I’m burned out. Like I am a curled up, twisted cinder of a match that doesn’t even reek of sulphur because that flared up and extinguished a long time ago. If I were a candle, I’m a sputtered out, wax drowned wick. 

Covid teaching was no walk in the park. When everything first happened (goodness, was that really 4 years ago?), the idea of quarantine wasn’t such a bad thing. We had just moved into our house. It was spring. Warm days meant sitting outside and working (I really was working) at home writing grammar sentences about the nesting robins in the beech tree next to my deck.

Maybe I should have paid more attention to the omen, though. One day, the robin’s nest was a thriving hive of bustling baby birds that were fletching out new feathers. 

The next day. Empty. Gone. Nothing.

My best friend who is a naturalist suggested that a snake might have eaten them. Or they were taken out by a racoon. In the end, my “muse” was gone and the empty nest was just a reminder of how quickly life is gone. How quickly change can become toxic.

I spent the summer preparing for the school year. We were re-opening. We were offering virtual classes. I attended virtual education training modules. Subscribed to Screencastify which will create videos that include my screen and a thumbnail with my face (it really does help with maintaining attention). I WORKED.

The year started. And in my virtual class I had 45 students ranging from special education to gifted and talented. With 45 sets of parents. With 45 sets of expectations and unique needs and concerns. I felt like I worked non-stop. Eight hours at the building. Emailing from home. Grading over the weekend. Repeat. 

Now, I will tell you, the county I work for is INCREDIBLY supportive. And they did everything they could to support us through an exhausting experience. But this unprecedented year was just a year of survival. 

2021 came. And with that year were challenges. And I won’t go into those challenges because they are mine and I need to keep them close because. Well that’s all.

But the exhaustion of 2020 leaked into 2021 which only became a funnel with a wide open mouth and a vacuum attachment that sunk its fangs into me. I pushed forward. And sometimes cried in my car because I just didn’t have the energy to go in and face the challenges but I had to.

Shift into 2022 and then 2023. Challenges still hit. I felt like I was in a tennis court competing against five masters. And I have no hand-eye coordination. Gritting my teeth resulted in cracked teeth (metaphor).

With the opening of 2024, I struggled with exhaustion. Anxiety. Insecurity. Burn-out. Intrusive thoughts. Ruminating thoughts. Pick a though plagued my mind. My morning walk with the dogs was a stroll through frustrations and grievances and made-up conversations in which I practiced what I was going to say or what I wished I had said or what I should have said. And none of those conversations resulted in peace.

I heard on NPR a great article about dealing with anxiety and how it can paralyze one’s ability to see the full picture, to see beyond the frustrating moment and to see what might have been good. I used to fuss at the Eldest for always focusing on the five minutes of bad when the 8 hours of the day were primarily good. The interviewee recommended “reframing.” Taking time at the end of the day and creating a deliberate list of concrete points for which a person is grateful. Five. Five events. Five people. And it can’t be “I’m grateful for my family.” It needs to be “I’m grateful for my Beloved because he cooked five nights of dinner last night” (which he did). 

After a long snow-cation, I found myself dreading coming back to work. I have loved my long days of pajamas and Lego Harry Potter. But I have great students and great classes and great curriculum and great colleagues. I have so much to be thankful for and I couldn’t summon those words.

I tried to find things I was looking forward to. And the only answer was “3:40.” The end of the day. The time when I can go home. 

Wrong. Try again. Reframe. Restart.

I asked myself what I liked about my job. And immediately, I could see my students (the ones I am teaching now). I could see their smiles. I could hear their laughter. I looked forward to hearing their ideas about “Theme for English B” which I’m teaching. And I really like that poem because it challenges how we see one another. I like the stories my newspaper students are writing. I like my editors-in-chief who are supportive, gracious, compassionate women who really care about the program and the students writing with them. 

In the space of five minutes, the dread lifted. My enthusiasm returned. I can’t say that the match-stick is primed or the candle wick is dry and ready to be lit.

But I can say that, for today, the spark is there. Timshel. Choose to find something that you like about what you will do for the day.