It's been 18 months since I last stepped foot in a classroom—the place I once called my second home 🏫. The smartboard, the rows of desks, and the vibrant artwork on the walls 🎨 are all filled with the promise of learning and growth 📚. But what was once a sanctuary of education has become a symbol of trauma, a reminder of the day I was attacked by a student 😔.
The decision not to return was not easy. Teaching is more than a job; it's a calling, a passion that shapes who you are ❤️. For years, I poured my heart into my classroom, nurturing young minds, guiding them through challenges, and celebrating their successes 🎉. But that day, it changed everything.
The physical wounds healed quickly, but the emotional scars have proven more stubborn 😢. There's a unique pain in being hurt by a student, a child of your own child's age. It's a deep, gnawing ache that doesn't fade with time. The kind of pain that lingers in the background, flaring up in unexpected moments—a smell, a sound, a memory—pulling you back to that day 🕰️.
When I made the decision not to return, it felt like I was giving up a part of myself 💔. I grappled with feelings of failure, guilt, and even shame 😥. Was I abandoning my students? Was I letting fear win? But the truth is, I needed to take care of myself. Returning to the classroom would have meant reopening wounds that had barely begun to heal. It was a courageous choice, a validation of my own well-being over societal expectations 🌟.
The months that followed were a blur of emotions. I focused on healing, both physically and mentally 🧠. I leaned on my support system, sought therapy, and allowed myself to grieve the loss of a career I loved. I also found solace in being still and quiet (HARD AS HELL for me to do!!!!!) 🧘♀️. But the pain is still there. It's not as raw as it once was, but it's there, lurking just below the surface.
I've had to confront some hard truths. I've realized that it's okay to step away, prioritize my well-being over my career, and say that enough is enough. The education system is broken in many ways, and the burden on teachers is immense 😩. We are expected to be everything to everyone—educators, counselors, disciplinarians, and even protectors. But we are only human 💪.
There are days when I desperately miss the classroom. I miss the connection with my students, the joy of seeing them grasp a new concept, and the pride of watching them grow 🌱. But I also know that my decision was the right one for me. My journey didn't end in that classroom; it simply took a different path 🌈.
As the back-to-school season rolls around, it brings with it a bittersweet reminder of what I've lost. For so many years, this time was filled with excitement, anticipation, and the thrill of a new beginning 📅. Now, it's a reminder of the career I had to leave behind, the trauma I'm still healing from, and the path I've been forced to take. Back to school doesn't have the same meaning anymore; that realization is another layer of pain I'm learning to navigate 🛤️.
The pain still lingers, but I'm learning to carry it with me, to let it shape me rather than define me. I'm channeling that pain into something new, something meaningful. I'm writing ✍️, I'm reflecting 💭, and I'm growing 🌱. And while I will never return to the secondary classroom, I will always be a teacher at heart 💖. My journey of healing is ongoing, and I'm hopeful for the future 🌟.
For anyone who has faced a similar decision, know that it's okay to walk away and prioritize your own mental health and well-being 🧘♂️. The pain may linger, but it doesn't have to hold you back. Healing is a journey, and every step forward is a victory 🏆. If you're struggling, remember that you will be okay, and things will work out how they should 💪💕
So here I am, 18 months later, still healing, still growing, and still learning 📖. The classroom may be in my past, but the lessons I've learned will stay with me forever 🌟. I acknowledge the loss, but I also embrace the growth and the person I've become through this experience 💫.
With gratitude & a dash of courage,
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