“I am so tired! I just want to be loved.”

In 2005, Brie started at the school in which I taught. A little older in age and the oldest of three, she towered over most of her peers in the fifth grade. She was strong in mind and spirit and did not shy away from telling people what she thought, felt, or how things should be.  

Her life and upbringing were a far cry from the one I had. For most of her life, Brie went back and forth between her mom and dad. At the time I met her, she and her siblings were living with their dad and stepmother; her mom was in jail. 

Various administrators and teachers who taught Brie’s siblings told me about the unpredictable and, at times, unsafe homelife of the three children. I couldn’t help but wonder why the state kept them in a house if they knew or had reason to believe the children were not safe. However, I found out keeping the kids together was the top priority, and being with their biological mom or dad provided the only guarantee the siblings stayed together.

Brie had been in and out of schools, and I would learn years later, this was the case for the rest of her K-12 education. She wrote in beautiful bubbly handwriting and dotted her “i’s” and “periods” with hearts.  When she read, she read slowly, phonetically, and struggled always comprehending the text. Yet, she read.  Words were often misspelled, and she used little to no punctuation (except in the case of a heart period here and there of course). Yet, she filled pages with her thoughts and words. Math seemed to be even more challenging for her as problems would often go unsolved, and she would wait for help before she tried. Yet, with help she tried.  It is hard to admit, but these “yet” moments would not be realized by me until sometime later.  

My class was a dual 4th/ 5th grade class, and the academic abilities of students ranged from kindergarten to ninth grade so I did a lot of small group teaching. To support these expansive and varying learning levels, I used something called “Thinkshop,” where students worked on various tasks and centers that supported their learning while I met with small groups throughout the day. During these small group times, depending on the Thinkshop task, Brie could be found doing one of a few things: rushing through the work to get it done, not doing the work at all and instead doing odd things here and there (fluffing pillows, cleaning up tables, organizing the library), or talking to other students. In my mind, I saw this as her refusing to do her work, not taking her education seriously, and distracting her peers from their learning.  That year, the school implemented a “color system,” where students would turn their cards depending on behavior (or maybe that was only in my classroom and the rest of the school had other systems that were less public and more thoughtful). Regardless, Brie ended many days on the less “favored” colors, and consequences prevailed.  

In the fall, I needed to be observed for one of my teacher certification classes, so I asked Aaron, my then boyfriend, now husband, who observed and coached teachers for a living, to observe me. He watched me teach. He even watched the transitions to and from the bathroom and recess. As my boyfriend, I just “knew” he wouldn’t find fault in my teaching and would celebrate all of the great things I did. Afterall, I was differentiating like a beast, and that day, I provided students with an application assessment regarding translations for math. However, my reality was just that, my reality. Aaron remained objective and productively critical. He gave me feedback, and I wish I accepted it with grace, love and appreciation, that the feedback and reflection improved my classroom tenfold. Instead, I was taken aback by his feedback. I became sensitive and defensive and made sure he knew how hard I worked and how much he didn’t know about my classroom. 

Aaron did point out strengths in different areas but the most critical feedback he gave me had little to do with the instruction and more to do with culture — particularly, the culture and my reactions toward Brie. He noticed how I looked up and called her out when she wasn’t in her seat or respective area doing her work. The bomb came when he mentioned the moment I snapped at Brie while the class was transitioning from the bathroom back to the classroom.  When she stepped out of the line, I made it clear she would be turning her card upon our arrival back into the classroom. She opened her mouth to argue but I was not having it that day.  

“That’s the consequence of getting out of line Brie. You know the expectation and I expect each of you to abide by it.” 

In my mind, how dare she try to contend with my expectations, particularly when we were in the hallway where the head of school and office manager could hear and see us?

 When Aaron brought this up, in defense, I blamed Brie. I jumped to explaining how she was never doing what she should be doing, how she was constantly “trying” to get other kids in trouble and off task because she had no regard for them, and how she never abided by my expectations. 

“Never?” He asked me. 

“Yes! Never!”  I replied. 

He went on to ask me if I knew what Brie was doing when she stepped out of line. I don’t remember my reply but I do remember what he said.

“She was trying to help someone in front of her because they had dropped something.”

He explained as he watched Brie, while at times she was avoiding her work when she left her area, she was often going to other students to ask for help.  Afterall, I had the expectation “Three before me…” where students had to ask three people before me. If someone helped her or even if they couldn’t, she stuck around to chat. In my eyes, this caused a distraction and showed a lack of regard for my classroom expectations. Yet, her “lack of regard” for my expectations was, more times than not, an effort to be helped, to help, and to connect. 

At first, I didn’t take Aaron’s feedback to heart nor did I let up on Brie. Then, fortunately for myself and more importantly for Brie, we hit a turning point, one that opened my eyes and heart to Brie in a way that helped me see her heart. Our school did not have a playground or library. We were located in downtown Charlotte, so we walked to a local park for recess each day and traveled to the public library one time per week (the library was not just any library either, it was Imaginon).  On the way back to school one day, we were mere steps from the school when a woman approached Brie.  

I remember Brie, yelling in panic, “Ms. Adams!” 

Worried and confused, I stopped the class and walked to where Brie stood in line.  I noticed she was stiff and wide eyed as the woman kept trying to convince Brie to talk to her.  I asked the woman if I could help her, and she explained she was Brie’s mom. When I asked Brie if this was true, she nodded yes. It was my understanding, Brie’s mom had been in jail earlier in the school year but I wasn’t sure if she had contact or was even allowed to have contact with Brie. When I asked Brie if she was supposed to be in contact with her mom, she shook her head no, fervently. We were close enough to the school that the class could sit on a lawn in front of the school building. I worried that Brie’s mom was not supposed to know where Brie and her siblings went to school  so I sent Brie to sit with her classmates. A few of her peers took Brie by the shoulders and sat with their arms wrapped around her, while I talked to Brie’s mom. I wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. I was only three and a half years into my teaching career and had never encountered anything quite like this. 

I asked Brie’s mom if there was someone I could get in touch with to confirm if Brie was allowed to talk to her. I also asked if she wanted me to call Brie’s father to perhaps grant permission for Brie to talk with her, but I didn’t feel comfortable with them talking until then. It appeared Brie didn’t want a conversation either, yet. Fortunately, Brie’s mom left without any trouble. The class and I all sat on the grass talking, while I, along with a classmate, held Brie’s hand and others rubbed her back and played with her hair.  When her mom was out of sight, I led the kids back into the school where we huddled together on the carpet, peers still cuddling with Brie and the rest listening to read aloud.  

Dear Sweet Brie, 

I don’t know if you recall the conversation we had after that occurrence with your mom, but when I checked in with you later that day, I remember you saying how tired you were and how much you just wanted to be loved.  So much had been put on you in such a short lifetime and all you wanted was a life that allowed you to be supported and successful. You gave so much of yourself to everyone each and every day and too often it was clear, how little you had left to give to yourself.  

Perhaps, you don’t remember this either, however in 2009, I found you!  While coaching a teacher, we were reviewing math papers, and I came across what appeared to be your first name and last initial as both the “i” and period were made with hearts.  I asked the teacher is this Brie? And to my heart’s happiness, it was you. The next day, I visited you in that classroom, and we caught up. You shared all that you had been through over the last four years and despite spending a mere 15 years on this earth, the weight of the world remained on your shoulders. 

Brie, you taught me so much in the short time I had the opportunity to be your teacher!  

I learned how much can be put on a child and that, when in the classroom, teachers can and must help alleviate that fear and anxiety by providing a safe and trauma informed space for each of their students. 

I learned that a “busy” student is not always avoiding work but rather working to connect and learn. As teachers, we must provide space and meaningful opportunities to ensure students, who need space for connection, have it. Teachers must ensure students are not punished for finding ways to do so, especially if the teacher hasn’t offered that space for their students.  

I learned that students often show how they want to be loved through their actions. What they are projecting is often what they are in fact needing.  When others were given the opportunity to help you and provide for you, you learned so much more.  

I wish it hadn’t taken so long for me to learn these lessons. Thank you for providing me a lens into your heart to ensure all students can be loved and respected within their classrooms.  

My Heart to Yours, 

Ms. (Adams) Pomis 

• Be Mindful of Foundational Needs:

When students enter our classrooms having had traumatic life experiences, the learning environment is often the last thing on their minds, especially if their most basic life needs are not being met.  Teachers are no longer “just teachers” but must lean into their role as educators. There is a difference between teaching and providing an education. No matter how you define teaching versus providing an education, our students are coming to us with histories and experiences many of us could never imagine. Especially, if our backgrounds do not reflect those of students from marginalized communities. When we take a step outside of mere classroom expectations and really think about the human lives in front of us, we can become true educators.  While the work is beyond hard, what is amazing is when we provide a space of safety and connection, more learning happens and our work is in fact met with more joy and less obstacles. Consider how your classroom culture and routines can support some of those foundational needs.  

• Rid yourself of the potential “Deficit Ideology Detour” (Gorski, 2019)

In Gorski’s “Avoiding Racial Equity Detours” he explains that we as educators, “[presume] we can resolve racial inequities by simply teaching students of color to have grit, [which] is like presuming we can resolve coastal communities to swim faster.” Our efforts as anit-racist and non-oppressive educators must focus on “eliminating conditions that marginalize students-never on fixing students of color.” As I reflect on Brie’s story, I can see how my classroom systems and expectations actually perpetuated this detour and did little to recognize that my students are not there to be fixed but to be loved, supported, and provided space to showcase all that they bring to this world.  

• Be observed!  

Don’t be afraid of observation. Find someone who cares about you, who will be honest with you because they want you and your students to succeed. I thought asking Aaron to observe me would mean that I would be off the hook, and he would only see all of the positive things I did. His honesty and time in my classroom that day, (despite the fact I wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say) was critical in my journey of becoming an anti-racist and non-oppressive educator as he pointed those actions out to me.  Try your best to remain open when the honesty comes. We owe this to our students.  

Gorski, Paul. “Avoiding Racial Equity Detours .” Educational Leadership , Apr. 2019, pp. 56–61.