March 19, 2020
I went to work yesterday after only two days off in order to meet (remotely) with my team from our individual respective classrooms. The goal? Get ourselves situated and be ready to deliver online content (and comfort) to our students for the next two weeks as cautionary measures for COVID-19 continue to ramp up.
My class was my class, minus the life. My home away from home is exactly that because of the people--my students--with whom I share that space on a daily basis. Sitting in my classroom alone in these circumstances was a little eerie, to be honest. It was too quiet.
I am the kind of person often referred to as an ambivert. There are times when I need space and time alone. There are arenas where I am quiet, an observer. I can be quite content as a wallflower or a fly on the wall. As a shy kid in school, I perfected the art of being invisible when a social situation was overwhelming or daunting. However, in my space, in my element, I can be quite an extrovert. I believe in being demonstrative in my affection with those I care about. I am the kind of person who greets her friends with warm hugs or kisses, and who often greets her students with high fives at the door. In my element, I like to talk-a lot. Expressively, passionately, wanting to entertain, amuse, inform, and debate. Like many in my profession, I draw joy and energy from the daily interaction with my students--not just the delivery of content, but the connections I make with each of them personally as we grow through our year together. But I also draw strength and inspiration and joy from talking with and spending time with the other people in my building: the friends with whom I've shared incredible personal and professional triumphs and tragedies across many years. My colleagues-my friends-are the primary reason I still work on my campus after 29 years. I love these people.
Sitting in my room--my element--alone, made me acutely aware of a sense of loss, even if only temporarily. Teachers already know we miss our kids even after only three days. Yes, even THAT kid. But those of us who come alive in our classrooms also come alive in the presence of like-minded friends who work together to bring the best school environment for our kids. The 'work husband' next door who has been your partner in crime (and in laughter) for more than 20 years. The best friend downstairs you stop in to see most mornings to get your day started off on the right foot, no matter what's happening. The friend down the hall who calls to you in greeting each period when you are both standing outside the door welcoming the kids into the classroom. The secretaries who welcome you to the office each morning and share stories to brighten your day. The administrative leaders on campus who check in regularly to see how they can support you and your students in any way they can. The incredibly supportive group of girlfriends who make it a priority to meet together outside of school for happy hours, for baby showers, for weddings, for summer beach trips, for book clubs. The pranksters, the jokesters, the advocates, the intellectuals, the caregivers, and the practical, get-it-done folks. This is the environment in which I work. These are the friends who make my every day a joy, in addition to the kids with whom I spend my days. These aren't just colleagues, they are family.
And suddenly, that close, personal daily contact is gone. It's necessary, in light of the pandemic, and a very real way to do our part to slow the spread of the virus, but that doesn't make it any easier for those of us who draw strength from that connection. I am thankful we live in a time where we can still connect through virtual meetings and support each other in that way. I can still meet, from a safe social distance, with family, dear friends, colleagues, and students. We have to keep our distance but have already found creative and fun ways to reach out to one another. However, just like distance education is no substitute for the connections that we make in face-to-face interaction with our students, neither is an online meeting the same thing as a hug. It will have to suffice for now, but depending on how long this lasts, it may deplete the emotional energy of those who need that personal contact in order to recharge their batteries.
It's a strange new world we've suddenly found ourselves in, and that strangeness continues to morph and develop daily. There are people who are dealing with very real stressors as a result of this, such as the illness itself, loss of income, anxiety over an inability to obtain staples for the home, concern over potential 'shelter in place' orders. Loss of daily connection and disruption of normal access to support systems is also a very real concern as well. Check in on your friends, and not just via text. They want to see your faces, see your smiles, even virtually. Those people you normally think of as upbeat and positive may still be positive and may very well be still reaching out to help others in whatever capacity they can, but they may not have their normal means of replenishing their energy--and they may not want to show that need to others, so as not to further burden someone else. And when you run into them in real life--at the grocery store searching for milk or butter, or out in the neighborhood taking a walk because getting a little exercise will release some feel-good endorphins--and they reach out to hug you out of necessity and habit, don't harshly rebuke or chastise them. Gently remind them that you are practicing social distancing for everyone's health, but don't automatically assume that they are willfully flaunting recommendations. It's going to take awhile to redirect natural instincts that have, up until now, been positive ways to bolster their mental health and well-being.
As we navigate this new normal together, whether it be for two weeks, or two months, or six months, it's important to remember that everyone processes trauma and stress in different ways, and that our ways of coping might not be someone else's. It might not be the way our friends need to cope; it may not be the way our students cope. Our students are missing their friends, but they are also missing their teachers; we teachers are missing our students, but also our friends. And as many different ways as there are to cope, what we do have in common, all of us, is that we are all human, we are all connected, and we are all here to support each other in the best way we can.
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