Knowing what I’m doing
Don’t tell anyone, but I have no idea what I am doing. I am in this new job and every morning I arrive, as soon as I come through the door, I am walking through water. My legs feel heavy, my heart begins to pound, my skin gets this hot, clammy feeling and I wonder if I am going to get through the day alive. Does anyone else ever feel that way? I don’t know what the hell i am doing. Or maybe I do know, but because of fear I can’t seem to use the talent I have. So, why the hell am I still there? They say it takes a year to really get good at teaching. They say that the first year is, in fact, survival. But how I am supposed to even survive when I can’t think straight enough to find a freakin’ dry erase marker? How can I survive when every single comment a teenager makes about me or the lesson or whines about something completely unrelated in the middle of class, it feels like a hot stick poking at my heart. Why am I there when a parent calls and maliciously attacks me for no reason? And I am left stripped and bare and about an inch tall, cowering under my desk. Why am I there if the kids refuse to even write a freakin paragraph and complain about my clothes. Why am I there if I am so afraid all the time? They say the first year is survival, but I can’t find the oxygen to wait that long. Is there another way? Or do I have to sweat and pound and wonder when I will feel normal again, every day?