Dear Teachers
Dear teachers, it’s the beginning of a new school year. It’s the start of a new approach to teaching. It’s the continuation of a sense of uncertainty. It’s all that and more.
Every year, my kids and I try to find a little gift to give their teachers. Something simple like a bottle of scented soap, a box of tea, a $5 gift card. Just a token of good luck and acknowledgement of the start of something new and fresh.
This year my gift to you looks a little different. The weekend before my children’s first day of school, I want to gift you with a story.
In my work as a registered dietitian nutritionist, I specialize in helping people heal from eating disorders. Whether the root cause is trauma, insecure attachment, sensory processing disorders, or something else, eating disorders surface when a person’s world feels like it’s too much to handle.
In a recent session, a client (now in his twenties) shared a part of the story of his eating disorder. It started in middle school. He suffered abuse and neglect from a family member. As he shared about the pain and loss of control of that time, I had a feeling that regularly comes up in my body when hearing stories of traumatic experiences. Deep sadness, anger, hollowness, awe. As his story came to an end, we sat in silence for a purposeful moment.
“How are you still here?” I asked. “No, really. So many people wouldn’t have survived that experience. How are you here with me today?”
He thought for a long while. No one had ever asked him that part of his story. The story of surviving. Everyone seemed more interested in the traumatic part.
Here is what he said:
“In sixth grade, I had one teacher that was consistently kind to all the students in my class. She had clear expectations, a sense of humor, and gave us the benefit of the doubt. It never made sense to me, her kindness was given so freely before we had “earned” it. One day, she gave me a black gel pen. It was a simple, unearned gift given for no apparent reason other than she thought I might like it. No one had ever given me anything without a condition attached to it.
I still have that pen today.
Receiving that pen brought within me a feeling I had rarely (if ever) felt before. Warmth in my chest, a pressure - not like being pushed down on, but like being held.
So often, during that part of my life, my body felt uncomfortable and pain-filled. I’m here today because whenever I felt hopeless, in despair, or disgusted about my body and what had happened to it, I thought about my pen and felt that good feeling. I could feel that I wasn’t all bad.
Teachers, I tell you this because I need you to know a truth. Our children do not need you to have the perfect welcome video or to have mastered whatever online learning platform you were thrust into just last week. All they need is one more kind adult. A person with authority who knows about and shows unconditional love. One “safe other” who shows up on a regular basis and pays attention. I guess gel pens don’t hurt either.
Teachers, please get some rest. Look out the window or step outside to look at whatever bit of nature is near you. Nourish your body with food that tastes good and feels good in your body. Take a big, slow, deep breath. Make time to pet your dog or cat. Take a little walk out to the mailbox. Care for your self as best as you can. We want you to be well.
My prayers go out to you and your faculty’s collective nervous system. May you feel supported and grounded in the truth that simple, unearned gifts deliver children into adulthood just a little more held and healed.