I sit in the school cafeteria, waiting, wondering, if a parent will need to speak to me at my first high school Parent Teacher Conferences. I am a teacher, a licensed public school teacher. I have an undergraduate degree and took the state test to teach this class. I also have a Masters degree and oh, um, almost 25 years of teaching experience. I’m a public school health teacher in a suburban high school. I’m both over-qualifed and completely in over my head.

I feel like a writer though. I have so many stories to tell. So many angles to cover. So many different tones I want to try out. Through writing I can be more than a high school heath teacher. Through writing I can be more than the black sheep I felt like growing up in a family of siblings who were smarter than me. Through writing I can be the best comedienne I could be, even better than the clown I was growing up, hiding my feelings of inadequacy in a family of super smart siblings, purposefully making them laugh when I literally didn’t know the answer. Writing means I can control the narrative. My narrative. My story can finally be mine.

I crave writing, but if I had all the time in the world, I might not write. So I need to be distracted too. Teaching is fun and distracting.

It’s a strange road I’ve taken. I miss the perceived power of having my own consulting business. Of being in charge of me, of calling the shots, of not having to answer to anyone. Then again, I hate the poverty. And the reality that no one wanted what I was selling. I think this part is reality: no one in this area wanted the kind of health I was selling. Intertwined evenly, is that I’m 1. not the messenger of this message and 2. I’m not supposed to be here. It took a lot to finally get to this understanding. There were tears and kicking and gnashing of teeth. But in the end, I can look forward instead of back. And forward is towards getting my family to a place that is right for all of us and having a double buttload of good things to write about. Which means I must keep thinking, experiencing, healing and discovering what I need to about myself that gets me closer to who I want to be. This is where I am. I’m in between. Seriously, so much fun. This is power.

But first, I must discuss with a parent why their student is struggling in my class, carefully dancing on the line between good hearted kid and completely irresponsible in submitting assignments. I guess this is considered power too. :sigh: