For
years I raced top speed uphill with a full load on my back. Some days I careened downhill with no brakes
or power steering.
And
I did it gladly. I liked my job and I relished the responsibility.
Demands
and obligations ruled my sleep, my diet, and my personal life. Alarm clocks, deadlines, and pressure sucked
away at my health and my humanity.
I
didn’t need a doctor, a therapist, or a psychiatrist to hand me a
diagnosis. I gained weight. I suffered anxiety attacks. I spent the little precious time I’ve been
allotted in this world with people who only wanted what I could do for them.
I
stopped enjoying my profession. I had given all I could. I wanted something in
return for a change.
I
worked top speed until the end, honoring my responsibilities. I held the line until I handed it to my
replacement. I looked out for the very people who would not remember who I was after
I was gone.
Then
I walked away and refused to look back.
I
kept my old life in boxes. My wardrobe hung in the closet. Every year for the last four, those things
become less and less.
One
day all that will be gone.
When I retired, I gave away everything except for two mid-sized bins thata containted a couple of texts, special books, and binders with exceptional lessons. Although I walked away from teaching, I still haven't found my new retirement self because I'm still giving care.
ReplyDeleteI took home two boxes of novels and college textbooks in literature, my gargoyle, my flags, donated my couch to JHS Drama, and absolutely NO public school related paraphernalia.
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