As an educator, the long breaks that mark our calendar are supposed to be a reprieve, a time to rest and recharge. They offer a rare opportunity to step away from the relentless demands of lesson plans, grading, and student needs. But what happens when the silence of those breaks becomes unbearable?
Educators were not meant to be single. That’s not to say we all need to be partnered to live fulfilling lives, but the rhythm of the school year—the bustling energy of the classroom, the endless interactions, and the constant need to “show up”—leaves little time for introspection during the busy months. And when the school year pauses, all that empty space creates fertile ground for rumination.
For someone who has experienced a profound loss, this solitude is not restorative; it is isolating. This year, I entered my break mourning the loss of my mother, the person who taught me what it meant to truly live. Her passing in October has left me adrift in a sea of grief, and now, with no bell schedule to distract me, I am confronted with the weight of my sorrow.
What makes this particular break so painful is that the one person I long to be with during these moments of sadness is gone too. While not only missing my mom, I am also missing the one person I would find solace with during particularly hard times. Her wisdom, her presence, and her ability to make even the hardest days seem manageable were my anchors. Without her, the silence grows louder, and the time stretches longer.
Breaks like this are not just a pause from work; they are a mirror, reflecting all the emotions we’ve been too busy to face. They remind us of our humanity, our fragility, and our need for connection. But they can also amplify the ache of loneliness, especially when there is no one to fill the quiet with shared laughter, stories, or even just their calming presence.
If you’ve ever felt this ache, you know how difficult it can be to navigate. There is no syllabus, no guide, no rubric for how to fill the void left by someone or some people who meant everything to you. For me, it has meant learning to sit with the discomfort and the pain, even when every fiber of my being wants to run from it.
But in the stillness, I am also reminded of the lessons my mother instilled in me. She would have encouraged me to embrace this time, to seek meaning in the silence, and to find ways to honor her memory. Maybe it’s through writing, as I’m doing now. Maybe it’s through dance, or through traveling to a place she would have loved. Maybe it’s simply by showing up for myself, even when I feel like retreating.
So, to my fellow educators and anyone else navigating long breaks with heavy hearts: you are not alone. These moments of pause, though painful, can also be opportunities to reflect, heal, and grow. And perhaps, in the stillness, we can find a way to carry the love we’ve lost forward, allowing it to guide us as we step back into the noise of our lives.
Because even in the silence, love lingers. And maybe that’s enough to get through the next day—and the next break.
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