It feels like it’s been so long since I visited this page.

Remember when this was a daily thing?

Remember all the good recorded on this blog by teachers all over the country?

I don’t know if this is the space to write this but I’m going to anyway.

Last week AP scores came out. I was so happy, but that’s not really the point of this story.

I messaged my kids and you know what every single response said? “I couldn’t have done it without you,” or some form of that.

This is not meant to be a self-congratulatory post. My point is—I was not a very good teacher last quarter. I’m not saying that for sympathy points; I’m saying that as a fact. I’ve reflected and researched a lot since then and I’ve come to realize: I did so much wrong. My videos were way too long and not at all interactive. My Zooms had no built-in time for collaboration. I did zero activities. I didn’t foster the support that I had taken for granted in the traditional classroom.

But I tried, you all. And I kept showing up.

And that was all I knew to do.

And that was enough.

We were all first year teachers last year.

We will do better next year.

But second year is rough, too (especially when you didn’t get a full first year).

We cannot possibly do all the things. We cannot. We cannot flipgrid, nearpod, edpuzzle, canvas, or zoom our way out of this pandemic.

We can only show up and give a little each day.

I keep telling myself: Don’t compare quarantine you to non-quarantine you.

You wouldn’t compare your first year of teaching to your fifth, or your fifth to your tenth.

*****

I saw this on my Pinterest feed yesterday and nearly threw my phone out the car window:

Can we stop with this narrative? Can we stop assuming we have to somehow lose who we are to be good at what we do?

No. We are good as we are. We are literally made in the image of Good.

So, Teacher Loves: my prayer for you and for me—

May you breathe. May you inhale the weight of what you’re about to tackle and exhale expectations.

May you cry. May you mourn the loss of what should have been and should be.

May you laugh. May you find joy. Not that binary kind of happiness that is the opposite of sadness; but that kind of joy that can hold sorrow and grief and depression and illness all in one room. And still say, “God, I love to watch you smile.”

May you sleep. May the God of all Comfort grant you peaceful nights and days. May your mind find rest even in the moments of uncertainty. May anxiety hold no place in that brilliant head of yours.

May you grow.

*****

To my non-teacher friends—

Thank you for checking up on me. Your words mean more than I can say. Every text, every email of “I’m thinking of you,” helps me hold my head a little higher.

Please know we as teachers are doing the very best we can to plan for two very different situations. In a lot of ways, we’re building two houses with the understanding that only one of them may get lived in.