You would think that even with a slightly better school year, a group of 7th graders who show improved behavior compared to last year’s students, and the fact that I’m only teaching one subject would have reassured me yes, I want to stay teaching for the long term.

My last post was all about making this year my ‘year of grace.’ I was optimistic that this year would erase the negative feelings I had towards teaching during a pandemic for the past year and a half. I was hopeful that my new school and supportive administrators would enable me to enjoy being an educator once more.

I’m sorry to say that my year of grace - and we’re not even at the half way point yet - isn’t shaping out the way I prayed it would. I’ve found myself browsing at federal jobs, applying for contracting jobs, and considering going back to school, if only for a little while, to obtain a certificate in technical writing. I still have no energy to stay after school and offer tutoring to my students, stick around to support them in their sports and fine arts activities, and hang out with my friends.

My goal at the end of my school day is to get home, curl up in bed with my laptop ready to stream a favorite show (more than likely Downton Abbey or King of the Hill), enjoy a Dr. Pepper (the soda fix has been insane lately, much to my closet’s dismay…I’ve gained a few pounds), finish my daily prayers (at least my faith is still strong), take my medications, and go to bed. If I’m in bed by 8:30, I call it a success. 9 PM is pushing it…9:30 PM is late for me.

I find myself unwilling to get out of bed in the morning, even if I have been going to bed earlier. I can hear my mind telling my body ‘no’ and I end up sleeping through my alarms.

I am sure most of my lack of energy is due to my past medical diagnoses. I still haven’t figured out physical therapy (it’s rare to find someone who specializes in pelvic floor therapy nearby to where I live), a biopsy I had over the summer only left me in more pelvic pain, and I’m finding it difficult to complete simple chores around the house because of how much pressure the bending and kneeling (example: cleaning the bathroom) places on my pelvis. I still get my chores done, but I’m in a lot of pain afterwards.

I know I need to try to get some exercise in - yoga has been recommended to me as it doesn’t place as much pressure on the pelvic floor - but once I’m home, having been on my feet most of the day at work…exercise is the last thing I want to do.

I have no energy to be the best for myself because I exert most of it at work. I want to be the best I can for my students…but even then, I find myself struggling to give them my best.

Then I factor in my personal life, and oh dear lord, I really just do not feel like trying anymore.

I feel like I’ve lost any sense of who I thought I was. I truly believed turning thirty was going to be a wonderful year of growth, happiness, and settling down…and it wasn’t.

My thirtieth trip around the sun was spent with too many medical visits, questionable dating choices, arguments with my dad about my dating choices, and an extreme amount of doubting of my career. If I hadn’t been holding onto my faith, I know I’d be feeling even worse about how this year went.

A couple of months ago, I had one particularly terrible week that started with a Sunday visit to my parents’ house. I found out from my father that a family they know at our church recently hosted a wedding. The eldest son of the family just got married and we found out that the bride was not even Christian, let alone Catholic. I was surprised when my mother told me this, because I thought, based on how devoutly Catholic this family is, that the groom would have married a Catholic girl.

This discovery then caused me to wonder…if this family can accept a non-Catholic/Christian daughter-in-law…why can’t my father accept a non-Catholic/Christian son-in-law? I proposed this question to my mother.

We decided to have this discussion away from my father’s ears. What started as an honest and calm discussion led me to burst into tears, not in anger (and not directed at my mother) and tell her that I am honestly scared to date and fall in love again because I could not bear to:

#1 - lose my relationship with my father over my choice of husband, should he turn out not to be Catholic.

#2 - have someone leave me again because my father would not want to maintain a relationship with a potentially non-Catholic (or Christian, even) son-in-law.

While I was able to get past a good guy breaking it off for me for this reason last summer (as he claimed at the time of the break-up), and eventually become friends with him, I do not wish to have someone else provide this as a reason to not pursue a relationship with me, as a choice of my father’s is something that is 100% out of my control.

It took me awhile to get myself together and drive home after that conversation. My mother checked in with me all week, but I knew that mentally, I was struggling. I had paused on seeing a therapist while I was recovering and going to a chiropractor after my car accident last year…but this break down helped me realize it was time, at least, to restart my mental health care journey.

I asked my friend for the contact information of her daughter’s therapist and before I knew it, I was signed up for my first session to see if we would “fit.” Thank God we did; I’ve had four sessions with her now, and while I’m still struggling, she’s been giving me some amazing coping strategies. Most importantly, she’s been reassuring me that I’ve come a long way since my initial start with mental health care three years ago (wow!)…and that I should be happy with the progress I’ve already made (even if there are days where I feel like I haven’t made any progress).

I turned thirty-one just this past week. While it wasn’t as festive and fun as my thirtieth birthday celebrations were, I’m relieved that as I started this new trip around the sun, I’m aware that I’m struggling with my life choices and where I’d like to be in my life right now. At least I’m trying to start some sort of recovery and plan by resuming therapy. At least I know that I have a fear of dating and falling in love again - even though having a marriage and my own family is something I’ve always prioritized. It’s not immediate progress, but it’s progress nonetheless, and I’m sure I’ll have some setbacks as I continue to make progress.

I’m empty. I’m faking it for all it’s worth right now at school, and my coworkers don’t suspect anything…but I know I’m not myself anymore.

I’m not the feminine, constantly in a dress, perfectly coiffed girl I was always noted to be the past few years - as much as I adore putting on makeup and wearing heels and stockings, even during the winter.

I’m not someone who is willing to open her heart, wax poetic about literature and history, and immediately fall in love with the first handsome history nerd she encounters.

I’m not the optimistic, bright eyed, history loving educator, that I started my teaching career as, five years ago.

Right now, I don’t have any semblance as to who I am, and that scares me…but I’m hoping this first small step of progress with my therapist (and being able to recognize my struggle) will help me gain momentum once more.

Like that Aesop’s fable about the tortoise and the hare…

I’m the tortoise and right now, I must echo his mentality:

Slow and steady will win the race.

God willing, I pray.

many happy returns (and a blessed and merry Christmas)

-kate.