When you write from the heart, you always take the risk of the wrong person latching on to your thoughts.  People may connect with your feelings, but maybe for different reasons than what you intended.  It’s the reality of social media, blogs, and the exorbitant number of opinions floating around out there.  So, I realize that as this is published, it could be misconstrued.  But I am willing to take that risk for the sake of those for which it was meant.  I’m willing to take that risk so I can advocate for the great teachers out there, the good teachers out there, and even the well-intentioned teachers out there.  Because sometimes, you just have to risk it to honor those that deserve the risk the most.

Below is a story that very few people know.  A story about a good teacher, a year of accolades, and the price you pay to be “great”‘.

I’d always been a “good” teacher.  I guess that’s what’s expected of any Teaching Fellow.  I thought I was the kind of teacher you’d probably want your child to have.  I worked to make every student feel loved, appreciated, and respected.  I believed that every student in my class could succeed.  I worked with every child until I thought we had at least made progress.  I believed that if a student didn’t get it, it had to be a problem with my delivery, my instruction, or my approach.  I took student failure personally, feeling accountable to every student’s success.  I rarely lost my temper; misbehavior was dealt with quietly, via one-on-one student conferences.  And, for the most part, my students knew that I was there to help them succeed.

At the end of my 4th year of teaching, my principal decided it was time to “mix things up”.  I was asked to loop up with my current 7th grade Math students and teach 8th grade Math and Social Studies.  I was nervous – as anyone would expect.  Eighth graders were big, and mean – supposedly.  And I really loved my 7th grade hallway.  But I have a tendency to get bored when things stay the same too long in my career.  So, at any rate, the change was timely.

In addition, my principal asked me to take on some added duties.  I was in charge of Student Council already, including the annual pep rally and Spirit Week.  But I was also asked to help set up a school wide remediation period.  To help the rest of the staff figure out what that might look like.  To help schedule it.  To help coach others in how to use an additional 28-minute period.  To lead a lot of staff development workshops.

And as the school year started, I realized I also had to learn how to teach 2 new subjects.  I knew how to teach 7th grade math concepts:  ratios, proportions, two-step equations, surface area, etc.  But 8th math was an entirely new ballgame.

And although I was “certified” to teach Social Studies, this was very new ground.  Because not only could I not approach it the same way as I approached Math, but I also had a much wider range of student background knowledge in my classes.  So I had to get creative.  And try new things.  And get innovative with my delivery, with student assessment, with lesson plans.  I had to learn to differentiate.  Because still, I could not accept a student failure because of something I could have done differently.  To me, that was unacceptable.  To me, if a student was left behind, I felt personally responsible.  So I worked and worked and worked to ensure that I tried absolutely everything in my power to help every student “get it”.

Most school days, I arrived around 6:30am, and left between 5:00 and 5:30pm.  I took work home at least 4 days per week – papers to grade, lessons to plan, workshops to present to staff, etc.  So although I left the school building, I typically I worked another 2+ hours once I arrived home.

At the time, Chris was just starting out as a financial advisor.  His hours were just as long, as he worked to build a client base.  I half-heartedly would scrounge up dinner each night – if we didn’t get take-out – hurriedly clean up, then go back to schoolwork while he waited for me to actually sit beside him with nothing in my hands distracting me.  I was always relieved to get texts that he had to work late, because those were the nights I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about not spending time with him.

Early in the spring, after this had gone on for months – late hours, me constantly working, our time together being squished into an hour or two throughout the week – I found out I’d been nominated for Teacher of the Year for our district.  I was ecstatic!  Such an amazing honor!  In the world of teaching, there are very few accolades.  So a nomination like this could be a career highlight for a teacher.

Somehow, I made it through the preliminary rounds, and was invited to the banquet for finalists.  And somehow, through a mistake or a glitch, I was named the 2010 Teacher of the Year for Johnston County Schools.

It was a whirlwind.  There were newspaper articles, interviews, constant visitors in my classroom.  It felt like all the hours were suddenly being recognized in this new and wonderful way.  It felt like I was on top of the world.

I was even named WRAL Teacher of the Week.  Gerald Owens came to my classroom, interviewed me, videotaped me, presented me with gifts.  I don’t know what being celebrity is like, but this had to be pretty close.

Chris was excited for me too.  Although, he wasn’t very excited that it didn’t come with more monetary rewards.  I’d kept promising him that the workload would get lighter “after Spirit Week”, “after this interview is over”, “after I’m done with this staff development”, “once EOGs are done”, etc.  But after months of the workload not changing, it was taking a toll.

One afternoon, late in the spring (EOG weather), we grabbed a quick dinner at Arby’s – pretty typical.  As we were sitting over our roast beef sandwiches, Chris said the words that make you stop mid-curly fry:  “We need to talk.”

He told me he was incredibly proud of me.  He told me he didn’t want to take away from any of the awards I’d received, because I deserved every single one.  But we could not continue living the way we were living.  I could not continue this workload.  Because if I did – if the workload continued – he was going to divorce me.

And with that, at 6:18pm, at the Arby’s on Highway 70 in Clayton, my world momentarily stopped.  Because, as it turned out, no matter how many students I never gave up on, my husband just admitted it was possible for him to give up on me.

This had never occurred to me.  I knew our marriage was strained.  I knew we bickered a lot.  But I thought it was normal.  I figured it was just part of what happened.  I figured we’d both power through, and just…deal.

After that evening, I rarely stayed past 5:00pm at work.  I rarely brought work home.  If I did, I discussed it with Chris first.  And it was limited to once per week, if that.  He kept me in check, and held me accountable.  If I couldn’t get it done in a reasonable time at school, it would just have to wait until the next day.  I still never gave up on students, or teachers, or any project on my to do list.  But I stopped letting it take time from what mattered more than my job – my marriage.

Since that day in May of 2010, I’ve never looked back or regretted my decision.   Especially, not now, that I’ve lost the one thing I was never prepared to lose.

I’ve shared this story with a only handful of people, and each one has shared a similar story back to me.  Because it’s the common reality of being a “great” teacher.  It’s because we have huge hearts, and big ideas, but just not enough time in the day to do it all.

It is common.  It is too common.  Too common that teachers pour more into the feet that walk through their classroom doors than the feet that walk through their front doors at home.

It is a horrible price to pay.  A sacrifice that too many understand, and have endured.

And it is the reality of being a “great” teacher.

Many “great” teachers have made the conscious decision to simply be “pretty good”.  Because they couldn’t dedicate enough time to both.  So they had to choose their own children, over someone else’s.  Believe me, they feel guilty every day.  They want to work with every single child until they get every single concept, until they can read and understand every single word, until every student has breakfast in their bellies, and shoes that fit their feet, and knows someone loves them, believes in them, and each child has set a goal for today, this week, this year, and their whole life, and can tell you all about it.  Teachers want to do that.  And many accomplish many of those things for many students.

But there is a sacrifice.

It’s the sacrifice that no one talks about.  No one warns you about in college courses.  No teacher realizes until they’re in too deep, emotionally involved with both their job and their families.  Too passionate about education and students and learning, but also value being a sane wife, husband, mother, or father.

So they realize they have to decide between two types of guilt.  Guilt of not doing their job as well as they know they could, or guilt about taking time away from the family they cannot replace.

So most make a choice.  The one that allows them to sleep at night.  To be sure they’re not taking so much care of others’ children that they’re building a broken family at home.

It is the price you pay to be great.  Either in school or at home.

It’s the price of being a teacher.