It’s 4:30 PM, and my husband bursts through the door, ravenous as always, heading straight for the kitchen to whip up a burger. While he cooks, I chat with him, knowing full well he’ll eat a full meal again in just a couple of hours. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles between bites, “I brought granola for breakfast, but you know how it goes.”
I do know how it goes. He had a classroom full of hungry kids today, and with no apples left, he ended up sharing his breakfast with them. Lunchtime was a nonexistent option, swallowed up by grading papers, filling in for absent colleagues, or dealing with never-ending paperwork. So here he is, devouring a burger at 4:30 PM, having not eaten since this morning.
Witnessing the struggles of those students is one of the hardest parts of being the partner of a teacher. Each day, I hear about the kids who are bullied, those dealing with loss, and others who are fighting battles of depression. I can’t do much more than grab some extra snacks when I’m at the store, hoping my husband can sneak them some to help them through the weekend.
I know the ones who are in foster care, and it takes everything in me not to urge him to bring them home. But we both know that’s not possible.
Late nights filled with grading are another norm. I’ve grown accustomed to the sight of him at the kitchen table while I tuck the kids into bed, the hours stretching late into the night. The demands from parents and schools for more evaluations mean there’s never a shortage of paperwork to tackle. I dread those nights because they steal away our time together.
After-school commitments can be just as draining. Faculty meetings create a long commute through rush-hour traffic, leaving him exhausted and frustrated when he finally returns home. Those back-to-school nights can be disheartening too, with few parents showing up to engage with their children’s education. I’m left alone with the kids, who are missing their dad, while he is there wishing for more involvement from parents.
And then there’s the financial strain. Teachers often continue working through parts of June and August, juggling professional development and other commitments to make ends meet. Without year-round pay, many have to take on second jobs, leaving us scrambling for money. The statistics on teacher salaries are stark, and living on one income often means a constant race against the clock, leading to exhaustion and chaos at home.
Despite the challenges, being married to a teacher is also about celebrating victories. It’s about feeling joy for that student I’ve never met who managed to complete an assignment without complaint, or for another who bravely came out to their family. These moments bring pride, reminding me of the incredible work my partner does daily.
I take immense pride in my partner’s dedication, whether he’s taught a fantastic lesson or cracked a clever joke to connect with his students. I’m in awe of his ability to face challenges head-on, showing immense patience and resilience in the face of adversity. I often brag about him, as if he were a celebrity in our community, because really, he is a star in his own right.
We share a spirit of camaraderie for our school. I attend games and feel a swell of pride when introduced as his spouse. He’s on the frontline, a beacon of hope in the educational landscape, and I can’t help but feel a mix of emotions—both the weight of the challenges and the joy of the triumphs.
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In all, being a teacher’s partner is a unique blend of challenges and rewards, a journey filled with incredible pride and occasional tears.