Emotional Labor

Every morning. Literally, my first waking thought was about my class.

In the shower, as I slowly drifted to consciousness, I would mentally run through the day’s schedule. Is it a PE day? What math lesson are we in, 7? No, 8.

I would execute my daily 60 minute commute, chasing the sun, and winning about 4 months out of the year all while wracking my brain for the perfect strategy that might finally make a difference for that one kid.

All day, 7am-4:30 or 5:00 or 5:30 or…. all day, I gave everything I had to 24 little beings. I left it all on the field.

Drive home. Reflect.

What could I have done differently…

Steal an hour away at kickboxing class, a necessary output for my frustrations and stress. Exercise being a sedative for my racing mind.

I’d head home to spend time with my husband… while grading papers or prepping for the next day.

Many nights I’d share, with excitement, the positives of the day; a major breakthrough in behavior or learning, a comment from a kid that had me gut rolling, or a sweet note left on my desk.

Some nights were filled with tears; I’d feel useless, unable to make an impact.

Why can’t I get through to them all?

Eat. Pack lunch. Sleep.

Up the next day; repeat.

Thankful for the opportunity to try again.

Day 16