Every once in a while, a student will go missing from school. I don’t mean in the “she was abducted” sort of way; it’s just that sometimes — there’s really no pattern to it — I will find myself marking a student absent day after day with no clear explanation. I might alert the office, so they can do a wellness check, but often before it has come to that, the student just as mysteriously re-appears.
In the old days, I might’ve interrogated such a student. Where have you been? Did you just decide to take a vacation? Do you know what an extended absence can do to your grades? your progress? your chances of graduating?
That was before I started to understand trauma — before I had seen true poverty — before I knew that sometimes a student has to stay home to care for an ailing parent or younger siblings — before I knew that not all families have vehicles or food in the fridge…. or a fridge… or any place to stay at all.
So now when a student is gone for 2 or 3 or 10 days and then suddenly reappears, you know what I say? Good to see you! I’ve been missing you! If I have a particularly close relationship with a student who has been MIA, I might ask, You good?
You never know what you’re going to hear after that — maybe a quiet Yeah, I’m good, but also maybe my [insert family member here] died, or I was in the hospital, or we moved.
If a student vulnerably shares something like that, I feel honored to be trusted with a slice of their story. And, I hope that my check-in conveys to the student that they are seen, safe, and valued.
All of this is just to say that I, myself, have been a little MIA lately. The last time I posted a blog was February 9 — five weeks ago. Now, I know you are not getting up every Monday morning and taking attendance and saying, huh, I wonder where Kristin is. And you should know that I have not been experiencing any trauma. However, I did want to check in and let you know that this soldier temporary got called back to duty — to a short stint of increased demand where I was tempted to revert to butt-kicking and name-taking and, in fact, gave it a try, only to find out what I already knew — it was not sustainable.
I have mentioned this already, of course, in the first few blog posts of the year. I wrote about the fact that we had a teacher resign over the holiday break and that I was asked to step into two of the classes he left vacant to help prepare our juniors for the coming SAT. I probably already mentioned that I was asked to do this while also filling the role of building test coordinator in charge of making sure all 9-11 grade students take the PSAT and SAT and that all 11 grade students also take the other tests required by the State of Michigan — the MSTEP (social studies and science) and the WIN Learning Assessment which measures students’ work-ready skills.
It doesn’t sound too overwhelming when I put it in a paragraph like that, and my supervisors assured me it wouldn’t be any more work at all since they had lightened my coaching load from eight teachers down to four and had provided me with the support of the person who was the building test coordinator last year.
So, I built out my calendar, as one does, scheduling blocks of time to read test manuals, attend training, observe teachers, meet with supervisors, audit rosters, create training sessions for my staff, and, oh yeah, teach two 50-minute sections of ELA every day making sure to cover curricula I’d never taught before and to develop the skills in these students that my supervisors were confident I could build before testing started on April 15.
Like any good soldier, I got my gear together, rehearsed my strategies, and relied on years and years of training exercises. I put my head down and got to it.
I had moments where I was making it happen. I was checking off boxes and getting shit done. At those times, I had a swagger in my step — the old girl still had it. Passersby might have even heard me say, I got this.
But there were moments that those closest to me saw the set of my jaw, the vacant stare in my eyes, the fatigue coming off me in near-visible rivulets. They heard an errant utterance, they saw the expression on my face belie the words coming out of my mouth, and in one way or another they asked You good, Rathje?
Because clearly, I was not, indeed, good.
And because I trusted them, I took a long look at what was going on, and, instead of soldiering on, I tried something different.
First it looked like a set jaw, a demand for change, a clenched fist decrying an unjust work load, and then, it softened into apology and the admission that soldiering was not a sustainable way of life — not for me and, really, not for anyone.
It felt a little like defeat. Like waving the white flag.
But it wasn’t that. It was truth-telling. It was self-advocacy. It was a victory.
Because when I said (this time, though I had said it before) that I needed an end date — a day to mark on the calendar when I would no longer be teaching, when I said I needed more time to complete the tasks before me, when I said I felt it was too much not just for a middle-aged gal like me but for anyone, they heard me.
I took a chance on asking for what I needed, and I got it.
So, I’m at home this weekend breathing a little more freely, even though I will still spend an hour or two today and tomorrow on managing my work responsibilities. I know that Friday is my last day in the classroom, spring break is coming, and a time of refreshing is near.
So, if I’m gonna be honest, I’ve been MIA because for a couple ticks I was slugging it out — struggling, not coming up for breath — but I’m back.
It’s good to see you. If you don’t already know, this is a space where I feel seen and safe and valued. Thank you for allowing me to trust you with a piece of my story.
Be kind and compassionate to one another. Ephesians 4:32
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