T-minus 4 days. In four days I will be adding yet another spinning plate to my growing collection. My Master’s in Special Education classes start next week and I don’t know that I’m ready. I am certainly not excited — only filled with a slow dread about the added responsibilities ahead. One of them is getting a vaccine in a country where I try to avoid the medical system altogether. I’m coming to terms with the fact that I never truly “catch my breath” in this life abroad — I just have to remind myself to breathe along the way.
Then and Now
When I first returned to college for my Bachelor’s I did it as a 25-year-old mother, non-traditional student. That was difficult on its own. What I learned quickly was that college is not designed for adults — those with jobs, families, and more responsibilities than a typical 18-year-old living in a dorm. Now, here I am going back again. This time as a (nearly!) 40 year old mother of two, managing bureaucracy from across the world and coordinating a family life while still processing all of the shifting roles that come from diving head-first into international teaching.
I don’t feel confident or prepared. I feel like it’s necessary, overwhelming, and full of potential I hope I can access. It feels like standing on top of a cliff, about to dive into the waters below and suddenly questioning if you still remember how to swim—it’s been over a decade, after all.
Leaving the Classroom
Having done this before, there’s an expectation that experience will make this easier. In some ways that may be true, but honestly — so much of this is new. I am transitioning into parenting a teen (please pray for me). I’m moving from running a classroom with confidence into leading others in the running of their classrooms. I am stepping outside the “classroom” for the first time and it’s a little scary out here.
Next year I will begin my new position as a Learning Support Teacher. Right now, I’m not even sure what that will look like. I have only the vaguest and most general of ideas. The coming weeks and months will see me connecting with other teachers in this role and beginning to lay the ground work for what I hope to accomplish next year. I will be stepping into leadership (in a small way) for the first time in my education career. What I hope most to do is to NOT become the type of person I’ve seen so often in these positions. The person that leaves you asking “When was the last time you were even in a classroom?”
Family Stakes
I know this will be a period of growth for me. Of this I have no doubt—I am already seeing some of this now. I know that I will need to depend on those around me more than I have before. There is humility in asking for help. I like to believe I am a humble person but I also do not enjoy asking for help. Having to do so is an immediate grounding force.
What I dread and look forward to the most is how it will affect my family, especially in a life that already asks them to adapt more than most. I hope that my kids will look at this one day as inspiration; I hope that they see how much I fought to pull us from far below poverty to where we are/will be. I want them to see how hard I will fight for us, for them, and for other kids who need a little more support at school—the ones the odds are also stacked against. My worst fear is that it will become too much, and that my kids will absorb that pressure themselves.
One of the strongest lessons already underway is patience. Patience that the financial aid will arrive in time; that all the moving pieces will eventually line up; that last minute hurdles that appear with an 11-hour time difference will be conquered.
Learning in Uncertain Times
Everything about the world right now feels unstable to me. My nightly social media checks turn into doom scrolling quicker than I care for. Perhaps it is just a reflection of my current news feed, or maybe it really is as unstable as it feels—I don’t have the answer to that. I could use this as an excuse to wait, an excuse to hold for a “better” time. Instead I will use it as motivation that learning is never wasted, and perhaps more important in uncertain times than it is in any other. Education is my way of quietly hedging the bets placed against my family’s survival.
There is a lot about the coming months I don’t know and even more I’ll have to figure out as I go. I could stop and worry, replaying every possible outcome, but standing still isn’t an option.
I can’t wait to catch my breath — I have to keep moving and remember to breathe as I go.
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