The support that teachers (and all of us) actually need

It’s been only a few months since I started my somatic coaching certification program, and I’m excited about what it has helped unfold for me. All the work I’m doing—the intensive in-person trainings, the coaching I’m receiving from mentors, the daily somatic practices, and the collaboration with my wonderful cohort of fellow somaticists-in-training—has led me to feel recently, more than anytime I can remember, like I am solidly centered and grounded. Like I am aligned with my sense of integrity, my values, my passion, my purpose—the most whole version of myself.

I’m not saying I’m always feeling happy. As humans we are always cycling through different emotions and states of being. The notion that we can achieve some permanent form of happiness and contentment is part of the capitalist ploy to keep us forever chasing the next product or program we can purchase. The truth is that negative emotions like sadness, anxiety, and anger are part of the human experience, and the goal shouldn’t be to rid ourselves of them.

But what I’ve been feeling is different. I still am faced with daily frustrations, anxieties, and grief—all the more now that I’m a father with a whole new set of responsibilities to learn and navigate with my partner. And of course the aftermath of election season has brought on a whole lot of uncertainty about where we're headed as a collective. What’s different isn't the difficulty of the issues I'm facing or the emotions they trigger, but my ability to move through those emotions with a more robust sense of groundedness, a greater ability to return to center, and a trust that whatever comes my way, it’s transitory and I’ll get through it.

Maybe the biggest indicator that “this time it’s different” is that I’m enjoying teaching more than ever before. In my nine years working at Cincinnati Public Schools, I’ve noticed that things always go relatively smoothly for me for the first couple of months. Then, when the back-to-school honeymoon period ends for both students and myself by mid-late October, things quickly go downhill and never really smooth back out. The wear of the seven-period day with no real breaks, the accumulating work load, the overall outdated and ineffective structure and methodology of school itself—all of these combine to start to wear on students and teachers alike. The result is less motivation, more apathy, and more tension.

All those external barriers still exist this year. But somehow, I’m navigating it differently. I identified that one of my biggest self-limiting behaviors is that, partly because of the unrealistic amount of material expected to be covered in a school year, I am essentially always in a rush. It’s taken some work, but I’ve managed to let go of my fixation on time and productivity, and the results are subtle but profound. I’ve been including interesting simulations and activities more often, entertaining student questions that take us a bit off topic but keep the class engaged, responding to immature student behaviors with more patience, and have even dressed up as a historical character three times this year (which the students loved). More importantly, my general demeanor has become more relaxed and present, which leads to more heartfelt interactions with students. Now that we’ve reached November, I know it’s not too early to declare that something significant has shifted. I don’t feel overwhelmed at the end of the day and am not constantly counting down to the weekend or the next holiday. My relationships with students are much better, and they in turn seem to be more willing to engage with the content. I even had a student stay after class for 45 minutes to talk about personal problems, which, I regret to admit, is not something students have traditionally trusted me with.

All of this has me even more motivated to bring the work I’m doing with somatics to more folks who work in front-line, high-stress, community-oriented jobs: movement organizers, nurses and other caregivers, non-profit employees, social workers and, especially, educators. The jobs we work are incredibly stressful and impossible to fully understand by those who haven’t been there year in and year out. Moreover, we are given literally no tools to navigate that stress. Our trainings and professional development as teachers are almost exclusively geared toward how to teach “better.” Occasionally we’ll get a training about understanding our students’ trauma and social-emotional learning, but almost never are we given any guidance on how to manage our own stress, or on relationship-building with students, coworkers, or administration, or practices that help us productively manage conflict in the classroom. And then the people in power wonder why there’s such an acute teacher shortage that seems to be worsening every year. Is that oversight deliberate? Or is it that most folks in education, from the top all the way down, are so conditioned to put others first that their own emotional needs and well-being don’t even register as a priority?

Whatever the case, I’m convinced that this is a huge gap—in our work culture as a whole, but especially in those high-stress professions like education—and one that somatics has a uniquely valuable role to play in filling. What’s so special about it? Well, it’s hard to explain in writing, because it’s something that has to be experienced. Essentially, it’s a path of healing and transformation that goes beyond the thinking mind and into the full experience of being human, including the physical body. Through simple movements and practices, we become more aware of our bodies, our sensations, our emotions and where in the body we hold them, our instinctive reactions to triggering situations, our shaping and conditioning that we’ve adopted to survive in a sometimes uncertain or hostile world.

For example, I've learned through somatics that I have a very rigid, straight back. It's not just a chance feature of my anatomical makeup; after some deep work and reflection I remembered a particularly challenging time in my early adolescence when I got jumped and lost a fight on the same weekend, both events in front of a crowd of my peers. Because of my conditioning of what it means to be a "man," I felt weak and embarrassed, and from that point onward made sure to stand tall with my back straight to give off an image of toughness so that people knew I wasn't one to mess with. Fast forward two decades, and I still embody that shape. The exact image I try to project with the straight back has shifted several times from one of physical toughness, to being knowledgeable and intellectual, to being morally upright, but it still serves the same purpose: to protect me and maintain safety, belonging, and dignity within groups.

What does this have to do with teaching? Well, as much as we adults like to imagine we have matured past the younger versions of ourselves, those parts of us are always there, and the less aware we are of them the more powerful they are. I realized that that straight back accompanies me into the classroom. That part of the reason I am so often in a rush is because I'm trying to prove myself a competent teacher, just like I wanted to prove I was a tough, respectable young man. A snarky comment or even just an open expression of boredom from a student makes that image of competence feel threatened. I react, often disproportionately to the situation at hand. The student reacts. Tension emerges but class goes on. Without enough breaks or tools to address these situations, they continue to repeat. Hence the emotional overwhelm.

Through awareness of this conditioned tendency of straightening my back, I have been able to work with it, and both honor it for what it has done for me—it did keep me safe, as that was the last time I lost a fight—while letting it relax and open some, because that rigidity is keeping me trapped in certain behavior patterns, and keeping me emotionally shut off from other people, including students. A subtle shift with profound effects.

That's one story of my shaping, and everyone has their own. What's true for all of us, however, is that awareness of our bodies and shaping brings a broader set of choices as to how we go about our lives, and an opportunity to open ourselves up to a greater sense of inner freedom and aliveness. This is only a snap shot of a description, so feel free to explore more about the lineage I’m training through, Strozzi Somatics, here.

Lately I've been feeling particularly called to bring what I’m learning to more of us. I’ve recently started working with one CPS colleague, and the results have already been encouraging. I would love to work with more teachers and others in high-stress occupations. If you would be interested in being a practice client and exploring how to bring a greater sense of purpose and passion back to your life, whether professional or personal, please contact me for a conversation. Or if you know some people that may be interested, I’d truly appreciate you forwarding them this link. Now is a great time, as I’m still completing my training and am therefore still offering low, pay-as-you-can rates. While I can’t do anything to make the structural constraints on our professional lives disappear, I want to put my experience and training to work in providing the tools necessary to help folks navigate the inevitable stressors and reconnect with their passions so that they feel more alive, connected and purposeful in their day-to-day lives.