How would I describe being an educator for adolescents and preteens? Near impossible, soul-sucking, liberating, and sickeningly sweet. Especially with it being post-covid and I love my nonbiological kids (the scholars) so much. I would die for any student in my class, literally. But it’s so hard to teach. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Teachers are nurturers. And as nurturers, they are overworked and underrewarded.
You get so invested trying to ensure your littles become kind, happy, well-rounded adults. It’s so hard to not feel like mistakes are personal failures. Like you’re a failure. You can, at times, take things personally.
But at the same time, I have questions about the whole system. And if I were to ask them aloud, I wonder if people would accuse me of skirting personal responsibility?
Can I, a disabled woman, really succeed in a field that was built for white able-bodied Americans? I mean, the system was built with the idea it can maintain white supremacy. And I’m a disabled Latina immigrant educator. Not that I’m saying me being Latina gets in the way of anything, though.
Anyway, as the summer approaches and my third year in education comes to an end, it’s looking highly likely that I’ll be stepping away. It’s a bittersweet, terrifying, and exciting departure from what I had previously envisioned for myself. I feel bad for the kids though. Did I mention my students are also disabled? I feel like by having to step away, I’m failing them. I’m them from the future. Representation matters. If I can’t do it, can they? And of course I know they can, but they need someone around who knows that and stands in that truth. What does that mean if I can’t represent them anymore?
From Cami 