What happens when you give everything to other people's children and nobody notices what you are missing.
By Kim Lester
Teachers, I want to talk about something that has been sitting with me for a long time.
Because I have watched it happen. I have lived it. And I have never seen anyone say it out loud the way it actually is.
You plan the event. You stay late to set it up. You make the flyers, send the reminders, follow up twice. You put your whole heart into it because you genuinely want families there. You want them to see what their children are doing. You believe in the partnership. You believe that when families show up it changes things for kids.
And after all of that work to connect and partner, parents will sometimes share that they just cannot be there. And not only that they cannot make it, but that we are not respecting their time. That we are not keeping in mind that they work.
And teachers do know that parents work. We respect that deeply. We also know that there have to be moments where we come together as a community to celebrate what students are doing and the talents they have. That is not an inconvenience. That is part of the work.
But as those conversations happen, as parents share that they cannot keep coming to the school and that we always pick the wrong time, you stand there and smile. You say I understand, we will try to make it work. You adjust the time. You add a morning option. You record it. You do everything you can think of to meet families where they are.
And then you cancel the event. Because it feels like no one is coming anyway. And the next conversation arrives right on schedule.
Why does the school never do anything for our kids.
Teachers, I need you to hear this.
You cannot win. And the system has never once stopped to acknowledge that.
But here is the part of this story that nobody is telling.
While that conversation is happening, while a parent is sharing that they cannot make it to the event you planned, you are holding something in your chest that you have never said out loud.
Guilt. Because you genuinely wanted them there.
And resentment. Because you are standing in that building at seven in the morning or seven at night giving everything you have to someone else's children. While your own child's something is happening somewhere else. Without you.
I have three children. Three. And I can count on one hand how many first days of school I took them to. And they are done with school now.
First days I missed. Recitals I missed. Games I missed. Moments I will never get back. Because I was at school. Taking care of someone else's children. While my own walked in without me.
Nobody asked me how that felt. Not once. Nobody in that building, nobody in that system, nobody in that parent conversation stopped and said we see what you are giving up to be here.
And I know I am not the only one who lived this.
The teacher standing in front of that parent who cannot make it to the event? She has not made it to her own child's event in years. The person being asked to be more flexible about school events works in one of the most inflexible environments that exists. She cannot leave early. She cannot skip the meeting. She cannot step out to take a call when something comes up. She is there. Every day. For everyone else's children.
And she feels guilty for resenting it.
I want to say something about that guilt.
It makes sense. You planned the event because you care. You wanted the families there because you believe in what you are doing. The resentment does not cancel the care. The care does not cancel the resentment. Both of those things can be true at the same time. And both of them tell you something important.
They tell you that you are human. That you have a life outside that building that matters. That the people in it deserve you too. Not just the children in your classroom.
You have been carrying this quietly. Stuffing the resentment down because it feels like a betrayal of the calling. Pushing through the guilt because the kids need you. Showing up anyway because that is what teachers do.
But naming what you have been carrying is not a betrayal.
It is the first step toward carrying it differently.
You gave something real in that building. You gave it on purpose and with your whole heart. And what it cost you was real too.
Both of those things deserve to be said out loud.
Give yourself the same care you give everyone else.
— Kim 🩷🌿
If this landed somewhere true for you, I want you to know there is a room being built for exactly this kind of honesty. The After the Bells Summer Series is three nights, one hour a night, completely free. July 21, 22 and 23 at 7pm EST. Come as you are.
https://afterthebells.org/pages/summer-series