Right before our spring break, about two weeks ago, my 10th graders had an essay due. One of my best students, whom I'll call Gabrielle, was having a very difficult time with her essay. Not only did she have writer's block--she was lethargic, unfocussed, and behind--all things she's normally not. I kept encouraging her to push through, but by mid-week, she had her head down the entire class. I decided to let her be. I knew something was going on, and I wanted to give her time and space before I approached her.
At the end of class, a few friends lingered, trying to get Gabby to go downstairs for lunch. I told them to go, that I would take care of her. Gabby's head remained down, but I could hear the muffled sniffles. "Gabby, what's wrong? Talk to me," I pleaded several times before she put her head up. When she said it was about the essay, I knew it wasn't. "What's really wrong?" I asked her. She turned her chair away from her table and put her head in her lab, sobbing. I kept asking her to talk to me, but she uttered no words. I got out of my chair and sat on the floor. I grabbed her hand. "Gabby, you can talk to me."
Finally, she relinquished: "My parents are getting a divorce. The court date is coming up where I have to decide who I want to live with." She described how, logically, she knows she can't fix her parents' problems, but emotionally, she believes if she's the perfect daughter and student she will bring her parents back together. She confided that only one other teacher and one other student at school know about the divorce and she prefers it that way.
I was touched by her honesty and vulnerability, particularly because she said it's hard for her to let her guard down. She wants to please people, so she puts on a happy face no matter what. While I tried to reassure and support her with my words, I ironically found it hard to let my own guard down. I felt restrained by my own emotions. So much this year has happened that has left me jaded and empty. I was connecting, but not completely, not the way Gabby deserved.
Gabby ate her lunch with me in my room. Before she left, we hugged, and I asked her if she felt better. She said, "Surprisingly, yes. Can I get help with my essay after school?"
I told her of course, and I must have felt better too. In the same way my questions urged Gabby to open up, our conversation pushed me to a place where I hadn't been in a long time. There's this line in the film Freedom Writers that resonates with me on so many levels. Erin, the teacher, is talking to her husband, and she explains, "When I'm helping them make sense of their lives, everything about my life makes sense to me." In that conversation I had with Gabby, I needed to listen to my own words of advice, and I needed to follow Gabby's lead. I needed to open up.
Later that afternoon, Gabby came for help with Hillary in tow. Hillary, another one of my 10th graders, is also an excellent student. The two of them sat down, and something happened. I graded, they worked; I reviewed their essays, they revised. I showed them how to use dashes appropriately. They were excited and stated to weave them into their writing. Gabby, sobbing earlier, confidently took on her essay, writer's block gone. Hillary, always competing with Gabby, read paragraphs out loud, impressed with her use of vocabulary. I felt vulnerable yet at ease with them. And I felt called, urged to get back on this path.
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