Supporting teachers in an uncertain future
Well, here we are. The summer is waning and school starts in little over two weeks and change. Up until last night, I wanted to believe that returning to my job as a teacher for the coming year was imaginary. I let the conversations (and politicization) of returning to school play out in front of me, hoping, praying that coronavirus would resolve long before the thought of returning to school came into the picture.
It hasn’t, and, unfortunately, it won’t resolve in time.
Districts across the United States are announcing their return-to-school plans. Full in-person. Full online. Hybrid Model A. Hybrid Model B. Hybrid Model whatever-the-hell alpha, numeric or kitschy name. Each of these plans presents a specified theory about the virus and the best planning the administrators can come up with in a situation that cannot be planned.
I have expressed concerns about returning to school, and I’ve expressed concerns about not returning to school. Both are an issue of equity for our most marginalized students and families. On one hand, they go back to school where they receive food, safety, support—and the possibility of catching the disease, wherein they have less access to quality health care or fewer resources to pay for recovery. On the other hand, they stay home to learn remotely where they may not have wifi, a safe space in which to learn or the elimination of other responsibilities such as caring for siblings, earning income for their families, etc. Neither solution is equitable.
You can read in-depth analyses of both of those opinions, along with countless arguments about whether we should return to school for health reasons. Again, for and against opinions exist. The CDC. The WHO. The American Society of Pediatrics. The President. His less-than-stellar Secretary of Education. Local government. Local school districts. Teachers’ unions. Parent groups. People whose family members are educators. People who think they are educators.
And, frankly it is all too much. The dialogue, stress and future suppositions cause an unwieldy snake of anxiety in almost every teacher I know. Instead of the much-deserved summer break, this year we gifted teachers with a keep-your-panties-in-a-wad stress ball of shit flinging (pardon my language).
Last night, my school district decided to return to school in a hybrid model for all grade levels starting on August 18. That is a fact. That is something that is now known, which also means that we must face the reality of walking into a school building where nothing we were ever taught about being a teacher will be the same. It is a traumatic experience, and many of us are still trying to solve and resolve the trauma caused by the emergency exodus of March 12, 2020.
This is where I have a strong opinion.
What is being done to support the emotional needs of the teachers? How are they doing at the core level? Do they sleep well at night? Are they equipped with the psychological tools to return to an unfamiliar and likely traumatic school setting where they, in turn, are expected to be the emotional and academic cheerleaders for their students? What happens when, instead of the virus, we see educators fall ill with anxiety, panic attacks or stress-induced ailments? What happens when there is an overwhelming expression of fear, both individually and collectively? Do schools have the necessary supports in place to care for the mental health of its educators? What about mental health supports for its students who were seemingly in a “normal” classroom setting one day and gone the next?
We are about to encounter a mental health crisis of massive proportions and no one is talking about it.
On a normal day in a normal year, teachers are overwhelmed. Heck, I cried in front of 35 seventh graders on a day when their challenging dynamic proved too much for my well-versed classroom management skills. What will that look like now?
For one, I am facing a compounding difficulty in planning for the classes I am supposed to teach — Robotics, Multimedia, Yearbook, Graphic Design. When I look through the lesson plans I created for these classes last year, I see things like group work, partner activities, hands-on building, shared classroom materials, exploratory learning, icebreakers, flexible seating, flipped instruction, handshakes at the door, Jolly Rancher Fridays. I have to rethink every single one of these things through the lens of “don’t touch, don’t share, don’t get too close.”
Every assignment will be individual. Most of what I’ve learned about classroom management and responsive education goes out the door. The most traumatic part for me is not whether or not we are in the physical school building, it is that students won’t be able to act like kids and teachers won’t be able to act like educators.
Try telling a kindergartener that he can’t play on the playground with his friends. Try telling a middle school girl that she can’t swap scrunchies with her girlfriends (and, yes, scrunchies are back). Try telling a high school student in a P.E. class that he can’t play basketball because it’s just too risky. Try telling a future engineer that she can’t use the materials in the classroom to build a robot that could save the world.
We are entering uncharted territory. No teacher knows how to handle this. There was nothing in my bachelors or masters or student teaching or volunteer work that prepared me for this, nor did my last four years in the classroom. Imagine what a first-year teacher must feel like right now.
The only thing I have working in my favor is the fact that I held various positions prior to teaching where crisis communications and emergency management were part of my responsibilities.
We are in a state of emergency, and we are in serious need of some effective crisis communications.
I wish I could say, “I have a solution!” or that I even have the faintest idea of how things will play out in the coming months. I don’t, and I don’t think anyone in education does. What I do know is that teachers are going through a really, really hard time as they face the uncertainties. They need your friendship, your love and your encouragement now more than ever. They need to hear that they are heard and that their fears are valid.
They also need to know that you will support them in whatever decisions they make. For some, returning to the classroom is going to be too much, and that is okay. Don’t crucify them for honoring their mental health. For others, a really tough day in the classroom may mean that they can’t muster the energy to go to your social event. Don’t hold it against them.
Also, please be cautious when posting your opinions about the return-to-school on social media. It can be a volatile place and, of late, a toxic space of politicization. Recognize that active listening instead of active shouting may be in everybody’s best interest.
Pray for teachers. Please pray for me. We have a long road ahead, and we need all the help we can get.
—The Faithful Writer
*Author’s note: An edited version of this article appeared in Chalkbeat on July 29, 2020.
