Because they came from the one person who had always been absolutely certain she belonged in a classroom.
I reached for her hand.
“What happened today?”
She looked exhausted.
“Everything.”
She tried to laugh.
It came out sounding broken.
“I spent thirty minutes trying to get the class quiet.”
“So?”
“So that left fifteen minutes to actually teach.”
She stared at the scattered papers.
“Two students got into an argument.”
“One child burst into tears because he forgot his homework.”
“The principal needed me during my planning period.”
“I missed lunch.”
“I still have parent emails to answer.”
Her voice grew smaller with every sentence.
“No matter how much I give…”
She swallowed hard.
“…it never feels like enough.”
That wasn’t the only night.
Weeks later I found her sitting in complete darkness on our back porch.
She hadn’t even turned on the outside light.
She simply sat there wrapped in a blanket, staring into the yard.
“You okay?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
Finally she said,
“Do you know what the hardest part is?”
“What?”
“I love teaching.”
She looked at me with tears filling her eyes.
“I still love it.”
“But I don’t know if teaching loves me back anymore.”
I had wrapped my arm around her then.
"Mejorará."
"Eso espero."
Se apoyó en mi hombro.
"Porque si no lo hace..."
Nunca terminó la frase.
No tenía por qué hacerlo.
Sabía perfectamente a qué se refería.
Luego llegó la tarde que lo cambió todo.
Unas semanas antes de mi viaje de negocios, entré en la cocina y encontré a Jane mirando su móvil.
No estaba escribiendo.
No se movía.
Simplemente miraba la pantalla como si pesara cincuenta libras.
"¿Qué estás haciendo?"
"Estoy escribiendo a los padres."
"¿Sobre qué?"
Vaciló.
"La verdad."
Al final me pasó el teléfono.
El mensaje no era enfadado.
No fue nada dramático.
Si acaso, era dolorosamente honesto.
Agradeció a todas las familias por confiarle a sus hijos.
Admitió que amaba profundamente a cada alumno.
Luego confesó algo que llevaba meses ocultando.
Estaba agotada.
Sentía que estaba fracasando.
