Sea Glass Treasures

 

My life stories often incite the response, "Poor Anne." You may feel sorry for me at times, but my life choices are my own. I choose to keep moving, to live in the Middle East or Africa, to take time off to travel. The simple fact is that I am escaping sadness, looking for greener grass elsewhere. 

I have suffered from depression all my adult life. My happy memories can be counted on one hand, most of my experiences have been trying to cope with my recurring feeling of dread. A few years ago I finally gave up trying, acknowledged my brokenness, and asked for help. Through therapy I came to the conclusion that I should leave teaching and pursue another profession. So I went back to school and trained to be a librarian. Now, after an unexpected twist of fate, I find myself back in the classroom teaching. 

I love the kids, but the responsibility I feel for each one in my care overwhelms me. My happiness depends on their success and wellbeing. If something bad happens: a failing grade, tears or outbursts; I blame myself, parents blame me and administration blames me. And because I cannot be perfect, succeeding with everyone, I live in dread of my next failure. I also know I am not alone, and that every teacher feels this to some degree, but it destroys me and robs me of peace and pleasure. 

That is probably why I love sea glass. The pieces of glass were discarded, thrown out, broken. They have been crushed, displaced and tossed about by life's storms. Yet I go out in search of these worthless pieces of glass, seeing their beauty and collecting them for no other purpose than to have them with me.

I see them as gems that are just waiting to be found, seen, appreciated and valued.  These thoughts connected me to a book I read recently about the mentally ill. Many of them suffer in isolation, not receiving the help they need, but instead are punished for being different. Sometimes, all it needs is one person to see their worth and potential, then help them towards a more meaningful life with purpose and love.

I have taken this to heart, not for the mentally ill, but for the students in my care. They also are in need of someone to believe in them, to encourage them to be their best. 

So, instead of trying to conceal my brokenness, I am now looking out for others who may need a little love and attention. I am careful to "see" each student, look at their beauty, and let them know they are a rare gem who can make others happy. 

Since I started this new way of looking, I have also a new set of memories: a hug from a child who challenges me everyday; a kind note from a parent; the excitement of a student who now sees science all around them; chats with students who are not in a hurry to go home after school; a proud student taking their work home to show mom; a small gift; an "I'm sorry!" and a "Thank you!"  I pick these up and ponder over them, and remind myself to let the givers know how much they mean to me.