For many of us, this week marks the one-year anniversary of lockdown, and the shift to lifeboat learning for much (or all) of spring 2020.  In revisiting that moment in tweets, FB memories, and things that I wrote, I’m struck by how wholly unprepared I was for that challenge. I’m also struck by how late our places of work made the decision to go online, and how short an on-ramp many of us had to provide instruction in an entirely different modality after spring break.  I’m deeply, physically cognizant of what it’s meant to work on this for a whole year, a year in which even the most seasoned online instructors have had moments of struggle. I feel the weight of that year, not just in my mind but in my body. What an extraordinary effort this has been on the part of faculty, staff, and students.

So how do we mark a year?

Because of Covid our academic calendars are all over the place.  For some people this is spring break; for others their institutions have canceled spring break altogether. I know folks who have just four weeks left in the semester.  I have twelve more weeks of teaching ahead.  All at the same time it’s midterms, it’s soon to be a new quarter, it’s the doldrums before the final push for culminating projects, papers, and exams.

Nevertheless, wherever we are on the calendar, I’d suggest we need a moment to take a breath.

Our bodies remember anniversaries.  In the words of Jessica Hamblen, PhD, Matthew J. Friedman, MD, PhD, and Paula P. Schnurr, PhD:

On the anniversary of traumatic events, some people may find that they experience an increase in distressing memories of the event. These memories may be triggered by reminders, but memories may also seem to come from out of the blue while at work, home, or doing recreational activities. An increase in distress around the anniversary of a traumatic event is commonly known as an “anniversary reaction” and can range from feeling mildly upset for a day or two to a more extreme reaction in which an individual experiences significant psychiatric or medical symptoms.

The physical, the intellectual, and the emotional are not separate entities, but mix together in a giant knot of human yarn.  Pull on one thing and you pull on the others.  Even if we’re trying to untangle that knot, to deal with a problem we’re facing, we can’t help but yank on things that seem (initially) to be unrelated.  We’re processing things with every bit of ourselves.  This means we’re exhausted, distracted, frustrated, experiencing brain fog, unable to concentrate, finding it hard to motivate ourselves, and often pinging between multiple different emotional states without entirely knowing why.  We may be experiencing this as physical fatigue, body aches, agitation, headaches, hunger, thirst – the list goes on.  This stuff is hard.

And it’s not as if the pandemic is over, or our workplaces have figured out how to support us, or our children have become self-sufficient, or our elders in need of less care.  It’s not as if many of us weren’t already grieving loved ones lost to this virus, or to other diseases, or to time itself, robbed of the ability to process that in community.

So what the heck do I mean when I say ‘take a breath?’  How?

Here are some suggestions:

1. Can you cancel classes for a day? Can you drop a piece of content in favor of giving yourself and others a mental and physical break? Will the world end if your students don’t talk about X thing before the end of the semester?

 

1. Can you drop an assignment, or shift something graded to being ungraded? Can you limit your feedback on papers to the two big things that would strengthen that student’s skills for the next assignment, rather than line-editing? Can you have students engage in peer review so that you have a moment to yourself?

 

3. Can you embed variety into one of your assessments? Can students record a video or audio essay, translate their learning into poetry, or demonstrate their learning in some other creative way? Can you ask them to sum up their learning in a meme? Can you situate things so that they have fun and you have fun with the grading?

 

4. Can you start class by asking students to share the best thing they’ve done for themselves this week? The geekiest thing? The funniest?  Can you ask them to describe their mood as weather, or fruit, or theme-park rides?

 

5. Can you step away from twitter or Facebook or Instagram for just a few minutes to give your brain a break? Can you make a cup of tea (or other beverage of your choice) and do nothing but savor the experience of drinking it? Can you eat a cookie (or other snack) without multitasking while you do?  If you’re able, can you go outside?  (You need not move while you’re out there; you can simply exist with the weather.)

 

6. Can you send one other person a note telling them you appreciate them? Spend five minutes or less on this – one email or text or even a phone call if you prefer. Can you do that tomorrow, too?

 

7. Can you give yourself a minute or two to watch this and sync your breathing?

 

These are not cure-alls.  They can’t fix what’s broken when we need massive, systemic change, remembrance, and aid.  But sometimes a tiny disruption when we feel swept up by massive waves of stuff that’s out of our control can make us feel a shift back toward ourselves.

You have been asked to do too much, for too long, by too many people.  You are an amazing individual for weathering all of this.  I see you, and you impress the shit out of me.

Take the deep breath that you are more than owed.