I'm not good at this whole self-care thing. Honestly, I'm probably the last person who should be talking about it. But this morning something happened, so instead of doing what I planned to do today, I'm writing this. Today I made time to do a 30 minute yoga practice before heading to work. This in itself is a big deal -I took time for myself. During that practice, the instructor suggested using a pillow or blanket “if you’d like to make this even more restorative,” and I took her suggestion, wrapping my arms around a blanket, sinking into a deep child’s pose. Then I burst into tears. It was immediate, primal, unabashed. And it was accompanied by the thought: What the hell??? Why was the invitation to restore myself -an invitation from a stranger on a video- causing such a visceral response? I continued the practice, and at each new invitation to let go or love myself, new tears fell to my mat. Clearly, some processing was in order. The best -and only- explanation I came up with was this: for some reason, I needed permission to let go. I needed permission to take the time to restore, to take care of myself. Why do we as teachers struggle to give ourselves permission to take care of ourselves? By extending that simple invitation, this yoga instructor gave me the opportunity and the permission to do something I didn’t realize I so desperately needed. So I’m extending the same invitation to you. As you start the school year, know two things:
I don’t know what goes in your blank. Today I thought I needed to do yoga, but apparently what I really needed was to just grab a blanket, curl up and cry. Perhaps you need to exercise. Or have a chat with another teacher who gets it; one who won’t crap on your ideas or tell you how to fix things, but one who listens and supports. Maybe you need to meditate, eat a fancy piece of chocolate, go to Target (by yourself!), or take time for a date night (alone or with someone special). To me, what goes in the blank is less important that giving yourself permission to fill the blank. I’m not giving you permission to ‘take’ time; the time is yours to begin with. You GIVE it away all day, every day. You have permission to KEEP your own time. Teaching is exhausting. It’s exciting and wonderful and challenging and frustrating and beautiful. And exhausting. As teachers, we naturally give our heart, our energy, and our spirit to others. You can’t expect to GIVE all day without needing to recharge, to restore. You need to keep some time so you are able to give your time to others.
I’m not saying for a second that that's easy. As I said, I’m the last person who should be writing about taking care of yourself. (Notice how many times above I said I 'took' time for myself today?) For the past decade as a teacher, my work-life balance has basically been non-existent: My partner lamented that my students were more important to me than he was, my family commented that despite me living in the same town as them they never saw me, and the idea of being social was a non-starter. (Processing the guilt I feel for not giving enough to my students, my partner, my family, let alone myself is a whole other conversation…) But today I was reminded of just how important taking -no- KEEPING time for myself is. It’s important that sometimes “all you need to do right now is release and relax and enjoy these few moments in peace and calm.” Cause when we do, we're able to be more present for those around us. To you and to your restoration throughout the school year: keep your time and fill in your blank. Resources: The quotes above are from Erin Sampson of Five Parks Yoga in this yoga practice. Yes, it’s called Yoga for PMS (no jokes), but really it should be called Yoga for Letting Go of All the S*^t. It's a good one. Check out Joy Drops from Kim Stroebel. Quick pick-me ups in your email inbox. For a reminder that you don’t have to be perfect ALL THE TIME, please read this teacher self-care article from Cult of Pedagogy.
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Teaching is an oddly isolating profession. And I know how weird that sounds. As a high school teacher, 125+ kids passed through my door daily, plus the 30-50 students who joined me for after school practices and rehearsals. How could someone surrounded by students all day -surrounded to the point that some days I didn’t have enough alone time to go to the bathroom- feel isolated?
Yet I did. The feeling was part biology, part geography. I love teaching teens, love seeing how their minds stretch and expand throughout the year, am inspired by their energy and ingenuity. But they are unique organisms unto themselves. Not quite child, not yet adult but beings about to emerge. To be surrounded by teens is to be an adult on an island of quixotic hormones. Strange and wonderful and challenging and always interesting, but still isolating. As the theatre teacher, my classroom was usually tucked away on the far side of the building by the theatre. A hermit by nature, this geographic distance further isolated me. Days could pass without interaction with another adult human, just the crickets chirping. (Yes, literal crickets.) Honestly, a large part of my isolation was a result of my natural inclination to duck out of events and instead -in the name of self-preservation- tuck myself into my classroom to grade, prep, plan, and coach. I didn’t have to be isolated; I was one English teacher in a department of 15 in a school of over 100 teachers. I had collaboration time and PLC time, I shared resources, planned units with colleagues. Still, isolation. If I felt that isolated while completely surrounded, what about those teachers who are the sole teacher teaching a grade or subject? Those teachers everywhere in rural North Dakota -and elsewhere- who do it all and do it all alone? How isolating is that? Reducing teacher isolation is a key focus in the PBS Teacher Community Program and one of the reasons I chose to leave a classroom I love to try to help serve the teachers of North Dakota. In North Dakota, we provide Multi-Tiered Systems of Support for students, but we also need Multi-Teacher Support Systems for educators. The work teachers do in the classroom is paramount and deserves time, attention, and resources. Those efforts are greatly enhanced and strengthened when teachers feel supported, connected, and inspired. Despite my hermit nature, I’ve spent the past seven months seeking, pushing, and developing collaborative partnerships. What was painful and scary has become one of the greatest learning experiences of my teaching career. Not surprisingly, I’m better at my job because of the input and ideas of other amazing people. Collaborating with Regional Education Associations, teachers, government officials, university professors, and others dedicated to supporting educators in North Dakota has stretched me and made for better experiences for area teachers. And made me regret to the extent to which I isolated myself. Through events like Edcamp ND and the Prairie Public Teacher Summit, I hope to foster connections and collaborations for isolated teachers in every corner of North Dakota and help them keep the joy and passion for teaching alive. |
Darcy BakkegardPrairie Public Broadcasting |