An Apology Letter to my Former Students

To My Former Students, 

First let me say, I loved being your teacher, I loved being in the classroom with you, I loved watching your light bulbs spark and I loved watching you grow and learn. BUT...I am sorry for not seeing you in the right light. I am sorry for taking away precious time from your childhood and filling it with developmentally inappropriate expectations that were placed on me to place on you. I see now the importance of unstructured play and so much more. I said I knew it then, but I didn’t really.

I’m sorry I presented you with what you should be interested in rather than asking what you are interested in. I’m sorry I cut you off when you had one more question about our lesson because the clock said we must move on to the next subject. I’m sorry I didn’t take the time to answer all your questions. I told you there was no such thing as a silly question, but I wasn’t afforded the time or space to embrace your curiosity.

I am really sorry I had you monitoring your behavior in class in front of your peers. I hate that I asked you to move your clip to the red zone because you were talking when I was talking. I hate that you saw some friends get to choose from the prize bin every Friday while your points just didn’t add up yet again. I was taught this was supposed to help your behavior, but I see now it was only to help manage a classroom environment from erupting into inevitable chaos and place you in a mold that I shouldn’t have tried to make you fit into. 

I’m sorry I pulled you in from the playground in the middle of a game which I now see was a very important human skill being practiced. I’m sorry I tested your 5 year old brain on words I was told you were supposed to know before entering Kindergarten. I’m sorry I tested you on anything at all. Your intelligence shouldn’t have been measured by standards that an "expert" somewhere decided must be a baseline for children your age. You are an individual and should be treated as such. 

I’m sorry I made you sit still behind a desk or in a spot on the rug and silently walk down the hallway with your hands glued to your sides when your body yearned for movement and sensory input.

I’m sorry I pushed you to perfect your handwriting when I know now that squishing in the mud or building tiny fairy houses are far better ways to develop your fine motor skills. 

I’m sorry I urged you to color inside the lines. Maybe there will be a time when you must be inside the lines, but that time isn’t when you’re six years old. I wish I would have encouraged you to cultivate your shape and not fit into a box I needed to check.

I’m sorry I made you stay inside when it was raining. Outside time is so important, and we shouldn’t have missed out on all its benefits just because it was wet and somebody in charge somewhere decided it would be too much to deal with wet children in a dry classroom.

I’m sorry I snapped you out of a daydream while you were twirling in your pretty new dress, to bring you to a math lesson. Your daydreams are important. 

I’m sorry I simply did what I was told without questioning, modeling for you to do the same. 

I am sorry I didn’t know what I didn’t know and I’m sorry I didn’t fight for you.  My promise to you is that I take all the things I am apologizing for and make them right with all the children I am lucky enough to teach without using my degree and certification in teaching. It’s been a lot so far, including my own children, and I hope I am lucky enough that there will be many more. And I hope that with each child I encourage to be free to learn in their own way, that a piece of you will shine in them. The piece of you that had to be dimmed or trimmed, pulled or twisted, stretched or flattened to fit into a specific space. Those pieces I am sorry I didn’t let shine, I hope they shine bright enough in the world so more people see that those pieces are the best kind. The colorful, messy, creative, wrinkled, thoughtful, imaginative, jumbled, clever, unruly and beautiful pieces…those are what matter. And I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.

Sincerely, 

Your Teacher Who Learned Better After Leaving the Classroom

When a Book Just Hits...

So the kids and I read this book for the first time a few nights ago and I almost couldn't make it through. Okay, that sounds dramatic and I didn't actually cry but I got all the feels. It actually felt a bit like an out of body experience (ah ha! There's the drama;) But let me tell you why it pulled at my heartstrings big time and why I'm so thrilled it exists. 

For someone who has struggled with mental health issues for what feels like my entire life, to have a children's book connect this way is really special. 

I remember feeling the confusion and frustration of being depressed when seemingly nothing outside of my own brain was contributing to my unhappiness. I had friends, an awesome family, sports, singing, writing and all sorts of outlets I pursued and enjoyed. But I remember this dark mist surrounding me just blocking out the pure feeling of happiness. I often lived in this mist, unable to figure out what it was or how to get out of or through it. I would smile, I would participate, I would chat with friends, always playing the part of a regular me, but inside always wondering what and who that "me" was and what was wrong that I couldn't fully feel or embrace the happiness others seemed to. 

"Nimbus didn't know why she couldn't be sunny all the time." 

I don't think anyone can truly be happy ALL the time, but a chemical imbalance in your brain is different than just feeling sad. And this book, written for kids, put it out there so simply. It was done so beautifully that it left me slowly pouring over each word, holding my breath while turning the page, wondering how this author could really be speaking to my soul.  

And in such a short and sweet way. Simple enough for kids to understand, but deep enough for me to need to catch my breath after reading. I wish I had written this book myself. Nimbus tries all she can to push the cloud away, bury it, ignore it, everything I tried to do to my misty depression. She got by doing that well enough, until she didn't. Until it grew too big and exploded, allowing her to basically have a breakdown in front of all her friends that left her running away crying. 

But then she faced her cloud, she got to know it, she asked it questions, she interacted with it. She FELT her feelings. She decided she was ready to share her cloud, but who with? That's when her best friend showed back up, he'd been looking for her, finally found her and allowed and encouraged her to open up. He listened, he cared, he didn't judge. All things I try to teach my kids to do as a friend. And all things this book reinforced for them. 

Nimbus shares her worry with her friend and in doing so finds the courage to share her true self with everyone, finally feeling it's okay to not be sunny all the time.

Such a touching little message and one that I am so glad I got to share with my kids through a children's book. And one that I'm glad is out there in the world for all kids, so they know it's normal and okay to feel their feelings. And that there are friends out there who not only allow other people to share their clouds, but to embrace them, help carry their cloud along and sometimes even feel brave enough to share they have their own cloud, too.

I Love You More Again

 

I wrote this poem for a poetry contest (spoiler alert, I did not win🙃) last summer. On the eve of my oldest mini human turning one whole decade, I thought it might be nice to share❤️ The one who made me a mom, the most special and amazing thing I ever wished to be. The magic of being a mother is ever evolving.

I Love You More Again

Mother. 

Child. 

We are on this journey together, experiencing life for the first time. 

You’ve never seen the world,

I rediscover through your eyes, I show you what I know. 

But I’ve never seen the world like this. 

It’s brighter, more exciting, scarier, more beautiful. 

You learn to walk and I learn to watch. 

You learn to speak and I learn to listen. 

You grow, I gape. 

You learn to lead and I learn to let go. 

A breath, a blink, a moment, a lifetime.

Childhood fleets, motherhood lasts.

Everything changes but nothing changes at all.

I continue to repeat “I love you more.” 

More than when I found out about you.

More than when I met you.

More than your first smile sparkling up at me.

I surprise even myself, I love you more again.

I picture us 

together in what’s ahead,

still breathing, still blinking, still learning.

Then you, living new again; watching, listening, gaping. 

A new phase, an exquisite beauty we get to share together once more. 

I’m not surprised this time, 

I love you more again.