The Power of Transparency

If you’ve been following my blog or my Facebook page, you already know that I just returned from spending time in treatment for an eating disorder in Arizona. I’ve already told you some things about my experience including the beautiful sunrises and sunsets, my excessive rock throwing, the mindful walks, and my equine therapy accident and injury. Although I still have a lot more to share, I’ve tried my best so far to highlight the highs and lows of my time in the desert. However, for this post, I specifically want to share a glimpse into what I’ve learned the past few months from my point of view as a teacher.

My goal before I left and when I came home, was to be as authentic and honest as possible with my story. Before I left, it was more about being too utterly exhausted to lie or make up excuses anymore, and since I’ve been back, it’s been about striving to be my true, authentic self as much as possible. This has been a challenge for me as a middle school teacher. My kids, as I affectionately call my students, are still young enough that they need age appropriate answers, yet old enough to have pretty strong bullshit meters. They have this uncanny ability to pick up on any uncertainty or lack of truth coming from me. Yet, this is such a precarious and tricky age. I look at them and I see glimpses of the children that they are, innocent and naive in all the best ways. But more often, I see the adults that they are becoming, very quickly trading their innocence for maturity and adult knowledge. I had to figure out a way to be appropriately honest with them, and if I could use my situation as the opportunity for a learning experience, that would be a bonus.

Therefore, in the week before I left for Arizona, I sat my 6th grade students down and explained to the best of my ability, in the most age appropriate way that I knew how, that I was going to be absent from school for awhile. I told them that my first instinct was to keep the things that were going on with me a secret to them, so that I could protect them. I said that this was my instinct because I cared about them and I didn’t want them to worry about me. However, I always expected them to be honest with me, so I wanted to be honest with them as well. Earlier in the year, we had learned about positive self talk, showing kindness to others and yourself, and the dangers of wearing an “invisible mask." The invisible mask lesson was a hit. They learned that although there are times in your life that you need to wear a “mask,” like when you are having a bad day and need to focus on something and put the bad aside for awhile, it is unhealthy to consistently pretend to be ok when you're not. I didn’t realize how close to home this would hit for my students. I explained that I had been wearing an invisible mask for too long, and it had become unhealthy for me in my life. I told them that I wanted to be a good role model for them by showing them if your body or your brain isn’t healthy, it’s ok to ask for and receive help. In a world where mental health is so stigmatized, I wanted them to have a positive role model in their life to show them that if you’re not ok, it’s ok to admit it and to take care of yourself. I was nervous to have this conversation, yet I knew how I handled this situation would stick in many of their brains forever. I had always encouraged them to be honest and transparent with me, so it only made sense to model those same things back to them.

The outpouring of love and support I received from these amazing eleven and twelve year olds has been remarkable. They sent me off with signs and cards and presents, showered me with cards and letters the whole time I was away, and have welcomed me home with so much love that it has been overwhelming at times.

Through all of this, I have learned a lot about myself. I’ve reflected on a lot of the lessons I’ve learned just as a human being; however, I hadn’t thought much about how the past few months have transformed me as a teacher up until recently.

As a student, I was always drawn to the teachers that were their true selves as much as possible. I was one of those intuitive students, the ones that sometimes drive me crazy now because they read me so well. I could almost always tell if my teacher was being honest, if they were sugar-coating things, or if they were keeping something from us. The ones that have stuck in my mind were the ones that talked to me like I was a fellow human being, not lesser than them. The more I could learn about that teacher as a person, and not just as a teacher, the more likely I was to connect with them and build a foundation of trust with them.

As a teacher, I’ve always kept this in mind with my students. I regularly talk about my life outside of school. I tell the kids about my family, my friends, my interests, and my passions. I share a video at the beginning of the year of pictures of me when I was younger, me playing college basketball, my family, and cool vacations I’ve been on. I tell them about my weekend on Mondays and the funny stuff my dog, Rocky, did the night before. I brag about how cute my nephew is and hang pictures of the the people in my life on the wall above my desk. I talk sports with them and trash talk with my Hawkeye fans. When I give them writing assignments, I participate too and share my writing with them. I try to catch them all at the door in the morning to greet them and say goodbye to each one at the end of the day with a fist bump, high 5, or a hug. I’ve come to find out, the more I can be real and authentic, the more connections I’m able to build with them. However, I’ve always been hesitant to share about the tough stuff. Struggles and emotions especially.

This year, it has been made clear to me that yes, sharing about your family and your hobbies is good and all, but if you can be brave enough to put yourself out there and be honest about your struggles and emotions, THAT is where the real connections can be built. Sometimes, I think my coworkers think I’m crazy. And for once, that’s ok with me. Because the evidence I’ve seen of this deep kind of connection has proven to me that all the discomfort is worth it.

In October, I sat in front of my students, looked them in the eye, and very vulnerably admitted to them that my body and brain were not healthy and that I needed to listen to my doctors and get help. I told them that I was doing this for myself, and also for them, so that I could be a better teacher for them when I returned. This was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Yet, this, combined with all the community building that I had been working on since the start of the year, totally transformed my classroom and my relationships with my students. I let them see the real me, even though I was very much imperfect and feeling like a bad role model. But letting them see that side of me, gave them permission to come to me and admit when they are not ok.

When I returned in January, I sat down with them again. I was tempted to teach on, business as usual, and avoid all their lingering questions and pray that they would forget them eventually. However, as I reflected back on our conversation before I left, I realized that it was important to address the elephant in the room. Turns out, in having them write down their questions, there were multiple elephants in the room. Namely:

1. Where were you?

2. What did you do when you were gone?

3. How did you hurt your back?

4. Did you miss us?

The questions that I was terrified of them asking, never were asked. I had catastrophized this conversation in my head all for nothing. I decided to embrace these questions and use them as learning experiences. We looked up Arizona on the map, compared its location with Iowa’s and talked about the climate difference. We looked at pictures of cacti and mountains and compared them to Iowa’s vast corn and soybean fields. I made a list of things that I did when I was gone. I listed basic things such as “I learned to eat healthy” and “I learned positive coping skills for when I’m feeling stressed.” I also listed things that they thought were cool like, “I did a high ropes course and jumped off a telephone pole with a harness,” “I rode horses in the desert,” and “I threw a lot of rocks.”

One of their biggest concerns when I left was that I wouldn’t be home for my birthday and Thanksgiving, so I included what I did on each of those days including pictures of my birthday decorations and yummy cookie cake. I showed them a picture of sweet Rosetta, the horse that was involved in my accident, and also my back x-ray and what a compression fracture was. Most importantly, I talked about how much I missed them, yet how important it was that I left and took care of myself so that I could come back and be a better teacher for them. I told them that as cool as the high ropes and x-ray pictures were, and as delicious as my cookie cake looked, what I wanted them to remember most was that it’s ok to not be ok, and if you’re not, you need to reach out and ask for help. After that day, the questions disappeared and school life returned to normal.

Since I’ve been back to school, we’ve added a new routine to my class. After they write in their planners and we take attendance, everyone sits quietly with their eyes closed and takes three deep breaths. This past month, we’ve been slowly learning how these deep breaths, if taken seriously and done right, can reset our bodies and our brains and help us to feel less anxiety and to focus. I shared this idea with them when I shared my new word for 2019, STILL. They were expected to write down their goals for their One Words, and I in turn, shared mine. One of my goals was to quiet myself at least four times a day and take three deep breaths. I asked them to try it out with me one day, and on that day, all four classes volunteered to do the deep breaths with me every day. Bless their hearts, THEY wanted to help ME with my goal. Yes, there are some kids that roll their eyes or sit quietly and choose to not participate, but the large majority have started doing these deep breaths with me. They never cease to remind me if I happen to forget, and I’ve seen a big difference in focus and attention with these deep breaths. The coolest part has been having students come up to me and say that they are practicing these deep breaths in their lives, when they get frustrated or anxious.

"Strength doesn’t always look like having it all together, strength can sometimes look like admitting you’re not ok and being courageous enough to reach out for support."

Overall, through this experience, I’ve learned how powerful it is to be authentic and transparent with students. By being honest and showing them my struggles and imperfections, I’ve opened up a dialogue with them and built a relationship of trust and understanding that would not have been possible if I would have kept all of the events of the past few months a secret. Although It’s been uncomfortable at times to admit my faults and imperfections, I’ve been able to model how to deal with adversity in positive ways. I know that these kids will be faced with times in their life that they don’t feel ok, in fact, some are already struggling. However, my greatest hope is that when these times come, they remember that strength doesn’t always look like having it all together, strength can sometimes look like admitting you’re not ok and being courageous enough to reach out for support.