Teaching is a drug. Its not one of those amazing drugs that fights cancer or helps eradicate epidemics. Its an addictive, destructive, drug. I know its bad for me. It makes my eyes bleary and red, it makes me exhausted, gives me migraines. It brings me to tears. It makes my heart hurt, my fingers weak, and it steals away every bit of energy that I have. But I can’t stop. I am an addict.
Like all addiction stories, teaching affects my family. I think about teaching constantly. I bring home stories that are difficult to hear. I can’t attend awards ceremonies or field trips. I can’t be there for my children when they are sick during the school day. I spend hours of family time grading papers and researching for class. My children feel guilty when their throats start to hurt because they know it means that I will have to write sub plans. I cannot pay for them to attend camps or take ballet lessons, horseback riding lessons, or gymnastics. Because of my addiction, my children feel the struggle I feel to pay every bill. They feel the effects of my addiction when they need new shoes or want money for things that their friends have. They feel shame when they bring their friends to our shabby house.
I constantly feel the pull to end my addiction. I know its not good for me, but the high that I feel when I see my students learning, being kind to one another? When I witness a student entranced with an idea? I can’t stop teaching. Even when I see the people I love suffer for my obsession. I know that I should have made other life choices. Teaching makes me angry at society, at the government, at poverty, at violence. I am angry about things that I cannot fix. My heart is never peaceful. It always hurts. When crisis hits, when my car breaks down, when the heat stops working in my 100-year-old house, I yearn for a different career, one in which daily joy is matched with compensation rather than more worry. I want to stop. I do. Its just…so…amazing.
I often hope that my daughters do not become teachers. I want them to feel proud of their careers, to not always have to apologize for being part of a system that they cannot fix. I do not want them to use their own money to buy supplies for children who have no pencils. I don’t want them to feel the pressure of trying to change the world each and every day. I do want them to love their jobs like I love mine, but I want them to feel safe and appreciated. I want their talents to match their salaries so that they never have to worry about their own children’s futures. I don’t want them to become addicts.
