I had such a unique job, in that it’s not one many people understand unless you’ve done it yourself. I worked as a teaching assistant and SEND (Special Educational Needs) assistant for 5 years in local secondary schools. This support role meant I was more free to build bonds with the students I worked with, because I didn’t need to adhere to a strict curriculum like teachers do.
Leaving behind these students has been very difficult for me.
I am someone who feels very deeply. Someone who cares. Even though I moaned about my job and those kids many (MANY) times, I loved it. I cared about them. I spent more time with those kids than the staff. I spent time laughing with them, lecturing them, holding space for them. I tended to their cut knees, their headaches, their failures, their losses. Their first periods or periods sent from hell. Their first crushes and their breakups. Their coming out stories. I shared in it all. I gave endless high-fives of success and triumph, and pep talks before tests. I told them “you’ll get it next time” every time they fell short. I believed in them.
I was like a surrogate parent for those 8 hours they were in those schools.
Drastic? Simplified? Maybe. But only in leaving and feeling the ache of this loss, do I understand that I was a trusted adult who provided so much for them over the years. And isn’t that what a parent does?
Then I left. Walked out of their lives. And of course, I can never see them again (unless serendipity allows).
How uniquely cruel?
To spend so much time and care and dare I say it, love, on these students to then have no contact whatsoever. Am I supposed to just forget their personal quirks and pain?
I can’t switch off my heart. Can’t quiet the memories. Can’t just walk away and never think about them or the time we shared. How many whacky conversations we had. The things they taught me. The smile on their face when they left my office, knowing someone cared about them. Perhaps being the only one who did that day.
Because the children I worked with were complex. Not just because of neurodiversity, but sometimes also turbulent home lives. I helped many of them receive diagnoses that have changed their lives and experience of school. Fought for them to get support when teachers or senior staff wouldn’t listen or couldn’t understand. I sympathised, empathised, listened and protected them against harm suffered at home or out in public.
I tried to make their lives a little easier when they saw me. That’s what I wanted to do every day, and I hope I achieved that.
At my last workplace, we had a heartfelt motto that resonated with me. And now, that link has been severed forever.
This is so hard to explain. It’s not normal, right? Not many other jobs are like this, where the people you worked with are suddenly kept from you. A door shut in your face. Lives carrying on without you. Memories being made that override the ones you had. A new employee who takes your place as caregiver. You no longer know how they are, what they’re doing, and who they are anymore.
Don’t get me wrong, please, I know why! I’m not some creep! I know that children should be kept safe in these institutions and that having a relationship with them outside that controlled place of safety isn’t right. I’m not saying I want this, either. I’m simply saying that knowing this doesn’t stop it from hurting. Doesn’t stop it from feeling wrong that I no longer see these people I spent so much time with.
If you are a parent, I hope your children are cared for by the staff at their schools. I hope the system can find its way back to putting the children and relationships and humanity above rigid structures and results. I hope the people still working with my surrogate children are taking care of them for me (for the most part, I’m sure they are). I hope the kids have an amazing time now and can feel free and happy in their lives post-school. I know a few parents who have said they can’t wait for their children to leave, for their mental health, which speaks volumes about the broken system.
In conclusion, I just feel left behind. Out of the loop. Jealous of my ex-colleagues who still get to partake in their lives. Feel an ache at times; a mourning for time gone by. I wish I savoured those times while I was there, instead of rushing home or ushering them out of the office. The kids I worked with were full of personality and heart and energy. I enjoyed my time with them. I hope they did, too. Thank you for the unique opportunity to share in your lives.
All I can do is wish them well from afar and hope we bump into each other as adults and get a chance to reminisce about the good old days…
Sincerely,
S. xx
S. R. Crawford 