Monday, May 5, 2025
The overwhelming amount of student misbehaviors has become a major challenge in my daily routine. I find myself questioning the root of it—are these behaviors a reflection of unmet needs, lack of structure, or perhaps frustration stemming from the stress of testing season? At the end of the year, students are tired, and so am I. The growing responsibilities and piles of paperwork on top of my own medical issues only add to the stress.
I’m struggling to manage these behaviors effectively. It feels like I'm treading water, constantly putting out fires, without a clear solution in sight. When is enough truly enough? How can we, as a team, address this with more support and less blame? We need to stop thinking of misbehaviors as disruptions but as signs of deeper needs. I wonder if we can create more opportunities for emotional regulation, give students a chance to communicate their feelings, and provide some structured time to process their stress.
Perhaps a shift in how we approach behavior—less reactive, more proactive—can help. Additionally, how can we prioritize self-care and limit our responsibilities to focus on what really matters: supporting our students and ourselves? I hope to find a better balance soon, as I’m reaching my limit.
Managing student behavior has always been one of my strengths, but lately, it feels like I’m losing control. The misbehaviors are piling up, and it’s becoming harder to keep up with all of it. I’ve always been able to adapt and stay calm in the face of challenges, but this year, the sheer volume is overwhelming. My growing responsibilities and paperwork are already taking up most of my time, and on top of that, I’m dealing with medical issues that are affecting my energy levels.
I keep asking myself: when is enough enough? The end of the year is always a challenge, but this year feels different. I’m more drained than ever, and I find myself questioning what I’m doing wrong or if something is changing in how I approach these behaviors. Perhaps I’ve become more reactive than proactive, or maybe the weight of everything else is clouding my usual strategies.
It’s tough because I’m trying my best, but it feels like my best isn’t enough. I know the root of these misbehaviors isn’t entirely the students—it’s a combination of factors, including the stress and fatigue that comes with an overload of responsibilities. Maybe I need to step back and reassess what I can do differently to support myself and my students better.
Me: Okay... I finished this piece, and I’m standing here just staring at it. I don’t know why it feels so heavy. Like… emotionally heavy.
The Weight of a Thousand Redirects: Because it is. You didn’t just draw lines and colors. You put what you’ve been carrying into this—everything you haven’t had the space or time to say.
Me: That’s true. I didn’t even realize how much I was holding until I saw it all in one place. The lines, the shapes—they feel tangled, chaotic. I look at the woman, at myself in the picture, and I feel… stuck. Why am I holding all of it?
The Weight of a Thousand Redirects: Because you’ve been trained to. Redirect after redirect. You’re constantly managing behavior, calming chaos, reading the room before you even have time to feel your own emotions. You hold it because you thought that’s what being a “good teacher” meant.
Me: Yeah… I’ve internalized that so deeply. It’s automatic now. And then there’s the rose over my face. That part kind of unnerves me. It’s beautiful, but it’s covering me up.
The Weight of a Thousand Redirects: You’re not letting yourself be seen. That rose is a mask. You wanted to keep the image calm, composed, delicate even—because the real emotions underneath? They’re messy. They’re too much. So you hide them.
Me: And over to the right, that big frame full of color—deep, dark, intense. I know that’s where all my feelings are, but I can’t even reach them. I’m holding too much to get to them.
The Weight of a Thousand Redirects: Exactly. You’re so tied up in what you’re managing—responsibilities, student behaviors, exhaustion, your own health—you can’t access what you’re really feeling. But those colors? That’s you, too. Your anger, your burnout, your creativity. Your truth.
Me: I guess I’ve been so focused on surviving that I’ve forgotten to actually feel anything. I keep telling myself I’ll process later. I’ll rest later. But later never comes.
The Weight of a Thousand Redirects: That’s why you added the words: “Feeling feelings is okay. There is nothing wrong with me.” You needed to hear it—and believe it.
Me: I still have trouble believing it. I feel like if I stop to feel, everything will fall apart.
The Weight of a Thousand Redirects: But what if it doesn’t? What if naming what you feel is what keeps you grounded? You tell your students it’s okay to feel things. Why not offer that same grace to yourself?
Me: I don’t know. I think I’ve just gotten used to pushing through. But this year, it’s different. I’m different. I’m tired. And honestly, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep doing it this way.
The Weight of a Thousand Redirects: Then maybe it’s time to stop carrying what isn’t yours. Time to stop measuring your worth by how much you can absorb. Start protecting your energy the way you protect theirs.
Me: You’re right. I don’t want to keep hiding behind a rose. I want to feel the colors—even the hard ones. And I want to believe that there really is nothing wrong with me.
The Weight of a Thousand Redirects: There isn’t. You’re human. You’re overwhelmed. And you’re still here. That matters.
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