It's such a little thing. Cake.
I happened across a Facebook post today, saying goodbye to a person who had been there for one year. They made her a cake. She will be missed.
One year.
I was there for two decades.
Two decades of my life. A marriage, two kids, a divorce. 4 different classrooms. 10 different preps created from scratch. 2000 students. I dedicated my soul to that building, to that community. I sacrificed my mental health, my physical health, my marriage, my pride, my maternity leave with my son. I gave everything I had, and somehow it was never quite enough. Never quite enough to fit in, to be in the "in crowd."
I couldn't play the game I was supposed to play. I didn't know the rules. I've never known the rules. I was told to "just have fun" but I'm not even sure what that looks like, day-to-day. I loved my job, I loved my kids, I loved my curriculum. But I'm not sure how to "just have fun" when we are talking about teenagers' lives. And I'm not sure that "fun" is in my nature, no matter how hard I try. I am passionate. I have a wicked dark sense of humor. I am quick. I am smart. But I'm not so sure I know how to be "fun."
I'm probably not fun.
There was no public goodbye for me. There was no Facebook post. There was no cake.
When breakups happen, we are trained to say, "it's not you, it's me." We take the fall. We take the blame. We put it on ourselves, so that the other person doesn't feel bad.
But I'm not going to take the fall, no matter how I've been painted.
I gave everything I had. I gave too much. I fought for every damn kid who came through my door, but I didn't know how to "just have fun" and look the other way when asked. I didn't know how to acquiesce, how to kiss enough ass and stroke enough egos to placate the politics of the place.
I think I can live with that.
At the end of the day, I can walk away, even though I didn't get cake.
Because I know that --at the end of the day-- it was not me.
It was never me.
It was you.
Photo by Food Photographer | Jennifer Pallian on Unsplash