I used to play teacher. I wanted to be a teacher my whole growing up years. I loved school. My parents discouraged me from studying education as there was going to be a teacher surplus. (This was the early 1990s.) So, I thought long and hard about why I wanted to be a teacher, and opted for a social work program instead.

The program I studied at wasn’t accredited. It was a whole big mess, because obviously they didn’t broadcast this fact when applying to the institution. My parents apologized to me my junior year for interfering and suggested I switch to education. That would have required more years at college and no thank you. I had already met my {now} spouse, and was eager to move on with my life.

Fast forward to my babies growing up, and my years as a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM) dwindling. I thought about going back and becoming certified to teach. It would check a long standing open box of my life. But we’d soon be needing to pay tuition for our own kids, and I couldn’t imagine using the resources for myself. So, I did the next best thing: subbing.

Note: subbing is not a replacement for the teaching experience. Ha! I was totally fooling myself. I started out in a high school. By those years, punking subs is a sport for some students. Some kids wanted peace and quiet to do some work, while others were hellbent on flexing their immaturity. Without the support of the office staff, it was not worth the money to wrangle other people’s poorly behaved.

Next up, I thought I’d give elementary school students a go. I loved the free hugs- but there were just so many kids in a class. And they all wanted to share information. I wanted to absorb it all, but the teacher left assignments to be done. I didn’t want to fail the teacher and not get the busy work completed, but I did want to enjoy the littles. I would come home entirely overstimulated.

And then, I found an oasis. I took an assignment at a program for cognitively impaired students where the focus was on job skills, community outings, and increasing student independence. A couple of hours into my first sub gig I texted home “I think I found my match.” The cognitively impaired young adults didn’t try to bamboozle the sub. They wanted to share their interests and artwork, but there weren’t 25-35 of them in a classroom. I could handle this! There were a couple of teacher assistants (TAs) retiring, so I applied for a position, knowing that my youngest was going to be finishing high school, and my role as a SAHM was fading fast.

After a lengthy onboarding process, I entered the school with great enthusiasm. I came home and told funny stories of pranks the teachers pulled, or things students said. I loved my new job! As the calendar months flipped, my stories also flipped to grievances and annoying things other staff in the building did; things said to me, ways I was treated, or how other staff took advantage of the program.

I was told by more experienced TAs to focus on the job, and let everything else go. Admittedly, I don’t know how to do that. When poor leadership is in place, and staff feel like they’re unseen, unheard, and unsupported, morale tanks. When morale tanks, good people leave. When good people leave, all that’s left is crumbs. I kept wanting to sound the alarm bells. I was told that it wouldn’t help. Surely the higher ups were not aware of what was going on!?!

I soon came to realize that in my beloved job, some staff who had been there a while were defeated and numb to the status quo. They didn’t feel like there was anywhere to go to get help or support. They stayed because they valued the students and prioritized their needs over how staff was treated. I mentioned this to friends who work in other districts, and they all echoed this sentiment. Woah. How utterly disappointing. My eyes had been opened.

I plan to return to my job in August. I have to decide if I am able to accept the status quo and learn how to numb myself to the politics and disappointments abound. I have to learn to equip myself while the toilet bowl swirls and sloshes, attempting to pull me down. Because spending energy trying to fix the water flow is above my pay-grade, beyond my comprehension, and way past my abilities when administration is the one leaning on the tank, pushing down the handle.

I have ten weeks to figure out how to repeat this cycle on eco mode. “Next year” I either need to spend less energy hoping that someone will toss in a life raft, understanding that seemingly, nobody cares that my hair is getting wet, or climb out of the bowl. With my acquired sense of awareness, I will focus on the students and hope that my spirit won’t be sunk.