During my first few years as a teacher, I decided that no matter how difficult life got in and out of the classroom, I would never leave my classroom in the middle of the year.
For years, my co-teachers came and went between our grade levels, and all I felt was adversity towards them. I mean, how can they leave mid-year without considering the impact on students? Many times I have felt angry and disgusted with educators who quit simply because it was too much.
This December, six years into my teaching career, I was in charge of packing up my classroom.
To tell you the truth, I thought I was made of steel. my latinidad It felt like an armor that enveloped me and gave me comfort on the most difficult days. My childhood trauma gave me a “why” that kept me from acting out or leaving impulsively. But what I couldn’t understand was that no matter what I did, invisible taxa term that refers to the invisible burdens placed on individuals by race, ethnicity, and gender, were always a few houses away, waiting for me to slide out to shake me out of my passion.
I taught at the kindergarten level for about three years and eventually moved on to elementary school where I stayed for another four years. I was then assigned to a school where I had previously taught, but it was in the heart of my hometown and in an underrepresented area. The teacher preparation program forced me into a school I was unprepared to teach, taking away the comfort of second grade and pushing me into middle school territory.
While some educators are motivated by the prospect of returning to their hometowns and working at their old schools, those of us who have experienced adversity in our communities tremble at the thought of returning. As any educator can imagine, things quickly went south.
Using trauma to establish meaningful connections
My first few days teaching history to 7th graders were an absolute disaster. The entire 7th grade team is made up of long-term substitutes, and all of the administrators have been pulled into the classroom to help fill the school’s teacher shortage. As a result, children were able to behave as they saw fit, they were able to run their classes, and few teachers truly felt that they were fully equipped to teach on a daily basis. As a result, those of us who did not sink were forced to maintain our respective grades. However, the school was not responsible for the daily chaos. How can we control the teacher shortage that is affecting education? world populationYet, in our time of need, teachers have had to push themselves and give their all, even if it’s just one person.?
In order to survive, I rely on my past experiences to stay firmly rooted in my work, and as a Latino who has achieved success in life, it is my moral duty to save my children from failure. I told myself. Where others would see a troublemaker, I saw a child seeking the attention of a trusted adult. When I have students who yell at me for holding them to high standards, I feel for the students’ anxiety and feel confident that they have a strong team of educators who will support them no matter the situation. I met you.
In the most stressful moments, when my safety was at risk, and my own mental health was compromised, it was daunting to remain focused on the well-being of my students. Even then, I relied heavily on my own adverse experiences to remind me that it was my responsibility to ensure that my children did not have the same experiences. What I failed to learn early on was that drawing on the darker parts of my identity to inform my teaching practice was to my detriment.
The cost of retraumatization
I felt connected to my students because we were making meaningful connections. But every time a student experiences or shares an experience related to my own trauma, I relive my own trauma and go back to the stereotypes I had when I was their age. It’s gone.
In this state of mind, I too thought the world was out to hurt me and my life would be a never-ending loop of pain and injustice. I was no longer their teacher. In that moment, I was transforming into their adolescent companion, burdened with the kind of imminent safety threat they often experienced at their age. I couldn’t be a safety net for them or rescue myself from the dark void I had fought to overcome.
I knew my students were, and always would be, more than just trauma. After all, if I can experience adversity and trauma throughout my childhood and still be able to graduate college, become independent, and become a licensed teacher, shouldn’t the same be true for my students? At the end of the day, I believed that students needed educators who could ground them and help them cope, but frankly I wasn’t strong enough to take on that responsibility. There was no.
After two years of witnessing traumatic experiences and hearing stories of injustice within my community, I decided that for my own mental health, I needed to get out of this area. . I finally understood why the educators I respected, valued, and appreciated chose to retire. Not just because the work is difficult or exhausting, but because being a great educator of color means you don’t have to relive your most traumatic experiences. Because we are among the few who have succeeded against the odds, we should not fall into the trap of thinking that because we are among the few who have succeeded against the odds, we must provide the same level of support to children of color who need us. Do not allow it.
Find better ways to cope and heal
than that Educators of color serve as saviors that children can relate to., managers and policy makers should consider alternative options such as: However, it is not limited to these.
- Provide trauma-informed training to all staff who work with children. For example, in California, Free, self-paced training For everyone involved with children.
- Utilization for students and families funds of knowledge And recognize that you are a human being before you are a student.and
- Recognizing that trauma, at any level, must be treated with care and sensitivity, and that it affects children and adults alike.
Looking back on my journey, it is clear that the decision to leave was not made lightly. It emerges from a place of deep personal reflection and understanding, and that as educators, especially those of us who share traumatic and disadvantaged backgrounds like our students, we often carry a heavy and invisible emotional burden. It was born from this recognition. From my experience, while our intentions to connect and uplift are noble, it also forces us to confront our own unresolved trauma in ways that are not necessarily healthy or sustainable. It taught me that something could happen.
This journey emphasized the importance of creating a supportive environment for students as well as teachers. It’s not about asking educators of color to take on the responsibility of being both teachers and saviors. Instead, we need to recognize the unique challenges we face and put systems in place that provide the support we need to overcome them. Our health is not the price we pay in exchange for empowering young minds.
As I step out of the classroom, my hope is that my story serves as a call to action. This is a reminder that our work as educators goes beyond academics. It is about fostering and protecting the well-being of all members of the school community, including ourselves. By recognizing the complex realities of students and educators, especially those from marginalized communities, we can begin to foster an environment where everyone has the opportunity to thrive without sacrificing their mental health and well-being. can do.
