When I decided to start this blog, I wanted to prove to the world that home ec is still relevant, and coming back with a vengeance. It was supposed to be a light-hearted romp through the school day. But I find that the things I'm compelled to write about are much heavier.
Don't get me wrong, I go to work every day looking forward to interacting with my students, and I teach them meaningful things. I have fabulous classroom management, they are engaged and we have a mutual respect for each other. For the first time in my life, every day I feel fulfilled and euphorically happy.
However, every day also brings a handful students who are on a cliff, and they come to me to pull them back up. Today, my first kiddo went over the edge. She didn't die, but she's badly broken and just out of arm's reach. I want so desperately to help her, to make her see that she deserves so much better than what she is living.
I was talking to my mentor about the situation, and feeling so hopeless. She told me to think back to my own adolescence. "Wasn't there someone there when you were falling who tried to pull you back in, but had to watch you slip away?" It really struck me how much things have changed. I try to imagine all of the people that cared about me watching as I gave up, powerless to show me a better way. Being on the other side of it is the shittiest feeling ever, and I'm sorry to all of those that watched me stumble.
I will take comfort tonight in the fact that she texted me today and had the courage to tell me what she is doing, as horrifying as she knew it would be to me. Somewhere in her brain, as damaged and foggy as it is, my classroom is still her safe place.
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