Where do we go from here?

[This post contains content about school shootings and mental health.]

I fell into teaching more than I chose it. During high school, I did babysitting. When it came time to apply to jobs in college, the natural choice was childcare. I already had experience. Loved working with children. Had great references. I didn't just work in a daycare, though, I also did sports camps and swim lessons. It's magical watching children learn and grow.

When I graduated from college, I wanted to travel. And what better way than to teach English? I applied to a volunteer position in the Republic of Georgia and flew off to work in a tiny village full of wonderful, hard working folks. The school building was warmed with wood stoves, there wasn't glass in every window, and many students didn't have what they needed to learn. Never did I worry that there would be a shooter. It was simply not something that happened. 

After a year, I moved back to Texas. I taught in a daycare for a while and considered getting my teaching certificate. But my heart still wanted to travel, so I applied to a position in Poland and got it. For two and a half years, I worked with the same group of students. I got to watch them go from 3 and 4 year olds who barely understood English to 6 and 7 year olds having conversations and starting to read. I never once worried about someone shooting my students, because the school was in an apartment block that required a code to access. I would have stayed longer, but the cold and dark of winter was too much for my poor depressed brain.

When I moved back to Texas, I told myself it was temporary. That next up was Australia. Then my sister told me she was pregnant for the second time. With her first, I was in Poland and she barely survived. I decided to stay. To get my teaching certificate and work in public schools where I could make a difference (and get health insurance). I applied for an alternative certification program and during the interview process decided I wanted to do special education teaching. I loved learning about the different ways kids developed and I wanted to be the teacher they could trust.

I got a job at a preschool teaching 3 and 4 year olds with a variety of disabilities. I had kiddos in wheelchairs, kiddos with autism, kiddos with speech delays, kiddos with behavioral disorders. It was a challenge trying to manage their needs, their various therapies. I loved it. Then I had to implement the lock down drills. Having gone to public schools in the US post-Columbine, I knew what they were. Had done them here and there. Had experienced live shooter scares. But nothing can prepare you for being the responsible party.

We were told to get the kids into one area of the room, furthest from the doors. The bathroom was ideal. We were told to turn the lights off, lock the door, draw the curtains. We were told to duck down with our students and keep them silent. Have you ever tried to tell an energetic autistic child to be quiet and still? Have you ever had to determine if a child is safer in or out of their wheelchair? Have you ever had a child who would run and yell if they got overwhelmed by demands? Have you ever sat with your 4 year old students in a corner with the lights off while there is a man with a gun on the streets surrounding the school? Have you ever had an anxiety attack in the nurse's office and during that time a person with a gun is on campus so your kids are with a strange teacher during a lock down and you're hyperventilating, away from them? Because I have.

It was that last event that made me wonder if teaching was for me. That and the fact that when we had fire drills, my kids were always the last to get out because we had students in wheelchairs and students who ran away any chance they got and never enough adults. How was I supposed to keep my students safe? It was impossible. My brain couldn't process the fear and anxiety and hopelessness. I cried every day on the way home from work. I had anxiety attacks more and more frequently. So I resigned. I turned in my keys in the middle of the year, something I swore I would never do. But I couldn't do it anymore. I had to leave. 

It's been almost 3 years since I left teaching. During the first school year of the pandemic, I worked with a family to facilitate their online schooling. In February of 2021, there was a shooting outside their apartment. We heard a sound and the two youngest ran to the window, when I saw what it was, I told them to hide. Their teenage sister knew what was happening and kept them quiet in the pantry while I called the police. When I went to check on them, they were surprisingly calm. The 14 year old told me they did this all the time at school. The 8 year old was explaining to the 6 year old what a lockdown drill was and that next year when they went to 1st grade, they would do them, too. 

I have flashbacks, still, of all these incidents. I have been diagnosed with PTSD. I get nauseous when I have to be inside school buildings. But I had a choice. I was able to leave. Our children don't have that choice. They have to be at school. They have to be there. When will we finally stop this insanity and ban assault rifles? In what world is it okay that our children are trained to barricade the doors or break windows to escape? In what world is it okay for teachers to be expected to jump in front of gunfire for their students? Oh, right. In the "Greatest" country in the world. What a disgrace. What a nightmare to live in a place where guns are more protected than children.