A Valentine for My Daughter

I bought some plants the other day. Everyone scoffed because plants come to my house to die, but every so often I try again. I watch as they grow tiny buds, confident in their own regeneration, and bend toward the light. I breathe in their hope and their resilience. I tell myself that this time I will water and watch. I will sustain them. I will not let the weeks slip away as I have in the past. This time they will grow.

The other night, when you asked me to help you fall asleep, I could have lived in the moments we spent together forever. I was so tired from my perpetual insomnia, and my COVID cough that lingers. But you gave me the gift of your gaze and we laughed and cuddled under your blanket and looked up at the lights dancing slowly across your ceiling, and my shoulders loosened and I could pretend that the rest of the day was nothing, erased, subsumed by the now. We were both so completely there. Just us. Just me and my mini-me. There was no fear, no judgment or anger at our helplessness in the face of the everyday. We were right where we belonged, in our small cocoon of time. It was perfection. But my body insisted I kiss you goodnight, break the mood, separate from you, even as my mind remained. Know that those moments will sustain me. I hope you hold them as close as I do.

It is so easy to let the world hurt you, my love. What starts out as a tap on the shoulder, becomes a warning shove, and eventually an assault. Stand straight when you can, but falter when you must. We can not be strong forever. Our bodies know the difference and we must listen. You told me yesterday that a girl can’t do anything, can’t love anything, without judgment from another. I have thought of nothing else since you said that. Who is judging you? What are they saying? I could only sigh and remember how I thought I could never measure up.

When I was in high school and even into college, I was sure that I was forever just the sidekick. People befriended me because I was friends with someone for whom they actually cared. I was Christina’s friend, Joanna’s friend, Jaime’s friend and so I had other friends. So I was surrounded by people, but not because of me, of who I was. I couldn’t imagine anyone being drawn to me. I saw myself as nothing, worthless. My worth came from finding the right person to align with. I was good at that. I don’t know when I realized that people were, in fact, drawn to me. That I had light. That I was smart. That came later.

I built so many walls around my heart. But when it came down to it, I was never a very good engineer. There were cracks and crevices in those walls. They were forever breaking down. Water is stronger than you’d think and my tears could wear away my best defenses. I found sarcasm early on and wielded it as my strongest weapon. It was most useful against myself. If I mocked my weaknesses no one else could mention them. If I pretended strength, then that’s what people saw. I cried in the silent spaces, in my room, in the dark. I still can’t cry in front of others, even those I love. It reeks of weakness, and I must be strong. The generations of women in our family taught me that. They are and were the strongest people I know, yet sometimes I believe it is what holds me back the most. You are allowed to falter. Know that. As in all things, let balance be your guide. Too far toward strength, and you will push the world away, too far toward weakness and you will fall beneath its feet.

Know that your body is everything it needs to be, and treat it so. I have watched as you grow into it anew each day, as you play hide and seek with who you are and who you want to be. You try on new styles and ideas, you give up leggings for jeans, skinny for wide legs, full length for crop tops. You don’t ask me anymore what matches. You have realized by now, I am not the one to ask. You are finding your flair, and with it your swagger. Your body too will change and morph and grow and shrink. You will find the parts you love and loathe, and those will change as well. But, let it always be you who fashions these labels. No one else should ever lay claim to your body or your mind. They are yours alone. Your body must be listened to intently. There are so many other voices competing to drown it out. It is so easy to listen to them all instead. But your body knows its hunger and needs. Let it whisper them to you. Feed your body when it asks and you will have the space to feed your soul.

And baby, feed that soul. Find the thing that fills you up. That challenges you to push and work and glow. You are fire, sparked and ready to light up the world. Don’t be afraid of your heat. Use it and we will all be better for it. Strut across that stage and sprint the field and fill your brain and laugh and laugh and laugh.

And know that I will be there, always waiting for your gaze to find me in the crowd, always ready to provide the light you need.

COVID

 I've never had the flu. My husband has. My son has. But I have never had the flu. When COVID found me I was woefully unprepared. It hurt. My throat, my head, my muscles, and my skin. My skin actually hurt. And I have been tired. So very tired. I can't shake it. All of my other symptoms have gone, but I am still so very tired. Yet, I know just how lucky I am. My whole family became positive because of me, which was unsurprising. My daughter (as she mirrors me in most things) has echoed my symptoms. She is the only one. She started with the sore throat, progressed to a fever and overall heaviness and cough. Hopefully in three days, her symptoms too will pass, leaving her with fatigue and a cough, but nothing else. Hopefully. 

When the Connecticut Department of Health called me today, I was more than ready to answer all of their questions, and was humbled when they asked me about any and all help I might need. Did I need help accessing healthcare? No, my job has provided. Do I need help with rent or mortgage assistance? No. I can continue to pay my way. Am I concerned that I can not care for my loved ones? No. We are able. We are able. We are able. We are so very blessed. But for all those who are not in my position, I'm glad that we are counting. I'm glad there are people (even on the weekends) who are taking names and numbers. I'm glad that they are asking the right questions. And more than anything else, I am glad that there is someone in power who will listen to those data points. I am glad science and education are back in the White House. 

For those who question, teachers are getting COVID. There are lots of us. There is mitigation of course. Masks and space and dividers help. But teachers are getting COVID. I could not teach for most of last week because of the weariness in my very bones, because if I sat up for too long I got dizzy. Because my fever made me cold all the time under layers and blankets. Because everything hurt. Because it hurt to talk. But I wanted to teach. I felt guilty not teaching. I felt like I was failing my students. There is an AP exam on the horizon. My twelfth graders are working on presentations. I still responded to their emailed questions. I still checked their progress. I still got paid, and I am ever thankful for that. But I also still felt like it was not, could not ever be enough. But as teachers, we often, if not always feel that way. We are never really enough. 

My own kids were still working this past week, as well. Quarantined from school, they continued on. My daughter livestreamed into her classes and did her best to keep up. My son had asynchronous work, and livestreamed in for the read aloud at noon. They kept up. They pushed. They asked me for help. We fought over reading (for one) and math (for the other). But we pushed. We kept on. 

Tomorrow I will livestream in and teach my classes. I am still in quarantine. I will do my best for my students, as always. I will be honest about my health, about my son (who will be by my side as he always is when I am home). I will check in on them all, their stress levels, their anxieties, their day to day well being. But I will do so with a new perspective. COVID is exhausting. I didn't know that weariness until this past week. I didn't really know what many of my students have known, have witnessed, have felt, until just now. I know it now. 

It is a good reminder that frailty is always just a breath away. We do not know what is to come, or how we will withstand the moments of our lives. But we are able, more than we might know. We are blessed, and we are able.