"Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength."

Clearly it has been a while since I've managed to find the peace, (or time) to update this blog. I have thought about writing plenty of times, but even spending a half an hour typing pulls at my heart. I wonder, "Should I be lesson planning? What could this time be better spent on?"
Here is what I have decided...

My kids need me. I need my kids. They need me at my best. Not tired. Not weak. Not mentally drained. Not overwhelmed or unenthusiastic. They need me to be disciplined, and strong enough to know when to put the lesson plans away and get some sleep. They need me to take care of myself, like I beg them to do! They need me to take my own advice.

Nothing demonstrated that better than last week.

Last Monday, I met my proverbial "wall". It was enormous, overwhelming, and unforgiving. Not only did I hit it...it hit me, flattened me. In the middle of my fifth period class, I turned to write on the board, took a deep breath, and had the most clear, painful, distinct thought... "I don't want to do this anymore." No sooner had I allowed myself to have the thought than I was immediately overwhelmed with a paralyzing sense of guilt. How could I? How could I think that? Not me. No way. I don't really mean it.

I did.

I drove home after school, doing everything I could to hold back my tears. After my four minute commute, I pulled up to my house, flung my car door open and walked as fast as I could towards my front door. Desperately fumbling with my keys, dropping (and breaking) my coffee mug, I finally managed to open the door and get inside. Immediately, in a dramatic fit of exhaustion and vulnerability, both of my arms fell to my sides and I stood watching as everything spilled out of my bags onto the floor. I pulled my obnoxiously bright, "oh-so-teacher-like" cardigan over my head, flung my shoes off and watched them fly across my living room, while simultaneously pulling the bobby-pins out of my hair. I took my earrings out, unclipped my watch, and threw them all on the table. Slowly, eyes painfully wide open, I walked like a zombie straight back to my room. As I slowly lowered myself onto my bed, the thought came back..." I don't want to do this anymore."

I lost it.

I was overwhelmed with guilt, questions, horrible "what-ifs", and this awful questioning of my ability as a teacher. Worse, I questioned my PURPOSE. Am I supposed to be somewhere else? Why am I here? What am I doing? Can I do this?

I completely lost sight. Of everything.

I made some phone calls and cried my eyes out. I held nothing back. Every insecurity, every challenge, every frustration came pouring out. For the first time in seven weeks, I allowed myself to be honest, and show my fear of failing with my students.

After close to four hours of pouring, it stopped. I found myself repeating the same things over and over again, running out of things to cry about, complain about, worry about, and fear. The process was done.

Okay, Case. You hit a wall. You cried. You put it all on the table. Now what? You are here for at least the next two years. These kids are yours, and they need you. What are you going to do now? You have school tomorrow! What lesson are you teaching? How do you move on from here?

I can't pinpoint it, and to be honest, I have no idea what happened or what came over me. I grabbed my keys, got in my car and drove to the store. I bought a bunch of poster board, new markers, pencils, and stickers. I came home, pushed everything off of my dining room table and started CREATING. After about three hours, I sat staring at the most ridiculously meticulous tracker, one for every period, complete with foil star stickers, and colorful class assignment labels. Over and over again in my head I heard myself telling my students "I am NOT going to let you fail. I WILL NOT give up on you." I had told my kids that so many times, in a variety of contexts and circumstances. Some students I went as far as squaring up with them, grabbing their shoulders, and forcing them to look me in the eyes so they could physically see my blatant refusal to accept anything less than their best!

The truth is, as stubborn as I am, and as genuine as my promise is to not let any of them fail, I have to admit that that horrible thought I had was just as genuine. I guess I could feel ashamed, or embarrassed...and if I am being completely honest... I feel both. That said, I am also proud. I kind of feel like I made it through some sort of initiation. I always thought that I could do this... be a good teacher... but in an inexplicably odd way, now I know for sure. I can do this. I wanted to quit, walk away, go back to "normal", live close to my family, go see my friends, but I didn't.

I made an active choice and chose my kids. From day one I have said in every way that I would choose my kids over anything, but in this instance, I actually chose. I chose them, and I will continue to choose them every day.
I have never felt more convicted or inspired.

I went to school the next day and was greeted with smiling faces and hugs from all of my kids, like I get every morning. Monday was bad, but it was also gone. And done.

"Ms. Hall..."
"Ms. Hall..."   "Ms. Hall(y)"...

"Yo, Ms. Hall..."      " Ms. H...."     "Ma'am..."

"Can you put on the music?"

Me: "Yeah, guys. I'll put on the music....write!"

...and the day started. Like it always does. A new day. A new chance to teach, learn, grow, inspire, and be inspired.
I was there, and so were they. Together, in our overly bright and amazingly decorated classroom, literally surrounded by their hopes, dreams, heros, motivations, and big goals. Ready to keep growing.

I guess it is kind of like trimming back branches on a tree. Or breaking a bone. They grow back thicker, more beautiful... and even stronger than before.



*Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of the prayers and encouragement. You have no idea what it means to me...and my students.*