Being honest

I often find myself thinking about the future. What direction will my life take in the next few years? Do I want to return to teaching? Do I want to go back to college and pursue a different career? This line of thinking inevitably makes me think about the past, and the choices I have made.

When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being a teacher. Throughout my entire adolescences, I often talked about teaching. When I entered college, selecting a career path was easy. I major in Elementary Education, and I minored in English. I distinctly remember my first practicum experience. It was in a 3rd grade classroom. I remember how those little 9 year-old students made me incredibly nervous. I remember the anxiety I felt when I was being observed. I remember the panic I felt when I gave directions and no one followed them. After that first semester in the classroom, I started to rethink my previous goals. Did I really enjoy teaching?

I dismissed my doubts. Surely I would enjoy teaching more in the next year or two. I told myself that it is always difficult to adjust to new situations. However, my next practicum was a disaster. My cooperating teacher was a BITCH. It was obvious that she didn't like me, although I had no idea why. The teacher didn't respect me, and her students didn't either. It was a rough 12 weeks, but I managed to survive. Once again, I questioned my motives. Was teaching really the career for me? Why was I stubbornly sticking to this career path, when I clearly wasn't enjoying my experiences? But by this point, I felt like I had already invested too much time, money, and energy into my teaching career. As I entered into my senior year of college, I was miserable.

Student teaching was brutal. I gained 30 pounds. THIRTY POUNDS. I cried during one of my observation reviews. I admitted to my university supervisor that I hated teaching kindergarten. And yet I trudged on, determined to graduate with my little teaching degree. And I did. I graduated in December. As expected, there weren't many teaching positions available. I decided to start substitute teaching. I was getting called in 3 to 4 times per week, and I was finally starting to feel like teaching might not be so bad after all. After a month or so of substituting, I was offered a long term position in the special education department. Although I wasn't certified in special education, I took the position. I thought it would be a great way to get my foot in the door.

This was really a huge mistake. There is A LOT of paperwork involved in special education. I was clueless. There are A LOT of parent meetings in special education. I was nervous as hell. I basically spent the entire 4 months being confused and overwhelmed. And the worst part was, I interviewed for a 4th grade teaching position at that school, and I didn't get it. It was embarrassing. By the time my substitute position ended, I was bitter.

I spent that summer interviewing for teaching positions. I went on 3 or 4 interviews per week. And teaching interviews are tough. They usually consist of a committee containing 4 or 5 members. So if you say something goofy or cannot answer a question adequately, you have FIVE people staring at you. Just thinking about it gives me a panic attack.

After going on 813 interviews, I was finally offered a position in 3rd grade (my favorite grade). Although I would love to tell you that teaching turned out to be the best career EVER, I cannot. I was pretty miserable. I was working in a very poor district. The parents were not supportive or involved in the classroom. The principal was a dickhead. And my students were bad. They were mean little kids, who liked to fight and argue all day. I loved them, but they were wearing me down - mentally, emotionally, and physically.

On more than one occasion, I came home crying. I am not an emotional person. I rarely ever cry. But when I was teaching, I cried a lot. I cried when a child told me her dad sold drugs. I cried when a little boy's mother was sent to prison. I cried when my kids came to school in the snow with no winter coats. I cried because their problems felt like my problems. I wanted to fix their lives and make everything okay. But I couldn't. Maybe I would have hardened over the years, and it would have been easier. I doubt it.

I was truly and utterly overwhelmed. It wasn't the actual teaching that bothered me - it was everything else. Regardless of the reasons, I was tired and weary and sad. And when I left my teaching position to move to NJ, the weight of the world was lifted off of my shoulders. I could breathe again. I could feel happy again.

I left teaching in 2005. In the past 4 years, I haven't really had the desire to return to the classroom. But when I think about the future, I often try to convince myself that teaching would be a great career. My schedule would match my kids' schedule, and that would be very convenient. But in all honesty, I don't want to return to teaching. What do I want to do? If I am being completely honest with myself, I want to stay home and have more babies. But for some reason, this seems shameful. I should have bigger goals and ambition.