This past week, we took all eighty-some of our 6th graders to learn how to ski. This is the second year in a row that I have done so as a teacher, although, it’s been a long standing tradition for our school on and off dating back to when I was in middle school. Although we have a lot of fun once we finally get there, the weeks leading up to the ski trip are always full of worry and anxiety. Once the students get the permission slip in their hands and read the warning that “Serious injury or death can occur” it usually takes some time to reassure them that it will be a fun trip and that we haven’t lost anyone yet. All jokes aside, it is quite the process though to get all the signed paperwork needed, students equipped with winter gear that may not have any, and when the day comes, to get everyone on the bus. After all of that, the learning to ski part is generally the easy part and our ski trips always end up being one of my favorite days of the year.
Last year when we took the kids, I was still recovering from my broken back and was unable to ski. I remember watching the kids and some of my coworkers learn, and equal parts wishing I could try and being relieved that I had a good excuse to not have to try it out. Admittedly, I felt a lot more comfortable being the cheerleader, encouraging kids to keep trying and (literally) picking them up when they fell.
You see, my only memories of the ski trip as a middle schooler were worrying about hurting myself and having to sit out of basketball, not being able to master how to stop without throwing myself to the ground, and staying on the bunny hill long after my friends moved to the big hills. Looking back, there were not many positive skiing memories to be honest. So even though I could put on a positive face for my students, strapping on skis was at the bottom of my list of things that I really wanted to do.
I have a reputation of being pretty accident prone, and my coworkers often tease me about it. For instance, I did break my foot during a school color run a couple years ago, and they’ve never let me live it down. So again, signing my life away and willingly putting myself in a position where it’s easy for even a non-accident prone person to get hurt, let alone someone like me, I decided that it was best to opt out.
That was the story I was telling everyone anyway. Last year, I truly could not have participated because of my back. That was the honest truth. This year though, was a different story. Although I still have some lingering issues with my back, I had no specific exercise restrictions this time around. Going into the trip this year, I told people that I probably couldn’t ski for all the reasons above. My back, my accident proneness. I thought those were good, honest excuses for why I would sit it out.
In reflecting on it though, I realized that those were not the true reasons why. The biggest reason why I didn’t want to learn to ski in front of all my students and friends? I was afraid to fail. As I came to that conclusion on the inside, I was still full of excuses on the outside. I told my coworkers ahead of time that I probably wouldn’t ski. I told my students that because of lingering issues with my back that I probably wouldn’t ski. No one argued with me. However, in the weeks leading up to the trip, I started to feel really guilty.
As a perfectionist, I have always struggled with trying new things. For me, if I wasn’t sure that I was going to be good at it, or if I hadn’t had a chance to practice doing that thing on my own without any other eyes watching, I usually would find a way out of it. In my mind, if I couldn’t be good at something, then I didn’t want to do it. If I had to put myself out there and risk embarrassment, I would not do it. If there was a chance I would fail in front of other people, I would not do it. Before, I used to just chalk this attitude up to perfectionism and my competitive nature. However, in the past year or so, I’ve realized that it is more than that. It was my inability to be vulnerable.
When people think of vulnerability, most people think about sharing private things. However, there’s a lot more to it than that. It started to become clear to me that I was unable to be vulnerable at all, even in circumstances or situations that would be “safe.” I was sharing with my therapist that I struggle to read to my nephews or students in funny voices because I was embarrassed. Even if it was just me and the kids in the room. I shared that I struggled to be goofy in front of my close friends and family. Even in treatment the first time around, when everything is supposed to be safe, I was refusing to participate in activities that I had never done before like high ropes and self defense. This fear of vulnerability came into play at work and not being able to speak up in meetings, and in a lot of other places in my professional and personal life. Going off to treatment the second time, the last few words my therapist said to me were, “You have to find a way to let yourself be vulnerable.” This past summer, that was my mission.
I was really proud of the progress I made this summer. I spoke in groups, I participated in self defense training (I LOVED it!), I tried more of the high ropes courses and let people in. I tried new things, I pushed myself to be vulnerable, and a lot of really good things happened. However, it was harder than I thought to translate that newfound ability to be vulnerable to my “everyday” life here at home.
When we arrived at the ski place, I was still pretty sure that I wasn’t going to ski. It was too risky, both literally and figuratively. However, as the day wore on and I watched every one of my students figure it out, something stirred within me. The grit and resilience that the kids showed that day totally blew me away. There were kids that fell and fell and fell, yet over and over again, they picked themselves up (or I picked them up) and they tried again. There were some kids that wanted to quit, yet continued to push themselves and ended up being successful. By lunch time, I made the decision that I was going to give it a try. It couldn’t be that hard, right?
As I walked out of the lodge with my ski boots on and skis in hand, I felt that familiar anxiety rising up inside me. All the little voices in my head started yelling at me, “What if you fall? What if you’re a really bad skier? What if everyone thinks you’re dumb? What if your students make fun of you? What if people laugh at you? What if you get hurt? Maybe you shouldn’t do this…” All the way over to the bunny hill and on the tow rope up the hill, my brain and my anxiety tried to talk me out of it.
There I stood at the top of the bunny hill. I had a couple kids cheering me on and encouraging me as I looked down at the bottom of the hill, which all of a sudden seemed like a long way down. I turned my skis down the hill, started to pick up speed and BAM. Yep. I totally wiped out. Skis up in the air, snow in my mouth, I sat there on the hill and groaned. See! You suck at this! Just give up! The voices in my brain started up again, I knew it! I knew I was going to fail! Seeing that I wasn’t very far from the top (and then getting even more disappointed that I had hardly made it 15 feet down the hill before sprawling out) I ungracefully unhooked my skis and walked back to the top. Again, I started down the hill. As I got about a quarter of the way down, I thought to myself, Hey, you’re actually doing it! That is, until I biffed it again, hard. This one really hurt, both my pride and my hip. I lay on my stomach and pounded the snow with my fist. Just give up!! You can’t do this! My negative thoughts started swirling again until they were interrupted with, “C’mon Ms. Bardole! You can do it!” After spending all morning picking them up and encouraging them, my students were returning the favor.
When I finally made it to the bottom, I really wanted to quit. I wanted to cut my losses, hope not very many people saw my falls, and call it a day. I considered making up an excuse like an injury, or needing to go talk to someone. But as I looked into the faces of my students, it hit me. We were expecting them to be vulnerable. We were expecting them to try, and fail, and pick themselves up and try again. I realized that they didn’t need a role model who was great at skiing, they needed a role model that was going to get up, brush themselves off, and show grit in learning something new.
I went up and down that bunny hill around 8 times that day. I encouraged kids who wanted to quit to keep going with me, because, hey, “You can’t be worse than me!” I had a lot of fun with the kids who for whatever reasons, were sticking around the bunny hill. No, I didn’t ski the whole afternoon. No, I never passed the bunny hill test and I sure as heck never made it to the “big hills.” Yet, at the end of the day, I felt like I had accomplished something big. I allowed myself to be vulnerable, I allowed myself to be in a situation where I was not good at something, and I kept trying even when it felt hard and uncomfortable. It was not about skiing anymore, it was about seeing how much I had grown in allowing myself to be vulnerable and being an authentic role model for my students.
When we were loading the bus, one of my students came up to me. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have given up. But you encouraged me to keep trying and I had a lot of fun.” That comment, was enough to feel like everything that day was worth it. I was absolutely exhausted. My not-as-young-as-it-once-was body felt like I had been hit by a bus. Yet, I had conquered a few fears and inspired a few students to do so with me. For most, the ski trip was a really fun field trip. For me, it was a lot bigger. It was proof of the baby steps I’m taking in the direction of the vulnerable, authentic person that I’m aspiring to be.
Comments