I Am Broken by Karen Repko

I am broken. My spirit. My heart. My faith. I thought I was strong enough. I watch as my coworkers walk out the door every year because my school is just too much. I watched as they were blamed for every action in our building that they themselves could not control. I watched them cry at their desks, in the bathroom, in their cars and just walking down the hallway. I hear their complaints because no one else will. I shoulder their burden because if not me, then who?

I befriend every new arrival because I know they will need my strength soon enough. I love. I love until my body aches and my heart bleeds for these children. They are mine. They are mine to cherish, and they are mine to nurture. They are mine to hold, and heal, and teach, and listen to. Today I listened as they shared how many gun shots rang out last night. “Did you hear it teacher?” “No, sweetheart I didn’t. Are you ok?” I can not have this conversation again. “Teacher, do you know how many people they shot last night?!” “Yes, sweetheart I do. Are you ok?” I can not have this conversation again. Heart racing, sweaty palms, hands shaking, tears pooling, ready to fall. I kissed my husband good by as I left for work. He told me it would be “fine”. I looked him deep in the eye for the longest time. I kissed him again, and as I walked away I prayed he was right.

I prayed I could drive through the tears that had finally escaped. As I made this trek my mind raced with everything I had been through in my seven years at this school. The mother of a student murdered right across the street. The body that was dumped in the parking lot across the street. The collection of knives that were hidden under the bark chips on the playground. The student who committed suicide. The parents who assaulted teachers. The constant threats to teachers from students and parents. Drugs. Alcoholism. Sex trafficking. Poverty. Gangs. I see it all when I look into the eyes of my students. I feel it so deep it hurts. It keeps me awake.

It is a burden that haunts my dreams and every waking moment. For seven years I have filled my teacher bag with their stories, their pain, their tears, and their heartache and until today, didn’t realize how heavy my bag really was. My bag overflowed today when I tried to shove in the pain and emotions from hearing that a former student from my school was the boy shot and killed two nights ago. My bag tore to shreds when I tried to put in the news of the seven people shot last night because they were at the memorial for the first victim.

I realized today that as much as I want to continue to be “the strong one” that I am broken. I can not describe the pain screaming from every inch of my body. It is the nightmares of my students chasing me down. Begging me not to leave them. Their eyes searching for that trusted adult who is always there for them. Who puts their own health, family and life on the back burner to help them. They need me. They need me. Who will help them? It can no longer be me for I am broken.