entry nineteen

 Saturday, April 6, 2025

    Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what self-care really means. Is it checking things off my to-do list like running errands or prepping meals for the week? Is it doing something new—like going on a first date? Or is it something quieter, like taking a nap or watching a favorite show? As a veteran special education teacher in a first grade inclusion classroom, my days are full of emotional demands, unpredictable moments, and a constant need to be patient, calm, and responsive. By the time the weekend rolls around, I want to recharge—but instead, I often find myself trying to “catch up” on life.

    I used to think self-care had to look a certain way—bubble baths, yoga, journaling—but now I wonder if it’s less about the activity and more about the intention. Maybe self-care is whatever reminds me that I matter too. For someone else, self-care might mean a long run or going out with friends. For me, some days it’s finally picking up groceries without rushing, and other days it’s giving myself permission to rest.

    The mantra “you matter” has been quietly echoing in my mind more often lately. As a teacher, I pour so much of myself into others—my students, my team, my school—that I sometimes forget I'm a person who needs care, too. Saying “you matter” to myself is a powerful reminder that I’m not just a caretaker, I’m also worthy of care. It helps me reframe self-care as not being selfish, but necessary. When I say “you matter,” it helps me slow down, breathe, and treat myself with the same kindness and compassion I offer everyone else—because I deserve that, too.

    Why does the weekend feel so short while the work week drags on endlessly? Maybe because during the week, I give and give, and by the weekend, I’m already depleted. The time meant for rest gets filled with maintenance tasks and the mental load of preparing to do it all again. I want to learn how to make space for self-care during the week, not just wait for the weekend to rescue me. Whether it's errands, a date, or a moment of quiet, I think what matters most is that I choose something for me, not just out of obligation. That, to me, might be the truest form of self-care.

Self-Care, Teacher-Style

I used to think self-care was a bubble bath,  

a glass of wine and candles lit just right.  

but now, it’s the 2:45pm sigh—  

The deep, soul-crushing kind,  

when I realize I’ve lost my stapler for the fifth time  

and I’ve had two too many cups of coffee today

because I tossed and turned all night

I yearn to finally to pack up the day 

and clock out.

It’s the “I can’t talk anymore” silence,  

as I stare at a stack of IEPs,  

wondering why I didn’t just become a mortician like I wanted.  

At least with the dead, I wouldn’t have to explain why I’m crying.

But self-care is finding five minutes
to scribble aimlessly on a piece of paper.
It doesn’t matter if it’s a to-do list or a doodle.
It’s the motion of the pen,
or break from the never-ending tasks.

Maybe it’s vegging out in front of the TV,
where crime dramas take over my mind,
and I forget that my classroom is still in my head.

It’s the escape in the screen’s glow.
where I’m not a teacher,
just a tired person
in a world that isn’t mine for a while.

Self-care is remembering lunch exists.

If I’m lucky enough to have time to eat,  

It’s not forgetting my lunch at home,  

and now my stomach growls louder than my thoughts.  

My mind is racing—  

lesson plans, student needs, the pile of paperwork—  

but all I can focus on is the empty feeling inside.

I’m still trying to figure out what’s "enough."  

A glass of water, an extra hour of sleep,  

maybe a whole day without being interrupted  

by a tiny human who needs help with everything.  

But then again,  

self-care might just be laughing  

at how absurd it all is.