Reflections

From late January until the end of March, working in a school always seem so much more emotional. Teachers are giving 110% to support kids yet students begin to show their need for help in some of the most unloving ways. I've been working in a school in one capacity or another for almost 25 years (what?!!) and I've seen it happen every single year . As I've learned more about trauma informed practices, I've realized the field still has such a long way to go in remembering (and accommodating for) compassion fatigue . from  http://www.nationalcompass.net/2018/11/11/is-america-suffering-from-compassion-fatigue/ It's not enough to just say, "Well, it's March...that's what always happens in March." Our teams of educators need reminders to take care of themselves so that they can take care of others. The basics of that include eating well, exercise, sleep (my favorite self-care choice!), and trying to maintain balance.  Still, I th...

The first meeting was a 62 mile drive from work. I rearranged my schedule to be there on time, leaving a cushion of minutes in case I hit heavy traffic. I wasn't familiar with the meeting location and had never met the other individual before. I arrived and waited just a short time for the meeting to begin. I spent some time in an empty conference room prior to the official start. That's always nerve wracking, sitting alone in a new place and anticipating the appointment. Soon enough, introductions were made, questions asked, and 18 minutes later, the meeting adjourned. 18 minutes. I thought about that on the car ride home. I had now hit the traffic jam I had anticipated on the way down. What about this conversation only had it last that long? I could tell, in the meeting, I wasn't making a connection no matter how hard I tried. It felt flat on my part and maybe even hers as well. I wondered what she was thinking as I was driving away. Perhaps, relieved THAT meeting was...

Many of my posts are about students and their struggles. I sometimes use this forum to process extraordinary efforts made by the talented people I have the privilege of working with. Sometimes, I use this medium to process mistakes I've made so that I can become better, recognizing I am deeply aware of the flaws I bring to the work I try to do each day. But, this morning, I am not thinking about our students. Instead, I am thinking about some of the adults I work with, my colleagues. I have different kinds of relationships with each of them so I suspect a few would even be surprised they are on my mind this morning. Yet, they are. I'm thinking about the colleagues supporting their grown parents through Alzheimer's. I'm thinking about the secondary teacher who battles her own physical illness each day only to spend most late afternoons and early evenings on her couch. Teaching is her passion but it's taking most of her energy. I'm thinking about the ne...

One of my favorite games at a fair or amusement park is the one that involves shooting water straight at a balloon target. That target helps the horse move up the pole. It takes a laser focus and unwavering aim to win that game and watch your horse slide to the top. Over the years, it's become the one game I still play. I know the rules, I know the technique and I usually have a chance at moving that horse. Up until this year, I felt the same way about leadership. With over 10 years in teaching and over 10 in administration, I've been fortunate to have this career. With each step I've made beginning in Indian Lake, NY and ending here, I've learned from every experience and have tried to use that in the next step of the journey. I can still fondly recall so many from each school I've been in that (still) impact me and my practice. Taught me so much. Helped kids so much. So, it would seem I would feel more successful than I really do right now. Perhaps, it'...

The Urgent Care doctor seemed incredibly concerned. Instead of treating us there in her office, she instructed us to gather our things and prepare to go to the Emergency Room. Emergency Room? That didn't sound right. And in a split second, what I thought was likely a benign, treatable illness had become something so much more. With her one comment, my mind sped forward 2000 scenes and it was a new movie, new script, and a sad ending. There was nothing she said in particular at that moment that made me create this new movie, it was all in my head. But, it felt so much more like nonfiction than fiction.  Thankfully, the ER doctor took some time assessing the situation and determined there was not a cause for grave concern. But in that long hour, between Urgent Care and ER, trepidation had already painted some scenes and had already staged them out in my mind. Places everyone! Shame on me. I knew better than that. I know that positive thoughts always make the biggest impact....

He quickly dismissed the idea of an anxiety disorder being real with one big blanket statement to the group gathered at the table. The mother, at a nearby table, overheard his remark and wanted so much to say something but couldn't.  She wanted to tell him how real the panic attacks are. She wanted to tell him how manic the text messages can be when her daughter is in crisis. She wanted to tell him about the sobs and tears expressed about never being good enough or understanding what needed to be understood.  She wanted to tell him about the periods of faintness and nausea that sometimes arrive with an anxiety induced episode.  She wanted to ask him if he knew what it felt like not to be able to catch your breath in public places.  She wanted to tell him all this and more but couldn't.  As she shares her story with me, I become frustrated. I am frustrated for the mom. I am frustrated that just because someone doesn't have experience with a disorder, t...

It was the end of a long few days. Days that felt fuller of mistakes than accomplishments. Days that felt bumpier than they needed to be. I was saying good night to a colleague and caught myself almost commenting about how hard this job is. And in that thought, a split moment, my mind hit rewind like an old cassette tape. Back to the third grade and I am writing about how I wanted to grow up and become a teacher. To me, there was no greater goal than to become an educator. And then, I'm remembering watching my mom and her struggle through grueling jobs like waitress, chambermaid, bartender and cashier. She worked long shifts and often without full compensation due. She'd come home, worn out and dog gone tired. Those were hard jobs. I was only having a hard day. The field I've worked in since 1992 isn't my job. It's a calling. As cheeky as that sounds, how fortunate have I been to work in a field I so admired since age 8? The experience didn't come with...