I was chatting with some friends on the couch this evening about my job. One of the other ladies, CRM, teaches at a private school in Rwanda. While it boasts to be the "best school in the country", she definitely has some interesting challenges. What was surprising was that CRM was sure it was much harder to teach at my school than hers. Her friend also teaches in Washington, DC and when they compared, DC was definitely harder. I wasn't convinced.
CRM explained that she did not have to handle such things as parents being incarcerated or shootings in the neighborhood she teaches in. Not only that, she found it even more astonishing that her friend had become accustomed to such events and barely reacted when it happened. "She called me and was telling me that another one of her kids' parent was put in jail for something or other..." While CRM was upset that such things were happening to the children, she found it more astonishing that her friend didn't seem to think twice about it. She imagined that it must be extremely hard to teach in a place where this is something that becomes normal - it must take a toll on you.
I began to think about my own reactions to events in my students' lives. As I thought more about it, I became a bit more upset with myself. I am not surprised, or even necessarily moved, when a kid tells me they don't have food in the house. It used to upset me immensely. While it does upset me, instead of getting mad about it I feel moved to just do something about it. I'll take kids out to eat or bring them food if they haven't eaten. When I hear a kid has a parent who is strung out on drugs, I shrug and think "bummer." I don't spend significant time dwelling on it or thinking about what they have to go home to. Why not? Why don't I think about what many of my students face when they go home? Does that make me heartless?
No. At least, I don't think so. If I spent all my time being upset about my kids not eating, being beaten, taking care of a drunk/high parent, being responsible for their siblings, etc. I wouldn't be able to do my job. I'd be a total train wreck, being upset about all these things I either can't control, or I can only do a little bit to help. It's not as if I ignore all of these events. I definitely acknowledge that they are occurring and I do whatever I can to help make it less painful for the child. But if I got extremely emotional every single time I wouldn't be able to help any of the kids. So does that make me jaded? I don't think so, but I do think my senses have been dulled a bit by over exposure to certain things. It's similar to a chef's hands - they can handle much hotter objects than I can because of repeated exposure to hot pots, pans, etc. I can handle tough news relatively well compared to those outside of my profession because of repeated exposure to such incidences.
Every so often I get wildly upset. I'll cry and freak out about certain outrageous situations. Usually when it's the first time something happens. The first time rape came up, I had a breakdown. The first time a student's parent was put in jail, I struggled to find the right words. The first time a student's parent died, I was a complete mess. The first time a student got pregnant, I was outrageously angry. By the second time, I was upset, but relatively in control. By the third time I was mildly upset but mostly kept on going how I had been. While it's disturbing to admit that my reaction lessens, I remember how I react the first time and I am slightly comforted. I make sure to never forget my initial reactions to certain events.
After I have a particularly trying day, I write about how I felt or reacted to things I may have experienced or learned. When I have dulled reactions to major events in my students' lives, I re-read pieces I've written in the heat of my anger to remind myself that I am human - that I do get wildly upset about injustices in life - that I am not sense-less. It is important to remind myself that these are not the norm - that these things should never be considered the norm - and that it is not fair that my children have accepted such events as death, jail, and pregnancy during middle/high school as normal. While I may have dulled senses when it comes to hearing devastating news, I have the same passion about fighting these inequities that I did when I first heard or learned about them. After all, they are the reason that I do what I do.
Here's an example of a piece I wrote earlier this year:
A Heart Glued Together, With Love
Today, my heart broke for the children. Broke for the children who have survived the pain and devastation their parents have put them through. Broke for the children who feel a pain I hope to never know. Broke for the children who feel a hunger that I have never felt. Broke for the children who long for love that is never satisfied. Broke for the children who were born into a world that was harsh, cruel, and unfair to them.
CRM explained that she did not have to handle such things as parents being incarcerated or shootings in the neighborhood she teaches in. Not only that, she found it even more astonishing that her friend had become accustomed to such events and barely reacted when it happened. "She called me and was telling me that another one of her kids' parent was put in jail for something or other..." While CRM was upset that such things were happening to the children, she found it more astonishing that her friend didn't seem to think twice about it. She imagined that it must be extremely hard to teach in a place where this is something that becomes normal - it must take a toll on you.
I began to think about my own reactions to events in my students' lives. As I thought more about it, I became a bit more upset with myself. I am not surprised, or even necessarily moved, when a kid tells me they don't have food in the house. It used to upset me immensely. While it does upset me, instead of getting mad about it I feel moved to just do something about it. I'll take kids out to eat or bring them food if they haven't eaten. When I hear a kid has a parent who is strung out on drugs, I shrug and think "bummer." I don't spend significant time dwelling on it or thinking about what they have to go home to. Why not? Why don't I think about what many of my students face when they go home? Does that make me heartless?
No. At least, I don't think so. If I spent all my time being upset about my kids not eating, being beaten, taking care of a drunk/high parent, being responsible for their siblings, etc. I wouldn't be able to do my job. I'd be a total train wreck, being upset about all these things I either can't control, or I can only do a little bit to help. It's not as if I ignore all of these events. I definitely acknowledge that they are occurring and I do whatever I can to help make it less painful for the child. But if I got extremely emotional every single time I wouldn't be able to help any of the kids. So does that make me jaded? I don't think so, but I do think my senses have been dulled a bit by over exposure to certain things. It's similar to a chef's hands - they can handle much hotter objects than I can because of repeated exposure to hot pots, pans, etc. I can handle tough news relatively well compared to those outside of my profession because of repeated exposure to such incidences.
Every so often I get wildly upset. I'll cry and freak out about certain outrageous situations. Usually when it's the first time something happens. The first time rape came up, I had a breakdown. The first time a student's parent was put in jail, I struggled to find the right words. The first time a student's parent died, I was a complete mess. The first time a student got pregnant, I was outrageously angry. By the second time, I was upset, but relatively in control. By the third time I was mildly upset but mostly kept on going how I had been. While it's disturbing to admit that my reaction lessens, I remember how I react the first time and I am slightly comforted. I make sure to never forget my initial reactions to certain events.
After I have a particularly trying day, I write about how I felt or reacted to things I may have experienced or learned. When I have dulled reactions to major events in my students' lives, I re-read pieces I've written in the heat of my anger to remind myself that I am human - that I do get wildly upset about injustices in life - that I am not sense-less. It is important to remind myself that these are not the norm - that these things should never be considered the norm - and that it is not fair that my children have accepted such events as death, jail, and pregnancy during middle/high school as normal. While I may have dulled senses when it comes to hearing devastating news, I have the same passion about fighting these inequities that I did when I first heard or learned about them. After all, they are the reason that I do what I do.
Here's an example of a piece I wrote earlier this year:
A Heart Glued Together, With Love
Today, my heart broke for the children. Broke for the children who have survived the pain and devastation their parents have put them through. Broke for the children who feel a pain I hope to never know. Broke for the children who feel a hunger that I have never felt. Broke for the children who long for love that is never satisfied. Broke for the children who were born into a world that was harsh, cruel, and unfair to them.
My heart cracked as I heard “one bedroom apartment” and “4 pregnant girls” in the same sentence. A piece broke free and smashed onto the wood floor when the word “rape” didn’t make a single person flinch. Another shrapnel fell to the floor, bouncing along the ground to “no food in the house”. “He hates his father for leaving him” made the dangling piece break free and roll down my belly, resting on my lap. I picked up the piece of my heart and held it out to him, as a tear streamed down his face. “He could come back…” wasn’t the glue I needed to weave my heartstring back on; it wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t true enough.
My soul began to shake, missing the heart to feed it. An earthquake was rumbling, getting ready to break and shatter the rest of my heart to bits. “WHY WEREN’T YOU THERE? I NEEDED YOU!” Was the explosion that made my heart leave my body, bleeding all over the linoleum tiles. My soul fell to its knees, while my eyes looked empty into his. He was the survivor. He had the heart to carry on.
She walked in and looked at me. “Ms. Walker, can you take me to the bathroom?” I walked her down the hallway, leaving pieces of my heart behind to find our way back. My brain was gasping for air, “How is she going to care for a child? Who will be with her when she goes into labor? Who’s going to explain what’s happening?” With each question, a piece fell and clinked on the floor. My soul followed behind, trying to pick up the pieces, but wasn’t strong enough to carry my heavy heart.
My soul crashed to the ground. I couldn’t speak. “Thanks for dinner, Ms. Walker. I was really hungry.” I wanted to say, “You’re welcome.” But unlike him, I didn’t have the strength. I couldn’t speak without my eyes turning into rivers of emotions that I didn’t know how to express. So, I nodded and smiled.
As my soul was lying there on the floor, crying out for the children, I realized that I couldn’t help them if my heart was broken. I couldn’t be a guardian to them, like I had promised, if my heart was shattered on the floor. I had promises to keep, mouths to feed, brains to educate.
So the children picked up my pieces. They came, one by one, and handed my soul the parts to my broken heart, reassuring me it was going to be ok. “Ms. Walker, I’ll be safe, don’t you worry about me.” “Ms. Walker, I’ll see you tomorrow.” “I love you, Momma.” “Thanks for sewing on my button, Step-mom.” “It’ll all be better when you adopt me, Ms. Walker.” “Just one more hug before I get on the bus?!”
They showed me how to be strong. They taught me how to survive. They proved that it was ok if my heart shattered every single day, because they would make sure to pick up the pieces, and glue them together with their love, making it stronger than it was before.
You are so amazing Lindsey...I'm so proud of you and the work you do every day!
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