It’s been an extremely long and full week.

This time of the semester is always extremely stressful as my students are preparing to turn in high-stakes teacher performance assessments that are gatekeepers between them and their credentials.  The pressure is on and their stress can be contagious.

It’s also the point in the semester where classes have major assignments due; there’s usually some type of flu or virus that knocks several students down physically; and we all work at limping towards the Fall break that comes during Thanksgiving week.

I decided to add a new lecture to my literacy course, on critical literacy, something that’s super important to me and honoring something I know is important to my work, but that is hard to address in 2.5 hours when I really feel like 1 full semester isn’t enough.

I had two major assignments to grade x 30.

I was singing backup vocals with my choir for a local performance of the Wiz. 5 shows in 4 days.

I hosted a panel of former students (current teachers) in my Curriculum & Instruction class that was overall positive but needed a 2-hour debrief in order to support a student in recognizing how important his position (as a white male teacher) was to consider in saying problematic things about the parents of his (mainly Black and Latinx) parents.

Then my older daughter missed her flight home. She ended up getting another ticket on a flight 3 hours later, and I sent an e-mail to the airline asking for compassion and some type of credit on the canceled reservation despite a clear policy that meant we were out of luck.

And tonight, as I was thinking about this overdue blog (they usually come out on Fridays), I realized that this whole week was a series of lessons on compassion–suffering with, and finding joy in the suffering.

I lead a very fortunate life where I get to do things that I love and have people I love around me (even with some delay and a lot of stress), but sometimes, in fact, many times this week, I have felt the strain of all there is to do to honor the deep commitments I hold, and it has caused me to feel strained, and tired, and not good at anything, certainly not at the things that I most value.

But this morning, as we were on our morning dog walk, my 10-year old son, who can often be impatient with his 18-month old sister, offered her his hand to help her walk around on the sidewalk, like a big girl–a big girl with support, but a proud little sister, helped by someone she greatly admires to move forward and develop. That joyful moment really struck me.

It struck me because, as much as I believe in finding that joy in the midst of suffering, I also believe that suffering comes (in whatever small or large form) to remind us of our humanity.  Humanity joins us in a world that can often be incredibly divisive.  We have a choice to be annoyed at what is happening around us and keep walking on our own path or to reach out a hand to help someone who may need that hand.  When we are in the position to offer that support, we can’t know how much that support means to the person we are supporting.

I can show compassion to my students because I get how stressful life can be.  I can show compassion to myself because I know that I’m trying the best I can–starting where I am, and trying to move forward.  And, I’m starting to learn that I can also accept support from those who get what I’m going through too.  Some may think that’s a sign of weakness, but I see it as a sign of strength and development.

And in that small measure, I am being the change I wish to see, doing the work that needs to be done, and starting, imperfectly with myself and those closest to me.