Most years in Utah, there are a few days in February that offer a sense of respite and relief after a cold, dark winter. Spring peeks its head out, the weather warms slightly, and kids ditch their winter coats on the playground as they run around playing tag. It’s an exciting, hopeful few days- and even tempts some of us (me) to pull out our summer clothes to make sure they still fit. Then, a major winter storm comes in, full force, and buries our cars and recess equipment again. Somehow, shoveling after that storm stings a bit more than any other that season.
We call it the February Fakeout.
When hope is in short supply, and we can quite literally see the next season right in front of us, regression feels chaotic and out of our control.
The same is true for any lesson, really. I often remind myself that growth is never linear. Instead, it’s a spiral. The first few lessons often land closely together and feel really intense- as they should. New learning requires extended effort, grit, and support. We’re prepared for these moments, as we’ve often intentionally chosen to engage with them.
Then more time passes between net-new learning, yet we still revisit those lessons we thought we had already aced. Those moments tend to feel sharper and more uncertain, just like that February snowstorm.
So, what does this have to do with the classroom (or home)? Well, how we approach these setbacks has a greater impact on our students and our children than we might realize. We have the power to model our surprise, our disappointment, and the grace we give ourselves when revisiting lessons we thought we had already learned. It shows that the most transformative moments aren’t polished or performative- they’re messy and distinctly human.
I’ve had a few humbling moments in the last few months, when I’ve had an unexpected review of practices that still need some fine-tuning. These occasions felt somehow tougher- I should be better prepared for this…I should have responded like that…It’s easy to get trapped within our own expectations, but deep down, I know that approach is never helpful.
So, I asked myself how I would approach it with my own kids. If Danny or Jo experienced disappointment in themselves for an unexpected or tough moment, how would I respond?
With kindness. Grace. Unconditional love. Support.
This shift helped almost immediately. I felt safer in my body and hopeful once more. I can treat myself with as much kindness, grace, unconditional love, and support as I would with my babies. I am simply a bigger little kid- and I deserve the same support as I give to them.
I have pictures of myself, Danny, and Jo from when we were all little- maybe three or four- on my mirror. These serve as reminders that our inner child endures and that learning is a lifelong venture. We will, of course, encounter setbacks along the way.
And often, it’s those messy, raw, real lessons—the February Fakeouts—that teach us the most.