I stared the blank, white box of this blog draft for nearly 20 minutes before I started typing this sentence. Each year, since I’ve started teaching, I’ve written a reflection on the year. The reflection, for the first 5 years of my teaching career, had to do with what I learned. (You can read them here: year 1, year 2, year 3, year 4, year 5). Then, the pandemic struck, and my post for year 6 had to do with grappling with the reality of schools at the time. Last year, year 7, we were still dealing with virtual learning and, instead of a list of what I learned, I wrote a list to other teachers to encourage them in their remaining weeks (since my year ended early due to maternity leave).

Now, I’ve sat and stared and wondered what in the world I could say about year 8, and I had a difficult time thinking up anything positive. This was the first year I was a working mom and, therefore, also the first year I had to pump at work. I both missed my child desperately, and pumping is–hands down–my least favorite thing to do. This was also the first year I felt really disconnected from my students (for a variety of reasons, such as mask requirements, an intense lack of sleep, behaviors I wasn’t used to dealing with after 2 years of virtual learning, etc.). It was the first year I was hit by a student, and the first year in a code red lockdown because a student was actually shot (at the park next to our campus). I really hate to end the year on such a negative note nor do I want people to think my entire year was terrible. Some of my favorite students are graduating this year, which makes me feel proud and happy, and I took a group of students to London right after the school year ended, which was a refreshing experience! I did have days where I laughed really hard, and my Student Council co-leader and I pulled off an amazing prom. There were good moments, but so much of those moments seemed to be overshadowed by the crappy ones. I guess I am left with this question: why keep teaching after a year that was so incredibly difficult?

I wrote this question, then I spent the first three weeks of the summer pondering it. I usually get my yearly recap out quite quickly. In fact, a few days after the school year ended, my husband asked me, “Where is your year 8 blog post?” It’s languishing in my mind, I wanted to say. “It’s coming,” I said instead. After ruminating for weeks, I’m here to tell you I have an answer: I will keep teaching because of the Gils of the world, because of the Savannahs, because of the Jordans, the Bens, the Kates, the Austins, the Coras, the Jamels… Note that it’s because of, not for. It’s the students who keep me going. I won’t lie to you and say that every student has a special place in my heart, but there are students who keep me going. There are students who are the reason I drag my butt out of bed at 5 am. There are students who encourage me rather than the other way around. It’s the excited look on their face when they see me, their genuine curiosity about something I said, their choice to go out of their way to visit my classroom, their seeking of advice, their lame jokes, their passion, their trust. It’s their searching for me at graduation, to make sure I am proud of them, to make sure they thank me. It’s their excitement at being able to connect with me on social media as they head off to college. It’s their joy in learning, in sharing their thoughts, in being heard. It’s their silly dance moves, their kindness toward each other, the relentless way they believe they can change the world. So, why keep teaching after a year that was so incredibly difficult? Because the students inspire me to. When the world feels like it’s burning, a teenager will say, “We can fix this. Our generation will put out the fire.” What’s more inspiring than that?

–M