The heavy duty scissors slice through the colored paper in a zig zag. I am going on hour two of deliberate snips to ensure there are plenty of hexagons in a variety of colors. This is how I am using my snow day. School has been canceled due to the weather that is just starting to roll in and it looking to make afternoon travel treacherous.
My thoughts roll over in my mind. I have been struggling to find my joy in my work as of late. I know that I am creating and maintaining an engaging, rigorous and standards based instruction. I know that I have put together classroom expectations that manage my classroom so that deep meaningful learning has the opportunity to blossom. I know that I am taking my time to make sure I give thoughtful feedback on writing assignments to improve the skills of my students. And I know that I address the social emotional needs of my students and provide a safe and caring environment for them to be vulnerable enough to take on challenging learning.
Here I am cutting out hundred of hexagons to help ensure a lesson I planned has the potential to be successful and impactful, and i fight the tears rolling down my cheeks because it feels like a fruitless endeavor. I try my best to remember that I am doing a good job, but every time I get some momentum, an , I hope, unintended jab at my choices cuts deep and painfully. The burn lingers in my heart as a try to harden my armor to not let my lessons suffer and continue to use every moment of my prep time to do the millions of tasks necessary to have “successful” teaching week.
I pull another sheet of hexagons from the pile to cut as I try to figure out my first steps in navigating my teetering despair.
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