the scars you cannot see

My kids and I were comparing scars the other day. Little visible marks, reminders of the past. The little line on my upper arm where infant-me had a cyst removed. A barely visible mark above my eyebrow where I landed on the corner of the coffee table after jumping on the couch when my grandmother was babysitting. A nick on the chin from crashing into a windowsill while playing our version of “Hockey Night in Canada.” An ugly gash on my foot from tripping over barbed wire while heffullump hunting with my cousins at the river. An appendectomy. A wire-thin mark from a leash burn when our dog, Pippa, took off after another dog at the ferry terminal. The place where the hospital placed a tube to drain my lungs after a car accident. The curved scar where they set my ankle after a compound fracture.  Little chunks of hard scar tissue that remain long after the event. Each one a reminder of pain- and healing. Each one a reminder that I am resilient. Each one a reminder that-with help-my body was designed to heal itself.

Today is the first day of school for many kids and their teachers. Today I think of my colleagues returning to school. Their classrooms, real and virtual, full of kids with their own scars. Some scars are easy to see. Some are invisible.  The scars that remain for kids who come to school hungry day after day. The trauma of losing homes, siblings, parents, culture, or a sense of purpose. The damage that results when they have lost their way. The suffering that comes from rejection, neglect and abandonment. The wounds that arise from witnessing unimaginable violence. The far-reaching impacts of intergenerational trauma.  These scars manifest themselves in many different ways

Our bodies have mechanisms to repair physical damage. With medical assistance, bones can be set. Gaping wounds can be stitched together. Antibiotics fight off infection.  But how do internal wounds heal? What kind of scar tissue mends that kind of brokenness? How can we, as teachers, give students the assistance they need to repair themselves? The scars we cannot see are the hardest to address.

Teachers have to listen to the messages students send, especially when they cannot put their pain into words. We need to get help for their immediate issues especially when the system seems stacked against them. We must get them the long-term help they need even when it means fighting to get them that help. We need to help our students understand where their scars come from and that those scars are part of who they are. We must reassure them that they are not alone. We must let them know they can heal. They have resilience within themselves, even it is years in the making. We cannot stop the pain but with patience and compassion, we can help the recovery. We cannot stop the pain but with patience and compassion, we can help the recovery.

This is what we must do as teachers every day. This is what we must do to bring peace to a young person. This is what we must do in order for our classrooms to function. This is what we must do before we can begin to think about curriculum, outcomes and assessment. This is what we must do before learning can happen.