The pressures of teaching all caught up with me yesterday:  Coming in late in the school year, getting to know the kids, their backgrounds, the pressures they fact and the expectations placed upon them – or in some cases lack thereof; report card grades coming up and preparing for my first formal evaluation all hit me with the force of a Mack truck.

I literally worried myself sick.

The truth is, I think know that I have dealt with anxiety for as long as I can remember.  I’ve always had trouble sleeping.  Even as a kid, people told me I was a “worry wart”.  I was so intimidated by my second grade teacher that I worked my stomach into a tizzy throughout that entire school year.  A few years ago, I was prescribed anti-depressants which may have fixed a short-term problem, only to hide something I’ve been dealing with all my life, namely anxiety.

Yesterday was my breaking point.  Enough is enough, I decided.  Yesterday was the last time I will ever allow myself to make myself sick.  I’m seeing my family doctor in two days, which makes me feel better about things.

The one thing I’ve always said, even when I had my teaching job down South is that education programs do not prepare teachers for the psychological aspects of teaching.  It’s not an easy job. Teachers take their work home with them every single night.  their kids become a part of their everyday lives.  Sure you get weekends and summers off, but you don’t get to take long lunches, or cut out early or even go to the bathroom whenever you fee like.  I know this may sound like whining, and maybe it is, but I’m ranting.