I walked into my classroom yesterday. I walked in at 8 o’clock on a Wednesday morning in the middle of April. It was empty. Classrooms aren’t supposed to be empty on random Wednesday mornings in April. But mine is and it won’t only be empty yesterday or today or tomorrow, it will be empty for the rest of this year. I’m not really sure how to feel about that.
When Governor Reynolds closed Iowa schools for the rest of the school year last week, I wasn’t surprised. I mean, it was something that had been a possibility for awhile. I don’t think it really shocked anyone, with the state of the world right now. Somehow though, preparing myself didn’t make it any easier. When my friends and family texted me later that day to check in, I didn’t even know what to say. I didn’t know how I was feeling. Mostly because, during this whole time, I’ve been trying hard not to feel anything about it at all. All the new online requirements, Google Hangout meetings, letters home, recorded weekly videos...I’ve been trying to just take it all in stride. Do what I’m supposed to do, do it right, and then set it aside. It might be harsh, but throughout the past month, I’ve been doing anything I can to not think about it at all. I thought if I didn’t think about it, didn’t let myself feel anything about it, that it would somehow get better. But I should know better by now. Avoidance never makes anything easier, and this is no different.
I walked into my empty classroom yesterday after weeks of sitting alone in my house, working from my couch, and trying to pretend that it didn’t even exist. But it does. I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be, how much it was going to hurt to say goodbye to the classroom without getting to say goodbye and have closure with the kids sitting in the seats. It’s surreal. When life was normal and the building was bursting with 10-14 year olds, I treasured the quiet moments to myself in that room amidst the chaos of a middle school. I would take my kids down to lunch or send them off to specials and just sit there, savoring the silence. On “normal” days, it seemed like all I wanted was a little peace and quiet. Now, I hate that silence. I spent four hours packing, no music, no conversation with my teammates, just me and the silence. After all those times, wishing I could have some quiet so that I could think, now I have the quiet and all I want is the noise, the chaos, the laughter. Schools just aren’t supposed to be empty on a random Wednesday in April.
I realize that those same kids will wander the halls next year. I will get to see them, hopefully a lot when they drop by to say hi between classes or before or after school. It’s not that. That’s what I've been trying to explain to people. Yes, the kids will be there next year. Yes, I’ll get to see them. But what’s hard to understand if you’re not a teacher, is that it’s never quite the same. We may all still be in the same building, but we will never all be together in our classroom ever again. This is something that all teachers have to come to terms with at the end of each year. But usually, we get time. We get the month of May, to do fun projects, go on cool field trips, and celebrate all of our hard work. We get to enjoy the relationships that we’ve worked so hard to create and strengthen for the past eight months. We get to reflect on our year. And in that last couple of days, even in the excitement and anticipation of the upcoming summer vacation, we get closure. That closure is what we will all be missing this year.
I know that there are a lot of bad things happening right now in our world. There’s a lot of sickness and pain and anxiety. With all of that, I’ve been struggling to let myself feel sad about not going back to school, because I keep telling myself that there are people that have it a lot worse. I keep telling myself that there are way worse things than not being able to go back to finish the year. That things are fine the way they are. That at least we still get to “see” most of our kids in online meetings and interact through Google Classroom. I keep telling myself not to be sad, not to be angry, not to be frustrated. I keep telling myself to suck it up. And I’m usually pretty good at that. Sucking it up, pushing it to the side, not thinking about it, and refusing to let myself feel anything at all. That’s what I’ve been doing for the past few weeks. But then I remember that this whole “don’t think about it, don’t feel it” thing hasn’t worked very well for me in the past. So maybe, this time, I should try something a little different.
Cue: Brene Brown. I’ve been listening to her “Unlocking Us” podcast. It’s been great, and I’ve learned a lot from her and the different guests she’s talked to. One in particular, David Kessler, spent an episode talking about grief. He wrote a book talking about the sixth stage of grief, which is finding meaning. It was really interesting to hear him talk, but there was one thing that has stuck with me since I heard it. He was talking about how as humans, we tend to compare our grief and our life experiences to others’ grief and life experiences. We are always telling ourselves that someone has had it worse, that our life or our grief isn’t as bad, and essentially shaming ourselves for feeling our emotions. Brene calls this comparative suffering, or minimizing your own experiences by comparing them to others’. I can totally relate to this, because I do it a lot with the emotions I feel, especially lately in the case of losing the face-to-face aspect of the rest of the school year. I thought that David Kessler had the perfect response to this phenomenon: “All of them are unique, but the worst grief is always yours.” This hit me like a ton of bricks. He’s talking specifically about grief, but I think that it can be related to a lot of emotions and experiences. You can’t compare your emotions, your pain, your experiences with others’ emotions, pain, and experiences because THEY AREN’T YOURS. They aren’t the same.
It may feel like I went off on a bit of a tangent. But I think Kessler’s views are totally applicable to this situation, not only for me, but for all of us. We are hurting. Our lives, our sense of normal, have been turned completely upside down. We may be missing out on things that we thought we would always have, the things that we previously took for granted. It could be seeing our families whenever we wanted, going out to eat, or saying goodbye to your students in person on the last day of school. For some, it's once in a lifetime things like walking across a stage to receive your diploma, going to prom, or sitting with a loved one in the hospital. You may be looking at your life now, and feeling sad or angry for everything that you’re missing. At the same time, you may also be feeling guilty for being sad or angry because you start thinking of all the people that “have it worse,” and then start beating yourself up for feeling how you feel. But you know what? Just because someone has it worse, doesn’t make your grief or sadness or anger any less. It doesn’t make what you’re feeling, feel any better. What makes it worse though? Beating yourself up for feeling how you feel.
I’m pretty good at the whole comparative suffering thing. I’m good at telling myself that my pain isn’t as important or as big as others’. I used to think I was being selfish or self-centered if I let myself feel things about events or experiences that I thought “shouldn’t be that big of a deal.” I thought I was being a better person, or stronger person, or more selfless person for putting my own emotions aside. But it sure hasn’t gotten me very far. So maybe I’ll try something different this time.
When I walk into my classroom next week, to finish packing up to move, maybe I’ll let myself feel sad. Feel angry. Feel cheated out of the cool things that we had planned and for the closure that I won’t be able to get. Instead of feeling guilty for feeling these things, I’m going to try and just sit in them. Let myself feel what I feel without feeling guilty. And next year, when I get a “normal,” in-person last day of school with my future sixth graders, I’m going to try and remember how I feel now and soak that time in even more, because I’ll know just how special it is.
Take a second to check in with yourself today .What has the pandemic taken away from you? From the people you love? How are you feeling about all of it? If those feelings are immediately followed with a sense of guilt, know that you’re not alone. But also try to remember that no matter how you’re feeling, it is valid and important and ok. Our lives will eventually turn back to their upright position again, but until then, try and give yourself a little grace.
