How Do You Respond to …. THAT?
Elevating Heated Exchanges About School Reopening While Caring for Our Own Mental Health
Given the current public health crisis, sociopolitical climate, and failing of systems and institutions on a grand scale, we mere mortals need to stop thinking if things just go back to normal, everything will be alright. What we do and say and type now, in this moment of change and challenge, as individuals who are part of a larger whole, matters most.
I won’t sugarcoat it: the last couple weeks have been in the vicinity of unmanageable. When my therapist asked me during our weekly phone call how I was doing, I didn’t start with the usual litany of things gone wrong and things that worry and things that incite anger. Instead, the tears came, at one minute into the phone session. I hadn’t expected that because, in my silly turned-around head, I’d done a pretty stellar job of keeping it together and thinking things through in writing and when talking out loud to her and my friends. Misguidedly, I had thought that my slow, steady, weekly release of pissed-offness and fear and anxiety would help me stay afloat.
Apparently not so much. Maybe there was just too much crap that came flying my way recently. Maybe my hopes for Americans and humanity overall are too high. Maybe insult after injury after insult after injury made me overflow. Maybe it happened when I was participating in an intense social media forum to help calm other parents’ panic at the thought of their kids returning to remote learning this coming school year. My supportive, well-intentioned efforts were crudely rebuffed with: “Most kids are not at risk. Let them go to school, and those who die needed to be culled from the herd anyway.”
How do you respond to … THAT?
I recoiled at that message, read it thrice. Acknowledged the lump in my stomach, the one in my throat, and my boiling anger at this mom’s privileged, selfish take. Took a few deep breaths. Decided this was not a good place to lecture her about how every life matters, how kids can catch and spread the virus, and that there are many families who have children and adult members with at-risk conditions. Decided not to question who the hell raised her to be so cold-hearted and callous about other people’s loved ones. Decided not to make assumptions about her religion, her choices to mask and socially distance — or not — and what implications her presumed choices have for our community (and boy, did my brain want to go down that rabbit hole of assumptions). Instead, I posted credible links to research about multisystem inflammatory syndrome in children related to Covid and to our school district’s transparent notes from their reopening workgroups with an endorsement of how aware they all are of the hardships. I mentioned that there is no win-win right now; all the choices are hard. I leveled with her, or at least tried to.
As I read through additional parental comments — many laced with a dose of threat, intent to sue, anger over property taxes, one-sided thinking about societal needs, I realized that every single person in this forum was scared of something. Regardless of the object of their fears, most chose to convert that fear into fury, blame, and attack. This is the flavor du jour in our country — regardless of the topic, it’s all about two-sided, intense confrontation.
The back-to-school dilemma exemplifies every single problem this pandemic has brought to light: If we, as a community, want to weather this, we must come together for shared purpose. We must focus on what’s truly at stake. We must lift the conversation to one of empowerment, compassion, and shared contribution, rather than one of resistance and conflict. What better shared purpose is there than caring for our children and families?
My therapist asked me to fill my internal well, to replenish my energy so I could face life as it is. This week, I’ve focused my conversations with people and social-media exchanges on changing the tack to not only truth but also caring possibility. My school-forum contributions and participation in work groups highlight the importance of committed, trained volunteers who will support teachers logistically as well as students and families academically and socially as we face this school year of complete change. They revolve around supporting local businesses while drumming up donations for the most at-risk families in our community. They celebrate internal and external resources and help connect those new to alternative schooling with resources and people who have been down that road. They try to provide a little light through the cracks when all parents see are walls. I’ve sent supportive, loving emails to teachers and spent countless hours explaining to my own kids and parents of their peers that this change is needed and may be the opportunity for a new educational era.
Loudly, vehemently, I shout gratitude from the virtual rooftops for those who think of not just themselves but the most vulnerable in our society. I want to vibrate thankfulness and hope rather than division and darkness. In the end, every angry scream is really a cry for help. I’m a helper at heart, and I will even try to help those who say that my children - who are at risk according to our family’s medical experts - are expendable and need to be weeded out. I want to be a good soul, and I want to believe in others, even when their words and actions hurt. I want to raise the frequency to be one of compassionate love and understanding for all who suffer. I want to do better. When they go low, we go high, right? Maybe the object of the 2020–2021 school year will be to raise healthy, compassionate human beings for a whole new global reality rather than to pursue normalcy in the shape of graded academia and one-size-fits-all standardized testing. Maybe the school closures will help neighbors connect with neighbors and mentors with learners and families with their kids … and individuals with their own hearts.
