Yes, the title is provocative! But, for better or worse, this blog continues to just be about horses, teaching and the field of Equine Assisted Activities & Therapies. I am "blogging from bed" because for the past two weeks I've been fighting exhaustion, illness and mild depression.
Symptoms of the End of Session Blues.
Most dedicated teachers I know have experienced this phenomenon... You come to the end of a school year, semester or program session. Your students have excelled. Your horses (if applicable) have inspired, taught, tolerated and performed beyond even your own expectations for them. You have provided grades, evaluations or even just the verbal "ringside" progress reports common in my field. Maybe you've gone to a horse show or hosted a demonstration - showing off all those great skills and accomplishments that your riders have worked so hard to achieve.
It's a wonderful, wonderful, BUSY time.
And then it's over, suddenly and without much transition, and you are "on break." For me, this is when it always sets in - End of Session Blues. Often, the symptoms are a scratchy throat, leading to a full blown cold or flu. ("Great," I'll chastise myself, "You finally have some down time and now you are sick!!!") Sometimes, the symptom may include ennui - this deep boredom that cannot be permeated - the need to sit listlessly, watching endless Jane Austen movies or Golden Girls reruns while eating too many bags of microwave popcorn. Other times, there might be a pervasive restlessness (characterized by lack of concentration even for "comfort television"), the knowledge that there are lots of little things to attend to (blog entries to write, bills to pay, instructor annual compliance forms to complete) but utter lack of motivation to even start on any of them. There is sometimes even this weird guilt ("I have all this time now, shouldn't I be doing something???") Occasionally, there will be an emotional "fit" - crying over nothing, freaking out over small things and releasing the tension of that busy end-of-semester time (thankfully, neither my husband nor my dog tell tales).
So, am I overly neurotic? (Likely.) Or is this just the aftermath of a teaching job well done? I think it is probably a combination of the two, the letdown after the emotional high of coaching students on horseback towards achievements that surprise them, their loved ones and even me. It should be a time of reflection, professional development or rest, but for me "End of Session" is often a time of residual stress, a little sadness and physical exhaustion. This morning, though, I am "blogging from bed" - a good sign that the neurotic End of Session Blues are coming to an end... the return of productive energy and wellness, professional motivation and joy.
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
on Sunday, February 10, 2013
In My Dyslexia (W.W. Norton, 2011), Pulitzer Prize winning poet, Philip Schultz writes about living with dyslexia, the language processing disorder with which he was diagnosed only late in life. Schultz writes: "This much is clear: the mind of a dyslexic is different from the minds of other people. Learning that my problem with processing language wasn't stupidity seemed to take most of my life..." (24).
Schultz describes intense difficulties learning to read, his anxiety in both learning and social situations, and even explains how language processing problems affected his ability to take part in his religion. (Schultz is Jewish and experienced frustration and anxiety over not being able to learn Hebrew.) On the other hand, Schultz emphasizes how the unique thought patterns of dyslexia, and the coping strategies he was forced to develop, facilitated his development as a poet, teacher and creative thinker. He writes: "There's no little irony in the fact that the very things I couldn't do have helped provide me with a profession and means of knowing myself..." (112).
I consider the universal truth of Schultz's concept: our lives are defined by both what we can and can't do, whether we have specific learning disabilities or special needs or not.
Due to my background teaching and tutoring college writing and adults with reading difficulties, I've had a lot of opportunity to meet adults with dyslexia in learning situations. Almost always these individuals are brilliant (business owners, tattoo artists, beauticians, chefs...) in one creative, intuitive subject, but struggle with learning in traditional classrooms and suffer subsequent social and learning anxiety. In My Dyslexia, Schultz is careful to make the point that when one is taught from an early age to accept, cope and even celebrate one's unique thought patterns, this anxiety about learning differences can be greatly reduced.
In Equine Assisted Activities & Therapies (EAAT), I have also had the chance to work with riders with dyslexia. Horseback riding is an opportunity for those with dyslexia to engage in a "right/brain - left/ brain" activity, and there is evidence to suggest this type of activity is beneficial to those with dyslexia or other language processing disorders. Riding is also a kinestetic activity and those with dyslexia often show proclivity for hands-on learning. Throughout My Dyslexia, Schultz writes about the imposed difference of growing up with a learning disability (especially since he was undiagnosed) and the subsequent anxiety and low sense of self-worth. He writes: "One's self-image is a very fragile and private thing. On the most intimate level of all, the level of self-worth, every dyslexic owns a history of self-rejection and regret" (76). As a challenging but accessible kinestetic activity, horseback riding can become a successful learning experience that increases an individual's self-confidence in more universal learning situations.
My Dyslexia provides insight into a brilliant poet's struggles with the disorder. I was interested in how Schultz's experience with dyslexia was defined not only be phonetic difficulties with the written word, but also with oral language and daily tasks (He writes: "If I had trouble learning to read a clock, know my left from my right, hearing instructions... how could I trust my own thoughts or anything about myself?" (37)) As a teacher, I was also struck by how many of Schultz's insights could apply not only to those with dyslexia, but also perhaps to those with ADHD, other learning disabilities or autism spectrum disorders.
Schultz's book contains important insight for those of us interested in supporting the holistic success of learners whose brains may work differently from our own!
Schultz describes intense difficulties learning to read, his anxiety in both learning and social situations, and even explains how language processing problems affected his ability to take part in his religion. (Schultz is Jewish and experienced frustration and anxiety over not being able to learn Hebrew.) On the other hand, Schultz emphasizes how the unique thought patterns of dyslexia, and the coping strategies he was forced to develop, facilitated his development as a poet, teacher and creative thinker. He writes: "There's no little irony in the fact that the very things I couldn't do have helped provide me with a profession and means of knowing myself..." (112).
I consider the universal truth of Schultz's concept: our lives are defined by both what we can and can't do, whether we have specific learning disabilities or special needs or not.
Due to my background teaching and tutoring college writing and adults with reading difficulties, I've had a lot of opportunity to meet adults with dyslexia in learning situations. Almost always these individuals are brilliant (business owners, tattoo artists, beauticians, chefs...) in one creative, intuitive subject, but struggle with learning in traditional classrooms and suffer subsequent social and learning anxiety. In My Dyslexia, Schultz is careful to make the point that when one is taught from an early age to accept, cope and even celebrate one's unique thought patterns, this anxiety about learning differences can be greatly reduced.
In Equine Assisted Activities & Therapies (EAAT), I have also had the chance to work with riders with dyslexia. Horseback riding is an opportunity for those with dyslexia to engage in a "right/brain - left/ brain" activity, and there is evidence to suggest this type of activity is beneficial to those with dyslexia or other language processing disorders. Riding is also a kinestetic activity and those with dyslexia often show proclivity for hands-on learning. Throughout My Dyslexia, Schultz writes about the imposed difference of growing up with a learning disability (especially since he was undiagnosed) and the subsequent anxiety and low sense of self-worth. He writes: "One's self-image is a very fragile and private thing. On the most intimate level of all, the level of self-worth, every dyslexic owns a history of self-rejection and regret" (76). As a challenging but accessible kinestetic activity, horseback riding can become a successful learning experience that increases an individual's self-confidence in more universal learning situations.
My Dyslexia provides insight into a brilliant poet's struggles with the disorder. I was interested in how Schultz's experience with dyslexia was defined not only be phonetic difficulties with the written word, but also with oral language and daily tasks (He writes: "If I had trouble learning to read a clock, know my left from my right, hearing instructions... how could I trust my own thoughts or anything about myself?" (37)) As a teacher, I was also struck by how many of Schultz's insights could apply not only to those with dyslexia, but also perhaps to those with ADHD, other learning disabilities or autism spectrum disorders.
Schultz's book contains important insight for those of us interested in supporting the holistic success of learners whose brains may work differently from our own!
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