How To Give Your Students Hope
With students experiencing profound mental health struggles because of the pandemic, I’ve taken a different approach to teaching this year.
And I hope you’ll join me.
Yes, I’m still following my classroom management plan. I still expect every student to meet the standards I set for the class. I still push for continual daily improvement.
After all, Covid or not, children need purpose. They need direction and responsibility and a metaphorical kick in the pants.
Building grit is key to good mental health.
Still, for many, hope is losing its grasp. When you can’t see to the end of the tunnel, discouragement bears down on you like a runaway train. It nips at your heels and threatens to take you down, down, down.
So my focus has shifted.
Since the start of school, I’ve drenched my students in a downpouring of hope. In the midst of so much uncertainty, fear, and isolation, I believe it’s our primary duty as teachers.
What I’m doing is nothing specific. I don’t have a three-step process for you to follow or a list of the perfect things to say. Nor do I have any particular strategies.
I let the message guide me.
As soon as the green light flickers on, I sprinkle my lessons with talk of present joys and future dreams. I share the books I’m reading and the perspectives they offer.
I talk about my dogs and the sunshine and the first divinely bite of an apple.
I show them the art on my walls. The too-heavy kettlebells I’m swinging. The journal I write in. I describe the smokey green tea that gives me more enjoyment than it should.
I reorient them toward simple pleasures, those that must be savored, appreciated, and cultivated or else will die dry and withering upon the vine.
I show them short motivational videos and play music that stirs the heart. I talk about getting back to school, meeting face to face, and the fun we’ll surely have together.
I tell them to hang in there, that I’ve got their back, and that life can and must be lived in full.
I tell them that this too shall pass.
I bring up goals and ambition, love and beauty, hope in the unseen and grace for us all. I acknowledge frustrations and sadness and the reality of 2020.
Most of all, I laugh. I joke. I find humor in the mundane and glee in the absurd. I model joy in spite of it all. I show that you can choose a positive, determined existence no matter the circumstance.
There are days, however. There are days when feels as if it’s all closing in on me too.
So I sit and I breathe. I close my eyes and prepare for class by thinking of them, my students, and what it must be like in their shoes—confused, lonely, life on hold.
And I soften.
It’s my job now to guide them through, to help them navigate the forest dark. To convince them that though we can’t see the light, it’s there.
Just around the bend.
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