Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
The voice in my head
I'm plagued with a voice in my head.
This voice isn't kind, nor is it constructive. This voice is nothing but critical and out right mean.
This voice is the tiny murmurings of a job done poorly, the regret from past mistakes, and the reassuring words that try and cement my inadequacy. This voice I've learned from different people; my family, friends, and even those from church.
The voice continually shoots me down when I make a mistake or have an oversight.
This voice is telling me that this first year of teaching (says little voice, "may be your last") has been anything but perfect. The little voice is telling me that I shouldn't keep trying, that I need to find a way out. This little voice is telling me that I'll never be good enough, smart enough, or organized enough to complete and do all that is required of me here. This little voice is the one that tells me I'm tired too tired to work, as well as the voice that throws me under the bus once I get caught making these selfish choices. This voice takes all that I can control and makes it seem too difficult, too cumbersome, and too political.
S does not say /r/
I am not deaf
I've pulled the wedge---time will grow it back.
This voice isn't kind, nor is it constructive. This voice is nothing but critical and out right mean.
This voice is the tiny murmurings of a job done poorly, the regret from past mistakes, and the reassuring words that try and cement my inadequacy. This voice I've learned from different people; my family, friends, and even those from church.
The voice continually shoots me down when I make a mistake or have an oversight.
This voice is telling me that this first year of teaching (says little voice, "may be your last") has been anything but perfect. The little voice is telling me that I shouldn't keep trying, that I need to find a way out. This little voice is telling me that I'll never be good enough, smart enough, or organized enough to complete and do all that is required of me here. This little voice is the one that tells me I'm tired too tired to work, as well as the voice that throws me under the bus once I get caught making these selfish choices. This voice takes all that I can control and makes it seem too difficult, too cumbersome, and too political.
S does not say /r/
I am not deaf
I've pulled the wedge---time will grow it back.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
February 12
This is going to come as a surprise, but I love my job.
Yesterday, at the end of the day I found myself looking out towards the classroom and smiling. I was smiling at my students and how the interacted with each other. I was smiling at their spunky natures and their ability to jump back from just about anything. I was smiling because I knew in my heart of hearts, that I love this job.
I love this job. I love the students and I love being a teacher. I really do.
I constantly think about lesson plans, new strategies I can try, a new way to make my teaching better. I love to observe other teachers and see what they are doing in their own classrooms. I love that I finally understand how to organize my life, documents, and necessities to make a difference in MY students lives.
I love how I can take each one into my arms and give them a lovingly hug, while whispering into their ear, "I'm happy you're here and I love you."
I love getting ready in the morning and don't mind in the slightest having to drive to work at 7 in the morning. There is something amazingly euphoric about seeing the sun rise up in the east and make itself known as I cruise down south Durango.
These children are amazing. They may drive me crazy sometimes and there are days where my name has been said by an octave higher than my own voice, but I love them. I love them. I want what's best for them and I want them to succeed.
I am already sentimental thinking about when the year will be over and I'll have to say goodbye to my babies, my students, my kiddos.
In essence, I love my job. I prayed for the first time last night, thanking God with real intent for the job we were blessed with. I love my life. I love my job. I love my kiddos.
Yesterday, at the end of the day I found myself looking out towards the classroom and smiling. I was smiling at my students and how the interacted with each other. I was smiling at their spunky natures and their ability to jump back from just about anything. I was smiling because I knew in my heart of hearts, that I love this job.
I love this job. I love the students and I love being a teacher. I really do.
I constantly think about lesson plans, new strategies I can try, a new way to make my teaching better. I love to observe other teachers and see what they are doing in their own classrooms. I love that I finally understand how to organize my life, documents, and necessities to make a difference in MY students lives.
I love how I can take each one into my arms and give them a lovingly hug, while whispering into their ear, "I'm happy you're here and I love you."
I love getting ready in the morning and don't mind in the slightest having to drive to work at 7 in the morning. There is something amazingly euphoric about seeing the sun rise up in the east and make itself known as I cruise down south Durango.
These children are amazing. They may drive me crazy sometimes and there are days where my name has been said by an octave higher than my own voice, but I love them. I love them. I want what's best for them and I want them to succeed.
I am already sentimental thinking about when the year will be over and I'll have to say goodbye to my babies, my students, my kiddos.
In essence, I love my job. I prayed for the first time last night, thanking God with real intent for the job we were blessed with. I love my life. I love my job. I love my kiddos.
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