Real Talk
“It looks like we’re dealing with some pretty severe hypertension.”
My primary care doctor looked at me after reading the notes from my most recent ER visit.
“This is your second ER visit this month,” he said with concern. “Something’s got to change, and I think you know what. I’m not telling you what to do, but I’d strongly advise you to quit teaching for your health.”
I just sat there, defeated. I wasn’t surprised at his advice, but it solidified what I already knew to be true — being a teacher was ruining my health.
My high blood pressure scares came just a few months after my anxiety disorder diagnosis. My deteriorating mental health was now having a negative impact on my physical health as well. Turns out, it wasn’t all in my head; I was spiraling.
I left the doctor’s visit unsure of what to do next. I was already taking antidepressants and seeing a therapist. Now, I carried a new prescription in my hands for high blood pressure medication.
Since I started teaching, every part of my health had taken a big hit; and now, my doctor was urging me to quit.
The internal battle
Since receiving this advice, I have tried to fight off the internal thoughts: “I’m a wimp. How can other people handle the stress, but I can’t? Maybe I should just push through — I just need to get tougher.”
But in reality, I know what I have to do — and though this may be an unpopular choice, I know deep down that I’m going to do it.
You see, I am a teacher, but I am also a wife and a mom. At the end of the day, I will always choose being here for my family over being there for my students. On top of that, I’ve realized that it’s okay to choose ME if nothing more than for my own health and benefit. It is beyond scary to give up the *stability* that comes with being a teacher with tenure, but it’s far more terrifying to give up my life and my health by not listening to my body’s warnings.
This decision will not be made lightly; in fact, over the years, I’ve tried (and exhausted) everything. I’ve gone for the mental health walks. I’ve prioritized the sleep. I’ve lowered the caffeine, changed my diet, and meditated. I’ve prayed, and I’ve tapped into my spirituality. I’ve listened to all the podcasts, tested all the healing methods, and boy have I tried to care less.
Teaching is STRESSFUL.
This may have worked sometimes, but this school year was a different ballgame. This school year has felt like a fight for survival, if anything. I’ve wondered if it will get better next year, but the evidence shows that each year it does, in fact, get worse.
As I sit and wonder just HOW I could have reached this high hypertensive state, I am reminded of just what I’ve dealt with this month alone in my classroom:
- Breaking up a fight between two middle schoolers that resulted in an injury.
- Standardized testing that determines just “how good of a teacher I am.”
- Reporting a suspected child abuse case, as I am a mandatory reporter.
- Holding an intervention on bullying for a group of teenagers while the counselor was out.
- Covering for other teachers’ classes as well as my own.
- Running a school shooter drill — and trying to teach adverbs right after said shooter drill.
All while the world outside believes I’m just reading Lord of the Flies and grading essays.
I’ve tried to lean into the positives. “Focus on the good,” they all say; but it’s truly difficult to stand in front of a group of 30 students and resume a lesson after a major disruption, all while your heart is racing.
This shouldn’t be THIS hard, right? This job isn’t life or death. I’m not conducting major surgery. But I’ll need one if I can’t find a way to regulate my nervous system.
I am not the problem, and my health should not pay the price.
I’ve spent too much time thinking I’m the problem, I’m not cut out for this, it’s not my thing. Maybe you’ve thought the same things at times. But I challenge you to ask instead:
Why is teaching becoming such a difficult job to do?
Could it be the lack of discipline and consequences for students? Could it be the lack of funding and pay, giving way for financial stress? Could it be the understaffing that leads us to do three people’s jobs each day? Could it be the lack of support we receive while trying to meet the needs of hundreds of students every day? Could it be the insane curriculum expectations and constant emphasis on testing? Could it be the impossible environment we’re given and expected to teach in? Could it be these things?
I dread the backlash I’ll receive for my choice from the ones who don’t understand, but I’ve reached my breaking point, and obviously so has my body. I’m not sure what my future holds, but hopefully something a little more calm, and a lot less damaging. My doctor urged me to quit teaching and get my health back, so that’s what I’m doing.
