entry six

Thursday 3/6/25 

“Keeping it Together” 

sticks and masking tape in a jar

    A collection of brittle sticks, bound tightly with layers of masking tape—feels like an almost perfect reflection of what it means to be a special education teacher. The sticks, fragile on their own, remind me of the students I work with—each unique, each carrying their own challenges, strengths, and struggles. Some are on the verge of breaking, worn down by frustrations, by a system that doesn’t always meet their needs. Others bend under pressure but still hold on.   

    The masking tape is me. It’s every accommodation, every intervention, every moment spent holding things together when they feel like they might fall apart. It’s the repeated redirections, the de-escalation strategies, the soft but firm reminders that they are safe, that they can keep going. Just like the tape, I stretch thin. The more layers added, the more I feel like I’m covering cracks rather than truly fixing them. Some days, it feels like no matter how much effort I put in, the structure is still unstable, still on the verge of snapping.   

    Yet, during the process of wrapping the sticks, I found an unexpected sense of calm. The repetition of layering the tape, securing each fragile piece, put me in a zen zone—a moment of quiet amidst the usual chaos. It was a small reminder that even in the act of holding things together, there can be peace.   

On my best days, I am not just holding them together—I am holding myself together, too. I tape up my own broken parts, reinforce the weak spots, and remind myself that even when I feel worn down, I am still here, still doing what I can. But this piece isn’t finished. It is a work in progress, just like me. Some days, I will add more layers, strengthen the foundation. Other days, I need to step back, knowing that the process itself is what keeps me going. Imperfect, unfinished, but still standing. Still whole. 

    This piece reminds me of Jelly Roll’s song I Am Not Okay. The lyrics hit close to home—the feeling of carrying too much, of smiling through the struggle while inside, everything feels like it’s unraveling. The song, like this art, is raw, unfinished, and honest. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe being “not okay” is just part of the process, a reminder that healing isn’t linear, and neither is the work of a special education teacher. 

 

Me: You don’t look sturdy at all. One wrong move, and you’ll snap. I know that feeling too well. 

 

Keeping it Together: I may be fragile, but look closer—I’m still keeping it together. Every layer of tape is a moment of resilience, a refusal to break completely. You do the same, don’t you?   

 

Me: I try. But some days, it feels like I’m just patching myself up, barely holding everything together. The weight of it all—the behaviors, the endless paperwork, the testing—it’s too much.  

 

Keeping it Together: And yet, here you are. Adding layers, showing up, reinforcing the cracks. I’m not finished, and neither are you. Some days, the tape will feel like it’s unraveling, but you can always wrap it again. 

 

Me: But what if there comes a day when the tape isn’t enough? When no matter how many layers I wrap around myself, I still feel like I’m falling apart?   

 

Keeping it Together: Then maybe it’s not about holding everything together perfectly. Maybe it’s about accepting that being worn, being tired, being on the edge doesn’t mean you’re broken beyond repair. Even in your exhaustion, you are still standing.   

 

Me: I don’t feel like I’m standing. I feel like I’m leaning, barely balanced, ready to collapse. I see my students struggling, my patience thinning, and I wonder—am I even making a difference anymore?   

 

Keeping it Together: You are. Even when you don’t see it. Just like each strip of tape adds strength, every moment of care, every ounce of effort you put in adds to something bigger. You are a work in progress, just like me. And that’s okay.   

 

Me: I want to believe that. I want to feel like this is worth it, that I am worth it. But right now, I just feel...tired.   

 

Keeping it Together: Then rest. Rest isn’t the same as giving up. Step back, breathe, and when you’re ready, wrap another layer. You are not done yet.