It Has Been a Year

Many of my readers know last year, right around this time, I was transferred by administration to a brand new school.

In regards to this transfer, I had no voice in the matter. Nobody spoke to me, on the phone or otherwise, before my transfer took place. I was notified on a Friday night by the head of HR—via an email, which consisted mostly of contract language—that I was being placed at a new school.

You can probably tell that I have some unresolved feelings about this event. That is because I still haven’t received any recognition from this person that my transfer was handled in a very callous, impersonal, and hurtful way.

That being said, I jumped into the 2022 - 2023 school year with enthusiasm, positivity, and hope for a fresh start. But underneath the surface, I remained extremely demoralized, as I had been in my previous school for twelve years. Not to mention, I was also coming off of a maternity leave, AND I had a three year old at home.

The truth is, I’ve found a home in my new school. I love my colleagues, and while the transition has been challenging, I sincerely hope I get to stay and continue building a foundation. Yet, I have no idea if this will be possible, or if the district will move me again.

My former principal and trusted friend used to say to her staff: there are some years when we can go above and beyond for this job. We can come in early. We can stay late. We can join every committee and take on every leadership opportunity. We can plan lessons that take hours and hours of preparation.

HOWEVER, there are some years when we simply cannot do as much as we would like. During these years, we ask that our school carry us a bit. We ask for a little grace and support, because we paid our dues.

I don’t want to understate how incredibly difficult it has been—as a parent of two very small children, in the thick of some of the hardest, most taxing parenting years—to be placed in a brand new school, without any voice or autonomy in the matter.

To have to prove myself all over again, during a year where I simply could not do all of the things that I would have chosen to do when starting from scratch in a new place. During a year when I needed to be carried a bit.

There are plenty of people who carried me this year. And to them I say thank you. Especially Joanna, my co-teacher. There were so many days when I couldn’t come to work, because my kids were sick with fevers. She always covered for me when no subs could be found, or when I had to run out and take one of my own kids to walk-in hours or to urgent care. Elizabeth Jackson, my dear friend, who subbed for me when Joanna couldn’t. These two women jumped in last minute and never complained; they never made me feel guilty. Or guiltier than I already did.

Teaching is hard enough. Parenting is hard enough. This teacher appreciation week, let’s give teachers what they really need. A little compassion. A little autonomy. A little respect.