As I walked out of my classroom I heard a voice saying, “You are leaving your classroom for the very last time.” It was profoundly prophetic. I never did set foot in that classroom again, except to gather up all my things and say farewell to the children.
The months leading up to that point were filled with tears. Tears of frustration, anger, confusion, pain and tears from sleeplessness. The stress of coping with thirty energetic eight year olds had taken its toll. Looking back on that pivotal day, I hadn’t been coping for a long time. Sad to say I admitted later in the year that I had lost the passion to teach.
People working in the helping occupations, like teaching, nursing, medicine and many others need to be passionate about their work. It is essential to have a passion that drives you to get up every morning and joyfully look forward to the day ahead. I had lost the passion. Each day was a test of endurance to be negotiated. It was a long, dark tunnel of despair and I paid for it with a body that decided to shut down. “Enough!” it seemed to scream at me.
I sought medical help. My GP was fantastic. He quickly diagnosed that I was clinically depressed. A course of medication helped to some extent. He arranged for counselling. That was way out of my comfort zone, but so essential to my eventual recovery. She listened to me, she was never judgemental and she allowed me to let it all come out – often in a flood of more tears. Fortunately, she had an ample supply of tissues.
Nearly ten years later I’m well into my journey to recovery. It has not been easy. There are constant reminders of a sense of failure. There are yearnings for the wonderful rapport I had with children. There is a disappointment in not being able to use the skills developed over 35 years. Now in retirement I have a growing passion in pursuing writing as a new career.
How did I survive? I am convinced that God’s amazing help pulled me through this crisis. Sure – at times he pulled me screaming, kicking and sobbing. Again it was a quiet voice softly encouraging me. “The time is right,” it kept saying until the day I signed my resignation papers.
Even in the tears there was joy. This joy was a deep, inner contentment that God knew what was best for me. I identified with Nehemiah who said, “The joy of the Lord is your strength.” I drew enormous strength from that inner joy.
˄TH
Postscript: within minutes of posting this article, I received news that a former student of mine had last week taken his life after many years of depression, substance abuse and misdiagnosed conditions. This came on top of a teaching colleague’s son taking his life earlier in the week. If you are depressed, or not coping with what life throws at you, please seek out medical and professional help. You are more valuable than you realise. You are precious in God’s sight, and he is able to heal, strengthen and bring joy to your heart once again.