Read on Twitter
Thread: I’ve always been somewhat scared of this virus. In the beginning, I wouldn’t often portray that outwardly, but the fear was always there, just under the surface.
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As our lockdowns (or whatever verbiage you want to tack on here) occurred in March, I felt safer. My family and I were contained in a way that made me worry less.
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Time passed. We, as a society, learned more about the virus. Cases dropped significantly. We found ourselves wondering what a return to any semblance of normalcy might look like.
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Enter June as we found ourselves thrust back into the classroom, uncertain if it was safe enough yet. The protocols in place made me feel safe at that time, even if I found it redundant to make this Herculean effort for what would total 4 days in class for those who returned. /4
As summer passed and September approached, finding ourselves in completely full classrooms was somewhat of a shock. There have been moments of pure joy at remembering why I love my job, moments of learning as we navigated new safety protocols...
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And many, many moments of trepidation and fear: how should I work closely with this child who doesn’t have a mask on? Do I overstep a harmonious social boundary and remind a colleague to step back from my desk? Do I suggest students mask up and face backlash from parents?
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These fears and thoughts never went away but I don’t think I acknowledged them nor spoke about them openly, because I was just going through the motions. Just get by, just another day, you can do this. Deep breaths.
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Bringing us to today. In the last 4-5 days, I have read local COVID news stories about:
- one of our BC teachers in ICU
- a pregnant mother given an emergency c-section because she had to be intubated
- a 33 YO mother hospitalized for COVID
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- one of our BC teachers in ICU
- a pregnant mother given an emergency c-section because she had to be intubated
- a 33 YO mother hospitalized for COVID
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As a 33YO, 21 weeks pregnant teacher, I’ve been hard pressed not to see the overlap for my own identity in these stories. These stories feel more real now because there are that many more cases. That much more chance. That it could be me. Or my family.
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But that has ALWAYS been true. It’s always felt true. I just never felt outwardly scared enough - and brave enough - to acknowledge it.
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So here you go world: I’m scared.
I also immensely enjoy teaching in person and I intensely disliked remote instruction. I don’t want to go back there. But I don’t see a path to getting the cases back in a state of control without some restrictions coming down, and soon.
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I also immensely enjoy teaching in person and I intensely disliked remote instruction. I don’t want to go back there. But I don’t see a path to getting the cases back in a state of control without some restrictions coming down, and soon.
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I can’t be the only one in that room putting on a brave face every day, feigning calm when what I really feel is unsettled.
And if those restrictions come, I’ll give everything I am able to for my students. That would never change.
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And if those restrictions come, I’ll give everything I am able to for my students. That would never change.
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But I keep thinking: okay, it’s this week. Maybe this week.
And it never comes.
The fear continues. It builds.
At what point do we break?
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And it never comes.
The fear continues. It builds.
At what point do we break?
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Tomorrow morning, I get up to do it all over again. To question my every move in the classroom. To read about another presser where I repeat: “but not in schools” after every contradictory comment. To be disappointed again that no one is keeping us safe. Truly safe.
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I see you, concerned colleagues, students, parents, community members. I’m with you. And I’m scared... for all of us.
/end
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