entry twenty-one

 Wednesday, April 9, 2025

Meeting with my critical friend for the second time was like taking a long, deep breath I didn’t know I needed. We covered a plethora of topics—everything from student misbehavior to managing exhaustion—and somehow, every word felt validating. Teaching in a first grade inclusion setting is rewarding, but it can also feel like I’m juggling twenty balls while standing on one foot, and today, I didn’t feel like I had to juggle alone.

We started by venting about student misbehavior—those daily disruptions that chip away at your patience even when you love the kids dearly. We acknowledged how parent involvement can make or break a day, and how difficult it is when support is inconsistent or absent. We agreed that lately, it feels like teachers are expected to be more like parents—or babysitters. We're teaching academic content, yes, but also social skills, emotional regulation, hygiene reminders, and everything in between. It’s exhausting and frustrating to be held responsible for everything while also being scrutinized for how we handle it all.

From there, we flowed into the topic of boundaries—something I’m still working on and honestly, something I often neglect. As a special education teacher, the workload can feel endless. There’s always one more IEP to write, one more parent to call, one more behavior plan to adjust. I’ve fallen into the trap of thinking that pushing through exhaustion is just “part of the job.” But the truth is, this mindset is not sustainable. During our conversation, I realized how blurry the line has become between my work life and my personal life. I often answer emails late at night, skip lunch to catch up on paperwork, and sacrifice rest just to feel “caught up.” But I never really feel caught up. Our discussion helped me see that boundaries aren’t selfish—they’re necessary. If I keep pouring from an empty cup, I can’t show up fully for my students or myself. I left that part of the conversation feeling both challenged and comforted, knowing I’m not alone in struggling with this, and that setting boundaries is actually a form of self-respect.

My critical friend reminded me that saying no isn’t selfish—it’s necessary. We talked about difficult co-teachers, the emotional toll of managing so many moving pieces, and the unspoken expectation to always be “on.” By the end of our conversation, we were back to self-care—what it really means, how to make time for it, and how to give ourselves grace.

These conversations with my critical friend are becoming like the masking tape and strips of fabric wrapped around my sticks—layer by layer, they help hold me together. Each shared frustration, piece of advice, or moment of laughter becomes another thread reinforcing my sense of self in a job that often pulls me apart. Just like the fabric grips the sticks tightly, these exchanges wrap around the fragile parts of me that feel splintered by burnout and unrealistic expectations. They don’t fix everything, but they give me structure—reminding me I’m not unraveling alone. They are my helpful, necessary kind of self-care.