It started with not letting my kid borrow my computer. He kept asking and asking for me to put in a password, and started to threaten me when I did not engage him and told him to pay attention to the book.

My special education student, who I'll anonymously call Jack, then started to push me and pull my hand towards the computer to put in the password. I ignored him and told him to get his hands off of me while trying to teach the rest of the class. He then proceeded to try to put me in a headlock, while I wrangled out of it, careful not to put my hand on him because of my position as a teacher, and his position as a middle school kid. When I didn't give in to his demands, he threw his books at me and all over the room, trashing my classroom.

Jack proceeded to storm out of my room and try to start a fight and disrupt the entire next classroom to get what he wanted and I caught him lifting another kid and about to punch him. I got him out of the room and back into my classroom, and he proceeded to push me in front of another teacher and her entire class.

I put my hands up, to publicly demonstrate that although Jack was putting his hands on me in an aggressive and physically confrontational manner, I wasn't going to put my hands on him.

When the class ended, I called Jack's mother and informed her of Jack's physically confrontational behavior. I opened up and told her that I was wrestling about whether to inform my principal or not of an entire period of putting his hands on me and other students continuously.

I knew he was having a bad day. Never in that time frame did I feel threatened for my safety — I knew Jack was just trying to pester me and persuade me to give in to what he wanted, to use my computer and watch YouTube videos.

I thought about whether to just let him use the computer in the next class. Jack's been on my computer to watch videos before, and simultaneously not disrupted the classroom, done his work, and even participated in discussions. Maybe if I just bucked a little bit and gave him a little bit of what he wanted, Jack wouldn't engage in that kind of behavior again. I know he's dealt with a lot of trauma in his short life, and comes from a troubled home and background.

I wanted to react like a Christian. I wanted to be understanding and give him the gift of grace and mercy.

But then I consulted with veteran and more experienced teachers about what I should do. The response from all of them was unanimous: tell the principal and allow the principal to handle it. Jack could not get the message that he was allowed to put his hands on kids, let alone teachers, and get what he wanted. Jack could not send the message to other kids that it was OK to get what you want through physical aggression and confrontation.

One teacher asked me to think about what if it was the other way around? What if I, as the teacher, was accused of putting Jack in a headlock, pushing him, and throwing books at him?

It is very different as an educator to look out for your kids and not want anything bad to happen to them. But was I really looking out for Jack's best interest if I gave in, allowed him to get away with putting his hands on people, kids and adults, and became complicit with telling him that aggression could get him what he wanted?

I wrestled with these questions continuously the past two days, and what if Jack accused me of doing what he did to me to him? I would have lost my job in a second, and had criminal charges pressed against me.

Even if I didn't fear for my safety and knew Jack was just playing around, and even if I knew that the overarching intent was not malicious, that teacher informed me that multiple other teachers and kids witnessed physical confrontation between myself and Jack — regardless of what I thought would be best for Jack, I had to report his behavior to my principal for my self-interest. If he accused me of the same behavior, it would have been a long process to clear my name and any charges.

I went up to my principal and talked about the incident and my conflicting thoughts about what to do.

I reported Jack, and it felt like shit.

It's been a little bit, and it still feels like shit.

Part of that emotional thought process was a silver lining validation as an educator. Other teachers told me they wouldn't have reacted the same way, as peacefully and as much of a pacifist. The fact that I looked out for Jack more than I looked out for the well-being of myself shows that I am deeply dedicated and devoted to my kids, no matter what.

But it taught me that as much as I care for my kids, though, I also have to look out for myself, and the well-being of all my students, not just a couple of individuals. I didn't want to snitch on Jack or throw him under the bus. I know what his home life is like and wanted to assume the best and give him the benefit of the doubt.

From the unanimous perspective of other teachers, though, the evidence was still very clear. Despite his intent, Jack put his hands on me, threatened me, and disrupted my entire classroom when I didn't give him what he wanted.

If I gave Jack a pass and didn't report him, what did that tell all the other kids who witnessed what happened? If they got the message that treating adults like Jack treated me was OK, what would that mean for how they would treat kids?

Clearly reporting Jack for his actions and holding him accountable is something I was wrestling with. It wasn't something I wanted to do — after all, Jack is just a kid, in middle school.

I am only a new teacher and one who doesn't have the gift of practice and experience. I don't think the incidents with Jack are going to be my last gray areas as a teacher and instructor.

But the last thing I ever wanted to do for my kids was get them in trouble and throw them under the bus. At some level, I'm just holding them accountable and responsible for their own actions and behavior. On another level, I could have chosen to keep my mouth shut and carry on, adapting and forgiving Jack.

Was I right to report my student, someone I care for and love dearly? I don't know. It was a lesson to me that even if it's someone I see as closely as I'd see my own child, you have to do what's right and what's hard sometimes. And it's going to feel like shit because making that hard choice isn't easy.

Romans 13:4 tells us that "if you do wrong, be afraid, for [God] does not bear the sword in vain. For [an authority] is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer." So if Jack were my equal and we got into a confrontation, maybe I wouldn't report him. But as Jack's authority figure, I had to do what I had to do. Multiple of my other students told me that I treated him too nicely, that I let him walk all over me.

And I need to learn that I'm not only one student's teacher. I have whole classrooms of kids that are more than just Jack. What kind of learning environment and safe space am I fostering if a kid hits me, continuously, and I'm just letting it happen?

It's likely that I will be wrestling with similar situations in the future as an educator. As a teacher and in the inner-city environment that I work in, that's just a part of the job. I love my kids with all my heart, but love means holding them accountable as members of a whole community meant to live and work in harmony and respect.

I reported Jack, and it felt like shit. But it was necessary, and I know I made the right choice. A fundamental education adage is that every day is a new day.

And so I press on towards a new day, learning that this job, like many other hard ones, is one with constant gray areas, where as an authority figure, I have to make the hard and necessary choices.