The Silent Enemy Called Home

Some days, I hate this job. Not because of the students, but because of the parents. I sit there listening to a child break down, carrying scars they should never have, and all I can think is: this isn’t their fault. They’re just kids. But the problem? It’s the very people who are supposed to protect them.

And that’s where I feel useless. Because what can I do? I can talk to the student until my throat dries, I can hand them coping mechanisms, I can give them every ounce of reassurance - but the moment they go home, it’s all undone. The shouting, the neglect, the impossible expectations, the constant criticism… all from the parents.

And the worst part? I can’t change it. I’m not allowed to. I can’t go storm into their homes and demand, “Stop hurting your child!” I can’t make them see the damage they’re inflicting. I’m trapped by professional boundaries and policies, while a child suffers in silence.

Some nights, I go home carrying their weight, asking myself why I even bother. Because at the end of the day, I’m just patching up wounds that will keep reopening. I’m a temporary escape, not a cure. And it kills me.

I may never fix the home they return to, but maybe - just maybe - I can help them believe they deserve better. And perhaps one day, when they are older, they will be the kind of parent they always wished they had. That hope is the only thing that keeps me from despair.

A Love That Never Ages: For Indy

 A pet is never just a pet—they are family. They greet us with joy no matter how tired we are, love us without question, and grow old by our side. Their loyalty never wavers; their devotion never fades. Yet, some see them as replaceable—as if love has an expiration date, as if age or frailty makes them less worthy of our hearts.

To give a pet away or trade them for something “newer” or “younger” isn’t simply a choice. It is a mirror that reflects the kind of love we’ve given—or failed to give. Our pets do not abandon us when we grow older, weaker, or slower; they remain steadfast companions until their last breath. Shouldn’t we honor that same loyalty in return?

Losing Indy to a snake’s bite was devastating. The pain of that day still feels sharp, like an open wound that time hasn’t yet soothed. But when I think of her life, I also think of the way she loved us, the way she stayed by our side without hesitation or judgment. And strangely, I find a small measure of comfort in believing that maybe, just maybe, that snake was a messenger of mercy.

Perhaps it took her from this world before someone could ever “upgrade” her, before she could feel the sting of being unwanted or replaced. Instead, she is in a far better place now, free from pain and fear, running through endless fields where loyalty and love are eternal.

Indy’s absence is heavy, but her love lingers in every quiet corner of our home, in every memory she left behind. She reminds me that loyalty is not a thing we trade for convenience, and love is not something to outgrow. Pets teach us that real devotion doesn’t age, doesn’t falter, and doesn’t fade. It is up to us to prove we’re worthy of that love.

So here’s to Indy—a loyal friend, a faithful soul, and family in every sense of the word. She may no longer walk beside us, but she has left pawprints that time can never erase. And one day, when I cross that bridge of light and color, I hope to see her running toward me, tail wagging, heart whole, and love unending.