Trauma, learning, and other thoughts
We have been in the Covid 19 pandemic for 19 months now. Of course, the worries and difficulties of the pandemic have been experienced world wide. What has been revealed about the people who are our neighbors, both good and bad, has been eye-opening. And Silverton has had a few extra portions of trauma in the past year.
A year ago we were fleeing wildfires that came way too close, and some people experienced loss of homes, family, pets, and livelihoods. Even for those who came back to a house that was still standing were shaken by the experience. It was scary. Red sky, choking smoke, and the worry that we would have no home to come back to after a chaotic evacuation gives some of us flashbacks when we see or smell smoke.
Then we had an ice storm, which caused damage to trees and buildings, knocked out power for an extended time, and added to feelings of uncertainty and stress. The noise of neighborhood trees breaking in the dark, wondering if the neighbor's house was still standing, and if everyone was safe is something that is hard to forget.
Children spent their spring and fall of 2019 and winter of 2021 learning at home, with variations in how much they enjoyed and benefitted from their education. Now that school is back to full in-person instruction, there are many teachers, parents, and kids who are still not comfortable with sharing the air with other people who could potentially pass along germs. Vaccination, masks, ventilation, and other concerns have been made political, instead of being a straightforward, agreed-upon way to prevent the spread of a disease that has killed 670,000 people in the U.S. and many more worldwide. So the trauma continues, of feeling the tension and disregard of others feelings. The denial of safety concerns has made some of us notice the gaslighting, the denial that anything will go wrong, when our students still can't be vaccinated and have vulnerable family members at home.
Silverton School district also decided to split our two town schools into two K-5 schools, which meant moving staff members around. There were many teachers who had to leave their teams, and there were two new principals hired. All of this at the end of a summer during which the promise that school would be back to in-person gave many joy, many stress and uncertainty, and many a great big mix of all of it.
My own job was changed. The expectation from the district was that I would teach technology classes in the two schools, making my teaching cohort around 600 people a week. I am vaccinated, but my little grand daughter is not. I know a child who is a Covid long-hauler, and I don't want to take the chance that I might give my granddaughter Covid 19. I have elderly relatives, and though they have been vaccinated, they are also in varying degrees of health that could make a breakthrough infection devastating for them.
I had to make the decision to take a leave of absence, so I had to leave my beloved library. This has added one more layer of sadness and grief. I lost a lovely family member just before school started, so I was already grieving that when we began preservice week and I realized for sure what I needed to do. The library is my happy place, and I really miss it. I miss the students, I miss the books, and I miss my teacher friends.
My trauma is like other people's trauma. It can get in the way. As teachers we are being encouraged to pay attention to the trauma our students are facing. Our students come with worries like food instability, dysfunctional family and home life, academic difficulty, racism, worries about acceptance, appearance, weight, gender, and climate change. It's a lot, and we adults are in it too.
I hope this trauma becomes less. I hope we can begin to see a light at the end of this tunnel. I hope we can learn that we all have trauma that might be invisible, and be kind. Or we might cry in front of a colleague, and have the person give us a place to cry, a tissue, and a hug. Thank you to the person who did that, and to the friends who are meeting up for a drink tomorrow. We can do this.
We have been in the Covid 19 pandemic for 19 months now. Of course, the worries and difficulties of the pandemic have been experienced world wide. What has been revealed about the people who are our neighbors, both good and bad, has been eye-opening. And Silverton has had a few extra portions of trauma in the past year.
A year ago we were fleeing wildfires that came way too close, and some people experienced loss of homes, family, pets, and livelihoods. Even for those who came back to a house that was still standing were shaken by the experience. It was scary. Red sky, choking smoke, and the worry that we would have no home to come back to after a chaotic evacuation gives some of us flashbacks when we see or smell smoke.
Then we had an ice storm, which caused damage to trees and buildings, knocked out power for an extended time, and added to feelings of uncertainty and stress. The noise of neighborhood trees breaking in the dark, wondering if the neighbor's house was still standing, and if everyone was safe is something that is hard to forget.
Children spent their spring and fall of 2019 and winter of 2021 learning at home, with variations in how much they enjoyed and benefitted from their education. Now that school is back to full in-person instruction, there are many teachers, parents, and kids who are still not comfortable with sharing the air with other people who could potentially pass along germs. Vaccination, masks, ventilation, and other concerns have been made political, instead of being a straightforward, agreed-upon way to prevent the spread of a disease that has killed 670,000 people in the U.S. and many more worldwide. So the trauma continues, of feeling the tension and disregard of others feelings. The denial of safety concerns has made some of us notice the gaslighting, the denial that anything will go wrong, when our students still can't be vaccinated and have vulnerable family members at home.
Silverton School district also decided to split our two town schools into two K-5 schools, which meant moving staff members around. There were many teachers who had to leave their teams, and there were two new principals hired. All of this at the end of a summer during which the promise that school would be back to in-person gave many joy, many stress and uncertainty, and many a great big mix of all of it.
My own job was changed. The expectation from the district was that I would teach technology classes in the two schools, making my teaching cohort around 600 people a week. I am vaccinated, but my little grand daughter is not. I know a child who is a Covid long-hauler, and I don't want to take the chance that I might give my granddaughter Covid 19. I have elderly relatives, and though they have been vaccinated, they are also in varying degrees of health that could make a breakthrough infection devastating for them.
I had to make the decision to take a leave of absence, so I had to leave my beloved library. This has added one more layer of sadness and grief. I lost a lovely family member just before school started, so I was already grieving that when we began preservice week and I realized for sure what I needed to do. The library is my happy place, and I really miss it. I miss the students, I miss the books, and I miss my teacher friends.
My trauma is like other people's trauma. It can get in the way. As teachers we are being encouraged to pay attention to the trauma our students are facing. Our students come with worries like food instability, dysfunctional family and home life, academic difficulty, racism, worries about acceptance, appearance, weight, gender, and climate change. It's a lot, and we adults are in it too.
I hope this trauma becomes less. I hope we can begin to see a light at the end of this tunnel. I hope we can learn that we all have trauma that might be invisible, and be kind. Or we might cry in front of a colleague, and have the person give us a place to cry, a tissue, and a hug. Thank you to the person who did that, and to the friends who are meeting up for a drink tomorrow. We can do this.