Hi, sweet people 🤍 I’ve added a new course called Lessons Along the Way—because some of the most important learning happens outside the classroom, usually while we’re living, parenting, leading, messing up, and figuring things out as we go. The first post, The Cost of Being Right, is live, and I wanted to share it here, too. A loving but clear reminder: this is a safe, inclusive space. We don’t do shaming, bullying, or drive-by cruelty here. Growth requires curiosity, not perfection. And real learning asks us to loosen our grip on the idea that we’re “supposed to” already know everything (spoiler: none of us do). The more we learn, the more we realize how much we don’t know—and honestly, that’s part of the fun. The 2016 election shifted the trajectory of my mom’s life. My family was shocked and saddened by the results, though different members of my tribe chose to cope in different ways. Some of us took it as a difficult learning experience and allowed it to highlight our own ignorance. “Everyone we knew voted for…” became an admission to the fact that our circles were filled with mainly like-minded individuals who rarely challenged our beliefs or made us feel uncomfortable. Our false sense of safety during the Obama presidency was shattered, and we realized that everything women and civil rights groups had fought for over centuries was once again up for debate. Some of us chose to gain fresh perspectives, try to understand “why”, and build connections over resentment. My mom chose a different path. She would yell at the news every day and allow herself to get sucked into the endless loop of anger and alcohol. Her feelings were understandable, even justified, though extremely misplaced. It eventually led to other issues and, ultimately, her death. I don’t talk about my mom often, but the parallels between the end of her life and what we are currently witnessing collectively are too similar not to address. My mom was a bright, beautiful, and hardworking woman with poor emotional regulation. Before that election, she lived a full life—imperfect, generous, and deeply human—marked more by laughter than rage. In the years that followed, however, she allowed herself to get so far down the road of playing the victim and shifting blame that to reverse course would’ve meant admitting, even to herself, that her entire identity and narrative had become protective mechanisms rather than a true reflection of reality. She had to be right. So right, in fact, that she would rather be gone than admit she caused harm.

Not a complete reset- just an opportunity to reflect and reframe. If August is one long Sunday, then January is the longest Monday of all time. After the fun, family, and food of the holidays, January arrives begrudgingly, lazily knocking on our doors. I used to really struggle with it. Where I live, in Utah, the first month of the year is often marked by frigid temperatures and poor air quality due to an inversion in the Salt Lake Valley. As a teacher, I knew it meant a full 31 days of it being dark when I left for work, dark when I returned home, and a high probability of at least one indoor recess due to weather or gross air. Not ideal. To top it off, society has added its own silly expectations of the month- New Year’s. We hype ourselves up for this “New Year, New Me” mindset and create goals for ourselves that will most likely fade by the second Friday of the month, called “Quitters Day.” In our self-imposed rush from Christmas celebrations to action planning for the year ahead, we skip the pause our nervous system is actually craving. We miss perhaps the most important piece of all: reflection. We don’t need to fully reset in January. We can simply reframe. Instead of setting goals in the dead of winter, reflect on the year we just exited. Thank her, and sit with her just a bit longer. Show gratitude for the good of the year, and grace for the lessons and tough moments. In December, we talked about the sparkle and the shadow of the season. January gives us permission to embrace the shadow- whether it’s with ourselves, our relationships, or our work. With the holidays behind us, our wallets empty, and perhaps too many ingested libations, our shadow is begging for some quality time this month. Shadow work doesn’t have to be scary. In fact, we all have our shadows– they are just as much a part of us as our light. More importantly, your shadow doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. She often sounds like exhaustion, resentment, or the quiet thought of “I can’t keep doing this.” Consider the holidays’ final gift as an opportunity to reflect on where you are, where you’ve been, and where you’re headed next.

The holidays are so tricky. How do teachers (or parents) balance the joy and glitz and glamour of the season with the weight of real-life expectations? How do we meaningfully participate in the sparkle of the season, yet acknowledge its very real shadow of impossible expectations, overwhelm, and “too-muchness”? I still don’t really have an answer, honestly. Once December 1st hit, I knew I was no longer Ms. John, Elementary Teacher. My seasonal role swiftly became mediator, chaos- coordinator, and Mrs. Claus all at the same time. Every year was a delicate balance of adding fun and silliness to our regular subjects, doing my best to maintain some semblance of order, and praying to the teaching goddesses that no one ruined Santa Claus for their peers—another impossible task to add to a teacher’s never-ending to-do list. We also must recognize the shadow of the season. Late November- January isn’t a happy time for many people- teachers included. I remember many years of having to visit people I wanted nothing to do with, walking on eggshells around family members, and feeling distinctly “Grinchy”. My mom also passed away on December 11, after a years-long battle with alcoholism, a few years ago. That December was anything but a perfect holiday. Through the grief and the anger, however, I did manage to find moments of pure joy. The note below was from a very sweet, feisty student with little regard for the norms in our classroom. She told it how it was and had no time for fluff. I always appreciated her unique take on the world, and this note meant more to me than she probably realized at the time. Though I was flattered that she thought I was amazing at math (which I am, third-grade math only), it was more touching that she expressed how I was amazing at “being kind”. Kindness is tough when you’re drowning in sadness and anger and confusion. Kindness takes patience and effort and a regulated nervous system- traits that are often in short supply during the holidays and even more so for me that year. This adorable kiddo helped me remember my greatest strength as a teacher and packaged it in the perfect way- a handwritten note.

Thanks for sharing all of this. Patrick had me start a "Forgiveness Journal" to remind me to "put it behind me." It's as helpful as my Gratitude Journal. You are doing great work here.