Late summer in the jungle is disorienting. There’s no dramatic change in temperature, no pumpkin anything being hoisted on me. But there’s more rain, unpredictable road conditions and new flowers and critters who come out to say, hi.

For college professors like me who teach summers there is a blur and often an overlap between classes ending, prep, and new classes commencing. Like no real break. Since March I have been gearing up for new fall curriculum.

Teaching has become a visceral experience–even with teaching solely online. Yes, I’m guiding students on how to write essays, but I can’t choose texts or build an experience in a course without fully owning it myself. For decades I taught broad, fairly simple themes around things like food, sleep, humor, or happiness, or I used a traditional 1A text that took dips into classic essays about Obedience to Authority in the Stanford Experiment or a cultural analysis of the Cinderella story. Yet, none of that feels relevant now.

Since 2014, I have taught texts that centered on stereotype threat, racial inequity, racial profiling and police use of force, and implicit bias. To do this well, I had to be reflective and face and process my own contributions as a white, cisgendered, heterosexual woman. Then, I had to be transparent about why and how I was teaching these concepts. Luckily, I teach at a college that embraces racial equity, and they’ve always supported my curriculum decisions.

Students can sniff out insincerity, the desire for compliance over curiosity or if I’m just going through the motions. So changing my curriculum is no small decision. Not just because of the time, but because I have to process, reflect and develop curriculum from a place that is authentic. So where am I now?

Considering COVID and the collective next steps of racial equity work, this fall I’m diving into healing, somatic healing of trauma, to be exact. The term “somatic” derives from “soma,” the Greek word for “the body” and “tic” means “pertaining to.” Science folks will recognize this root in words like chromosomal or liposomal. Somatic healing focuses on how to heal your body from trauma. And, whoo-boy, if you have survived these last two years, you have a little trauma, to be sure.

I’m starting with some basic foundational information like “Big T trauma vs small t” and Polyvagal Theory, which fascinates me as I’ve had a history of inconveniently and unexpectedly passing out after medical, semi-painful, or stressful experiences.

 

I’ve been asking myself and will ask students “What is your body’s response to a high stress event? How do you come back to equilibrium? During my research, it seems that multiple schools, universities, parent groups, and workplaces are realizing the status quo doesn’t work. Like gym memberships, more detentions, or another glass of wine isn’t healing people. All humans need a way to care for themselves in this unpredictable and chaotic world.

 

Of course, no one will have to reveal any personal trauma during the course, though they can choose to include it if they want. And I will integrate our student services including psychological and peer support.

Through film, texts, and some music, we’ll examine different types of trauma and how they intersect (educational, childhood, and racial) and then work towards scientifically proven methods of healing. We will research a group that has endured collective, historical trauma and learn more about options and effectiveness of healing methods. This will give lots of opportunities to study any group from civilians or veterans of a particular war to Japanese people who experienced internment to survivors of Hurricane Katrina, the incarcerated, to immigrants currently being detained at the border.

I’m learning so much from the texts: The Body Keeps Score, My Grandmother’s Hands, and though not required for the students, How To do The Work. And I highly recommend them all.

While the path on paper seems clear, what has been getting me is my own body’s response to the reading and planning. I’ve been doing daily meditation and yoga for about two years now, which has been a positive life-changer. But as I’m learning more about how the body digests trauma and feeling all the feels, I’m getting flashes of moments or even triggers, where I am allowing myself to cry, rage, feel fear –to process things I thought were wrapped up, you know, off my emotional to-do list. (Haha… I’m such a Virgo.)

Needless to say, I’m feeling less at ease about my curriculum this fall, yet I think that’s a great place to be. It is likely closer to my students’ experience of entering college during a pandemic. And it is opening up places of vulnerability in me that will help students have courage with their own experiences or at least to be reminded that they are not alone.

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change.”

Brené Brown

What I am confident about is using mindfulness as a healing modality in my classes. Hands down, having low stakes weekly meditation assignments have been my students favorite activity, and even the students who were not able to complete the course completed the meditations. Common responses included: “I looked forward to the meditations. It forced me to take time for myself and quiet my body and get me ready for my day. It gave me a more positive outlook and helped me be more productive with my homework.” Meditations have helped them cope with all the stresses: illness, anxiety over transfer, money, COVID, relationships, family life, and so much more.

The world is not going back to the way it was–and neither are classrooms. As my first day of fall classes approach, I am reminding myself that real teaching, being present with other humans and guiding them to develop, lead and heal themselves, is scary and a revolutionary act of love.