After a long, full, and exhausting fall, my husband and I welcomed Thanksgiving break like two educators who — er — really needed a break.
While we could’ve probably spent the entire 10 days in pajamas in front of the TV, scavenging the near-empty cupboards for traces of food and leaning on DoorDash when those ran out, instead, we traveled first to a conference on the west side of Michigan, then to central Illinois for a rendezvous with our daughter and her fiancé, and finally through central Indiana to catch up with my dad and his wife.
It was a fantastic way to spend those ten days — connecting with colleagues from all over Michigan, relaxing in a quiet town, cooking Thanksgiving dinner in the kitchen of a AirBnb, watching college football and basketball, and having long chats with family. We drove back to Michigan full and content.
At the end of driving, we unloaded the vehicle, started the laundry, and unpacked our bags before collapsing on the couch late Saturday. Sunday we met with our small group, went to worship, shopped for groceries, then hosted my brother-in-law who was heading through town.
Then, in a blink, we were up, dressed, and driving to work on Monday morning. And in another blink, I’m sitting here on Saturday morning reflecting on the fullness of the past week — appointments and announcements, parent teacher conferences, and the purchase of a dishwasher among all the other normal bits of life.
Isn’t this the way many of our weeks go? We move through the mundane and the momentous and are somehow shocked that in the midst of all this activity, all this movement, all this decision-making and leading and simply existing, we experience some fluctuating emotions — some super high highs, some rather low lows, and all the degrees in between.
We feel the tenderness of reconnecting with friends and coworkers and the glazed-over fatigue of travel. We feel overcome with joy as we watch our future son-in-law care for our daughter and happiness and pride when our daughter completes a sewing project for which she has had a vision. We feel frustration that the AirBnb isn’t as spic and span as we had hoped it would be and contentment as we lean into each other and watch a tender movie. We feel annoyed that our students don’t arrive on time or listen when we give directions and excited by the possibly of major life transitions. We feel exhausted by the hoops we have to jump through to get a $100 discount on an appliance and thankfulness that we have the money to afford a new appliance in the first place.
We don’t, in the moment, always notice that we are having all of these feelings. We feel them, of course, but we keep moving, keep doing, keep checking off those things on our list, forgetting that the emotions we are feeling are messengers — they are trying to to give us information — to tell us that we need to slow down, to take care, to process, or even just to sleep.
And because we forget that our emotions are messengers, because we don’t slow down, take care, process, or even just sleep, the messages get louder and more insistent. Our frustration turns into sarcasm that pops out of our mouth at the least appropriate time. Our fatigue turns into impatient demanding — that others do what we need right now, our way, without question.
And when emotion bubbles over into behavior, we feel bad. We judge ourselves: What is the matter with you? How could you say that? You should be ashamed. You need to get yourself together!
Or we judge others for their behaviors that are fueled by their un-tended emotions: What is their problem? Why did they speak to me that way? They need to get themselves together!
We forget that their emotions are a signal — to them, but also to us — that they might need permission to slow down, take care, process, or just sleep.
It’s a big job to take stock of our own emotions while simultaneously picking up the cues of the people in our lives who also have a broad range of emotions, while also managing the demands of our everyday life. How can we be self-aware and compassionate at the same time?
I have not yet mastered this, but it is a lesson I am working on.
As I now, finally, take the time to reflect on the past couple of weeks, returning to my journal after some inconsistency over the past couple of weeks and returning to a longer yoga session after a couple of weeks of grabbing a few minutes here and a few minutes there, I can feel myself settling. I start to feel a little bit more like myself, a little more anchored, a little more in tune. And I think to myself, there is a reason you are so religious about your rhythms. Writing and yoga and walking and all the other things you do on the daily are the ways you slow town, take care, process, and truly get better sleep.
For all of us, vacations break rhythms — that’s part of their design. We need breaks from our rhythms to take rest and refuel, but I know that I always need to return to the practices that give me the space to tend to my feelings. And when I forget, my emotions remind me.
On Thursday of this past week, a student who I had not seen all week walked into my class and announced, “Mrs. Rathje, I am telling you right now that I am not gonna do anything in your class today.”
Well, I was pretty tired by Thursday, and had not been heeding the messages of my emotions, and her comment instantly set me on edge.
“So why are you even here?” I responded, trying unsuccessfully to check my annoyance.
“My momma made me come.”
“Well, I haven’t seen you all week, so as long as you’re here, I don’t know why you wouldn’t try to engage and get something out of class.” I kept walking around the room, pushing in chairs, picking up papers, instinctively trying to push off the emotion.
“I can’t today. I’m not doing it,” and she sat down in her front row seat and proceeded to scroll on her phone.
Perhaps because I was tired or perhaps because I could sense that my ability to not devolve into sarcasm and guilt-tripping was unreliable, I chose to just let her do her thing. I didn’t beg or try to correct her. I just let her be.
The rest of my students were engaged and completed the assignment with me, but this student remained on her phone.
I continued to notice her presence while ignoring her lack of engagement until she approached me near the end of the hour and said, “Mrs. Rathje could I speak to you in the hall?”
“Sure,” I said as I followed her out.
“I want to apologize,” she said, “I just don’t think anyone understands how hard it is for me to be here.”
While I am unaware of the specifics, I do know that this student regularly checks in with our social workers; this was not the first time I was made aware that she has some personal struggles.
I saw the vulnerability in her eyes and found the wherewithal to say, “I appreciate the apology, and you’re right,” I said, “I’m sure I don’t know how hard it is for you to be here. Have you shared this with your mom?”
“No, I don’t want to talk about it with her.”
This was even more vulnerable.
“How would you feel if I called her? I want to share how much of this class you have missed and see if we can find a solution.”
She looked me in the eye and said, “Ok, you can do that.”
I called her mother, who was very transparent about the severe anxiety the student experiences, and we discussed some options that might be available moving forward. I thanked her for her time, hung up, and made my way home,
The next day, the same student entered my class saying, “Mrs. Rathje, I’m here, and I’m going to do all the work, and I sure hope you’ll call my mom and tell her I did it.”
“I absolutely will do that.”
What caused this dramatic change? Did she just need the space to slow down, take care, process, and get some sleep? I’m not sure, but in my fatigue and lack of action, I accidentally learned that seeing her emotions as messengers, not as a personal attack against me that needed a large-and-in-charge response, allowed me an opportunity to give this senior some space to shift.
And shift she did — at least for one day — and right now, I’m gonna call that a win.
Now, in a blink, I’m gonna step into my next jam-packed week, so right now, I’m gonna go for a long walk then make a second cup of tea, and allow myself some space to slow down, take care, process and get some sleep.
Monday will be here before I know it.
he said to them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.”
Mark 6:31
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