You got this.

Okay if I fall asleep right now, I will get 7 and a half hours sleep. That’s good. That’s fine.

I take my deep, regulated breaths. The ones I’ve practiced before for just such an occasion as this. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8. Again. Again. Again.

Okay if I fall asleep right now, I’ll get about 7 hours of sleep. That’s doable. Totally.

I go through my plan again for the morning. I know exactly how my day will go. How it should go, barring any unexpected circumstances. You never can plan every detail, for any part of your life, but planning is all I have to think about to help control the anxiety from taking over.

Okay, you better go to sleep now. 6 hours is enough. But you have to fall asleep right now.

When my alarm goes off, I know I’m in trouble. I can feel the weight in my eyes, the blurriness and confusion when the alarm does okay. Just one snooze. It’s fine. I close my eyes again, but the alarm is off again in an instant. What? How? I open my phone and immediately open my social media poison. Don’t do this. This is not a good idea. I can spare a few minutes, but I have to get out of bed at 6 if I’m going to have enough time to shower, do my hair, and make up. 

Seriously, how did Sam get that job? Cheryl’s having another baby, my god. I knew this was a bad idea. I close out the face’s, but it’s still imprinted on my brain. I finally toss my blanket off, put my left foot down to help lift myself to seated, and both feet are on the ground. I’m not ready for this. I can’t do this. It’s starting.

I walk into the bathroom. Pee first, then brush my teeth quick. Now that I’ve brushed my teeth, I can get my coffee. I hate that it feels like I just scrubbed my teeth clean only to tarnish them immediately but oh well, nothing I can do about that now. I will not make it through this day without a proper amount of caffeine. The coffee maker is on, all I have to do is pop in the cartridge, put my cup in place, and wait. You have plans. This is why you had a whole 2 weeks before this day to work on getting everything ready.

 I turn on the soundtrack to my shower which begins with “live from MPR news, I’m Korva Coleman.” The familiar voice and details of the day’s news bring me a slight sense of calm as I step into the shower. Left leg in first, then right. Wash my face first, shampoo my hair. You wrote everything down. It’s on your desk. You know exactly what the day is going to look like, down to the minute. You can carry it with you on your lanyard if you really need to. You have a plan. Check my armpits for shaving (they’re okay), put the bodywash on the sponge, scrub up, rinse it all off, get out. 

After I dry off, I head back into my room. I already have my outfit laid out because I knew I would need that. I had to have a new outfit for this day because looking good helps me feel good. Placebo affect? Maybe. But the placebo affect is a really powerful thing that truly does impact your brain and how you feel- seriously. Look it up.

I only put my underwear and bra on so I can blow dry my hair quick. Good morning everyone! Everyone? Friends? Can we still say boys and girls? Probably better err on the side of caution. Good morning human beings! Too much? Yeah, way too much. My hair is dry so I push it back with a headband so I can get to work on my makeup. Not a lot, just enough. I only do mascara, a little eyeshadow, eyebrows, and a neutral lip. Perfect. 

Okay. This is it. You can do this. You have been working towards this your whole life. You can handle anything that’s thrown at you. You are strong. You are brave. You are a confident, capable woman. 

I wish I really felt that on the inside. My mom told me about the “superman” pose. How if you stand with your hands on your hips, a big smile, and repeat encouraging epithets to yourself, about yourself, that you’re supposed to feel more powerful and confident. I do not.

I put some toast in the toaster. While I’m waiting for that I check back on the faces. Seriously? Why? You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself. Comparison is the thief of joy. Every once in a while, it’s nice to see that your life is better than others’. Wow. That’s horrible. I put peanut butter on my toast as I open my other social media poison and let that parasite worm its way into my brain.

Alright, we need: purse, phone, keys, badge, bag, lunch. Shoot. I forgot to pack a lunch. Oh well, you can order something in. I’ve heard others talking about doing that before. Okay fine. 

There’s no more time. I have to leave now. I grab my belongings, put on my flats (you will NOT make it in heels all day, no matter how cute they are), and head out. I shut and lock the door, open the garage, get in my car, and drive. My drive is narrated by my favorite podcast hosts talking about the books you’ve been meaning to read. Their comfortable banner and unique take on literature help make the drive a little less nerve-wracking.

I’m here. Where do I park again? That’s the worst part about a new job, learning all the little idiosyncrasies that no one can really teach you. Where to park, which door to enter through, how to get your phone hooked up, who to talk to about the weird smell in your room, where to sit at lunch. The list goes on and on. It’s fine. You got this. You have a plan; everything is written down. You know what you need to do.

“Good morning, Carol!”

“Good morning, Ken”

“Good morning, Sara, how are you?”

I put my lunch away in the lounge, say a few more good mornings, and walk to my room. I stop right outside the door for one last check before the day starts. 30 minutes until the bell rings.

I stop by to say hi to Amanda, the other newbie this year. “Are you ready?” I state as I walk into the room over to her desk. “As ready as I’m going to be” she replies breathlessly as she is quickly walking around the circles of desks and putting the last few items in place. I know she’s busy and I should be too, but I can’t leave. “Are you going to do a practice run in the lunchroom?” I ask, hesitantly. “I don’t know yet, I haven’t thought that far ahead,” she returns. Alright, she’s just as nervous as you. Time to leave. “Good luck! I’ll check in when I can later.” “Yeah, okay, you too” she says with her back to me as she’s running to check something on her desk.

5 more minutes till the bell rings. This is it. Should I be inside or outside the door? Outside. How do I greet them right away? Smiles? Hugs? Oh god, what if someone cries? It’s fine. You got this. Capable woman. Strong. Smart. Working towards this your whole life, etc, etc.

The bell rings. I jump because my anxiety has already got me so on edge. My heart races, my palms instantly sweat. Oh dang it. I wipe them quickly on my pants and hope that I don’t start pitting out of my shirt. 

They begin to walk in. Small bodies carrying big backpacks flood by in a rush. A few tall people stand out as they walk the loves of their lives in to their first day. I don’t know for sure, yet which belong in my room, so I awkwardly smile and say hi to all who pass so I look friendly and approachable in case anyone needs help. I tie one shoe quick; I give one side hug to a small person I don’t know yet, and one parent asks for directions quick.

I walk into my room. I assess the scene. There are several people in the coat room, looking for their nametags and hanging up their belongings. There are some people already in the room, unsure of what to do next. I wait until more people walk into the room.

“Alright everyone, once you’ve put your backpack away you can come have a seat on the carpet.”

“Good morning! I’m Mrs. Leland, your first-grade teacher. Welcome to our classroom!”