I just want to hide in a corner and cry. No matter how hard I try to suppress them, the tears keep welling up behind my eyes. I feel like a failure. A disappointment.
Even though I arrived at school early, even though I read the minutes and had everything prepared, even though I left five minutes ahead of time, I still walked into the morning staff meeting a few minutes late. It only evidences disrespect for the time and wisdom of my colleagues—the colleagues that I have only admiration and respect for. And I have no excuse.
Even though I work to prepare and learn and communicate effectively, I still misrepresent expectations. I still dig myself and my team into a hole with the tech department. There is no excuse.
Next week, I am supposed to present to the other English teachers at our weekly collaboration meeting. I am terrified. Why me? I have only taught for less than a year. I barely passed my English classes my final semester of college. I’m not even a full-time teacher. And I can’t even make it through today without crying over my notes during lunch.
I cannot stop giving. I refuse to withdraw or fail to invest. I will not let my bad day interfere in the classroom.
I say all the time that I love my job. I’m not lying. I work at an incredible school with fantastic co-workers and awesome students. I enjoy what I do and revel in the opportunity to teach youth how to discover and learn and process in this crazy world.
Some days, I just hit rock bottom. I’m tired. I’m failing miserably. I’m retreating back to the place where I should have started—my ever-present refuge from the storms. The three little words I learned in preschool: Jesus Loves Me. The miracle is that it’s true even on days like today. So I pick up my head, I put a smile on my face, and I press on despite the roadblocks. God has given me breath—this will be a good day.