Mindfulness Blog for Educators: The Cost of Compartmentalization

Compartmentalizing can allow us to support children at work and not take the stress home with us. What happens when that survival tool keeps us from experiencing the present?

When I started my career as a special educator, I remember being told that burnout was typically expected in 10 years. As a naïve and stubborn new teacher, I refused to be part of that statistic. 21 years later and I am still stubborn. I also continue to love working with students (most days), Recently, I started to ask myself how I have lasted this long and at what cost.

As a case manager in a therapeutic classroom, I act as teacher, parent, counselor, cheerleader and truth teller. Some days I leave work hopeful, some days I am soul sick. By the time I get home, I have typically put the day behind me and return hopeful or at least ready to face another day. I always assumed that this was possible because I was experiencing the same blissful memory swipe that allows women to consider going through childbirth more than once. It was during a conversation with a student about the importance of "feeling our feels" that I understood I was the one pushing away emotions. After difficult days in the classroom I wasn't allowing a chance to process the experiences. In that moment, it became clear that what had started as a survival tool had become a bad habit.

Throughout my career I had told myself that the stories of my day were too hard for other people to hear. I didn't want to ruin dinner or a nice night with the traumatic stories I had heard from students. This was a carry over from my childhood with a volatile, alcoholic father. My family's silence about my dad's drinking and his behavior was part of our dynamic. We used coded words when we talked; "dad's crazed" was how we warned each other he was drunk and to tread lightly. As I grew older, I began to use humor to talk about my father's behavior and while it helped me share more with friends about my home life, I was still trying to protect them from discomfort that I worried would come from an honest conversation about my experiences. Decades later, I was still protecting others from my struggles.

As I started to process this revelation, I began to make the connection that my reactive responses to the people in my life were due, in part, to emotions I had suppressed. Just as I had taught, my neglected emotions were making themselves subtlety known in my interactions with my family and friends, While, for the most part, I was coming home calm after the tough days at work, I was defensive in my interactions and frequently felt misunderstood. I was not allowing myself to truly connect with others because I was hesitant to share any vulnerability for fear that it was placing a burden on others. I was quietly struggling and paying the cost by feeling isolated.

I have begun to understand that I can do better than survive. In order to thrive I have to be willing to do the same thing I ask of my students- take a risk. I also need to trust that I have the tools to "feel my feels" without falling a part. I am learning to trust that the people close to me can handle the difficult parts of my life.