A Series of Confessions, Part 1

I used to be a terrible person. If a married man hit on me, I'd agree to date him just to see if I could break up his marriage. When I did, I told him I didn't want to see him anymore.
 

The Onset of "Sunday Anxiety"

I've been reading a lot of personal blogs from teachers who are voicing opinions about their jobs. The frustrations, the victories, the reasons for why they walked out, the reasons why they stay, and how the kids are almost always the reason they can't break free from the personal hell that is teaching.

It may have taken 9 years, but I'm beginning to see that I'm not alone. It's forbidden to vent or talk about frustrations on my campus; God forbid we say ANYTHING negative about the state of our school, instruction, policies, or anything else. That's unhealthy, it's a way to keep teachers in a mentally isolated place, and it fosters quick burnout and hopelessness. Ask me how I know. Heh.

These other teachers have mentioned something called "Sunday Anxiety." I didn't even have to read further to understand exactly what they meant. I've been feeling it for a few years now. And it's not just the worry about being prepared, or making sure your clothes are ready...it's about knowing the misery you'll face as you walk through that door on Monday morning. Sunday nights are usually moody, with dinner being optional and elusive sleep. My Mondays start out with dry heaving and a headache before I even leave the house. Often, I'll sit in my truck in the parking lot for 7 or 8 minutes to do some deep breathing and calming rituals before braving the front doors.

I just don't love my job anymore. I love what teaching is SUPPOSED to be, but it's not. I could say that "teacher school" lied to me as I took all those education classes and did the field work, but they didn't. They gave me real-world situations - from 20 years ago when the professors were teachers themselves. I'm not sure they understand just how much education will change, even within a year. I went to school to do this; I wasn't in the corporate world and decided to "give back" and "change the world" because pushing a pencil around on a desk and submitting TP reports just felt too unproductive. And I know now that I made the wrong choice.

As the beginning of the school year quickly approaches - in less than 20 days - I feel the anxiety in full-swing already. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I've been crying...my boyfriend is sad because he knows he can't console me. Starting mid-year of last year, I started filling out applications to districts all over the rest of the state; places I knew I'd like to live and could actually do some positive things to improve instruction for the students. I had TWO bites out of close to 30 applications, and one was for the juvenile justice system high school on the US side of a Mexican border town and the other never even called me back when I left messages (3, to be exact) about setting up the interview they requested.

I'm more than qualified for these positions. The districts to which I applied are a little behind my current one in their instructional strategies and approaches. The concepts I learned from my very rough, urban, Title I school would do wonders for students in a slightly higher socioeconomic demographic. I am a very effective educator, despite all the obstacles, and have the data to prove it. Still, nothing. That being said, my "effectiveness" in my school is still deplorable and sub-standard, but my performance is still higher than the other teachers in my department and sometimes the rest of the district.

At this point, I have a couple of weeks to secure another position. I figure the districts must be desperate and I'll have a better chance. I will be taking a minimum of a $10K paycut for many of those jobs and I will probably have a difficult time finding housing I can afford and I will have to short sell my house (or let it go into foreclosure) and find a way to move what's left of my possessions, my dogs, my fish tanks, and all my cars to my new home. It won't be easy and it will take a lot of time, effort, and fuel. But I don't care. I have to do whatever I can to keep from vomiting up the water I drank during the night. I have to do whatever I can to stop swallowing "teacher strength Advil" which equates to 5 at a time. I have to stop the cycle of bawling out of depression every time my truck hits the street outside of the school, and all the way home.

So, in these last few days, please pray that something good will happen for me. If I get the position for which I applied last night, I would be very pleased. I'd be 4 and a half hours closer to the love of my life (which is currently a 6 hour drive from me), I will be in a town large enough for all the conveniences but small enough to be a place of emotional refuge with a lot of natural amenities such as lakes, untouched natural recreation areas, and beautiful landscape. I need this. And I only have the rest of this week to make it happen.

Thanks for letting me rant a little. I had to get this out to someone besides the ones who surround me and hear this same bellyaching every few weeks. I may not have many readers, but the ones I do have are the best. Thanks.
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It's Not Called Settling

Being ridiculously picky while searching for a gynecologist is a fantastic idea. Scrutinizing the acceptability of the nutrition labels of your food is probably a good thing. Sometimes being too picky can prevent you from getting something you'd like to accomplish in life. I know I’ll probably get many people - most likely women - who are going to cringe at what I'm saying, but just hear me out. There is a huge myth that no one should ever “settle” for the less-than-perfect man and, frankly, that’s just a really stupid way of thinking.

I read an article by Lori Gottlieb a few years ago and, at the time, I snorted. Of course, I had done what most people reading Internet publications do: I had only skimmed. Then I evaluated my own station in life and thought again about my closed-minded stupidity. Besides, all of us should realize that “perfect” doesn’t exist.

I was in a relationship with someone (We'll call him Jason) whom I believed was my perfect match. He was generous and smart and self-motivated and determined. I have a wide range of hobbies and he always encouraged me to pursue the ones we didn't have in common. There were four things I didn't like. 1) He was loud and talked a lot. It wasn't intentional, I don't believe, but it got significantly worse when he was excited or enthusiastic about something. 2) He had chicken legs. He just looked silly in shorts. 3) Tact wasn't in his vocabulary and he was unaware of his tone of voice. 4) He never wanted to get married.

The marriage thing was a problem for me. Then one day he gave me a grain of hope, by saying that there were many things about me that made him think we could be married and happy. That was all it took; I ran with it. I ran with it like a thief with an armful of stolen convenience store cigarettes.

Time went on and nothing had changed. I'd bring marriage up on occasion and it was a short-lived, vague conversation. After three years, I took an informal poll of all my male friends. I asked them, "When did you first realize you wanted to marry your wife, even if it didn't happen for years?" Without fail, every one of them gave me an answer that was less than six months. 

I scrutinized every last little detail about myself to try to figure out what was wrong with me. He loved me enough to want to be with me, but not enough to make a permanent commitment to me. He knew that was something I valued. I began remembering all the off-handed comments, including things about my "out of control" sex drive, and my weight (I need to lose less than 20 pounds to be in the middle of my optimal BMI, by the way).

I felt like he didn't love me enough to overlook some things that weren't perfect but I wouldn't think should be deal-breakers. I was absolutely sick and after many emotional arguments and heated accusations on my part, I chose to start seeing someone else who seemed to worship me. Yet I was miserable with him.

I met someone else (We'll call him James). He was wonderful and virtually perfect. I thought Jason was wonderful, but this man surpassed everything I dreamed a man could be - AND be interested in me! His generosity knew no bounds. His caring words and sensitivity was a refreshing change. His talents and interests were a few of the same ones I enjoyed.

I loved everything about him, except for a few things (you knew that was coming). His hairline was quite odd. He didn't have broad, manly shoulders. He had a duck-footed gait, which made him look like a ballet dancer. He was way more devoted to religion than I was comfortable with. His parents were too, and they put a lot of pressure on him to stick to traditional Biblical values. There were so many of my hobbies that he just wasn't into. His unstable jobs - all seasonal and he rotated with about 3 - kept him living several hours away from me. And, the biggest one...he was 14 years younger than me. Often, those things were all I could see when we were together. So I broke up with him.

After a few sessions with my psychiatrist, he made me see something very real. He introduced me to the 80/20 guideline: If you can find someone who is 80% ideal with 20% less-than-optimal qualities, as long as they aren't the dreaded "deal-breakers," you should take a serious look at yourself and see if you're really just being too picky and missing out on someone who may be the best thing that's ever happened to you.

How important is a hairline, really? I'd seen pictures of haircuts that flattered him. He'd expressed a desire to keep his hair shorter. So what was my problem? How embarrassed should a woman be over her man's shoulders? Really? That just sounds asinine now. It didn't keep me from being insanely attracted to him, mind, body, and soul.

The only two big obstacles were going to be the distance and the age. He never had an issue with the age - it was me; he was very mature (I think it was from being an only child) and all of his friends were much older than him. 

I'd really fucked up. The only thing I could do was get back in touch with him and beg him to forgive me, reconsider our relationship, and take me back.

He did. And I've never been happier. As partners - a team - I'm happy to support his career choices, knowing that my stable and sufficient income can carry us through the hard times and provide us with the health coverage we need. His parents love me and I love them. When I hug him, his sloped shoulders don't even enter my mind. Walking next to him, hand in hand, I don't see his feet. When we're nose-to-nose, looking into each other's eyes, the last thing I'm worried about is his hair. But I feel his love in every way and I realize it's not settling at all. It's being realistic and focusing on what's really important.