Written by: Hope Torres
It was early in the morning and I was jumping onto the bus heading to work. My husband had walked me to the bus stop after spending the morning together. As I turned and walk away from him I was becoming more aware of the lump in my throat, it was an emotional morning for me. I held back the tears that were emerging because I was entering the public bus and I didn't want anyone to see my cry. I didn’t want anyone to see me being vulnerable. That same morning when I arrived to work, there was a child a drop off who was playing with his dad. As his father said goodbye and his body disappear from the frame of the window the boy didn't hold back his tears like I did. He was in a safe and nurturing environment where tears are always welcomed. This is the different between myself and this boy. The power of feeling vulnerable and just letting go and feeling. Feelings are important, feelings demand to be felt. I admire the educator who comforted the boy because she gave room for his cry, I admired her for not trying to focus the child’s attention on something else, for embracing his sadness and letting him feel. This builds a sense of strength, a sense of confidence in the face of adversity and discomfort. In so many occasions children are told to fight the sadness, overcome it, but when it comes to the deep emotional process we need to allow it. I appreciated the vulnerability that was being shown by this child and I admired him for just letting go and letting his feelings be felt. Whereas I did not. I suppressed my feelings, I fought the sadness because I was educated away from our awareness of our feelings. Depression happens when we repress our emotions. The boy is lucky to have a strong relationship with someone who has the techniques in terms of resilience. And I am lucky to be in an environment as supporting and warming as the one I am in now. As early childhood educators, it is important to have awareness; if I can’t feel my sadness, the children won’t either. If we know sadness, we can lead a child with sadness, we can safely guide children through it. We have to let the emotions be felt in order to bounce back. It wasn’t until we went outside when the boy was able to bounce back. He was supported and cared for a long period of time, not once telling him to stop crying, not once saying you’re ok, not once ignoring him.
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Written by: Lindsay Lichty
I offered this territorial acknowledgement to an Early Learning and Care class at Camosun College. I am inspired by the work of Enid Elliott, and her commitment to sharing authentic ways of taking ownership of being a settler. It's important that we place ourselves within our stories, and that we reflect so that our stories can evolve. This is the third time I've shared this acknowledgement, this time, editing the words to more accurately reflect the tone of the day, and the urgency for us to acknowledge and give voice to Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women. I. I am a woman. I am a woman living on stolen land. I am a woman living on stolen land and trying to plant my roots. I am a woman living on stolen land trying to plant my roots in the soil that contains the blood from the granddaughters of the women whose land we stole. I. I am a woman. I am a women living on stolen land. I am a woman living on stolen land trying to plant my roots. I am a woman living on stolen land trying to plant my roots in the small space that the world allows for me to be a woman. I. I am a woman. I am a woman living on stolen land. I am a woman living on stolen land trying to plant my roots. I am a woman living on stolen land trying to plant my roots in this colonialized Canadian soil. Soil that cakes the faces of the corpses of women that remain nameless on the news. Headlines buried beneath a story about the cost of living. No mention of the cost of living as a woman. I am a woman from a long line of women that deserve to be honored. I am a woman at the front of a long line of women that deserve to be honored. I am a woman committed to living honorably for of all of them. I am a woman living on stolen land trying to plant my roots. I am a woman living on stolen land. I am a woman. I. I am a woman living on the land stolen from the Lekwungen -speaking people, of the WSÁNEĆ nation, on the traditional territory of the Songhees and Esquimalt nations. Written by: Bronwyn Harrison
I think I had a lot of expectations. Expectations about the new educators. Expectations about the new younger ones. Expectations about myself, and my role on this day. I felt myself collapse into old routines, greeted by the people I care for deeply. Although I am not the most affectionate, I accepted the love offered to me. The surprise and excitement of seeing friends new and old fills my heart with a deep purpose and sense of belonging. I feel I am where I am meant to be. It feels like home, and perhaps it is. I became accustomed to this appreciation, self-ful in my embrace of the attention. I could feel the differences, and I wondered where I fit in. As we wandered outside, some children stayed close to me, eyes wide with wonder watching the various groups descend to their chosen places. It was like a play on the first night, the actors knowing their lines but tentative in their delivery. We eventually galloped across the wet, green fields, past the leafless trees, the mud befriending the bottom of our boots. We stood under the tree, seeing our counterparts already having dug their heels into the sandy abyss. Some quickly embarked into the thick forest. Others joined those entrenched in the sand. I simply watched the performance knowing it was where I wanted to be. I conversed with those around me, excited to hear about recent events. We later went back over the grassy knolls, ready for nourishment and camaraderie. After consuming from the metal boxes and colourful plastic vessels, I left for a time, taking in the outdoors with some nourishment for myself. Once back, I lay my head to rest among the restless. It was quiet, save some tears and an entry and exit or two. We left once again, embracing the familiar terrain. We ran among the wood chips, conversing as monsters. It slowly grew darker, and the numbers dropped to a few. It got colder still, and we retreated to the warmth of our home and a lovely scent filled the air. After some sweeping motions, doors latched, and the last of the children had departed, we said goodbye for now, and went off into the night. |
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