There are the moments that no one wants to talk about. Those times when you do things in your classroom that you aren’t proud of. You wish those moments away, and secretly hope none of your kids go home and tell their parents that you lost it or came close to losing it. Moments when you hope wholeheartedly that your kids will forgive you because you are struggling to forgive yourself. We all have them and no one likes to talk about them. You yelled. You said something inappropriate. You did something that may have made your kids feel like less than they truly are.
In my second year, most people would assume I had it all figured out. Same kids, same families. Seemed like my job was set-up for me to get there and just execute. What comes with knowing your kids deeply is a pressure to get things done with them at high levels. You bring this pressure on yourself because you’re human, and you hate to let down those who know you best and trust you most.
It was a dim week at the end of November. It was one of those weeks where Monday starts terribly and there’s so minimal hope that the week will turn out okay, much less that it will turn out to be an excellent week. All of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I was doing that thing where you stop every 5 minutes to regroup because more than half of the class has lost focus. It was getting exhausting.
On Thursday, I snapped.