entry eleven

 Friday, March 14, 2025 

Yesterday, I had my first meeting with my critical friend, and it gave me a lot to think about. She listened without judgment, offering thoughtful insights into the way I’ve been coping with my burnout. I’ve been trying to push through, using different strategies to manage the exhaustion, the frustration, and the overwhelming weight of it all. But she pointed out something I hadn’t fully considered—while these strategies might be helpful, they need to be meaningful to me. Simply checking off self-care boxes won’t be enough if the actions themselves don’t bring true relief or restoration. That realization hit hard. Have I just been going through the motions, hoping that something will stick? Maybe it’s time to reevaluate what actually helps me feel better, rather than what I think should help. 

She also reminded me not to carry the weight of things beyond my control. I spend so much mental energy worrying about policies, funding, and the bigger picture of education. The possibility of President Trump abolishing the Department of Education or dismantling public and special education altogether haunts me. It feels like a looming disaster. My critical friend urged me to acknowledge those fears and then move on. There are people in higher positions fighting these battles. My role is to do what I can in my classroom, for my students, right now. 

Then, she said something that stuck with me—something my art pieces have been telling me all along. I am enough. The broken, wrapped-up sticks, the careful layering of tape, the process of binding together what feels fragile—they have been whispering this truth to me. My critical friend confirmed it. Even when I feel like I’m barely holding it together, I amholding it together. Even when I feel like I’m failing, I am enough. 

It’s not an easy truth to accept. I have spent so much time believing that I need to be more—more patient, more effective, more in control. But maybe I don’t. Maybe what I bring to the classroom each day, however imperfect, is already enough. Moving forward, I want to focus on coping strategies that truly replenish me. Maybe that means journaling more, finding a creative outlet, or even just setting firmer boundaries around work. I don’t have to fix everything. I don’t have to carry it all alone. I just have to be—and that is enough. 

                     

“Skywritten Truths” 

mixed media collage on cardboard 

 

Me: You’re more beautiful than I expected. The marbling—it didn’t go how I planned, but somehow… it works. 

 

Skywritten Truths (softly): Like burnout. Unpredictable. Messy. But even in the chaos, there’s something unexpectedly beautiful—if you let yourself see it. 

 

Me: This one—"I matter"—with the mouse looking up at the giraffe. I laughed when I glued it down. It felt like me in staff meetings. 

 

Skywritten Truths: Small but present. Curious. Brave enough to look up. “You matter” not because you're the loudest voice—but because you’re the one who notices. 

 

Me: …and this one—"I am enough." That man standing on top of a tree. Alone, but tall. I don’t always feel like him. 

Skywritten Truths: You made him. You chose that image. Maybe your soul knows something your mind hasn’t caught up with yet. 

 

Me: I guess I needed to see those words hanging in front of me. To believe them. Do you think I will? 

 

Skywritten Truths: You already are. Every strange swirl of color, every card you hung—is proof.  Burnout didn’t break you. It brought you back to your art. To your voice. To this truth: You are enough. You matter. Even now. Especially now.