Nerves

It's way past midnight. I should be in bed by now.

I have a highly regimented, even militant bedtime routine that frequently amazes James in its everyday sameness and consistency. As soon as the clock hits 8:30 pm, I'm mechanically popping a melatonin tablet with a swig of water and trotting off to bed to read until my eyelids grow heavy.

But lately, things have been very, very hard at work.

I'm not at liberty to share all the gory guts and details. At least, not yet. And I have absolutely zero interest in turning this precious Page and Spoon space into an unproductive complaint circle where teacher troubles might get turned into fodder for water cooler gossip.

I've also never worked in a school that is so high profile - and yet - the purported systems of accountability have so miserably failed that rank toxicity runs as freely through these hallways as my kindergarteners do on Ice Cream Day.

Suffice it to say that I now wake up each morning feeling like a sumo wrestler has nested on my chest.

I can't give you any specifics or particulars. But if you're asking out of a place of genuine care and wondering how bad things are, here's one interesting artifact I think can share. This is a copy of a mysterious printout that was left in the administrative hub of our building. It's blurred and distorted to protect identities, but it seemed to be tracking when, where, to whom, and from whom emails are coming and going.

A colleague found it off to the side of a printer, and she showed it to me with a big gulp.

Does that tell you how bad things have gotten?

If I told you that I immediately launched a Google search for "Are BCC emails trackable?" would that would give you a sense of how things are?

I haven't been sleeping much, save a few winks each day (another reason why I'm writing all of this with the twilight birds chirping outside my window). More recently, I've started retching with nauseous anxiety whenever I think about stepping back into school. I'm doing what I can to finish strong! And be there for the kids! And keep a clean and perfect record! But I'm also trying to hush my hammering heart as I imagine facing another day of running around to try and find a safe space to prep because I don't know if someone might Surprise! corner me in my room for a fraught and unscheduled conversation.

I don't know if I have the mental fortitude to keep up with rash and unpredictable politicking.

I don't even like the word politics. It really has no place in a school.

I'm not really sure of my rights as a teacher - contractually or legally. This is the first time I'm perusing an employee handbook with a magnifying glass and a fine toothed comb. For fifteen years, I simply invested all my efforts and sometimes even my salary into my classroom, trusting that whatever HR issues arose, the school I worked for could be trusted to take care of me. Now, I'm learning how to become my own ad hoc strategist and defense attorney, while also doling out daily reminders to tie shoelaces and pushing in chairs.

It is all so tiresome.

If and when those rights are breached, I'm not really sure what I should do to protect myself. This past month, I've been blindly trudging through the process and moving through what I think are proper channels, trying to move forward without inviting unnecessary trouble or attention. I've also now amassed so many troubling narratives from countless colleagues about their nasty interactions with various members of administration that I'm sure I never want to find out for myself how bad things can get.

So yesterday, I spent the day ducking human interaction as far as I could (as a teacher! Can you imagine?) and straining my eyes to read and write e-mails in the darkness of my classroom closet. It was cold and uncomfortable, but it felt safer than dealing with whatever might come through my door.

Schools are frightfully complex places, and their convolutions of constituents are interwoven into a fraught and fragile tapestry. Multiply that by a thousand if you're talking about schools that have reputations to uphold and some ugly histories to either rectify or hide.

But is it so idealistic of me to believe schools should also be places that aim to be above reproach, especially if these brilliant young minds might become the collateral damage?

For all the heart-stricken moments I've experienced here, I have a list of names who have collectively become the sole reason why I can smile in spite of it all and trust that I was meant to be here this year - to meet and work with some of the greatest and most passionate educators I've ever met. For me, these colleagues embody the noblest and highest ideals of education (and they're here, right alongside some of the worst teachers I've ever met - sneaky, manipulative, work-shirking, gossip-mongering wenches who really have no business being in a school) .

There's something about trouble, stress, and strife that can uniquely cement new friendships. So as I fumblingly continue to try and find a way to grasp the fact that, Yes, this waking nightmare really is happening! I'm trying to be a confidante and comrade-in-arms for other hurt and struggling colleagues who have also done that for me this year.

We're tired, but we're together.

Just as I'm cherishing every last moment with these amazing children, I'm constantly wrestling with how few days I have left sharing a campus with these beautiful people.