I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

Over the last five months, I have been a better teacher than the nine and a half years before that… and yes I know how that sounds. It doesn’t make it any less accurate. When Coleman died, I not only lost the identity of being a wife, but I also lost someone to pour my love and energy into. I can sit here and tell you that I became my biggest cheerleader and loved myself first, and in some ways, I did, but most of the time, I just felt like a balloon about to pop, and I needed someone to take care of. So I looked at my life, tried to figure out where to pour that energy, and looking back at me were my students.

I have always wanted to be a teacher, but I have not always loved being a teacher. Some years, the kids are the issues; some years, I am the issue, and sometimes, people outside my classroom are the issue, but I have always wanted to be a teacher. I want to inspire, encourage, and support the next generation. I want to be a positive role model and a sounding board. I wanted to spend my life trying to be what so many amazing educators were for me – Shoutout to Ms. Wildermuth, Ms. Lyles, Ms. Marquez, Mr. Smith, Ms. Amsler, Ms. Mallory, Coach Cannon, and Ms. Carlton. These were THE teachers. I looked up to them, I respected them, and at the end of the day, I wanted to be like them. So, a week after Coleman died, I told people I wouldn’t return until after Valentine’s Day. In reality, I was trying to figure out how I could financially afford not to return, period. I didn’t think I had it in me. I am 33 years old and had just experienced what most people would admit is one of their greatest fears – losing someone they love – and I knew I didn’t have it in me to return to the classroom and give the kids what they needed. Hell, I was lucky if I was brushing my hair, so forget TEKS and lesson plans.

Then, I was sitting in therapy after New Year’s, and I quickly realized that I had nothing to look forward to and nothing to get out of bed for. Hence, the hair barely brushed, as mentioned above. So we were talking, and my therapist at the time (Care Clinic was closed for a break, so this is pre-Lisa) was asking me about my plans to return to school; once I told her, she kindly suggested that I consider returning on January 8th when the rest of the staff returns and I thought she was crazy. Literally crazy. I was lucky to be halfway functioning by noon, and she suggested that returning to work in a few days would be healthy. Absolutely not. She said it would give me a reason to get out of bed, it would fill up my time with other things, so I wasn’t always thinking about the shit in my life, and at the end of the day… what else was I going to do all day? Crying in bed isn’t the answer. Shopping on Amazon wasn’t the answer. And although I rented the Taylor Swift Eras film about 30 times at that point, costing $19.89 each time, that wasn’t the answer either. Also, please don’t calculate how much I spent renting Eras. It is a lot.

So I remember going to my physician, doing an evaluation to be released because I was on leave from work due to a mental health crisis – no shit – and then submitting the documentation to return on the 8th. The 8th came around; I was so anxious I was shaking and throwing up, I cried a million times before I even got to the school, and I was so damn scared. Returning from break felt like such a normal thing to do in a reality that was anything but normal. It also just felt so unfair that time hadn’t stopped. So I arrived early, went into my room, and cleaned up. There were a few visitors here and there, but it wasn’t until I walked into the cafeteria for the faculty meeting that the weight of it hit me. Everyone around me is talking about their break, what they did for Christmas, and things they are looking forward to this semester, and in my head, I am thinking, why the hell am I here? Right about that exact moment that I felt myself start to lose it, I received the first hug, then the next one, then the next, and the next. At one point, a line of people was waiting to hug me. It felt good. Really, really good. People I didn’t even think knew my name was coming to me and telling me how good it was to see me, telling me how proud they were of me, telling me they were at the funeral and they were so inspired by what I said, hugging me and yes, I did have that random teacher hugging me in the bathroom, but it was just this bombarding of love that is honestly exactly what I needed.

Something else I found extremely helpful was literally taking things one step at a time. So, throughout the Spring semester, I would wake up and try to get out of bed. If I could get out of bed, I would wash my face and go through my morning routine, just doing things one step at a time. Plenty of mornings, I would be dressed and ready to walk out the door, but I couldn’t force myself to leave, so I would call in sick. My logic was that by taking things one step at a time, eventually, those single steps would lead to me getting in the car and driving to school, and if, for whatever reason, I couldn’t take the next step, then that was okay, and I would protect my mental health and stay home. I don’t know that it would work for everyone, but it worked for me.

Another helpful thing for me, especially in the early months, is that my students hyped me up. They tell me how proud they are of me. They tell me how strong I am. They tell me how much it means to them that I’m showing up for them, so I did what made the most sense and poured everything into my students. It is important to note that this year’s group is like no other group I have ever taught. They love HARD. I have never felt more at home or at peace in my ten years of education than this year with this group of seniors. Now, don’t get it twisted – these precious angels are still every bit of teenagers. They ate my breakfast, lunch, and snacks for the day before 10 AM. They’ve asked for my last water. They’ve eaten the grapes off of my desk, so it is more of a frat party than class most days, but they have the biggest hearts of any group I have ever taught, and basically, love-bombed the hell out of me all Spring semester.

I was also awarded my school’s lighthouse teacher of the year award for this year. For anyone who doesn’t know what that is, the staff nominates a teacher who has shown over the year either that they are a light in the darkness, or they’re a beacon of hope, or they’ve gone through a tough time. As someone who not only went to Horn High School as a student but has taught there for ten years, I have had a front-row seat to watch incredible Educators receive this award year after year, so to be in the same circle as them is truly an honor.

So two weeks ago, I completed my 10th year in education, and I can honestly say that I was the best teacher of my entire career these last five months, and it had nothing to do with the lessons I taught or the projects I created and everything to do with how the kids felt in my room. They felt accepted, safe, and welcomed; in return, I felt the same thing. They accepted my broken pieces, protected my heart, and stuck by my side as I figured out what life would be like as a 33-year-old widow. Every day wasn’t perfect, and there were days where all I could do was physically show up, but day in and day out, my kids reminded me that I mattered to them and they needed me.

So, as days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, I slowly but surely rediscovered myself. I am not the person I was before Coleman died, and I will never be, but that is okay. There is something beautiful about having loved and lost but facing the future head-on. I walked through the deepest, darkest pits of hell, slayed my dragons, and pushed back against every obstacle that stood in my way. It wasn’t always pretty, but at the end of the day, I did it. Now, I am sitting here on the other side with a new respect for myself and an appreciation for life. Not a day goes by that my soul doesn’t long to find Coleman here with me on earth, and I will miss him for the rest of my life, but I also know with every fiber of my being that he would want me to be happy and live. As I mentioned in my eulogy, I always used to say that Coleman was sunshine and I was the dark and stormy, but truthfully, this new version of me is pretty damn close to sunshine as well… and I am really freaking proud of it.

Love, Brittany