Hard & Holy

I don’t even know where to begin, but I know I’m ready to begin. I just reread my post “In the Middle” it was written at the beginning of 2020 before we knew what we know now. Honestly I’m thankful for that Erin’s words because she may have not known, but she had a resolve for the year ahead and little did she know she was going to need and use it.

I talked a little about seasons and I’m still wading through my thoughts about that highly popularized word. What I know is we are all experiencing grief in some form or fashion and grief is NOT a season. We are continuously being developed. We are people that are being transformed each and every day if we so desire. There is no one singular season for that. We can not, I will not compartmentalize my life into perfect little boxes. It’s dangerous, too often we do that to survive, it’s a coping mechanism that often leads to needing to be unpacked later. I didn’t go from being a daughter to not being a daughter when I became a wife or mother. My children didn’t stop being my children when they were no longer babies or toddlers. But they much like me are being transformed right before my very eyes. Sometimes it’s hard to notice and other times it so loud I find myself closing my eyes wishing for those days when they were babies. So no life is not multiple seasons, but one event with lots of little moments for transformation. AND THIS YEAR WAS JUST THAT!

I want to lay down a stone HERE. I never want to forget about this year that WE ALL EXPERIENCED. But I want to share my story as a teacher in a global pandemic. First lesson I learned it’s important to have a clear definition of a word. Pandemic: a disease prevalent (widespread, rampant, occurring with rapid frequency) over a whole country or world. Now that we got that out of the way here we are March 12th 2020. I had just wrapped up an IEP where they had requested Home Hospital due to the unknown health risks. My senses were heightened, are any of my other students in danger? Ok what’s next? We decided Thursday night we might want to grab some things from Costco. I had seen others preparing on instagram and that’s when I was like this might be more serious. We made it in, got the essentials, plus some gloves and extra paper towels. We went to Target to get a plastic bin to store things in, grabbed some toilet paper and wipes. Shelves were already clearing out and the lines were pretty long. March 13th it’s Friday, we’re at school things feel ominous. There were whispers we might need to prepare paper packets if the district decides to shut down (first time hearing those words). Thankfully I had homework packets, I pulled them up and we made copies. Bell rang and we all vacated. I did a quick once through, checked the fridge for anything that might expire. We’re all good. Zoe had already been picked up, I ran to Roots to grab spray bottles for hand sanitizer and vitamins. Now we were all home safe. This moment feels so monumental and so insignificant at the same time.

By 5pm it was official the district had shut down the schools and informed parents they would monitor and update. We were to be expected to be shut down for two weeks. My most prevalent memory is laying in bed each night with the news on listening to all of the press briefings and the knot that would form in my stomach. We spent the weekend home processing, talking, watching movies, processing, worrying about what was next.

This is what came next…

Distance learning: uploading and linking assignments in power schools. Creating a website that we don’t use anymore. We thought it was going to be two weeks off including spring break and surely we would be back after spring break. We went into crisis management. Nurses describe the crash cart scene they experienced. The constant feeling of adrenaline and failing. This was the beginning of that journey. We would meet virtually on teams at first. Then we started to get wind of Zoom, but no contract so not an approved platform. I began building my power schools platform. And later we were informed we would be terminating that contract and moving to Canvas. I recorded lessons and started a flipgrid account so students could stay connected and I with them. Oh how I missed them and I can’t say how many tears were shed when I watched their videos.

We finally made it to June. We planned a drive thru pick up and drop off. It was the first time we saw students in months and we also were tasked with tearing down our rooms so that nothing was ruined when they came into sanitize. Hoping and planning we would be returning in August. By the end July I started building my canvas page since the trauma of not being prepared virtually left a lasting scar. By August the district announced the famous words virtual learning that would include synchronous and asynchronous learning. This marked our adventure into the digital frontier. It felt a lot like the Oregon Trail game I used to play back elementary school. Off we go into the unknown sitting bedrooms, kitchens, living rooms, cars across America. Learning from phones, laptops, tablets, computers. All while trying to make it easy to navigate and accessible for all. Oh and with servers and platforms crashing or being taken hostage.

I can not communicate the powerlessness and utter failure many of us have felt while simultaneously championing and cheering on our students. The hard part that I think many of us try to understand is that we’re attempting to do this for others all while at home with our own families and personal worries. This is the juxtaposition many people faced that it’s hard to communicate how complicated it felt. The tug and pull in so many different directions.

By October I was sitting in meetings discussing how we could safely and effectively bring some our most impacted populations back on campus. The thing is no one, not one person had a plan. We were building a plan as we were going. We were putting bandaids on something that was bleeding profusely. I remember this feeling when my mom died. I wanted the world to stop for one minute so I could catch my breath. The exhaustion from the emotions and adrenaline where taking its toll and I knew this wasn’t sustainable, but what could we do. I charged forward and learned how to teach in person and virtually. It’s not easy and again the two forces make modern day teaching feel unsuccessful. It’s incongruent to what teaching has always meant to so many of us. This is where you can find us grieving right now.

At this point I had to make a resolve. What was I going to do to take the next right step forward. And that’s when we decided to commit to honor the students I teach and do what was necessary to bring them back safely and protect the sanctity of our cohort (oh another million dollar word). Zoe and Grey were successful at Virtual Learning. We had a system down that set them up for success. That afforded me the time and space to focus on reaching all my students in the best way possible. It’s March 2021 and I’m starting to experience glimmers of feeling like a “teacher” again. No I never stopped teaching, but the overwhelming feeling of failing distracted from that feeling of seeing growth. But I’m in the midst of IEP season and I’m starting to see the fruits of my labor. And the year’s not over.

Our experience hasn’t been the norm and I know that. There are so many that have struggled and faced other set backs. Childcare was a huge issue for fellow teachers. There were health scares and death all around us. No one will be left unscathed by the past year. And yet time continues to march on.

Exactly a year later we prepare for hybrid learning. It’s too complicated to even explain and what I’ve come to learn is there’s only one way to go and it’s through it. No getting around it, just head up and walk. There will be set backs, successes and failures. My mantra for this year has been a quote by Maya Angelou: “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.” And I’d like to add a few more: “The question is not how to survive, but how to thrive with passion, compassion, humor and style.” & “If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.” Lastly: “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

This year challenged and grew so many things. It made me a better teacher. It made me rise up in a way that I always wanted to but didn’t have the courage to. I had the privilege of working with someone who reminded me so much of my mom and she ended up moving on which broke me a little. But it showed me that deep down I had this deep desire to be a pioneer and that I have a willingness to continue to grow. I’m grateful for every opportunity I get to heal from grieving my mom’s death. And this year showed me that we’re continually grieving something in this broken world and that if our hearts are soft we can continue to heal and be transformed. It’s not always comfortable and at times I still want to scream and hit the pause button. But instead I just keep showing up. Maybe it’s stubbornness or perseverance, maybe it’s commitment or it’s all of that rolled up together. What I do know is it forces me to face the hard and holy things in my life, like a pandemic.

A lot of us have been forced to grieve memories. Memories of the past, memories that won’t be made in the future or even the very images we scroll through. And some times we cling so tightly to those memories. It was common to lay a stone down in memory, we create headstones in graveyards so we have something to come back and lean on. But they shouldn’t weigh us down. I write all of these things so I don’t forget what we have experienced but also so it doesn’t occupy my brain space. I don’t have enough storage space for all that this past year has held. So I place some of it here to let go and move forward. We survived and we will continue to show up and face the hard and holy things. Hopefully not another pandemic in our life time. I’m ready to make some different kind of waves in history.