I’ve known I was going to write this particular blog post for a while. I just didn't know exactly how I was going to write it. I actually still don’t if I’m being perfectly honest. You see, it’s a bit tricky. To be honest and authentic and encompass all my feelings, while also being professional and appropriate and respectful. It’s a fine line that I’m going to try and walk. As Michael Scott says, “Sometimes I start a sentence and I don’t even know where it’s going. I just hope I find it along the way.” That’s how I feel about this post. So, here it goes.
As you all know by now, I’m a teacher. This is my 8th year, which is surreal to even write. It seems like I’ve been teaching forever, yet at the same time, it feels like just yesterday that I was nervously standing in front of my first group of kids (who are now seniors, which is also surreal!) It might feel like just yesterday that I was a brand new teacher, because this year, I feel like a first year teacher more often than not. I have never felt so overwhelmed, so unprepared, and so anxious at work. Even as a brand new teacher, although I felt those things, I was surrounded by people who were competent, confident and helpful. This year, although I’m surrounded by the most amazing team of educators that I have ever been before, everyone is in the same boat. Everyone is tired and overwhelmed and feels unprepared.
Let me tell you this right now: The teachers are not okay.
All over the country, including in our little town in Iowa, teachers are being asked to do the impossible. They are being asked to deliver instruction in ways that they never have before. They are being asked to do exponentially more work with less time. They are being asked to put their lives and the lives of their families in possible danger. They are being asked to totally revamp their units and materials and delivery of instruction. Essentially, they are being asked to build (and rebuild, and rebuild, and rebuild) the airplane as they are flying it. And it’s not going particularly well.
I want to make it very clear, like I said before, I work with an amazing team. People who are willing to give up their early mornings and evenings and weekends to the kids that they teach, oftentimes at the expense of their own families and mental health. And that right there is the problem. You have teachers here in Greene County, and all over the country, that would run through a brick wall for the students that they teach, day in and day out. That’s not the issue. The issue is that that’s exactly what they are being asked to do.
I can speak for my own experience and for some of the people that I teach with. I also follow many, many educators on Twitter from all over the country. We are all saying the same thing: What we are doing right now is not sustainable. Whether you are teaching in-person, hybrid, remotely, or a mix of the three, there is not enough of us to go around. I wish I had a dollar for every time each day I look at those sweet faces sitting in my classroom and on my computer screen and say something to the effect of, “I’m so sorry you guys. I wish there were more of me. Thank you so much for being patient. I’m trying my best.”
I pride myself on being a good teacher. From creating engaging lessons, having hard, productive conversations, and giving timely feedback, to always making myself available for kids who may need me. As a perfectionist, I may take all of this a little too seriously. But I’m proud of the work that I’ve done in my 8 years and the relationships I’ve made with my current and former students. It’s important for me to do my best and be the best teacher that I can for my kids.
In saying all of that, this year...has been devastating. I’m working twice as hard, putting in at least twice the amount of hours each week than I have in previous years, putting in 6-7 hours on the weekends, staying at school until late and then going home and working more. Yet, even with all of this extra work, I still feel like I’m failing. I feel like I’m failing my in-person kids, I feel like I’m failing my remote kids, I feel like I’m failing my team. I feel like a failure. I’m working at least double the hours, and still coming up short. Something’s gotta give. And I’m afraid of what that something may be, not only for me, but for my coworkers and the other teachers in this same boat.
The thing about teachers is that we are going to give our all for our kids and our team. That, in general, is just how teachers are. We are in it for the kids and the relationships, or we wouldn’t be teaching at all. But when you put people like this in a situation where you keep asking more and more of them without giving them the time to do it, it’s a recipe for disaster. It results in health issues and poor mental health and, burn out, at the very least.
COVID-19 has changed all of our lives. Most of our jobs look a little different as a result of the pandemic and the precautions we are taking to keep each other safe. Teaching is no exception. In general, it seems as though everyone is struggling in one way or another. Months into the pandemic with no end in sight, we are all tired. We are all overwhelmed. We are all anxious. We are all looking for a light at the end of the tunnel that just doesn’t seem to be there yet. So I’m in no way minimizing any other profession or anyone else’s reality. Because I know it’s hard all over right now. But all I can do is talk about what I know on this blog and what I know is that you all better be checking in on the teachers in your life because I guarantee you that they aren’t okay.
At least once a day, my coworkers and I look at each other and say something to the effect of, “When is this going to end?” I think that’s the hardest part. That we don’t really know. Maybe things will get better in the spring, but maybe they won’t. Maybe this will be the only year that we have to deal with this pandemic, but maybe it isn’t. It’s so hard to keep fighting and pushing through when no one really knows when it will get better, or even what things getting better even looks like.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my job. I love my team. I love my kids. And I will do whatever I have to do to show up as the best “me” for all of them each day. But, to show up as the best version of myself each day, I’m having to run on pure adrenaline right now. Essentially, I’m using this giant adrenaline rush to function with less sleep, less downtime, and less rest for my brain in order to perform at the level that my perfectionistic self expects to perform at on a daily basis. Which, so far, has worked well. Or, as well as it can work anyway.
However, to be perfectly honest, I’m really scared. Adrenaline doesn’t last forever and I’m not really sure what that looks like for me when it runs out. I know myself, and I already struggle with anxiety, depression, OCD, and an eating disorder. That’s no secret at this point. But, even when things are “normal” around me and I look “ok,” I often times do not feel very ok. Now, that things are not really ok or normal for anyone, anywhere, my normal level 7 anxiety is off the charts. So in saying that, when the adrenaline that I’m using to over-function right now eventually runs out, I know that my anxiety is going to keep going up. I also know that the struggles that I keep sweeping under the rug right now because I don’t feel like I have the energy or the time to face them, will eventually rear their ugly heads and I will not only be completely overwhelmed and exhausted in my work life, but I will be just as overwhelmed and exhausted in the area of my mental health. If any of you can relate, you know that being overly tired and overly overwhelmed on top of pre-existing mental health issues is a recipe for disaster. So, in summary, yes, I’m functioning right now. The people around me I think would agree, and maybe would even say that I was doing “well," at least as well as any teacher can be doing. But that facade of doing “well” is just that, a facade. And it’s quickly running out.
Here’s the thing though. I could go on and on about the awesome things happening at our school. I could detail the amazing work I’ve seen my fellow teachers doing. The magic they are making out of seemingly nothing. I could tell you all sorts of stories of kids being excited to be back at school with their teachers and their friends. I could tell you about all the interesting things that the kids are learning and the lessons that teachers have learned how to teach to students both in-person and online at the same time. I could go on and on about all the awesome things, because those things absolutely do exist. But behind each one of those amazing things, is a teacher staying hours after school or coming in ridiculously early. Teachers who leave their families on the weekend to spend hours at school preparing for the week and teachers who go home to see their kids, get them fed and to bed, and then sit down with a couple hours of work in the evening before they finally fall into bed themselves. Amazing things are happening for our students. But unfortunately, this year more than any other, those amazing things are coming at a devastating cost to teachers.
The teachers in your life may tell you that things are going ok. That everything is fine. That they are surviving. That’s the thing about us. We feel like we are expected to be positive at any cost, so that it doesn’t look like we don’t like our job or our students or appreciate our district. But I want to challenge that today. We have been conditioned to say that everything is fine and to act like everything is fine and to be “positive.” However, there are times where life just plain sucks and things are really hard. This is one of those times. Saying so doesn’t make a teacher negative or doesn’t mean that they hate their job or their students or their district. It just means that things are really hard and overwhelming and exhausting right now and it’s ok to say so.
So for the last time, check in on your teacher friends. Although we will certainly be okay again someday, for now, we are most definitely not. And that, my friends, is ok.