Not that long ago, “pulling a Nykoruk” was a term my colleagues coined, which referred to coming into school way too early in the morning, and then staying way too late afterward.  

When the invitation to weekly “choir practiced” (pub meetup) was emailed out to staff, the subject line was often “Don’t pull a Nykoruk!”

It’s not that I wanted to practically sleep over in my classroom – mostly because 1. the idea of laying my body on the “blue carpet” (I’m pretty sure that thing was alive), and 2. the family of rodent inhabitants was enough to give me nightmares – but I was eager, I loved the kids, I loved my job, I wanted to create fun and engaging learning experiences that challenged and excited them, and foster a love of learning.  

And, to be honest, I didn’t see any other way to get it all done. 

I just thought it was part of #teacherlife that I essentially had to push myself  to the point of burnout, to be considered a “good teacher”. Like the amount of blood, sweat and tears I shed directly correlated to how much I cared for my students, or something.

I felt overwhelmed, overworked, underappreciated, and unfulfilled.

When my daughter entered the picture, I knew something had to give. My priorities had shifted, but my workload did not.