“Early one morning, a mother went in to wake up her child. “Wake up! It’s time to go to school!”
“But why, Mom? I don’t want to go.”
“Give me two reasons why you don’t want to go.”
“Well, the kids hate me for one, and the teachers hate me, too!”
“Oh, that’s no reason not to go to school. Come on now and get ready.”
“Give me two reasons why I should go.”
“Well, for one, you’re [23] years old. And for another, you’re a [TFI teacher]!”
A very old joke, from god knows where
So I’m sitting alone at my computer on a Sunday night, and I can relate to this joke oh-so-well. I never thought that I’d hate going to school, in fact, being the geek/freak I was, I loved school as a student. But sitting here tonight, with a month’s worth of plan to submit, no clue what to do with my class, and a desperate desire to sleep, I really do wish that I did not have to go.
It is a sorry image, ludicrous in a way. I’m sitting on a cushion in the middle of my new flat, surrounded by empty cardboard boxes. My room is a tip, so I’m choosing to sit in the currently empty hall (our seating hasn’t arrived yet). I’m sitting here, staring at a blank spreadsheet. That sheet needs to be full in less than an hour, and I haven’t the faintest idea what the heck I should fill it with. And instead of producing plans, all I can manage are tears. Tears of anger and disappointment, for leaving it so late, for not knowing what to do, for failing my kids again and again, on an every day basis. And yet I must keep going, because the clock is ticking, and if the deadline passes, I shall have an angry email from my boss, which will only add to my woes.
The helplessness I feel is pathetic. I have complete autonomy- I can do whatever I like with these kids. So if I can’t get it right, it is no-one’s fault but my own. And yet, I can think of nothing. Or I can’t find anything that gives me belief that I can succeed. That I can succeed with this group of kids, or even that I can succeed on this crazy mission at all. And that thought, it brings me to tears.
Tears don’t usually come easily to me (apart from in various states of inebriation), and I’m not sure what to make of my tears. Perhaps they are good and cathartic. Perhaps a sign of weakness. Maybe even just another procrastination technique (much like this blog post I suppose).
I didn’t think I’d feel like I can’t do this so early on. I thought I would have the strength to last a bit longer, but I guess sometimes we overestimate ourselves. And that is ok. I will carry on. I am not giving myself a choice in that. But the question really is, how do I carry on. Will it just be a “let’s get through this” or will I have the courage to keep trying with a fresh heart, again and again. I don’t know, but I know what it should be.
PS. This post is fairly heavy, and I’m sorry for that, but I guess I just needed to vent. I feel much better now. I never believed it before, but maybe a trouble shared is a trouble halved… so any friends who read this, please worry not, for I am well, and will be even better soon enough.
Kindling flames 