The winter has been hard, much harder than the fall. January was dark and long and cold. I wasn’t sure I would make it through.
But if this last year, living in these COVID times has taught me anything, it is that no matter how often I sink to the bottom or how long I stay there, I can trust my reflexes to push my way back up to the surface to breathe. I am grateful for that reflex.
So now it is February. And I feel...different. Maybe it’s just because we sit on the precipice of a vacation week, or that we are rounding the bend of trimester 2. Maybe it just the increased daylight. But I feel...better.
I’m almost afraid to say it out loud but a flame needs oxygen to grow so I will breathe into these words in hopes of growing this spark.
Infection rates are dropping, there are less teachers quarantined or sick, the vaccine is rolling out and we’ve had almost 100 days of practice with the new routines of this school year. While I refuse the “new normal” narrative, I do believe that our practice with this school year is building up our resilience and coping muscles.
I know for sure that by Thursday night I will be completely exhausted. I know for sure that there is a chance we will be “remote” on just hours notice. I know for sure that the “schedule” I have for my childcare can change in an instant.
I’ve become certain of the uncertainty.
I also know for sure that reaching out and connecting with colleagues is crucial to my mental health. I know for sure that rest is key. I know for sure that the kids I’m lucky enough to work with will be the best part of my day. I know that showing up is the best thing I can do, for me and for them.
And perhaps most importantly, I know that I can survive it all. Hard as all fuck as it may be.
In my darkest days, I flirted with the idea of leaving public education for good. Such bullshit exists in this system, I’m just not sure I can be a part of it anymore. But in the end- I want too much to be part of the solution to leave the problems behind. These issues that have festered under the surface for years are now front and center.
It’s becoming increasingly evident that the affects of this Pandemic on education is not a 180 day problem to solve. Educators will be dealing with shifting expectations for decades to come. We’ve only just begun...
And while in November that felt like an impossible task, in February that hope floats up and it suddenly it feels like a call to action. An invitation for truth telling. A promise of change.
Our education system will not go back to “normal” next school year. “Normal” will not exist. We will face a continued evolution.
And it won’t be because DESE or the Department of Ed or even Dr. Jill mandates it so.
The change will come because of the teachers, special educators, therapists, counselors, administrators and paraprofessionals in the classrooms, offices and hallways across this country will do what they need to do for the students in front of them.
We will be the change. We will be the voice.
Ya know how in March the air outside is still cold but if the sun is warm enough, you feel like you can catch some rays? You roll up your sleeves and pull up your pants legs and let that chapped, dry winter skin enjoy the warmth.
That’s a little bit what this feels like. This budding hope. So even if it’s fleeting, I will enjoy it while it lasts. Trusting the promise of longer, warmer, sunnier days ahead. Trusting that I will push myself up to the top and breathe again.
