Do you need rescuing?

Last Thursday:

"Do you need rescuing?" my oldest daughter looks up from a book as I enter the living room.

"Why do you think that?" I am puzzled.

She points to my post-it quilted coffee table. On top of all the reminders, tasks, and questions is a large yellow post-it with SOS written in bold letters. 

Do I need rescuing? 

On a Thursday of the sixth week of Distance Learning I have certainly ran out of energy. I have kept going with smiles and enthusiasm, care and cheers, curiosity and celebrations, balancing myself with tight daily schedule and carefully curated to-do-lists, protecting my sleep and outside walks. Yet, I see that some of the kids are slipping away. I can't always observe their faces and quietly ask them how they are doing. I can't walk over to them to see what they are doing or trying to do. I can't gather them on a carpet to do a collective check-in. We do these things through the screens as much as we can and it is not enough to sustain us all. 

Physically and emotionally tired, I feel I can't read another email. I have become dreading opening the emails. It's as if my inbox sends out a message to the universe that as soon as I feel on top of things, someone should send an email that stirs things and gobbles up any time I have spared. And no matter how compassionately I try to solve the problems, or how carefully the actions are chosen, someone is always unhappy with the decisions and explanations. I hold on to the kind words written in other emails, and they keep me afloat. 

My things-I-should-do and my things-done lists are out of balance. I might as-well start a things-not-done list and cross off will-never-get-done items. I struggle with accepting that my vision and wish of what I can get accomplished does not match my productivity and capacity. The not-enough, not-enough, not-enough waves leave me soaked with guilt and self-pity. I wrap myself in self-compassion and thing of what can I let go. 

I need rescuing. My daughter can't do it. Most of the rescuing has to happen in my head. I acknowledge the feelings washing over me. I tell myself I will be fine, knowing that spring break will give time for restoring my energy and return to face-to-face learning will make it easier with the students. 

I smile to my daughter.

"No. The SOS stands for Sharing our Stories, it's a reminder to blog," I explain.

My daughter nods and returns to her book. 

I sit down on my sofa, open the laptop and go to my inbox. I don't have time to write my blog post on Thursday. It would have to wait until Saturday morning, my favourite time of writing. 

Today:

My coffee table holds my teacup, my reading glasses, "The Library of Unwritten" and a post-it with SOS written on it.

Do I need rescuing?

I had a nightmare of returning to school, with not finding my classroom, and when. found it it was a mess and the students completely ignored me. I woke up with a sigh. After breakfast, when I had to open the school email and I felt the stress run through my veins even before I reached my laptop. All the things to do before the end of the school flashed in my brain. 

I don't need rescuing. 

Today I am still on spring break. Last Saturday I visited my middle daughter in another town in Estonia. After many months my family was together again. We ate cake and played board games. On Monday my sis and little nephew came to visit. We ate more cake and played more games. 

I have taken the week as slow as possible, not doing much. I needed it. In the words of Calvin and Hobbes "There isn't enough time to do all the nothing I want to do." 

Today I have time to write. Writing helps.