Resilience is something I've been thinking about a great deal this week. Between my struggles to bounce back from the turmoil in my school and talking with a colleague about a very different, but no less traumatic, event that hit her school this week, the topic has never been far from my mind. What makes a person, or a staff, or a community resilient? Are certain people just more resilient than others? Or do some of us just have resilience thrust upon us?
I truly do not know if I or my staff are inherently resilient, or if we are resilient because we have been given no other choice. Maybe we are all just really caring and awesome and skilled individuals (I'm not going to completely discount that possibility). But maybe we are just the product of circumstance. We continue to encounter new and varied sh*tstorms as the year progresses, and since you can't just cancel the remainder of a school year, we keep showing up as we would if everything was fine.
Whatever the reason, it is quite apparent that my staff is pretty damn resilient, and despite everything, despite the name of my school being dragged through the mud repeatedly, I think I've never been prouder to work there than I am right now. I have watched so many amazing teachers, staff members and administrators put their personal struggles aside and continue to care for kids and do their jobs in a time of crisis, and it has helped me as I search for the strength to do the same. Whatever it takes to keep going, we are doing it, and each day seems to get a little easier. (Disclaimer: not everyone on my staff is inspiring, there are some real garbage humans in my building right now but those exceptional individuals are few and far between).
And then there are my kids. Oh my God those wonderful little humans give me life. Try to still feel despair after you hear a group of kids sing. A group of kids who love each other and love you and put aside their differences and all of their adolescent nonsense to work together to make something beautiful. Within these unstable cocktails of hormones and emotion and inability to process long-term consequences is a tremendous capacity for compassion and love. And they are helping me heal.
Most of the time they don't even know they are doing it. They just sing. Or they do something nice for each other. Or they say something ridiculous that makes me laugh. They show up when they are supposed to and they work harder than many adults I know and they just care. And they know I care about them and we all care about each other and it is just so unbelievably magical. I am at a loss for a better word to describe it.
And I still get looks that are a mixture of pity and worry for my mental health when I tell new people I teach middle school. Oh if you only knew! If you had any idea of what they are capable of and what I get to do for a living.
Those of you who have experienced this know exactly what I'm talking about. It is the absolute BEST. Those of you who have never felt that, I hope that you do someday. I needed a reminder of why I should keep coming to work beyond just a rote response of not knowing what else to do. And I'll be damned if my kids didn't deliver one, right on cue. A three hour coffee and catch-up session with a former student that reminded me of the huge impact I have had and still have in her life. Some truly beautiful and fun rehearsals with my choirs and my musical cast. Slowly getting to know my new sixth graders as people. Excitedly preparing my All State Choir kids for our trip in a couple of weeks. Sitting around listening to stories and telling jokes with the eighth graders that eat lunch in my room. So many little reminders of why I love what I do and why what I do matters.
Colleagues in my building, right in the middle of the storm: keep your heads up and keep doing what you're doing. It is so, so important.
Fellow teachers in other buildings: you may be in crisis, or you may just be feeling the cumulative effects of your students' trauma, or the waking nightmare that is our country right now, but don't stay discouraged for long. Spend some time with your kids. Get back in touch with them and why you entered this profession in the first place. What you're doing is so, so important.
I was in a pretty dark place a week ago, and many of you reached out to me and I thank you for the encouragement and support. Resilience is more readily achieved when you know you're not alone and that others have your back. Many people read my previous post (it is by far the most read post on my blog so far), and I certainly hope all of you who read the last one were able to read this more hopeful follow-up.
So be resilient. Not because there's literally no other choice, definitely not because it's the easy choice, but because it matters. We matter. And we have to keep being there for our kids because guess what? If we don't then no one else is going to. So keep embracing the struggle.
I truly do not know if I or my staff are inherently resilient, or if we are resilient because we have been given no other choice. Maybe we are all just really caring and awesome and skilled individuals (I'm not going to completely discount that possibility). But maybe we are just the product of circumstance. We continue to encounter new and varied sh*tstorms as the year progresses, and since you can't just cancel the remainder of a school year, we keep showing up as we would if everything was fine.
Whatever the reason, it is quite apparent that my staff is pretty damn resilient, and despite everything, despite the name of my school being dragged through the mud repeatedly, I think I've never been prouder to work there than I am right now. I have watched so many amazing teachers, staff members and administrators put their personal struggles aside and continue to care for kids and do their jobs in a time of crisis, and it has helped me as I search for the strength to do the same. Whatever it takes to keep going, we are doing it, and each day seems to get a little easier. (Disclaimer: not everyone on my staff is inspiring, there are some real garbage humans in my building right now but those exceptional individuals are few and far between).
And then there are my kids. Oh my God those wonderful little humans give me life. Try to still feel despair after you hear a group of kids sing. A group of kids who love each other and love you and put aside their differences and all of their adolescent nonsense to work together to make something beautiful. Within these unstable cocktails of hormones and emotion and inability to process long-term consequences is a tremendous capacity for compassion and love. And they are helping me heal.
Most of the time they don't even know they are doing it. They just sing. Or they do something nice for each other. Or they say something ridiculous that makes me laugh. They show up when they are supposed to and they work harder than many adults I know and they just care. And they know I care about them and we all care about each other and it is just so unbelievably magical. I am at a loss for a better word to describe it.
And I still get looks that are a mixture of pity and worry for my mental health when I tell new people I teach middle school. Oh if you only knew! If you had any idea of what they are capable of and what I get to do for a living.
Those of you who have experienced this know exactly what I'm talking about. It is the absolute BEST. Those of you who have never felt that, I hope that you do someday. I needed a reminder of why I should keep coming to work beyond just a rote response of not knowing what else to do. And I'll be damned if my kids didn't deliver one, right on cue. A three hour coffee and catch-up session with a former student that reminded me of the huge impact I have had and still have in her life. Some truly beautiful and fun rehearsals with my choirs and my musical cast. Slowly getting to know my new sixth graders as people. Excitedly preparing my All State Choir kids for our trip in a couple of weeks. Sitting around listening to stories and telling jokes with the eighth graders that eat lunch in my room. So many little reminders of why I love what I do and why what I do matters.
Colleagues in my building, right in the middle of the storm: keep your heads up and keep doing what you're doing. It is so, so important.
Fellow teachers in other buildings: you may be in crisis, or you may just be feeling the cumulative effects of your students' trauma, or the waking nightmare that is our country right now, but don't stay discouraged for long. Spend some time with your kids. Get back in touch with them and why you entered this profession in the first place. What you're doing is so, so important.
I was in a pretty dark place a week ago, and many of you reached out to me and I thank you for the encouragement and support. Resilience is more readily achieved when you know you're not alone and that others have your back. Many people read my previous post (it is by far the most read post on my blog so far), and I certainly hope all of you who read the last one were able to read this more hopeful follow-up.
So be resilient. Not because there's literally no other choice, definitely not because it's the easy choice, but because it matters. We matter. And we have to keep being there for our kids because guess what? If we don't then no one else is going to. So keep embracing the struggle.
Yours in solidarity and a true love of teaching and kids,
Phil
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