I have all these ideas, thoughts, and memories that I want to record in this space of mine for posterity's sake... but when I sit down to write, I don't even know where to start. It's as though 3-plus months of writing only about the impact of a reading workshop instructional model on student achievement and motivation to read has sapped me of the creative, witty, repartee that was once my (imagined) forte.
In the past several months, I've lost a lot of myself as I focused so intently on the needs of others and my teaching work and school work. I tried to explain to Drew in one tear-filled meltdown of a night that I don't feel like there's any me left. There's the part of me that is a teacher, the part that is a grad school student, the part that is mom, the part that tries to take care of everything... and in all of those parts there's been no time for the thing I enjoy, or even time to just be me.
As I'm settling into my final grad school class (that mystical light at the end of the tunnel), and Bentley is starting to sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time, I'm making a goal to focus more on me and do more of the things that make me feel like an actual human being in my own right. Because that person feels pretty lost right now, and that's not a good-feeling place to be in.