entry nine

 Tuesday 3/11/25 

Today was another exhausting battle. The misbehavior in my classroom is escalating, and I feel like I’m barely holding it together. Students are throwing things, yelling, walking out of class without permission—sometimes even being outright defiant when I try to redirect them. The energy in the room is unpredictable, like a storm constantly threatening to break loose. I try to set clear expectations, enforce routines, and create structure, but none of it seems to matter when there’s no real accountability. 

When a student crosses the line and I have no choice but to send them out, what happens? They go to the office, sit for a few minutes, get a pep talk and a piece of candy, and then they’re right back in my room—smirking because they know nothing will change. There’s no real follow-through, no clear consequences. And what’s worse? I don’t even get an explanation. No one from admin or counseling stops by to check in with me, to let me know what was discussed, or to provide strategies for next time. Just silence. 

Then, there are the parents. I reach out, hoping for support, but too often, I hear the same thing: “Well, what are you doing to keep them engaged?” or “They don’t act this way at home.” As if their child’s behavior is solely my responsibility. But I wonder—what is being taught at home? Are they hearing about respect, responsibility, and self-control, or are they being told that the teacher is the problem? I want to believe in my students. I want to help them. But I can’t do it alone. Without consequences, without consistency, without support, I feel like I’m running in circles. And I’m so, so tired. 

The worst part is how much energy it takes just to get through the day. I don’t have the luxury of falling apart. I have to keep going, pretending I’m fine, even when I’m screaming inside. It’s exhausting to be the only one holding the line when no one else seems to care. My patience is wearing thin, and I hate that feeling. I don’t want to resent my students, but some days, I do. Not because they’re bad kids, but because I feel abandoned in trying to help them. If nothing changes, what happens next? How long can I keep putting out fires with no support? I know I’m not the only teacher feeling this way, but that doesn’t make it easier. I love teaching, but I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. 

 

Chaos in the Classroom 

 

They roll their eyes,   

spit words sharp as knives,   

four-letter curses slicing the air,   

as if I am the enemy,   

as if I am the one who put this rage inside them.   

 

They bark like wild dogs,   

screech like sirens,   

claw at the floor,   

swing from bookshelves like it's all a game.   

I tell them to stop 

again 

and again. 

They don’t.   

 

One storms out without a word,   

another throws a chair 

and another pulls a classmate's hair 

"I’ll kill him," one mutters.   

"I’ll kill you," another hisses.   

And I, standing in the center of the storm,   

wonder when words became weapons.   

 

They lie, they cheat, they run,   

feet pounding the hallways,   

refusing to sit, refusing to listen,   

refusing to even try.   

And when I reach out, desperate for support,   

the parents shrug.   

"He never does that at home."   

"You must not be handling it right."   

"Maybe you're the problem."   

 

I call for help. 

The principal chats with them, 

hands out candy, 

lets them play with toys, 

and sends them back like nothing happened. 

The counselor hardly ever follows up. 

No consequences, no change, no plan. 

Just me, left alone, 

expected to make it work, 

as if I have magic in my pockets. 

 

I bite my tongue,   

swallow the frustration,   

tape together the broken pieces of patience,   

because there is no room for my anger here.   

But how much longer can I hold it in?   

 

I am tired.   

Tired of the noise, the defiance, the blame.   

Tired of carrying it all, alone.   

 

And yet—   

I show up again tomorrow,   

because someone has to.