Change

Change is a funny thing. Sometimes I embrace it, push it, suggest it, crave it. Other times, I fight it with every fiber of my being. There is a joke about Episcopalians and change, and I always find it funny, because it is very true of me. Whether it has to do with my Episcopalian-ness, or just me, I like it. It goes like this:

"How many Episcopalians does it take to change a light bulb?"
"1, and then a committee to meet to talk about how much they liked the old one."

Today was a day filled with changes, and perhaps being 8 months pregnant has something to do with my placing a great deal of significance on today, or perhaps today really was significant. I had so many ups and downs today, you'd have thought I lived on a roller coaster. And let's just say, I don't think I handled any of these changes well.

I woke up this morning with a feeling of loss. My last summer as a woman with no children is officially over. Yes, I've been going in to work all month, but that was by choice. Today was required. And as I showered, I thought about all the things I didn't do this summer but could have, should have, and all the free time I will never ever ever have to myself again. Ever. And yes, I do know that I entered into this new change approximately 8 months ago, and did so by choice. That was not lost on me, and the guilt I felt as I continued to feel regretful didn't do anything to help me.

On the other hand, I'm 5 weeks away from welcoming the biggest, greatest, most significant change in my life to date. As I chatted with folks today about the upcoming due date, I found myself saying things I haven't said in a while. When asked, "How are you holding up?" I would answer things like, "Pretty well, actually," and "I'm really excited!" rather than "Hot, tired, sore, and cranky," which has been my unofficial mantra for about 4 months. The people around me are supporting me and are happy for me, and that has lifted me up and given me something to hold onto. The light at the end of the tunnel probably doesn't hurt, either.

I worked all day, and didn't get nearly as much done as I had hoped. And I'm exhausted. And nowhere near ready for anything I had wanted to be ready for. I was working well until lunchtime, when I went home to feed my dog. When I got back, I found out that the substitute I had arranged for last spring had come in while I was gone to inform my principal that she had taken another job and would not be covering my maternity leave. If you've ever tried to find a substitute for Spanish Immersion, you have some idea of how I felt. If not, I have a favorite metaphor that I use: I am now officially up Shit Creek without a paddle. Finding a bar in a dry county might be easier than finding someone to cover a maternity leave at Spanish Immersion who a) speaks good enough Spanish, b) can tolerate little kids, and c) is able to work that long without already being booked for several other jobs.

But then I put out a plea for help to my Facebook Universe: I can't move things in my classroom and more than about 10 minutes of physical activity either exhausts me or causes some part of me to swell uncontrollably. I need help. And help came. Quickly, generously, enthusiastically. And I may get to see some people I haven't seen in a very long time. I was amazed and overwhelmed by the kindness of the people who care about me and their willingness to work in my classroom during their own last days of summer break, even if I can't be there with them. I cried a little. That's par for the course for me lately, but still. It means a lot to have that kind of deep support.

As I was preparing to leave work for the day, I encountered a small personal crisis not related to school or pregnancy. So of course, I panicked, lost my marbles, shut my door, and sobbed. Then I problem solved, and sobbed a bit more after getting off the phone with some very rude individuals who acted like I was the reason for their mistakes. I'm not exaggerating. Other people really were to blame for this, and I had to deal with their problems, and they acted like it was my fault. After that, I left work. I put on my sunglasses (inside), held my head high, and marched out of school. I had to be done. My body was officially telling me I was past my limit.

When I got home, I showered, napped, and my husband and I went to a newborn care class. We have been attending childbirth classes, hospital tours, and doing research on several other things. It has been overwhelming. Lots of information, lots of surprises, lots of uncertainty. I tried not to dwell on how crazy I felt the day had gone. The car was quiet. Rob turned to me and said, "It's going to be OK. Our baby will arrive, someone will cover your class, we will be good parents, and we will figure out everything we need to figure out. You don't want to believe me right now, but it will happen." And I almost cried again. He is right. Of course.

The newborn care class was 2 full hours. But, I didn't find myself surprised, or blindsided, or worried. I'm sure that will all change when she's "on the outside," but from what we heard and saw tonight, not only will our child survive, we will too. Heck, we have a good chance at... dare I say... doing a really good job? And even maintain our sanity?

As scary and new as pregnancy has been for me, one thing I know is that I can do kids. Babies to toddlers to elementary, I actually have a good deal of knowledge and experience. Have I ever breast fed? No, but I have swaddled, shushed, rocked, and bathed a baby. I have communicated with a toddler. I have soothed a 4th grader. I have even provided a listening ear for a teenager or two. I won't be a perfect parent, there's no such thing. But at least I can go to bed tonight feeling like I have a leg up on the whole baby care thing. And when I wake up at 3am to pee for the millionth time, I can hold on to some hope for tomorrow, too, because my husband also has knowledge, experience, and courage. So together, something is bound to go right.

On Depression and Anxiety

It's not lost on me that I am yet another person who is using the death of a celebrity to air my opinions about mental health, moral values, or other soapbox topics. However, I was touched by the death of Robin Williams for a few reasons, and can't seem to stop thinking about it. There are things about Robin Williams to which I can relate, which pertain to my own life, and which speak to me.
Robin Williams was an Episcopalian, like I am. While I liked him before that, I always thought that was a cool connection. He had a great stand-up bit about being an Episcopalian that was so spot on, my family and I still quote it to this day.

Robin Williams was incredibly gifted, intelligent, and talented. Gifted individuals have the ability to be incredibly perceptive and reflective; so much so that it can cause a great deal of pain. I don't have specific citations or articles to share with you right now, but I do know that there is a high correlation between gifted folks and mental health issues.

By now, it has basically been said that Robin Williams was battling depression and his death was from suicide. Now, here is where I struggle a great deal with some of the responses I've seen to his death. I've come across articles, blog posts, and opinions which basically state that Robin Williams doesn't deserve to be mourned or respected because he committed suicide, and that doing so was his choice, and he was being selfish. I want to be very clear about something: I do not condone suicide or believe it is ever, ever the right option for anyone. However, I would like to raise 2 questions:

1. Does the way someone died determine whether or not their life deserves to be honored, or the loss of their life to be mourned?

2. Before you decide that suicide is truly a choice, do you understand what depression and anxiety really do to a person's brain?

The point of the first question is this: in the case of Robin Williams, whether or not you agree with how he died, that does not negate the brilliance of the entire 63 years during which he lived. He was a human being, a soul, a life. He happened to be a public figure. And he wasn't perfect. But here's how I think of it: when I die, however it happens, do I want the people who are still around to judge whether or not my entire life, and eventual death was "worth it?" If I have a heart attack, will people say, "Well, she really should have exercised more," or if I get cancer, will people say, "That's what happens when you put chemicals in your body. She should have eaten more organic foods." Is that what will dominate the whispers following my funeral? I want people to talk about my contributions, my personality, my family, my life. I don't need to be glorified, but I certainly don't need every aspect of my life to be criticized, either. And the same goes for anyone else. No one deserves to have their every decision, habit, or personality trait discussed and dissected posthumously for the sake of... of I don't even know. It's just disrespectful. They're gone. What point will we make by discussing their flaws?

Secondly, I will get onto my soap box for a bit. Depression and anxiety are issues close to my heart, with a particular emphasis on gifted people with these struggles. I happen to know several people battling depression or anxiety, or both, nearly all of them gifted. I am among those people, and have battled bouts of both throughout my teenage and adult years. Gifted or no, depression and anxiety present the brain with challenges against which even the strongest, smartest, most logical, or most determined person struggles. Some of us can hide it, some of us are not aware that it's happening to us, and everyone's struggles manifest themselves differently.

I think it helps to think of depression and anxiety as holding the brain hostage. When a person is depressed or anxious, our brains are flooded with chemicals which cause us to come up with thoughts that the rational, or polite, or smart, or socially appropriate parts of us would never consider. And sometimes those resulting thinking errors override our abilities to make healthy decisions.
All people with depression or anxiety are far from convinced that death is the "way out," or the only way to find peace. But some people are unable to stop their brain's process from spiraling, even with counseling, medication, or some combination of treatments. The chemicals flooding their brain are causing them to focus upon the pain and the despair.

At the point that someone contemplates, attempts, or completes a suicide, the decision was no longer really theirs - their brain was overtaken by forces stronger than their efforts to heal. Suicide hurts the people who are left behind. It's confusing for us. We tried to help them! They were getting help! Why couldn't they just wait it out? But please, before you accuse someone of being selfish for committing suicide, consider that the more powerful force at work for them is that of their love for those of us that care for them. The person most likely considers themselves a burden to those they care most about, therefore is made to believe that rather than finding peace for themselves, they are removing pain from those they love. Yes, it's backwards to those of us who aren't going through that. But for someone that deep in sadness, it makes some kind of sense.

The good news is that we can help the people we know are struggling. The harder news is that it won't be on our time. It can be exhausting caring for someone with depression or anxiety. It takes so much time, and so much patience. We begin to feel defeated ourselves, because we feel like despite all our efforts, this person is just not "getting better." But remember, it's not about the caregiver. If we are to be truly helpful, we have to let ourselves be vulnerable and patient as well. We can't take depression away from someone we love, no matter how strong we are or how much we want to. It is a process each person has to go through for themselves, on their own time, in their own way.

Patience is the best gift you can give to someone you love who is battling depression or anxiety. Reserve judgement. Let them come to you. Listen. Don't be bossy by claiming to know what they need to do. Just be. Pray for them, with them. And know that even if it's not expressed, they (we) are grateful.

What Summer Means for Teachers

Aaaahhh, Willamette Valley summer. That glorious time in our little slice of Oregon when the sun is out, the weather is pretty consistently nice, and we all turn red like lobsters trying to work on our "tans" because for the other 9-ish months, we are inside wearing sweaters or outside wearing a rain jacket. Because in Eugene, from about mid-September through June, you just never know when it's going to rain, but there is usually a pretty good chance that it will. Which is what makes our valley so green and beautiful (and allergy-ridden for several weeks, but that's another topic for another day). And why we all love spending time outdoors.

Summer for teachers has another, deeper meaning than just nice weather. It is a time to collect ourselves and gear up for another year. There is an image that I particularly like and identify with as a teacher, because it seems that no matter how much we master, no matter how organized we are, or at what stage we are in our career, this is how our year goes:


It's a funny image, but the thing is, it's true, and we all know that's how it's going to be. And we're OK with that. For approximately 6-8 hours per day, we are 100% focused upon doing right by 30+ kids who are not our own. We care for them, we laugh with them, we hurt with them, we try to motivate them, and we try to make each of them feel special, try to get to know them all. Oh, and on top of all that, we have some information and skills that they must learn after finishing their 9-ish months with us. We chose this path. Not only that, we choose to come back to it year after year.

Every year, someone or some entity, be it government or district or society or school team, comes up with another expectation to place upon students. Another goal for them to meet by the end of the year. Which means there are constantly more demands placed upon teachers. After all, kids can't teach themselves, and they need someone to guide them through the learning process, keep them focused, and support them as they learn and grow. And with all those demands, less and less time is left for play and exploration, regardless of how creative we become as teachers. Can learning be fun? Absolutely. But when you get down to the nitty-gritty, school is not just the teacher's job, but the kid's job as well. It's hard work for teacher and student, and the students are not just little sponges in a classroom, absorbing what comes out of their teachers' mouths. They have responsibility to the work too. And that wears upon their little brains and bodies, as it does on ours. So kids need a break.

But teachers need summers just as much as kids do. Teachers and students both need time to recharge, play, have Free Time - like, Real Free Time, with capital letters, which means there's not a 15 minute time limit with 3 choices of educationally themed activities, during which we still can't shake that guilty feeling that even though the both we and our students need it, there is some specific lesson we could be spending more time on instead. Free Time, to go swimming and eat junk food, visit friends, stay up late, take a nap whenever you want, break from the schedule, and truly relax. Kids need to do that, and so do teachers. We need time to remember why we show up in September with our own new school clothes and haircuts, and beautifully organized and planned curriculum, armed with new strategies for behavior management or reading interventions.

Free Time is necessary for teachers, because guess what we end up doing? Working. Yeah, I said it. Teacher friends, don't even try to deny it, because you know it's true. I am the first to embrace summer for all its glory: camping, lounging, recreating in all forms, spending time with family and friends. But what only a few people close to me know about me is this: more often than not, you will find me, on most days in the summer, devoting some amount of time to the following school year. And I know the same is true for most of my colleagues.

For example, this June, a team from school and I decided to spend the first 2 days after school was officially closed wrapping up some work we had started earlier in the year. School had literally just gotten out, and we were back together, planning and discussing and organizing. I was signed up for a training later that week, which I only ended up not attending because of a family emergency. But several of my colleagues did attend that training. I have gone into the school a few times this summer to pick up this curriculum book, or check that lesson plan that I had left, and every time, there has been at least one other teacher there, doing something similar. "Oh, I'm just popping in for _____, I'll be leaving in a minute or two," is the standard interaction. Half an hour later, we're both still there, caught up in some little thing that we'd rather just get done while we see it than to wait until the first week back. We always laugh, because we know that's just how it is.

We all have our ways of setting our limits. I, for example, do not enter the school building at all during the month of July. There are times in June after the year has wrapped up that I have left something at school and need to go back, or I'll think of something I need to check on. August is when I start thinking about the new year, so I'll go in just to jog my memory as to how I left the classroom the year before, and if I need to order anything, I make a note of it early August so that I start the year off with all my supplies. I often spend the second half of June recalling what could have been improved the previous year and jotting it down in a Google Doc so I remember it again when I return to planning. In August I do return to planning, spending several hours daily creating new documents, revising old ones, writing lesson plans, and getting as much ready at home as I can before I really have to go in to the building itself and do some physical work. But in July, I make myself stay home. I won't say I don't do a little bit of work in July, especially if you can count Pinning ideas on Pinterest as work...

My July rule has a purpose. The purpose of my July rule is to remind me that I have to do some self-care and create some balance. Yes, teaching is a passion of mine and it makes sense for me to devote lots of time to it, since it's also my livelihood and my career. I am rewarded for my planning often, and believe that the work I do over the summers improves my teaching. However, I also have family and friends, I love to run and be outdoors, and I like doing art projects. While I manage, for the most part, to stay connected to people in my life during the school year, the time I spend with them in the summers is precious to me. It is not just Facebook statuses or half-conversations or time that gets scheduled around my need to go home to finish working before the weekend is over. I have more time to slow down in the summer. I do things on my own time. I rest. The stress and the demands of the school year melt away, and eventually I start to hear that soft, familiar voice in my head. The one that says, "Hey, maybe today we look at our plans for the school year."

So I do, but wait until August. Slowly at first, and some days I only look for a few minutes, while others I spend hours poring over books and plans and ideas without realizing just how much time has elapsed. But there is something liberating about being able to do that on my own time. In August, I have 4 hours to work with the new teacher at our school in the middle of the day, 2 hours to allow my mind to wander as I look at creative new ideas for organizing my lessons or creating a seating chart, 5 minutes to read a teaching blog. In August, I can let my computer sit all day long without picking it up once with no regrets. I have the leisure to work as much or as little as I want, when I want to. I have time to be creative and thoughtful, without the pressure of finishing priority work that is vital to my survival the next day with students. August is concept time, and I love it. Some of my best ideas come to me in August.

Of course, there has never been a time where I get everything done before, or even during the school year, that I dream up in August. Some things are immediately eliminated as I realize they are just unrealistic in practice. Other things evolve and become more developed as the year progresses. Still others are forgotten until it's too late. Better luck next year.

One thing, however, is certain: No matter how beat down, discouraged, exhausted, frustrated, or jaded I become by June, something magical happens in those summer months, during which I both play and work. I once again become excited and ready for the next group of students. I think about all the hope we have for the coming year. I look forward to bonding with a new group and caring for each of them.

I know this happens for other teachers too, because we come back to work with smiles on our faces and a spring in our step. I hear music floating out from other classroom doorways in the hall, as my colleagues and I diligently work to set up our classrooms and organize our materials. We hug, we smile, and we bring one another treats in that first week back. And on the first day of school, we do show up in our pretty clothes and nice hair, and beautifully packed lunches, just like the kids. Because on some level, we're just as excited and nervous as they are.

I know several teachers who don't make New Year's Resolutions in January. It's all about September for us. That magical time when we have had just enough of a break to forget the weight of all the problems in the education system and all the stresses that make teaching more difficult than perhaps it needs to be. September is when we remember and look forward to what is most important: the day-to-day workings of our classrooms and students, and the hope we all harbor for a successful year.

That is what summer means for teachers. A time to relax, recharge, and the time to work on improving our craft for the sake of our students. For in caring for ourselves, we ultimately do what is best for our students, which is to ensure that we are ready for them as we embark upon a school year together. Isn't that also doing important work? A healthy, happy teacher is proven to be a more effective one, and if we don't take time to care for ourselves, how can we care for the students in our charge?

I always tell people, "Anyone who says teachers only work 9 months out of the year is seriously mistaken," because for teachers, the only thing that changes is the type of work we do and when we do it. Balance is important, and just because we're not physically in the classroom having student contact all day doesn't mean that we're doing nothing. We're never idle. Teaching is a career, but more than that, it's a calling. We do it because we love it, and because we believe we can make a difference in children's lives. How many people get to say that about their jobs? Teaching is so much more than a "job." And we wouldn't have it any other way.

So here's to summer, as another one begins to wrap up for teachers in Oregon. May we squeeze the last bits of relaxation out of this one, and begin the new year with a renewed hope and energy. Happy summer, and good luck, fellow teachers, as we all gear up for September and all it brings.