This is What It's Like to be a Post-Covid Teacher

Do you want to know what it's like to be a teacher right now? This is what it's like, exactly what it's like.

I am in a battle, one I didn't create, but one I allowed myself to be conscripted for.  I showed up a long time ago, naive, idealistic, eager to serve and help.  This is not what I signed up for.  Because I was optimistic, because I believed it was the right thing to do, and because I wasn't paying close enough attention, I ended up here.

In this battle, I am expected to aim and shoot at an unseen enemy.  It's not hard to do because I am being shot at, and I don't know why. 

It's dark and cold and wet and foggy. I am constantly under threat.  I am tired, my eyes bleary with fatigue. My adrenal system is on high alert all the time.  I can't sleep, my eating patterns are off. . .stress is life.  I just keep dodging and shooting, day after day.  I am exhausted.

All around me are people like me. I see them now and then through the misty air.  We grab furtive conversation. With quiet cliches and sidelong glances, we try to support and encourage each other as best we can, having each other's back to the extent that it's possible.  Collectively, we do what we are told and what is expected, even when we disagree.

Even though it's a terrible way to live, nothing changes.  It gets worse everyday. There is no end in sight.  

And then, for a brief moment, for the first time in a long time, I look up, and I see a glimpse of sunlight and tree leaves and blue sky.  As I stare a little more, I see an edge. It's smooth and circular, and next to the opening, dim but not hidden is a rope ladder.  As my eyes follow it down from the edge in the sky, I see that the ladder extends to my/ our level.

Quietly, hoping to stay undetected, I sneak through the dark, navigating obstacles and thick foliage, until I see the rope ladder. 

It's right there. I can grab it. 

If I am brave enough, I can drop my weapons and start climbing out.  To climb will leave me exposed - I could get seriously wounded or destroyed by the unseen enemies.  Equally terrible, I will also be ridiculed and despised by those in charge.  My fellow warriors will be confused and angry that I gave up, quit, and deserted, leaving them to carry on and fight.  

I am torn. I feel a sense of loyalty and duty, but then, I look up and see the inviting canopy above me, causing inexplicable relief.

What if I climb up, and it's not what I expected?  What if it's worse? 

If I stay, though, I know I will be destroyed eventually.  Even if the battle ends, what will remain? And with any war, when one battle ends, another begins.  

I have to decide.

Even though there are no guarantees, do I choose sunshine, to feel heat, to see leaves and trees and blue skies, or do I stay with what I know - safe and uncomfortable in the unsafe, uncomfortable but predictable circumstances? 

Even if I am shot dead when I get to the top, what's the difference? Staying where I am is just prolonging the agony.  I will eventually die here too.  

If you're not really living, aren't you already dead?  

I have a hand on the ladder.  I feel the coarseness of the twine.  I run my palm along the smooth, wooden step.  Two swift movements - another hand and a foot on the step - and I am on my way.  

All I need to do is decide to move. 

When Dreams Must Die

 I haven't been able to take a bath in almost a year.  No, there is nothing wrong with me.  The problem was our water.  Our filtration system had been sputtering and finally gave up.  This left us the problem of stinky (that nasty sulfur fart smell), brownish (rust), hard (yes, the softener quit too) water.  There was no enticement to take a bath.  

A week ago, we had the entire system and softener replaced.  After a stressful week and a day of yard work, I decided it was time to take an inaugural dip in the tub.  

I expected a warm soak; what I got was a flood.

As the water ran, I gathered up the tools of relaxation: bubbles, phone with speaker, and incense. As the water ran, I lit the incense while the water foamed.  I found the Meditation station on Pandora and lowered myself into the tub.  

The first song to play was "Canon in D." For most people, this is recognizable as a processional at weddings.  As cliche as it maybe, I, too, had hoped that my daughter would enter the church to this song.  

Without going into detail (mostly because I'm not ready to talk about it), this has been a year of dashed dreams. I've had to learn that some dreams have to die, even if you don't want them to, and while grieving over them is natural and expected, it doesn't make it any less difficult.  The old dreams are supposed to be replaced by new, but I'm still in the grieving process.  

And so, I rolled to my side, allowed the dreams to tumble and dissipate, and started to cry. 

"Canon in D" was followed by "Expression" by Helen Jane Long and then by "Arwen's Vigil" by The Piano Guys, and then by "Life and Death " by Paul Cardell.  It was a tough set. 

The driving rhythms of *"Expression" reflect my desperate pursuit of "normal." Just keep moving, ride the emotions, but keep moving. "Arwen's Vigil" is the tender underside of the emotions - that which has never seen the light of day. No one knows and will never know.  These are mine alone - vulnerable, secret, and thick with pain. Originally, "Life and Death" first debuted on the popular TV series, Lost. Indeed, the song fit the show - so much loss.  What once was is never to be again.  The gravity of that reality is sometimes more than one can bear.  There is a tenderness in the melody, as memories are bittersweet. There is a reminder of the past joy mingled with present grief.  

My tears mingled with the water all around me.  Each song, all of it. So true. So pure. So real.  So hard. 

So where does it end? I don't know. It's not done yet, and I don't see an end game in the distance.  

I know that at some point, there will be an end. 

It is said that water symbolizes purification. Baptism is a cleansing, a rebirth. That said, in my mind's eye, I am sitting on a rock on one side of a quiet stream. The day is warm, there is a breeze. I am alone but comfortable. I am not afraid.  

Across the stream, He is there.  He approaches the edge.  There is only feet between us.  He smiles first then extends His hand.  My smile reflects His. I feel inexpressible joy as I stand and reach my hand to His. 

No, I'm not dying.  But there are parts of me that are.  I know that it will be over when I'm ready to let it go. When I finally surrender my fears, sadness, regret, guilt, disappointment, embarrassment, anger, and control, it will be over, and more importantly, it will begin.  

*I included the links to the songs in case you wanted to hear them too. 

Social Media Reject

“Americans put in 25% more hours [at work]than Europeans, take fewer vacation days and are retiring later,” states Dan Buettner in The Blue Zones of Happiness. That’s because “we get to keep a greater % of wages in comparison to Europeans who are heavily taxed.”

For example, the Danes are taxed anywhere from 42% (starting) to 68% for top earners. Thus, Danes are encouraged “to choose jobs that give them a greater chance of experiencing flow. With taxes claiming a big portion of their wages and ambition being frowned upon in their culture, there’s no personal advantage for them to seek higher paychecks or impressive titles.”

Ok, but we live and work in America. We aren’t going to tilt the culture on its side anytime soon, so what do we do to increase satisfaction and happiness in the workplace? Here are Buettner’s guidelines to workplace happiness:

1. Make a best friend at work. Have at least one meaningful relationship that transcends work and becomes a true friendship.

2. Seek a job that fits you (engages your natural talents, values and passions). Follow your heart vs. the paycheck. Work with people you like. Work in a place that gives you constant, meaningful feedback.

3. Consider your work hours. Take a vacation every year. Take up to six weeks to maximize work happiness.

4. Avoid long commutes - no more than 30 minutes.

5. Set goals (quarterly and annual; personal and work). Write them down. Monitor and track. Get an accountability partner.

In my world, sixty percent is passing. Anything below that is failure. That said, I am at 60%, barely passing. Of course, this is just one person's viewpoint, but this dude has done a lot of world research on this topic.

So, that leaves me to ponder. . .

I used to like teaching. In fact, I loved teaching. I used to pour my very heart and soul into it, working long hours because yes, I felt as though I had to, but also because I enjoyed the work (minus the grading). Teaching used to be fun. In addition to the curriculum work we did in class, there was also playfulness. I feel as though we laughed more; I laughed more. We had less meetings, more spontaneity, more creativity and latitude in coursework/assessment, and I felt honored, respected, and appreciated.

In the 29 years I have been at this (and yes, I realize I give that time marker quite often; it's mostly to remind ME of how much of my life has been spent in one endeavor), so much has changed. There is still fun in the classroom; it just looks way different. We still laugh, but kids are SO sensitive and anxiety-ridden that it can be very fun-sucking and certainly causes anxiety for me as a teacher (Did I say something offensive? When I touched the person's shoulder, do I need to worry? Will they sue me?). Other than that, it's all different. There is NO fun AT ALL with the staff. People don't participate in the fun stuff - they don't show up for celebrations, they don't want to hang out, they don't want to foster friendships. We are just silos that operate independently in a our rooms and go home. Likewise, there is no appreciation or respect for the staff. Sure, there is lip-service (we appreciate YOU; now, take this donut), but true appreciation and respect is measurable each day, not just special days on the calendar. The non-stop meetings, directives, deadlines. . .ridiculous decisions that are made FOR teachers without teacher input? All of those tell the true story of how teachers are regarded.

In considering all that, one should not be surprised to hear me say that teaching is no fun anymore, and I really don't like it anymore. That said, do the kids deserve better? I don't think the kids are suffering at all. They still get the best of me. Does the district deserve better? They already have/had the best of me, and they didn't/don't appreciate it. I have been their dish rag long enough - they have wrung every drop out of me. It's time for me to find a new sink - one of MY choosing.

I need to keep writing stuff like this to fortify me in my resolve. The more I remind myself, the less likely I am to drop back and retreat.

Heart Plans

 "A person's heart plans the way, but the Lord determines His steps." Proverbs 16:9

If you read the commentary on this verse, the usual interpretations are what I would consider somewhat negative.  You can decide in your head what you want to have happen, but if it doesn't align with what God wants, it ain't happenin.' This is true. However, it neglects to point out that God wants the best for us.  Likewise, He gave us free will and a mind, which He definitely wants us to use.  

That said, this morning when I read it, I saw something different - something encouraging.  Your heart has a desire and knows what it wants, but God is in charge of how you get there and how long it takes. Of course, our desires have to align with God, His purpose, His plans and His glory.  But, He also celebrates our uniqueness.  He is the Creator, inspiration of creativity, and He enjoys seeing us flex our creative muscles, imagining what we want. He knows our deepest desires - the secret aches that no human knows because we have never said anything to anyone about them. I believe these are the "heart plans" in the verse.  When those heart plans align with His Will, I can almost hear the click of the ignitor as a fire within is lit.  

This is particularly encouraging to me.  I have some definite heart desires, many of which I do not vocalize.  If I speak them, I subject myself to ridicule, or even worse, the possibility that those desires will never be realized.  After all, if I don't talk about it, then I don't have to worry about being humiliated if they never happen.  But I also have no accountability for them.  

God knows, though.  He does hold me accountable for them.  He places opportunities in my path, and it is up to me to take those opportunities.  It is up to me to be brave and take a step toward those desires. Sadly, there are many times when I am not paying attention, or I have allowed myself to get distracted by things that don't matter.  Or, I allow the voice of the enemy to drown out the still, small whisper.  God believes in me, especially when I don't believe in myself.  He sends others to deliver that message and encourage me to move.  This is how He determines my steps.  

The fun part is that His steps are almost always a surprise.  Not a surprise, as in SURPRISE! But they are surprise in the fact that He works the plan in unexpected and unorthodox ways.  There have been many times when I have sat back in wonder, a smile on my face, as I have considered the creative, truly perfect way in which He has set the situation up for complete success.  Can I give you an example right now?  Of course not.  That's how it usually goes.  However, I can tell you that it has happened, and that's what makes me continue to believe that He will honor my heart desires in HIS time and in HIS own way.  

As a person, made in His image, I believe He not only instilled within me, the ability to create marvelous, extravagant dreams and goals.  I also believe He waits with anticipation to see what I want.  It's like a mother seeing her daughter dance on a stage for the first time, a father watching his son open the Christmas present he so desperately wanted.  He wants to give us only good things.  He wants to see us smile. He wants to enjoy His creation, enjoying creation.  For this is what brings glory to the Creator. 

"A person's heart plans the way, but the Lord determines His steps." Proverbs 16:9

Who am I? I'm serious. How do I discover my identity?

So here is a new problem.

I don't know what I like. 

Sounds stupid, doesn't it? Who doesn't know what s/he likes? 

Whenever someone asks me, "Where I would like to eat?" I always say, "I don't care. Wherever you want to go is fine."  Whenever someone asks me, "What would you like to eat?" I always say, "I don't care.  I'm flexible." Whenever someone says, "Where do you want to go? What do you want to do?" I always say, "It doesn't matter to me.  What do you want to do?" 

It's like that for food, vacations, activities, dates, careers, etc.  

I suppose I do have preferences.  For example, my favorite snack is popcorn.  I enjoy playing in the garden.  I love to ride motorcycle.  I love beaches, books, and thrift stores.  

However, if someone were to ask me, I will always be evasive. I will always defer to their preferences.  Always.  And truly, it's not a point of angst.  I am happy to adjust to their desires and preferences.  If I am vehemently opposed, I will say something.  Yet, my priority is your happiness.  I don't want you to be sad, upset, or angry.  Most of the time I feel as though I will head all those off at the pass if we just do whatever you want to do.  

Why am I like this?  Well, let me give you an example. 

On Sunday, my parents, brother, sister-in-law, their kids, us and our kids all agreed to meet at Mom and Dad's lake place for lunch.  We hadn't seen each other for a while, so I initiated the conversation, and over the course of the week, my sister-in-law and I put together a menu.  No big deal.  

From where we were staying, the trip would take an hour.  Naturally, we got off to a bit of a slower start.  Not late, but we would make it just in time to slide in at noon. 

As we were making our way down the interstate, I could feel my anxiety rise.  The closer the clock ticked to noon, the more panicky I got.  I could hear my dad's voice in my head, "Well, it's noon and nobody's here. I'm leaving.  I'm just going to go home."  And he has done it before too - just left - because he was pissy about something.  

And that's the way it's always been with him.  I learned from a very young age not to "poke the bear."  Just do whatever needs to be done and said to keep him from exploding and losing his shit.  Thus, when I first started dating my husband, and he would ask me what I wanted to eat/where I wanted to eat, my standard response was, "I don't care."  This was very aggravating to him, but since neither of us knew any better, he would just choose. 

Through Divine irony, we have a daughter who is pretty much like my dad.  And with her, I have taught myself to be as accommodating as possible so as to avoid "poking the bear."  

But the events of March 28 have abruptly interrupted that process.  Since that time I have been learning a ton about co-dependency, and how I am a perfect, textbook example of a co-dependent.  

Ok, fine.  Now I know.  Now, I want to change/do something about it.  The problem is that I don't know how and where to start.  

I have no idea who I am, what I prefer, and what I want the rest of my life to look like.  

For 51 years, I have been a compilation of everyone else's choices.  It's not their fault, and I'm not blaming them.  I created this monster myself.  The question is what to do about it.  How does one go about figuring out who she is?  

Any suggestions on this question would be greatly appreciated. 

Gasping to Live

 My last post was March 24, 2021.  

I quit breathing on March 28, 2021. 

Your first thought after reading that sentence is probably incorrect. Let me explain. 

As we know, one can only hold his/her breath for so long until one of two things have to happen: You take a breath or you die. 

It's amazing how humans can have a will to live even when they don't have a will to live.  In other words, your entire physiology is programmed to live at all costs.  The autonomic mind and body work sybiotically work to survive even when the thinking mind is ready to give up.  

That's basically what it's been like from March 28 to now.  My mind and body have been on autopilot to survive; the rest of me has been numb. Mentally, I have tried hard to stand in one place.  To venture out of the safe space would mean stepping off a cliff into something I just can't deal with.  

What happened?  

Well, here is the kick in the pants.  I can't tell you.  It's not my story to tell.  And for the last 51 years of my life, it has never been my story to tell.  The antagonists have changed over time, but the story is the same, more or less.  

As usual, someone else's shit has splattered all over me, and while I have choices as to how to deal with it, I don't have choices as well.  

It's complicated.

Suffice it to say, I can function, as needed, on a daily basis. I can smile, charm, care, encourage, complete my job with proficiency, and for all practical purposes, carry on like my life is stable, predictable, and enjoyable.  

But it's not.  

This week, in particular, has been rough.  I have been itchy within my own skin (literally and figuratively).  I am agitated, irritated, angry, just generally out of sorts, and I don't know what has caused it.

I know that I have not been accountable.  I have set the same weekly goal for myself for a month to six weeks, and have not followed through on it.  Every time that I planned to do it, there was always an interruption.  And I don't have an accountability partner, so the only one who can make me do anything is myself.  

That's another thing:  As usual, I am annoyed by the fact that those "in the know" have not been checking in on me.  I mean, seriously.  This is a big deal, and seriously, how many times have I been there for you??

But again, I'm reminded of my newly-discovered status.  I am co-dependent.  Like unbelievably co-dependent.  The discovery of which has rocked my world.  Finally, I have an explanation for my mindset and actions.  I do for others, get mad when they aren't grateful, and get sour when they don't reciprocate, even though I would rather crawl into a hole to have them even try.  

It's complicated.  

Co-dependency has swallowed up the last 51 years of my life.  It was a pattern I learned as a kid - a response to the MENTAL ILLNESS who absorbed most of the time and energy of my family.  "Don't poke the bear" has been my unspoken mantra all my life.  Just do whatever needs to be done.  Just smoothen the way for the irrational unpredictability of the MENTAL ILLNESS to avoid the shit splatter.  But guess what?  In spite of best efforts, the shit splatter always happened anyway.  Go figure.  

So now, here I am, at age 51, trying to figure out who the eff I am, what the eff I want, and how to un-learn all these self-destructive, self-centered, self-absorbed thoughts and actions to find the life that God wants me to have.  

This is extremely difficult.  

For the entire depth and breadth of my life, I have deferred to everyone else, always.  What do I want to do?  Whatever you want to do.  What do I want to eat?  Whatever you want to eat.  I have no preference. Where do I want to go?  Wherever you want to go.

I don't have a clue what I actually like, prefer, or want.  No idea.  I don't even know where to start.  It's very overwhelming.  

Maybe that's why I am so out of sorts this week.

Actually, I think it's partially because I see other people thriving.  Like moving ahead in life and going after their dreams, while I sit and spin, trying to figure out what my actual dreams are.  Good for them, but it effing sucks for me.  I feel kind of like one of those chocolate Easter bunnies.  It looks good on the outside, but once you break off a piece, you realize that it's hollow inside.  That's me.  The hollow Easter bunny.  I don't know who I am.  

I suppose I should be somewhat grateful for the events of March 28, and I guess there is a part of me that is.  Without it, who knows when I would have learned all this about myself?  So now, I am in the process of taking short, hiccupy breaths. It's like gasping on the re-surface after being under water for too long.  That first breath isn't a big one, but it's enough for the moment, but hey, it's still a breath.  It's an outward sign that I might be willing to go on.  

I don't know what comes next.  I do know that I have to do something.  Just one effing thing.  Once I do one thing, it will make it easier to do the next thing. . .and the next. . .and the next.  

Breath in.  Breath out.  Breath in.  Breath out.  

What's in your. . .past?

My daughter has severe anxiety.  The diagnosis is hers. The word, severe, is mine.  Due to a compilation of life events, she is pretty fragile. I know that's almost cliche to say these days, but for her, it's true.  It doesn't take much for her to crumble - a cross look, a sharp word, the fear of the unknown. It's all enough to shut her down completely.  Such was the case when she went to the doctor yesterday.

As is par for the course, she ended up having to wait to see her doctor.  For most of us, we don't love the waiting part, but we are usually ok to sit with our own thoughts.  In today's busy world, we don't get much time to just sit and think.  

For my daughter, the wait time is lethal.  Her mind goes into overdrive, and she works herself into a complete tizzy.  I can't say for certain what is all passing through her mind, but I just know that she is a basket of nerves when she has to wait for anything.  

As a result, as soon as she got into the examination room and her doc asked, "How are you?"  She went into meltdown mode, sobbing and spilling.  Fortunately, she has a nice, patient doctor, who was soothing, caring, and consoling.  

I know all this because my daughter shared the minutiae of her appointment with me - ok, well, at least, the details that I was allowed to hear.  When she was finished relaying the details, I asked if she had shared a significant occurence from last year - it was a defining event, something that I would classify as a need-to-know for the doc.

"No," she responded.  "I think there are just certain things that people don't need to know about." 

I didn't give that comment much thought at the time, but now, I'm stewing on it.  

I think it's safe to say that we ALL have "certain things that people don't need to know about."  These are our hidden shames, our don't-speak-aloud moments, our dark blemishes that we work very hard to keep pressed down, covered, and buried.  To us, these are the unforgiveables - the choices, events, and actions that would result in a relationship breaking point.  Our fear is that when exposed, those around us who claim to love and support us, will stare open-mouthed and appalled, shake their heads, turn away, saying, "Nope, I just can't.  That's over the line." 

Of course, that's not true.  But the truth is that we can't forgive ourselves.  Somewhere along the line, we have violated our own definition of good and acceptable behavior as well as the standard we set for ourselves. As a result, we torture ourselves, in isolation - we keep it as a private, masochistic reminder of how unworthy we are. 

Although I knew this already, it's like I just realized that everyone walks around with these secrets.

Everyone.

There are no exceptions to this.  Every person I know, every person I meet, every person I see has a secret shame. We all suffer in silence, but 

It doesn't have to be that way. 

The fact that we are all fallible beings with hurts, guilt, and regrets should allow us to ease up on the meanness we feel toward ourselves, and it certainly should invalidate any meanness that people show each other.  

The people with the deepest hurt and shame are the meannest.  Their pain is so great, so heavy and overwhelming that they want others to hurt as well.  The load is too much to bear, so they spill the load and their out-of-control, caged-animal emotions on those around them.  

But why.  I mean, seriously, why? 

If we are all in the same boat, why don't we cling to each other instead of throw each other over the side? Why do we hide? Why do we throw a tarp over ourselves? 

Given what I have seen in my 50 years, I can't think of time when someone has walked away from another who has revealed a deep, shameful hurt.  In fact, I have seen quite the opposite - people rushing in to comfort, offer aid, and reaffirm.  

And yet, we still resist confessing the truth and persist in keeping our secrets. . .secret.  

Nothing will be solved in this post.  I can't change human nature.  The only person I can change and control is myself.  Thus, there are two takeaways for me today.  First, I have a different perspective of others.  Not huge or anything, but a perspective of understanding that we ALL carry something.  Thus, gentleness and kindness are better choices than criticism or negativity.  Second, I, too, have repressed secrets - things that I don't want anyone to know, but maybe it's time that I unearth them.  My story may inspire someone else to tell his or her story, and together, we begin the process of healing.