Taking a Breath

Spoiler alert: this post is not running related. But I really wish it was. 

It’s been a rough week at school. One of the toughest I’ve had in my 6 years as an educator.  

I’m struggling with my job, and my profession. 

Where to start? I work at a school that is about 75% free and reduced lunch. Many of my kids are growing up rough. Trauma comes in many different forms. Our families can’t be compared to trees...it’s more of a pumpkin patch, with vines going in all ways. Aunts, grandparents, sisters come to Open House and conferences—legal guardians, default guardians. I work with a phenomenal staff, from principal to paras—we are all in, every day, working to meet the needs of our kids and do right by them. To quote my principal, in an appropriately timely analogy: every day is game 6 for us. 

This year our district decided to engage in trauma-sensitive training. It’s a lot of what we feel we do for our kids daily—building relationships, providing structure and a safe place to learn. By no means are we experts, but we are pretty damn good. That being said, we know there is always something we can learn. 

Being trauma-sensitive means putting the needs of our kids—the TRUE needs—before the curriculum. And therein lies the problem. What I’ve begun to question is, are the curriculums we have—the scripted, boxed, curriculums—trauma-sensitive? Or do we have trauma-sensitive practices, meaning the way and the pace in which we teach? We are given pacing guides to follow—start on this date, end on this date. Some are down to the day. The theory is that if a child from my school moves to another school in the district, teachers will be in the same place with their teaching. It’s not necessarily the theory I disagree with—it’s the practice. 

I told you about the kids at my school in general terms. So essentially what it comes down to is that everyday I am challenged with teaching traumatized kids. Kids with things weighing so heavily on their minds, they can’t concentrate on learning. I’m up for that challenge—I am awesome at building relationships with kids. But this year has been frustrating. My kids are super chatty. And very disengaged. So I’ve started thinking about why. We will never have enough hours in the day, for one. I’m constantly telling them to hurry up, transition quickly. For another, our curriculums, overwhelmingly, ask them to sit in one place for extended periods of time. And for another, when we start asking them to do things that involve talking in partners or groups about a topic, or work together to solve a problem, they struggle, because a majority of their communication happens digitally, with emojis, and shorthand. 

So let me tell you, more specifically, what I’m up against. This week was rough for my kiddos, too. I don’t know if Mercury is in retrograde or what, but somethings got us all a little off. After lunch recess on Tuesday, we needed to solve some conflicts before we could move on with our learning. So we had a family class meeting, a kind of open forum in which we don’t use names or point fingers, but kids talk openly about their problems. This gives others involved the chance to hear how their classmates are feeling, and acknowledge and respond if they choose. It also gives others a chance to offer solutions or kind words. I chime in when necessary, to moderate, summarize, or move things along when they aren’t productive. 

We had some good stuff going on in this meeting, but I also realized just how traumatized some of my kids are. One student spoke about how they don’t get to see their dad. How dad was a drunk when they were little. Five other kids chimed in that they could relate: dad left when they were one; dad was an addict; never met their dad; dad is in jail; a thinly-veiled admission—“I live with my grandma.” The original student later admitted that when it all gets to be too much, they want to kill themself. And if this wasn’t already heartbreaking enough to hear, two other kids offered up their own voices to say, “Yeah, me too.”

Me too?! You guys, I can’t even. I teach 10 and 11 year olds. Or at least I’m supposed to teach them, these children who are contemplating their mortality. So tell me how I’m supposed to ignore all of that and just teach. Because to tell the truth of it, my teaching goals have nothing to do with Math, Reading, or Science. Yes, that meeting (and the two that followed the following day) side-tracked my teaching plan for the day. But they were necessary. Because I have 10 and 11 year olds who can’t process their emotions enough to work through them and come up with a better solution than contemplating suicide! 

In the days that followed the first meeting, one of my students was caught sending inappropriate emails (again, not knowing how to cope with our emotions, not being able to draw lines between what’s age-appropriate and what’s not); a second was referred to the crisis team; a third fell asleep for a good chunk in the afternoon (because with no rules or limitations at home, and technology and “screens” being the main form of entertainment, of course we are going to be tired); and sprinkled throughout, the normal conflicts that occur throughout the typical school day, that affect their little minds and hearts. 

I’m struggling. I’m trying to figure out how to help my kids in the actual important ways. How do I make traumatized kids feel safe and loved enough to help them learn? I’m trying to decide if carrying my kids so heavy on my heart is sustainable. Is this my forever career? I’m trying to understand how my district thinks pacing guides are equitable. Again, I get the theory, but in practice, they’re not trauma-sensitive. 

My work as an educator feels more important than ever. I know this. But after this week, I’m feeling defeated. 

For this reason, I would never recommend marrying a teacher. But my wife did. And this week, she’s been supporting me in all the right ways. 

And there were other bright spots. As the new student council advisor, me and 100 kids ran a very successful food drive. This picture is from day one:

And here is day three:

And now that little window display is quite full. It was fun to watch the school come together for a common cause. Great to watch the friendly competition develop between the fourth grade classes (who came in first and second). 

I’m loving this challenge of figuring out how to make a club compromised of about a third of the school function. This I can control. 

The rest...I suppose I’ll have to figure that out.