It had been a really long day.
After almost twelve hours taking in information, I was exhausted - and overwhelmed. I'd come to my first NAEYC public policy forum full of excitement to learn about supporting equitable access to high-quality early childhood education. But now it was 6pm. And instead of buzzing with ideas and inspiration, I was utterly depleted. I'd learned quickly that this was an incredibly complex endeavor, an issue inextricably connected to a wide range of social concerns. I cared passionately about it, but how could I possibly make any impact?
A fellow delegate from my state found me in the hotel lobby. In the years since, she has become a mentor to me, a trusted voice of wisdom and guidance with years of fascinating experience. But I didn't know that then. Instead, she listened patiently as I talked about my sense of helplessness. I had been inspired to attend the forum, I told her, by my experience as a teacher in an amazing early childhood program. I could attest to the impact of a program like ours - one with many resources that allowed for so much. Yet, I recognized that my experience was not typical for the vast majority of early childhood educators. "What can I do?" I sighed over a glass of wine.
My mentor looked at me earnestly. "The first thing you do," she explained sternly, "is you get rid of that guilt. Because that's not serving anybody but you."
After almost twelve hours taking in information, I was exhausted - and overwhelmed. I'd come to my first NAEYC public policy forum full of excitement to learn about supporting equitable access to high-quality early childhood education. But now it was 6pm. And instead of buzzing with ideas and inspiration, I was utterly depleted. I'd learned quickly that this was an incredibly complex endeavor, an issue inextricably connected to a wide range of social concerns. I cared passionately about it, but how could I possibly make any impact?
A fellow delegate from my state found me in the hotel lobby. In the years since, she has become a mentor to me, a trusted voice of wisdom and guidance with years of fascinating experience. But I didn't know that then. Instead, she listened patiently as I talked about my sense of helplessness. I had been inspired to attend the forum, I told her, by my experience as a teacher in an amazing early childhood program. I could attest to the impact of a program like ours - one with many resources that allowed for so much. Yet, I recognized that my experience was not typical for the vast majority of early childhood educators. "What can I do?" I sighed over a glass of wine.
My mentor looked at me earnestly. "The first thing you do," she explained sternly, "is you get rid of that guilt. Because that's not serving anybody but you."
Oh.
It felt like I'd been plunged into ice water. I hadn't realized it, but that was not the response I was expecting - that I was hoping for. I think, deep down, I wanted this friend to reassure me. "Oh, sweetheart. Don't be so hard on yourself. You're doing everything you can."
But here's the thing: That response would absolve me. It would pardon me from the fight. It would be the opposite of what I said I wanted to do.
She was right, of course. Guilt turns us inward. It shines a light on us, on ourselves and our feelings. And we can't be of service if we're asking "What about me?" instead of "What about you?"
It felt like I'd been plunged into ice water. I hadn't realized it, but that was not the response I was expecting - that I was hoping for. I think, deep down, I wanted this friend to reassure me. "Oh, sweetheart. Don't be so hard on yourself. You're doing everything you can."
But here's the thing: That response would absolve me. It would pardon me from the fight. It would be the opposite of what I said I wanted to do.
She was right, of course. Guilt turns us inward. It shines a light on us, on ourselves and our feelings. And we can't be of service if we're asking "What about me?" instead of "What about you?"
I am so grateful that my mentor gave me the response I didn't want to hear, and I have been thinking about it a lot lately. As a privileged white woman in the US, I feel that old familiar impulse as I consider the racism affecting my fellow Americans. It's so pervasive, and I'm irrevocably complicit - what could I possibly do?
Well, I can start by letting go of that guilt. Because - truly - it's not serving anybody but me.
Well, I can start by letting go of that guilt. Because - truly - it's not serving anybody but me.
