Madeline Arndt

Personal Narrative
10/2/17
Tiny Humans, Big Impact

As the oppressive clouds of stress envelop me, the eyes that once gazed upon the color of

life began to dull. The hopeful color of my future began to escape me, and the chilled uncertainty

of failure welcomed me into its arms. Old memories became distant, and new memories incited

innate sadness. This has been one hell of a year. As family dwindled and love pained every

thought, the lure of sleep, death without commitment, became increasingly attractive. I began

drowning – softly, yet effectively. With every exhale, a piece of my spirit dissipated. Hope was a

construct of distant implications. Despair became me.

Although that intro was overtly grim, I assure you the words used only scratched the

surface of the state I was in. The peak of this depression coincided with the beginning of my

internship. When I say that this internship saved my life, I mean that in the most impactful way

possible. In the summer prior to this school year, I signed up for VTFT, Virginia Teachers for

Tomorrow, because I heard that it was legitimately the easiest class you could sign up for. As a

terminal sufferer of procrastination and laziness – of course I signed up for the class. As I kicked

my feet back and began to settle into an easy year, events around me abruptly halted this peace. I

love my mother, and I love my family. I love playing soccer, and I love my friends. The love I

share for so many different things caused a pain ineffable to the tongue. Heartbreak is an

understatement, for my world was a dumpster fire of a bleeding heart.

 It all started when my Aunt Bridget was diagnosed with Stage 4 terminal lung cancer as a

Christmas gift. To make things even better, she was even gifted with the knowledge that her life

would end in a year if not months. Don’t get me wrong, I love Bridget with all my heart, but her

inevitable death wasn’t causing the grunt of the pain. Bridget was more than just a sister to my

mother; she is her best friend; she was her best friend. The diagnosis tore my mother apart, and

all I could do is sit there, and watch. That killed me. The bond a daughter has with her mother is

built with Valerian steel, thus to say the least I was hurting. Shortly after this heart-wrenching

Christmas ordeal, I got a call from my mother while I was in calculus – she never calls me in

school. Naturally I knew something had gone terribly wrong. I thought to myself, “This is it, my

Aunt Bridget is dead.” I answered the phone and received the telling of a sick twist of fate. My

Aunt Missy, who also happened to be my Godmother, had died in her sleep the previous night. I

immediately scurried off to the bathroom, and fittingly sank to my knees and wept.

People I loved were dropping like flies, and my tiny little heart succumbed to the

depression. To escape this sorrow, I genuinely use soccer as an anchor to my happiness – luckily

for me I was dealing with the workings of a torn hamstring, thus my escape from sadness had

promptly shut its doors. I hit rock bottom, and then fell to the center of the earth. The gravity of

the situation pinned me low, and my innards began to crumble. I condemned myself to my bed,

for leaving the safety of my comforter was something I was incapable of doing. This distanced

me from school, thus also my friends. I was physically and emotionally alone, and that is a

dangerous place to reside in. Then I had to start going to school again because I was required to

go to my internship. So needless to say, I went. I carried the weight of a thousand elephants on

my back as I rolled out of the safety of my bed and into some running shorts. I put my shoes on

one foot at a time, and I left my house for the first time in a while.
 Walking into a classroom of an army of tiny humans, my heavy heart instantly became

lighter, for as their eyes gazed upon mine, I could feel the color seeping back through the clouds.

Just by being in a classroom with such bright young minds, somehow I could forget about

everything that could possibly invoke depressive notions. A sea of vibrancy flowed into my

heart, my mind, and my soul. The easy class I signed up for because of chronic laziness began to

heal the open wounds of depression. Each day as I came, and I went, the load got lighter and the

days got easier. I could cope with everything. Watching a kid named Zander dispel about the

magical qualities of potatoes somehow cured me in a way no doctor ever could. As Daisy

gripped my leg to stop me from leaving, I felt love in a way no romance could ever provide. As

Bennett, the boy with one leg, tells me that he wants to play soccer because I play soccer, I was

humbled in a way no person has ever been. The complexity of my situation was healed with the

magical ponderings of a potato. On the surface one can’t fathom how a simple an internship with

kids can rid someone of such problems, yet for some reason I was saved by some kids who had

no idea they were helping.

I could say that I learned how to better my classroom management through this teaching

internship. I could also say that this internship taught me how to write and enact a lesson plan.

While these changed me from the administrative side of becoming a teacher, this internship truly

altered me in a way I never thought possible. Through working with the kids for an hour each

day, I could escape the tight clutches of innate sadness. I improved from feeling hopeless, to

becoming able to cope with the hardships I have faced. Regardless of whether or not I become a

teacher is irrelevant to me. This experience has thoroughly taught me how to live again, and for

that I am in debt to the tiny humans for the rest of my life.