The world went a little crazier this week: a national lockdown, infection rates through the roof, to vaccinate or not to vaccinate, and a riot in Washington incited by the incumbent POTUS.
Whilst my initial experiences as a remote learning teacher/home-schooling mother haven’t been quite as dramatic, I have, however, learnt a few things:
#1 If I had £1 for every time I’ve had to say “put yourselves on mute,” I’d be substantially richer.
#2 Lockdown doesn’t mean dress down. One student attended my English lesson in a shirt and bow tie.
#3 There is a certain thrill in wearing your pyjama bottoms (or anything else really) without anyone knowing.
#4 Ensuring that all household members are aware that you are, at that moment, teaching live to 30 teenagers is essential.
#5 Until last week, words like Mote, Loom and Massolit were pretty much foreign.
#6 My eyes are actual squares. I may need glasses soon.
#7 Online teaching is, actually, a completely different skills set to teaching in a physical classroom. I’ve felt like an NQT again in some respects.
#8 You are judged by what’s behind you on camera. Next week I plan to position my camera by my bookcase to make me look more intelligent. Perhaps with a bust of Shakespeare on the desk.
#9 I can go to the toilet more frequently, if I so wish. This is possibly the thing I’m most joyful about.
#10 The kids have been absolute superstars and I really miss them. Remote learning is a godsend and is keeping us all safe at the moment, but there’s nothing like the classroom in normal times. I hope they’re back soon.
As I write this I am aware of several things: Firstly, I’m by no means a politician and I have no idea of what is involved in running a country effectively. I certainly don’t envy the job of the Prime Minister during these times. Secondly, I realise that this post is very much an emotional response to a newspaper front page which made me incredibly angry this morning. I’ll probably look back at this in a few hours and wonder at my acute irrationality of thought. Thirdly, I’m also aware that the topic of closing schools is a controversial one that affects practically everyone in the country. I’m not blind to this. Trust me, as a mother I have been affected by education centres closing and last minute childcare arrangements in recent times too. However…
However, for most of us, we are living through the biggest disruption and threat to life since the Second World War. There is no black and white in these times. There is going to have to be some extraordinary sacrifice if we’re going to reduce the infection numbers and death rates. What I am going to say next is from the point of view of a secondary school teacher – I’m not speaking as a “work-shy,” union-supporting, lefty teacher as the Mail would have me stereotyped – I accept that it’s a point of view with, perhaps, not an entirely clear understanding of what it takes to run a country. But it’s a valid point of view held by many that seems to be falling on the deaf ears of society and the politicians who are charged with running this country. It’s a point of view that is being ignored, dismissed and ridiculed. It is, unfortunately, ideologically-driven, manipulative newspaper front covers such as the one above that are exacerbating this problem.
The area I live in is currently in Tier 4. The infection rate is through the roof. My daughter is currently self-isolating because one of her friends tested positive for Covid. Prior to being in Tier 4, my husband and I made the decision that we would not see family over the Christmas period because, as keyworkers, we wanted to protect them from infection. My mother is clinically vulnerable and both sets of parents are over 70. If it meant them being safe, and us being able to see them at other points during next year, it was worth the sacrifice, we told ourselves. It was worth sacrificing my 40th birthday celebrations, my children seeing their grandparents, us seeing our elderly parents. As it was, the decision was (rightly) taken out of our hands with Tier 4 measures. We couldn’t have gone to see them anyway. It’s currently unsafe for households of approximately 6-8 people to mix during a national holiday. There’s scientific and statistical proof that this is fact. It’s undeniable. Lots of people have had unenjoyable or “different” Christmases as a result. Sacrifice. Concern for our loved ones.
How, then, is it safe for schools to return normally in January? If it’s unsafe to mix in households of between 6 and 8 people over a national holiday, how is there any logic in thousands of children mixing in close proximity every day for seven weeks at a time without a break? How will this curb an already out- of-control pandemic? How is asking these questions a ‘betrayal of our children?’ We may as well have gone to see our parents, because the same level of risk to life is involved here. Politicians will argue for the mental wellbeing and safety of children; of how they were affected during the last lockdown. I get this. They were affected. My daughter was depressed and had nightmares. My baby son thought my parents lived in my computer – he still doesn’t really know them. It was awful. It still is. Normally, the best place for children is ‘in the classroom’ as the Department for Education likes to spout on their Facebook page at least once a day. However, this is still a weak and misguided argument in my mind because these are not normal times with black and white solutions. The mental health and wellbeing of children is being affected inschools as well. Some year group bubbles spent large chunks of the last term in isolation whilst their peers received face to face lessons. How is that parity in education?
Speaking as a teacher who has recently had the delightful experience of “blended teaching,” surely schools, in order to be fair to children, need to either teach completely online or completely in the classroom. A mixture of the two is untenable and unfair for all concerned. As it is clearly unsafe for teaching to be completely in the classroom right now (and therefore not the best place for children), it surely needs to be completely online, at least for January whilst schools get ready for the mass-testing that they were only informed about a couple of days prior to the holidays. They are expected to do this with little government support by the way- side point. As with last year, it makes sense for exams to be cancelled to compensate for lost time. It’s not ideal but what, in any of this mess, actually is? Teachers need to be trusted to assess the students they know better than any examination board or league table.
Controversial opinion alert coming up: I don’t buy this “not all kids have access to technology” rhetoric being fed to the public. Yes there are children and families in poverty; this breaks my heart in normal times as well as now – I’m not sure it breaks The Mail’s heart. This is even more of a reason why the government needs to step up and flipping well pay for technology access for these families rather than wasting money giving contracts to their failed billionaire friends with stupid names (I’ll definitely look back at that comment in an hour and despair). The Mail talks big about “patriotic sacrifice for our loved ones” over the Christmas period. We all need to make some sacrifices to enable schools to be safe once again. Put bluntly, if we don’t support schools in this endeavour, the Coronavirus pandemic will be around for much longer than is necessary and cause more economic hardship (that we apparently seem to be more frightened of than loss of life). I’m not pretending it would be easy. It would be inconvenient and uncomfortable for a while. In a situation where lives are in danger and everyday life is disrupted, even the Mail agrees that sacrifices have to be made. What they printed today was irresponsible propaganda. If you want to truly protect our children and support our teachers; if you truly don’t want to ‘betray’ them, please don’t buy in to this paper’s hateful agenda. The true traitors are the ones who choose to spend money in the name of public-school cronyism rather than in the interests of the general public they are elected to serve.
On a side note, if anyone from the government or SAGE can tell me how my point of view is ridiculous and so easily dismissable; if anyone can explain to me a good reason why schools and teaching staff are being so vilified and slandered in the press, I am happy to listen. So far, I have received no satisfactory explanations to merit this constant vitriol and spite.
This morning I burst into tears – I surprised myself. I hadn’t done this for a while. As I cried, a realisation dawned on me. My son is celebrating his first birthday today (not that he realises this particularly) and, since last November, I don’t think I’ve shed a single tear. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve raged, I’ve laughed, I’ve stropped, I’ve loved, but I’ve not managed to express my emotions quite as deeply as a person does when they cry. And then I reflect on this crazy year. A crazy year for pretty much every single person in the human race. Yet life has carried on. Babies have been born, (lots of) people have died, got married, moved house, got divorced, changed (lost) jobs, been elected/unelected President. And that’s been the major theme. Carrying on. A massive part of our British culture too. The stiff upper lip of coldness and calmness ingrained into us. And this, too, has been a massive theme in my recent existence. Since James came (literally) tumbling into this world on 17th November, 2019, I’ve carried on. I’ve carried on in spite of post-natal depression and sleep deprivation, I’ve carried on in spite of my maternity leave being stolen away by a cruel and merciless disease. I’ve carried on despite caring for a newborn, supporting an overworked minister and homeschooling a six year old. I’ve carried on in spite of my mum’s cancer returning. I’ve carried on despite returning to a profession which I am constantly questioning whether I should be a part of any longer. I’ve carried on. And that’s not really living. That’s surviving. That’s making it to the next day and the next day and the next day. Today, my body and my soul were done with simply “surviving.” Lots of little things which occurred this morning, and as a result of lost sleep last night, meant that the floodgates opened and I cried. Big, fat ugly, unapologetic tears. I cried so hard that I thought I was going to have a panic attack. You know that feeling when you’re driving and you have to hit the breaks quickly but, for a second, you panic in case it’s too late? That’s how my crying felt. It felt like I was skidding and that I might not be able to stop. My heart rate sped up. I got frightened because I was losing control. This is what suppressing emotion does. This is what merely surviving does. So what have I reflected on this morning? Well I’m still pretty sad. I’m still pretty tired from lack of sleep. I’m still looking after my son on his birthday and watching his smiles and his giggles; his constant searching for something to eat! My realisation, however, is this. I cannot simply “carry on.” I cannot “try to stay positive” like this culture tells us to when we genuinely are not feeling that way. I need to talk. Communicate. I’ve had to get better at this over the years. Even now, I’m having to write this down because speaking about what truly goes on inside me terrifies me to my core. I can’t always do it. This isn’t going to have any super amazing, awe-inspiring spiritual lesson like a lot of blogs I read (which are great by the way), but I am so thankful for the example of King David in the Bible. I reckon he had the same problem as me, which is why he wrote a massive book of songs; probably because he was useless at vocally expressing his feelings. Those songs (or Psalms) are from the heart of a sad, depressed, fallible man. But they are also from a man who knew he was made to do more than just survive, be more than just a walking, wounded soul. This is my hope. I am made for more. My identity is not in my mental illness, my looks, what people think of me, my profession, my marital status or how many kids I’ve got. I’ve been designed. I’ve been planned. I’ve been put on this earth to fulfil a bigger and better purpose than any I wish for myself. I am eternally loved. I echo David’s words “Where does my hope come from? My hope is found in the maker of heaven and earth, the one who watches over Israel, the one who will neither slumber or sleep.” David and these words came into my head this morning whilst I ugly cried. His (God’s) words stopped the car skidding. And so I stagger on (not merely carry on) with eternal hope walking alongside me and reminding me of who I am. Don’t skid over the edge. Don’t simply survive. Talk. Hope. Peace out.
My name is Helena. I’m a fairly ordinary person trying to make sense of the world. I am a teacher married to a vicar and we have two children. I’ve just turned 40 years old and may or may not be having a mid-life crisis. Either way, I have decided that writing about feelings is a positive and healthy thing; particularly in these confusing and isolating times. I’ve struggled in the past with expressing vocally how I feel. Writing has always been my way of channelling this. Some say I do this half-decently. I don’t have any specific aspirations for the blog – other than for it to be an emotional outlet. If something of what I write resonates with you and helps you, then I’ll be glad. I know I’ve been uplifted and validated by other writers. I’ll talk about feelings a lot; what I find funny, what I find frustrating and what I find interesting. I’m a Christian, and whilst I don’t pretend to be some amazing super-spiritual, super-connected biblical scholar, my faith is a massive part of who I am and I will talk about it often. I won’t apologise for that. I’m a high-functioning depressive; sometimes I’m sad, sometimes I’m not. I’m not ashamed of this. It doesn’t make me a freak or unstable. My experience of living with depression will also feature often. It needs to be spoken about more. Read my posts if you like. If you don’t want to, that’s fine as well. I’ll continue writing anyway 🙂
Writing to Heal 