It's week one and I wanna quit

It's currently 12:38AM on Sunday in Memphis, Tennessee and my 5:15AM wake up time is fast approaching for the first day of the second week of school. However, I wanted...no scratch that...needed, to take a moment to reflect on my first week of teaching before my second week has a chance to begin.

I had been preparing for this day for nearly 4 years, and more specifically and deliberately for the past month. I spend countless hours in college classrooms, late nights writing lesson plans, grading tests, and preparing activities, and hours upon hours in the role of teacher, all practicing for the day when I would stand at the front of the room and teach MY class. My very own class, not someone else's, not one I shared, MINE. In the weeks after I moved to Memphis, I was finally able to see my school and my classroom. I spend a solid week prepping and preparing my classroom so that it would be ready and perfect for my students. In the final days and hours leading up to Monday August 5th, I pumped myself up and finalized my lesson plans. Sunday night I laid out my 'first day of school' outfit and could hardly sleep all night. The drive in to school on Monday morning, I was full of jitters and when I arrived at school with my final armload of things, there were already students waiting out front in their uniforms. By 7:30AM when the doors to the cafeteria opened and students started trickling in for breakfast, I was ready.

...At least I thought I was.

A few kindergartners were already crying but some were seated quietly, looking around the cafeteria with big eyes. When it was finally time to move from the cafeteria to class, my fellow kindergarten teachers and I moved our class into the hallway, criers and all, with many of the parents in tow. As I called out the names on my roster to the 60 some odd 5 year olds, it really sunk in that I had my own class, that I was on my own. After I had my students in a 'line' (5 year olds really don't know how to make a straight line...heck, some even don't know there own name, as evidenced by the fact that a good 3 students were brought to my room later on because they didn't step out of line when they heard their name.), I led them into my room.

Monday went by in a blur. It was simultaneously the fastest and slowest 6 hours ever. I felt like we had hardly gotten through anything, but at the same time I was utterly exhausted and felt as though I had been with them for 12 hours. I spend my time re-directing students, picking students up off the floor, giving students' directions, reminding students how to sit at their tables, re-explaining the directions 5 times, correcting student behavior constantly, comforting crying students, teaching students procedures for the bathroom, raising their hand, walking in the hallway, moving in the classroom, and teaching students why we don't hit other students or throw crayons, or pick at the rug. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday all passed in a similar fashion. Each day as I left school, I felt beaten down and wanted nothing more than to curl up and fall asleep. I got to know my students more as each day passed, and some parts of the day, mainly breakfast and knowing their names, got easier, but the rest stayed hard, very hard. Each day, at LEAST 15 times a day, I thought to myself, "I can't do this." "There's no way I can make it to 2:00..." "I'm not coming back tomorrow. I'm gonna quit." "I was crazy to think I could do this." "Wow. I must really suck." "All I want to do is cry." And just about every day as I drove home, I cried. Cried because I was frustrated, because I was tired, because it just plain sucked. It was harder than I had ever thought it could be. I felt like I had nothing left by the time I got home but I had to plan and prepare for the next day. And on top of all of that, I had Physical Therapy appointments twice a week.

Last week was the hardest, most exhausting, most draining, most back-breaking week of my life. Saturday I slept in until the late afternoon and woke up unmotivated and still exhausted. Driving back from Mass today, Sunday, I called my boyfriend and cried, telling him that I didn't want to go back to school on Monday. I just didn't want to face the feeling of draining defeat, extreme frustration, and enormous exhaustion for another long week. He reminded me that I am bringing a lot to the table, but I felt so defeated that I responded, "what if what I have to offer sucks?" And I honestly thought that.

There is no way to truly describe or explain the huge heartache and headache that was my first week of teaching. To feel like I was useless and to fight frustration for 6 hours straight every day left me feeling dejected and emptied of all fire. I wish I could tell you that I am ready and excited for next week, but I can't honestly say that I'm there yet. But ready or not, the second week is here. Ready or not, I am the teacher of 21 kindergartners. So, whether I feel it or not, I must be ready. For the love of my students I will wake up tomorrow. For the love of my students, I will fight my frustration and exhaustion. For the love of my students, I will re-en-kindle a fire within me whenever it threatens to go out. For the love of my students, I will work tirelessly each night to find a way to reach them, each and every last one of them. For the love of my students, I will smile when the only thing I want to do is cry. For the love of my students, I will teach. Each and every morning I will wake up and I will teach, all for the love of my students.