Unraveling

This is an archived post that was originally published at beyond-terminal.com

As you will see below, this is when things start to truly unravel. Ever since I had gotten sick, I looked for ways in which I could control my environment. I was a teacher who prided herself on being organized, who had more activities than I needed to get through the day. Down time led to disruption in my mind.

But now. Now I was organized and had enough activities, yet I had a student who couldn’t be managed. Further, as you will discover in future excerpts, I had a principal who was on leave. There was no one to turn to. I was in a no-win situation.

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This passage follows the last excerpt and is also from the reformatted chapter titled “Shaky Ground.”

And, just like that, Dan and I were preparing for another school year. I felt more prepared this second-time though. I knew what to do. My curriculum was in place. I was ready.

When Open House rolled around the Thursday before the start of the school year, I greeted my students and their parents at the threshold of the classroom with confidence and enthusiasm. 

Ten minutes into the hour, when the room was bustling with activity, the last parent to arrive came in with her son in her arms. I tried not to register shock on my face as I walked to the mother/son unit. 

I said hello to the mom, who introduced herself as Donna, and then I circled around Donna to say hi to her son. The boy darted his head back and forth to evade me before burrowing his face in his mom’s chest.

“This is Roger,” the mom said in a clipped tone. 

I thought that Donna might say more, something like, Roger’s having a tough day. But we stood in awkward silence for a few seconds before I said, “Roger, I’m looking forward to a great year. Why don’t you put your supplies in the bins and then hang up your backpack on the coat rack?”

At this suggestion, Donna unpeeled Roger off of her. Instead of standing though, Roger slunk to the floor and glared up at me for the briefest of moments with narrowed eyes and a look that seemed to indicate, how dare you suggest this? I shivered involuntarily.

“O-kay,” I said with a shaky voice. “Well, I’ll start the presentation and you can join us when you’re ready.”

I started going over the packet I prepared that covered an overview of the school year, trying my best not to be distracted by Roger. That said, I couldn’t help but notice the push and pull between mom and boy as Donna prodded Roger to move to the front of the room where the other kids were and Roger rooted himself deeper into the floor. Perhaps it was one gentle/not-so-gentle prod too many, but all of a sudden Roger unrooted himself and replanted himself behind the kids’ backpacks that were hanging up on the coat rack.

I knew lots about curriculum and instruction and classroom management, but we had never simulated a situation like this in grad school. Should I stop my presentation and go talk to Roger? Should I let Donna handle it?

In a moment of indecision, I looked over at Roger and our eyes connected for a second time. He looked like an angry, caged animal. Oh my God. I’m supposed to be in charge. All eyes are on me. I’m supposed to know how to handle situations like this.

“Roger, please join us,” I said in a firm voice.

“Aaaagghhh!” he screamed at the top of his lungs in response.  “Aaaagghhh!” 

I could no longer keep the shock from registering on my face. This was unlike anything I had ever experienced, and the school year hadn’t even started.

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This is just a small glimpse of what’s to come. Things progress to the point where the other students and I need to evacuate the classroom a few times a week because Roger gets so aggressive.

At this time in my life, I felt as though this situation was “on me” and that it was “my fault” that I couldn’t control an unruly and oppositional child, not realizing that this would have been an untenable situation for any teacher.

This total loss of control (in the classroom) ended up reminding me of what it felt like to be a child when I lost all control and no longer could walk, talk, read, and write. While childhood memories had been popping up at unwanted times for several years prior to this point, they soon became pervasive, with my past constantly bleeding into the present.

This year was soon to become the hardest year I’ve ever had. It was even harder than anything I went through as a child. Much of this was because I felt as though I was letting down my students and their families when I no longer could sustain teaching in this situation.

The irony is that I’m now grateful that I lived through this because I was forced to see what I never wanted to see. And by finally seeing what I had had a hard time seeing before, I ended up getting to a place where things don’t come out sideways like they used to. I can acknowledge if I’ve had a trigger, name it, and process it. This is progress.