​As back-to-school season approaches, our discussions and preparation tend to centre current students. This isn’t a bad thing, of course, but we wondered about all the former students who became high school teachers, music teachers, elementary school teachers, professors, TAs, tutors, language teachers, administrators, preschool teachers, adaptive teachers, librarians, guidance counsellors, and so much more. 

 

How are they? How does August feel for them? 

 

Everything is especially heavy right now. Adulting is hard. And educators have a unique position and role among all that's swirling around us…

 

Most of us either are or have been students, and I'd argue that, at some point, we've taken for granted what our teachers—even ones we didn't get along with—did for us. 

 

Looking back, many of us had complex relationships with educators—and not always easy ones. While we were exposed to outstanding people over the years, there was a smattering of difficult—sometimes damaging—individuals. As painful as these experiences were, they fueled the crafting of our voice and capacity for strength.

 

Youth/teenage tunnel vision often enables negatives to overshadow positives—we weren’t always cognizant nor appreciative of how fortunate we were to be surrounded by extraordinary people, in and outside of the classroom. Our attitudes change—dramatically—when we’re punched with news even years in the future, such as a former high school English teacher dying of cancer at the age of 26, still teaching by offering a posthumous letter at a packed funeral service, read by a former student. We’re starkly reminded of how fast life can change as this letter implores us to tell the people we love how we feel about them now; to say thank you when we get the opportunity now; and to “not wait to live our life because it can disappear in an instant.” 

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If we could speak to our educators, now, we’d tell them that their words and actions have stayed with us and influenced us throughout our lives. We’d remember them. And so we will…

 

Dear Educators,

 

We see you. 

 

We see the summer break you think through, thoughtfully preparing lesson plans, materials, quotes, readings, questions, and homework for each new year.

 

Always asking yourself if you can answer the academic (and life) questions you ask your students.

 

We see you tenderly listening to parents/guardians and standing up to them (for yourself and your students).

 

When they don’t or won’t see that you’re doing your best.

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When they verbally abuse or psychologically harm you. 

 

When you suspect these behaviours exist in their relationship with their child.

 

Frequently, we see you as the first line of defence for a student’s distress—the first to notice something wrong and offer emotional support. 

 

We see you navigating how children reflect their parent/guardian’s wounds in words, actions, and behaviours.

 

Among cutbacks, a struggling economy, and a cost of living crisis.

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With limited support for students who fell behind during virtual learning.

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With expectations from parents/guardians that schools would manage and fund educational recovery.

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Among persistent concerns about COVID-19 and other viruses.

 

We see you guiding students through unpacking the ‘isms’ of our world, teaching them well beyond your expertise, subject specialization, and comfort zone.

 

We see your magic, turning anything into story time (even math) and instilling an appreciation of language, culture, history, and why we must protect them.

 

We see you wading through uncertainty while balancing, adapting, and taking risks.

 

Learning and unlearning as you teach.

We see you resolving conflicts in restorative ways, not punitive, reminding us how correction and celebration coexist.

 

Because you believe they don’t cancel each other out. 

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And you don’t allow them to become self-worth-based. 

 

We see you advocating and protesting for (and with) students, acknowledging when they’re right and when those in positions of power (including yourself) aren’t. 

 

We see you endlessly grading, replying to emails, and offering feedback. 

 

Sharing advice and resources whenever you have a minute.

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But don’t forget to keep a few minutes for yourself (and watch this video when you need a pep talk).

 

We see you initiating dedicated interest in students’ non-academic lives. 

 

We see you now. We remember seeing you. 

 

And now that we’re adults, too, we see you feeling everything that we are.

 

We see you in the profession with the second-highest increase in levels of average anxiety, just after nurses. 

 

We see you as a superhero not just because you’re an educator, but because you’re so many other things at the same time.

 

38% of you (above average) self-reported burnout during the pandemic. We see you. 

 

As healthcare worker burnout has improved, educator burnout hasn’t. We see you. 

 

When leadership in schools, school boards, and unions haven’t met you where you are to implement stronger protective policy, we see you. 

 

When you’re human—pressured—and bring pre-existing challenges into the workplace (and workplace challenges home), we see you.

 

We see you navigating unresolved issues, struggling to engage with leadership in meaningful ways, losing trust and confidence, fighting for tools and resources to create safer, healthier environments, and not receiving recognition for achievement and performance. 

 

We see you caring so much that you struggle to tense the thread defining your boundaries.

 

We know you’re motivated beyond financial incentives. We see you.

 

And we know we’re tired, writing this letter in partial paragraphs to guide the words on the page to your heart as quickly as possible. You must be exhausted.

 

Yet we see you saying thank you to your students—to us—which is why we know how to write this letter. 

 

Jezz Chung says, “We get better at anything we practice,” and we will practice saying thank you like we practiced reading and multiplication. Over and over again. We see you. We hear you. We celebrate you. Thank you.

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