusion. If anything, this is what will get me to the finish line. Showing them how I go through it all, with whatever energy and wisdom I have, is the best lesson I can teach.

Check out one of last year's posts called Inspiration is a Two-Way Street. It gives a perspective about why I'm so willing to continue going through the challenges of teaching.