DISCLAIMER: I will be whiny and angry in this post. Read at your own risk. If you prefer to have everyone in your world dance around with a beam of sunlight illuminating their Snow White personality, this post may not be appropriate for you.
These days, I can't help but feel I'm teetering on the edge of insanity. There are so many things I want to lash out about. (Yes, I know I ended the sentence with a preposition. This is not academic or professional writing. Get over it.) The roller coaster of emotions is about to get the best of me. The lack of certainty about anything, including my worth in this world, is doing me in. I have tried and tried to look at the silver linings but can't seem to focus on it because of the ominous (why DO you spell omen with an "e" but ominous with an "i"?) blackness and size of the metaphorical cloud. What is going to spill from it?
When I was growing up, I figured out that physically disabled child + smiling face + can-do attitude = people love you! For as long as I could, I made that equation last. Then, somewhere around 15 years old, the smiling face was replaced by anger over my condition. That equation doesn't add up. People still stood by me, though, making comments about how amazing I was. I never got that. Eventually, I got through the anger and managed to suppress it. Managed college and single parenthood. Employers gave me a chance, and I don't think I let them down. At least not til the last few years. I'll cover that later.
Maybe I was oblivious. Maybe they only kept me employed and gave me decent reviews because they were afraid I would sue if they didn't. Maybe I always sucked at this thing called life.
Anyway, my mid-thirties brought me crashing down. I always placed a lot of self worth on other people's opinions of me. I had a very LOW opinion of myself, so much so that I've kept myself pretty much shut away from everyone. I never had great, immaculate homes. I never made a lot of money. I never spent $100 a month on my hair, nails, and clothes. I never was liked by a lot of people. (There is a gaping fault line of difference between someone who says "I think you're simply amazing!" and someone who wants to come hang out with you.) I never socialized well. Whether that's because of my self-esteem or because I never learned how, I don't know.
The few friends I do have often have to hear me whine about everything that's wrong in my life. It seems to be a common trait in my family. It's gotten to the point that I don't even call my friends any more because I don't want to put them through it. That leaves me alone to internalize everything. (Internalized anger = depression. I know. Psych 101.)
Back to placing my self-worth on other people's high opinions of me. It came to a screeching halt around 2003. It coincided with the hiring of The Byrd as principal at the school where I worked.
I had been coasting along fine up until then. I taught in my classroom and did what I thought was best. If I became excited about an idea, I'd use it. If an idea sounded stupid to me, I'd push it aside. My students did fairly well academically. I was never the strongest when it came to classroom management, but I managed to survive one year at a time. I was given permission to obtain my academically gifted certification and was allowed to teach the brightest bulbs. A few dim ones were always mixed in, but we did pretty good. My opinion was valued by administration. I was allowed to have leadership position after leadership position. Some teachers didn't like me for whatever reason, but I had the blessing of the boss. I didn't care. I was even recommended for acceptance into a Masters of School Administration program. I dug myself into a hole of even deeper debt so that I could get it. It didn't matter to me because I knew that I would be an awesome administrator and would be acquiring the boost in salary that it would take to eradicate the debt. But that was all pre-Byrd.
She was hired in 2002 to revolutionize an overall poorly performing school. Another man, The Cobitz, wrote and received a multi-million dollar grant to institute this ridiculous program called Reading First in our school system (The year after he cursed us with this thing, he left for a job at DPI). To continue receiving these funds for the allowable five years, schools had to strictly adhere to pages of mandates on how we could teach students. To give The Byrd a break, she had to do this Reading First crap. I, however, thought the program was stupid. Especially for the instruction of the gifted kids I taught. I did research and found that it was generally accepted among scholars that Reading First was bad for advanced kids. So I used this knowledge to give myself permission to loosely adhere to the standards. Besides, the program killed my instructional creativity and made me brain-dead. This didn't sit well with The Byrd or her newly acquired Reading First Police, commonly referred to as reading coaches. The same year I graduated with my Masters, she obtained a bunch of hearsay statements to threaten to put me on an action plan. Academic growth be damned. I was an obstinate person, in her opinion, and must be dealt with. Since action plans are career suicide in the teaching world, I resigned after year one-of-five of the Reading First program.
This was 2005. I got another job teaching sixth grade since the school systems did not seem interested in me as an admin. (This is where the thoughts of they don't think I can do it because I'm disabled started creeping into my brain.) One year went by of relative calmness. Then, my next nemesis emerged. Linda Hoyt -- a woman whom I've never met but would happily slash the tires of. She wrote this book that became the instructional bible of the school system I worked for. Apparently, quality of instruction no longer mattered. Achievement data was irrelavent. It was all about what was displayed on your classroom walls. Ms. Hoyt had this theory that all displayed material should be student-created work and changed frequently to reflect what was currently being taught. Now, it was being demanded of me that if I were to prove my worth as a teacher, I would have to commit to classroom interior design, complete with weekly climbing and displaying of materials -- something a one-legged person is going to find difficult. I didn't do it well. I knew it. They knew it, though they didn't say anything much to me about it. However, I knew I was sub-standard in what the school expected of their teachers. It made me feel like crap.
I began to miss my old school. I knew the Reading First initiative was almost over. I knew it hadn't produced this giant boost in test scores, as they'd hoped, so it was unlikely to continue. The Byrd was gone and a new principal was at the helm. I might be able to re-prove my administrative-position-holding worth with the leadership opportunities they'd provide me there (the school system I'd worked for had allowed me NO leadership opportunities).
I found a job opening there in the summer of 2008 and applied for it, praying to God that if it wasn't the right move for me, I wouldn't be offered the job. Well, I was offered the job. I was a little bit nervous because of my history with them. I also knew I would be on the fifth grade team. Some of its members had been there when I was there before and had a reputation for being cliquish, gossipy, and back-stabbing. But I went for it. After all, hadn't God allowed me to have the job? Things started out okay. My afternoon class was a bit hard to handle, full of "mean girls" and preteen know-it-all attitudes, something that rubs me the wrong way. But that wasn't the coup d'etat. Guess what? A Linda Hoyt worshiper was hired away from my old school system and into the new one. Along with her came the wall-decorating requisites that I still, since my leg hadn't cured itself or anything, couldn't do well. No surprise, the new administration found that I was being obstinate when I couldn't decorate my classroom to their standards. Then, I was double whammied with "teammates" who were tattle-taling to the Assistant Principal when they didn't think I was doing something right. She and her cronies would even call the administrators at home to whine about me.
This put the nail in my coffin. I had no self-worth as it was. My "teammates" were gossiping about me and making fun of me behind my back. I had a hard time adhering to the Linda Hoyt doctrine.
Now, I asked for help, mind you, from several people about how I could satisfactorily meet their expectations within the confines of my disability. They offered no help and instead scolded me for "making excuses". With the help of a non-backstabber across the hall, though, I managed to get things done. The principal said as much. Said things had gotten better. But I had known since January that my goose was cooked. They denied me opportunity after opportunity that was offered to staff for staff development, tutoring, etc. I knew the clique didn't like me. And the AP liked them. That's what I get for not being just like everyone else. So the AP, who had been groomed to take over as principal next year, axed me. He had a million options. He could have taken me back as probationary for another year to see if things were more like he wanted. But he terminated me... which is just as much career suicide as the action plan. When you apply for new jobs and have to answer the question "have you ever had a non-contract renewal" as a YES, you aren't getting a job.
So I blame it all on being disabled. It's the reason I don't feel like a part of anything. It's the reason I'm not a good classroom decorator. It's the reason people don't see me as a part of their vision of the perfect school. It's the reason I am on this emotional roller coaster. It's the reason I'm now going nuts.
My parents raised me to believe I could do anything. I don't believe it anymore. I believe that I am now a person that no employer wants. I feel worthless and substandard, both in my professional and personal life.
I don't want to sit on my butt and collect disability for the rest of my life.
Now, I have unemployment coming my way for a little while. (If it ever gets here.) What do I do when that little while is over? Most of my family is being beat to the ground by Thomasville, NC. The only person who has a relatively bright future here, outside of my sub-standard home, is my younger daughter.
I want to leave here so bad.
What if I leave here and my younger daughter's education is a casualty, though? How dare I risk her future? It's not like me.
And what if we get there and no jobs happen there either? I have no job references. I haven't had anyone think I'm "da bomb" in four years. What will they think when I say "don't contact my last employer"? And what if I get there and get a job and suck at it, too? What if being less than perfect, inside and out, will make me undesirable to the world? What happened to the person I was in my late twenties and early thirties?
All I want is to be good for something. Good at something. Wanted somewhere. Good enough to make people happy that I'm a part of their life.
If anyone reads this, I'm sorry if something was confusing or if I rambled too long. Or didn't explain enough. Right now my head is spinning and my stomach is churning and I just want to get away, though I know I can't.
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