I have felt an enormous question mark lingering above my head when it comes to teaching since last Spring. I am having the closest thing to a crisis of faith that is possible for a person who doesn't identify with faith to have. This has been a difficult year for me--NOT because of my students; they are as awesome, quirky, and hard-working as ever; it is just me. For the past 5 years, I've funneled the majority of my energy into teaching and I suddenly feel like something has broken, like what I'm doing isn't enough. I'm struggling to maintain at times. I would love to blame it on pregnancy hormones or chalk it up to being distracted by my upcoming responsibilities as a parent, but I know in my heart that isn't the case. If I'm being honest, I find myself wondering if I could do a better job at something else. Something emotionally easier.
Only I have no idea what that something else could be.
And then, there are the little things that save you. On a day when I considered calling in sick but couldn't convince myself to go through with it because I wasn't sick, a normally very quiet and reserved senior boy volunteered, unprompted, to act out the witch scene in Macbeth. In his best witch voice. Just because. A small thing, yes, but he inspired me to keep teaching at a time when I wasn't sure I wanted to be there at all.
And the many, many junior girls who write to me, privately and separately from one another, that they are glad we read The Bell Jar because a) They feel just like Esther at times b) it helped them understand someone they know or c) it is simply nice to read a book representing a small aspect of the female voice for once. They inspire me to keep trying when it would be easier not to and maybe someday those girls will feel empowered enough to use their voice in a public forum instead of only a private one.
Or watching my students stand up for one another in a respectful manner on the class blog when someone crosses the line between a passionate opinion and a disparaging remark. Or seeing them remind other students on public Facebook pictures not to be disrespectful or crude, just because it is the right thing to do.
And even now, on Thanksgiving break when I am so grateful to recharge, I am excited to go back to the classroom next week because we will be starting Inferno and the students always ask when we read it. Their excitement fuels my excitement. We need more of that.
And there it is. This slight change in perspective makes me forget what I was questioning in the first place.
****
My first year teaching at my current site was like many first years for brand-new teachers. I look back on that year and hope the people I was charged with teaching learned something, anything because how and what I teach now looks nothing like what I taught then. In all honesty, my teacher's assistant kept me sane--filing oodles of papers, grading vocabulary checks, organizing my desk and life in ways that allowed me to focus on planning lessons and not bursting into tears from the sheer overwhelm of it all. He was also my student that year and while he flatly refused to do any work outside of class, he was a stellar student inside the classroom. He was brilliant in a unique way.
And, he took his life this fall.
I regret not keeping in better contact with him after his graduation. I don't pretend that doing so would have made a difference in the scheme of things; I don't have the ego for that. I do wish that the connections teaching allows you to make with many students didn't feel so severed after graduation. No matter what, teaching leaves you feeling pulled too tightly--all the supports we provide in high school vanish too quickly for some after the cap and gown ceremony--once a group of students leaves, a new batch comes in and they deserve all the attention you gave to previous years. I don't have a solution for that as we are only human with limited energy; I just wish I'd thanked that young man, after the fact, for all he did that first year because it allowed me to continue to grow into the teacher I wanted to be when he was my student.
****
I've tried, at times unsuccessfully, to keep the balance in my life from becoming one that centers only around pregnancy. However, thinking about all I need to accomplish in order to be ready for the baby girl's arrival (Type A personality) coupled with the fact that sometimes people seem to forget that I am more than just my uterus makes keeping that balance tricky.
I've discovered that considering yourself a strong individual does mean you are a strong candidate for growing a human. I have hesitated to write anything about the first 17 weeks of my pregnancy because I was so ill I thought I was growing a poisonous demon instead of a baby. In all seriousness, though, I didn't write because, after everything it took to get pregnant in the first place, it felt a lot like complaining about finally getting what we've wanted most.
The irony in my situation is that, even before I wanted to be a mother, I wanted to be pregnant. I thought being pregnant would be glorious. Rainbows and sparkles and THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD.
Being pregnant has been, instead, the most unnatural thing I have experienced.
I've had the opportunity (ahem, obsession) to read a variety of information about getting pregnant, being pregnant, struggles with pregnancy, etc. and I am thankful that I've been able to find realistic and honest material about what is normal physically with pregnancy because I know previous generations more or less pretended the unpleasant aspects of pregnancy weren't real. And that isn't necessarily a complaint about all the physical "experiences" I've had. I mean it more as an observation of how I wish more people discussed pregnancy as something you can want to put yourself through even if you don't enjoy it. I want to be pregnant and I am so glad I am because of what it brings for the future, but I'm not joking when I say that I don't know that I can do this again. Baby girl might be the only baby.
I think I was well-prepared for the physical aspects of pregnancy. While the severity of my symptoms definitely caught me off-guard, they themselves didn't surprise me because I knew they were normal. What did, and continues to surprise me, is my emotional reaction. Up until now, it has been difficult at times to find the joy I think I'm supposed to feel in pregnancy. Society tells me I'm supposed to think being this is THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD, I should be glowing, and I should want to show off my belly on Facebook but, aside from knowing my daughter is healthy and thriving, I have not experienced a ton of bliss. A ton of puking and migraines and disgusting side effects from anti-nausea medication, yes; but pure maternal euphoria has somehow evaded me.
In discovering my own physical weaknesses and perhaps perceived emotional ones, I've also discovered the depths of Jerry's emotional strength. While I was spending evenings memorizing the pattern of swirls on the bathroom tile surrounding our toilet or being in a medication-induced haze, Jerry worked his typical 60-70 hours a week AND cleaned, cooked, took Vanessa to school and appointments, managed six animals and reminded me to drink as much water as I could manage. And he never once complained. I don't mean that in a flippant way. I mean he never once even sighed a heavy sigh. Not to me, not to his mother, not to anyone, to the best of my knowledge. The only thing he ever said was, "What can I do to help?" Men like Jerry don't get enough credit because they are a quiet presence but I imagine this pregnancy has been harder on Jerry emotionally and physically simply because he has had no choice but to do the work of two people while I just incubated. I know it was a lonely time for him, even if he didn't say so. Bad jokes aside, I could not do this without him.
So, if anything at all has given me a sense of joy over the last 21 weeks it is the realization that, even though he may have never changed a diaper (yet!), Jerry has already demonstrated that he will be equally as excellent a father as he is a partner.
And on that note, I leave with the most recent ultrasound picture of the baby girl (previously thought to be baby boy but clearly not so as of Nov. 8th). She must already have a sense of humor because while she wouldn't hold still for any cute "typical" profile shots or adorable feet pictures, she held perfectly still for this close up of her iris and skull features (and also the big gender-reveal but you're going to have to take my word on it). Already going for the unusual, my girl.
****
I've tried, at times unsuccessfully, to keep the balance in my life from becoming one that centers only around pregnancy. However, thinking about all I need to accomplish in order to be ready for the baby girl's arrival (Type A personality) coupled with the fact that sometimes people seem to forget that I am more than just my uterus makes keeping that balance tricky.
I've discovered that considering yourself a strong individual does mean you are a strong candidate for growing a human. I have hesitated to write anything about the first 17 weeks of my pregnancy because I was so ill I thought I was growing a poisonous demon instead of a baby. In all seriousness, though, I didn't write because, after everything it took to get pregnant in the first place, it felt a lot like complaining about finally getting what we've wanted most.
The irony in my situation is that, even before I wanted to be a mother, I wanted to be pregnant. I thought being pregnant would be glorious. Rainbows and sparkles and THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD.
Being pregnant has been, instead, the most unnatural thing I have experienced.
I've had the opportunity (ahem, obsession) to read a variety of information about getting pregnant, being pregnant, struggles with pregnancy, etc. and I am thankful that I've been able to find realistic and honest material about what is normal physically with pregnancy because I know previous generations more or less pretended the unpleasant aspects of pregnancy weren't real. And that isn't necessarily a complaint about all the physical "experiences" I've had. I mean it more as an observation of how I wish more people discussed pregnancy as something you can want to put yourself through even if you don't enjoy it. I want to be pregnant and I am so glad I am because of what it brings for the future, but I'm not joking when I say that I don't know that I can do this again. Baby girl might be the only baby.
I think I was well-prepared for the physical aspects of pregnancy. While the severity of my symptoms definitely caught me off-guard, they themselves didn't surprise me because I knew they were normal. What did, and continues to surprise me, is my emotional reaction. Up until now, it has been difficult at times to find the joy I think I'm supposed to feel in pregnancy. Society tells me I'm supposed to think being this is THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD, I should be glowing, and I should want to show off my belly on Facebook but, aside from knowing my daughter is healthy and thriving, I have not experienced a ton of bliss. A ton of puking and migraines and disgusting side effects from anti-nausea medication, yes; but pure maternal euphoria has somehow evaded me.
In discovering my own physical weaknesses and perhaps perceived emotional ones, I've also discovered the depths of Jerry's emotional strength. While I was spending evenings memorizing the pattern of swirls on the bathroom tile surrounding our toilet or being in a medication-induced haze, Jerry worked his typical 60-70 hours a week AND cleaned, cooked, took Vanessa to school and appointments, managed six animals and reminded me to drink as much water as I could manage. And he never once complained. I don't mean that in a flippant way. I mean he never once even sighed a heavy sigh. Not to me, not to his mother, not to anyone, to the best of my knowledge. The only thing he ever said was, "What can I do to help?" Men like Jerry don't get enough credit because they are a quiet presence but I imagine this pregnancy has been harder on Jerry emotionally and physically simply because he has had no choice but to do the work of two people while I just incubated. I know it was a lonely time for him, even if he didn't say so. Bad jokes aside, I could not do this without him.
So, if anything at all has given me a sense of joy over the last 21 weeks it is the realization that, even though he may have never changed a diaper (yet!), Jerry has already demonstrated that he will be equally as excellent a father as he is a partner.
And on that note, I leave with the most recent ultrasound picture of the baby girl (previously thought to be baby boy but clearly not so as of Nov. 8th). She must already have a sense of humor because while she wouldn't hold still for any cute "typical" profile shots or adorable feet pictures, she held perfectly still for this close up of her iris and skull features (and also the big gender-reveal but you're going to have to take my word on it). Already going for the unusual, my girl.
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