Why Start Before You’re Ready Is Bad Advice

Keep your blind fold on until you’re ready

Keep the blind fold on: Pexels

I woke up to texts from two different teachers, and the peace of my summer was immediately shattered.

Two different teams, because last year, I taught 3 different curricula. Thank goodness I was the sole operator for the third faction, because if I had received texts from three different teams during summer, when we are not contracted to respond to anything education-related, I might have blown my brains out then and there.

No. You don’t get to call me to anything during this time. Mostly, because you don’t really care about me. You only care about what I can do for you.

Could I get on my school computer and check the results of the testing that happened at the end of the last school year? Well, physically, I can, and I’m not sure how much time that would take. Maybe 30 minutes, or so, but the cost would be so much greater.

It would cost me the peace of the rest of my summer.

Because if I let this one thing in, then there’s no reason not to look for moments at a time at each request.

But that’s just the first request, and I might actually have done it if another request hadn’t followed so quickly.

Less than an hour later, this from the other team:

“Hi, friend! Just thinking about you — What’s the plan? Just worried about next year and class sizes.”

Let’s be real. You don’t care about me at all. You just want to know the degree to which my personal decisions impact you for the next school year.

And that was all it took for me to not dare look at a darn cotton-picking teacher thing they were calling me to.

I understand this much. If you have the privilege of only being on one team, there’s only one subject you have to be concerned about. You have the ability to focus on one team of people and one subject.

That’s not a luxury I have, because I have three different subjects, three separate people I report to directly, then administrators, and others who oversee those functions from there.

You get to focus on one area. You can’t even imagine juggling three or more. And yet, you call on me during summer?

Could you pretty please try to get a clue?

If my nervous system hadn’t just hit summer, I might have tried to answer. I may actually have opened my school computer.

But the unified request, and the thought that you actually deserve an answer during summer shut off all goodwill I had.

Deflated. Like a balloon.

Nope.

Nope, nope, nope. Like baby ducky from *The Land Before Time*.

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Decidedly. Nope. You don’t get to steal my peace.

I cannot let you do that. Because if I let you do that, then I will continue to serve when I need to heal from the worst year I’ve had in education.

The education system is so tainted and broken that I cannot, in these precious moments, allow you to continue inflicting damage.

I must protect my mind and health at all costs during this time.

You, who have called upon me during summer, may hear your response in my silence.

You do not get to call upon me now.

If I look, my boundaries are eroded, and I cannot get them back.

Then, an administrator began hitting the school's inbox. The request was polite and even asked permission to enter our inbox during the summer.

I usually put my email response on during any school break, but this year, I think doing so would put a different target on my back, so I left them off.

If anyone actually sends email, I’m quite positive they are also keeping a list of whose emails bounce back because they are not in the office.

I’ve elected not to set those rules because I’m staunch about separating school and home activities on my devices.

Set hard boundaries and preserve them

I keep my school systems and personal systems separate on purpose. I don’t access any school work on my personal devices.

To look at those test scores isn’t as simple as toggling over to the school account, signing in, and looking quickly for the requested information and responding.

I don’t have personal and school emails collected in the same app.

Personal email gets collected in the mail app. And the Gmail app is set for school email.

On the rare occasion an update unifies those emails, I delete Gmail completely, and reinstall it for school only.

These things do not get to mingle in my world. Because I give more than any teacher should ever be called to give during months of ‘service.’

Make a physical movement to change your mindset

Motion changes emotion. Those words have been true in my life since the kids were littles.

Physical motion changes emotional fatigue.

There’s a shift that happens in the mind when the mind connects to a physical movement.

That’s why I never do school work on my home computer. These worlds must remain separate.

I do not lesson plan on my home computer. I do not connect to any school drive on my home computer. My home computer is for personal use.

When I make the shift to school work, it’s because I pick up my school computer. Then, and only then, can I put on my school thinking cap and do the school thinking and work.

When I came home for summer, I had to put all of the school tools out of sight. They are stuffed in a closet as far away from daily functions as they can get. I can’t see them, and I don’t want to, until I have to put them to use again.

I can’t even have my school backpack on the bench by the front door because seeing it makes me want to puke.

It’s also out of sight. My school computer was powered off, and I can’t even look at it.

I’m not a wishy-washy person. When it comes to kids, spouse, profession, I’m in or I’m out.

Yes or no.

No in between.

Because the emotional load of being a teacher is always present, even suppressed during non-service hours. So, I have to protect every thought and action that I can.

Separate computers for separate jobs.

My personal creative endeavors and work get protected on my personal device.

And school work gets done on no other place than my school computer.

Having these stark boundaries protects me, my health, and even my family.

Without these boundaries in place, I cannot function.

Fight chaos and strive to win the battle.

Protect your sanctity.

If you breach your mental peace, you may lose the battle. This is a sacred area for me. I have to not look when I’m not supposed to.

The job will always call, and I will deliver as required when I am supposed to, but it does not get to call on me when I am not in service.

The biggest takeaway I’ve developed from the last school year is this:

You can’t care too much.

You cannot care too much about doing good work and loving the students you serve. August through December is about building the deepest connection a teacher can.

January through May is about disconnecting and letting students thrive in the structure and support they’ve been given so they thrive in the next year, wherever they are going.

You can’t care too much.

If you re-read that thought again, you’ll notice it’s twofold.

You can’t care so much that you sacrifice your well-being for the job.

Education will absolutely chew you up. It will take everything you have to give, and then it will take even more if you let it. It’s up to you to put safeguards in place that preserve your sanctity.

If you succeed in this, you may retain your sanity, too.

Admin will cry publicly at your funeral and post your job tomorrow if you let the job kill you. And if you do, that’s on you.

It’s up to you to protect what’s important. Regardless of what others call you to, keep your blindfold on, and don’t start before you’re ready to begin school work again.

Because if you care too much, it will be to your detriment.

And that would be the greatest disservice of all.