It’s the end of July. This summer has been a dream in sepia, and I can hardly believe it is almost over. Simultaneously, I have been working like a mad teacher all summer long, trying to think of all the things I did last year that I want to do differently. And also being crushed by that weird feeling you get when you are minding your own business and then something dumb you said once ten years ago and everyone’s response to it floats into your consciousness and you get to repeat the shame/guilt/embarrassment response as though it JUST happened. It tastes like a margarita made of mango and self-loathing.

That is when it occurred to me. Have you ever said “You couldn’t PAY me to do middle school again!”? “Not for $1,000,000,000.” Anyone you tell that you teach middle school will say something about how you should be beatified, while simultaneously communicating with their face that they feel like they are unwillingly witnessing an execution. I used to think it was about the kids. And make no mistake – working with middle school kids is a little like swimming in the Amazon river. It’s incredible, and terrifying. Each day, you might encounter wonders only a few have ever seen; OR you might be eaten by a snake.

It’s not the kids though. It’s actually something that it took therapy for me to crack. One of the things that gets left out of the employee handbook is the fact that there is a troll wandering around the school, waiting patiently for your guard to be down before it clobbers you with the insecurity club. And that troll is not just hiding in the bathroom waiting to club unsuspecting twelve year olds with questions about whether or not they are dressed right, or if anyone has noticed the pimple that is invisible to the rest of the world but looks like it glows in the dark to the kid, or if people perceive them as being bad-ass. Nope. That troll wanders the halls of middle schools freely and gets us teachers too.

There you are, doing your best, rocking an outfit that you chose yesterday to save yourself time this morning, and you feel like you are clocking every point. And then the troll shows up – wearing its invisibility cape – and taps you right on the ego, and suddenly you are certain that each of these kids is going to end up on Geraldo because of you. Every mistake, misstep, slip, lapse of judgement, forgotten promise, cracked temper, or disproportionate response to a student is in your head and you suddenly forget everything you have ever been told falls into “best practices.” It’s excruciating. The urge to run and hide in the bathroom is so strong that you have to grip your desk hard with your hands so your feet don’t get to make unilateral decisions for you. And you are sure that every one of those kids can see it. The sweat, the clammy palms, the burning ears (that might be just me).

I spent years benefiting from second-hand therapy to be prepared for those moments. Three deep breaths. Two sips of ice water. One neck roll. And after years and years of those experiences as a parent, I really thought I had them all managed. But then…the troll. And suddenly I am confronting insecurities I didn’t even know I had! THIS is what people are avoiding when they say they would never go back to middle school. The pervasive fear of inadequacy. The certainty that eyes around you are judging you, that your flaws are a subject of public discourse. Lucky for me, I have been on the planet nearly four times as long as my charges, and I have the benefit of perspective to reach for when I get knocked into that whirlpool.

That’s what these next nineteen days are going to dedicated to. In addition to anchor charts, slides, meal planning (so I don’t eat canned pears for dinner more than once a week because I can’t think of anything better), lesson planning, standards reviewing, and all those tiny chores that make up beginning of year prep, I am trying to make myself some armor to protect me from the insecurity troll. You know…reminders to myself all the things I tell my best friends and my students all the time. We are not defined by our mistakes. We don’t always get to control the outcomes of our efforts, we can only control our efforts. And maybe this year, we’ll all get lucky and the insecurity troll will meet the goblin that makes paper get stuck when you urgently need just ten copies, and they will begin a whirlwind romance and honeymoon on some island owned by a kagillionaire who will be a lot less susceptible to their influence.