There is hope.

I have counted down the minutes until retirement for the last 8 years. Like many, I threw my hands up at the beginning of the school year. The kids were awful, I was burnt out, and the pay was pitiful. I was ready to pack it in and find an entry-level office job. <br><br>I teach middle school in a low-income district and I was filled with hope today. <br><br>I had a new student join one of my classes. She is an ELL student and was extremely frustrated with not being able to take the lesson that I was giving. I pulled her aside, and began speaking very slowly and clearly. She smiled and thanked me profusely. <br><br>A few minutes later, one of her classmates approached me. She is also ELL and has barely spoken this year. “Miss, can you talk like that to the whole class?” I asked if she thought it would help, and she nodded enthusiastically. <br><br>Like a good teacher, I obligated and repeated the lesson at a slower pace and was met with many happy, nodding faces.<br><br>One particularly quiet student approached me after class and thanked me for “talking slower today. I understood the lesson better than I have all year.”<br><br>A student who struggles with mental health issues stayed after to talk to me. She is possibly being taken in by Child Protective Services and felt like I was the one person she could trust. She told me all about her situation and I reassured her that she was loved and safe. I walked her down to the counselor and helped her get set up with someone to talk to. She thanked me profusely for listening and caring. <br><br>During my last class, a student approached me with tears in her eyes. She told me that her mom is a drug addict and her dad has been abusing her physically and emotionally. She wanted to tell me because she felt like I cared about her. She felt comfortable telling me because I was kind to her classmate earlier. Again, I reassured her that she was strong and brave. I walked her down to the counselor and helped her get set up with help. <br><br>I cried in my car on the way home. I’m not leaving. These kids may be difficult and exhausting, but they need me. They deserve someone to be kind to them. They deserve someone to listen and advocate for them. <br><br>I am so lucky that I get to do this every day. I’m not burning out because of the kids, but because of a system that is set up to fail us. I’m tired of large classes and no support staff. <br><br>But I’m not giving up on these kids.