The REAL School Student Evaluations

Teaching mindfulness to students at the REAL School was not always a simple task. For students who had not been successful in traditional settings, there is an extra layer of wariness towards weird strangers telling them to focus on their breath. They seemed on edge, like they feel unsafe. Over the course of the eight weeks I spent with them, I saw some cracks in their facades. They occasionally would offer an insight into their experience or agree to read a line of a poem we were dissecting.

When the eight weeks came to a close, we ended with a beach pebble ceremony, each taking one as our anchor and sharing one thing we would leave with. I told them the one thing I hoped they remember is that we have more control and freedom than we often think we do. And that freedom comes from noticing what is going on for us. I told them just the night before, I was feeling really angry, and I decided I was going to eat pizza and watch bad television. I told them that mindfulness doesn't always mean we choose something healthy or sit with our emotions every moment as they arise. Sometimes, it means we notice those strong feelings come up, and we choose to not deal with them right then. Sometimes, it means we eat pizza and watch bad television, and reinvestigate the emotions the next day when we're ready (as I did on a walk to the water the next morning). But we choose that, instead of falling into it without awareness. 

When I collected the feedback from students, I was pleased to see that many of them found it useful. Many of them had ideas about how it had or could help them in their lives. Even if they wouldn't share it in front of their peers, many of them saw the control and freedom it offered. 

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Staff also had a positive response to mindfulness, 100% of whom enjoyed learning about mindfulness, thought it could help them in their own lives, and thought more students should learn about mindfulness. Some of their reports:

"I love using it to try and fall asleep at night and to unwind after school."

"...practice daily, incorporate mindfulness into walks, and help with inability to sleep."

"When I'm overwhelmed, I benefit from the breath exercise." When I'm angry, the straight spine and feet on the ground posture helps me regain my composure."

"Wonderful tool. Great way to live. Thank you for your courage and generosity."

Ocean Avenue Elementary Professional Development

I have been coming to Ocean Avenue elementary for awhile now, substitute teaching across the grades and serving as a support person for students with special needs. The staff have always been welcoming, and the culture of the school is warm and inviting. Thus, I was thrilled when I had the opportunity to present to the staff about mindfulness. 

I am always struck how the energy of an entire room seems to settle as we walk our way through various activities with body, listening, and breath. When I called for folks to share about things they feel grateful for, their answers filled through room with hope. I found myself with an idiot smile plastered to my face, overjoyed to facilitate this moment for folks who I witnessed working so hard day in and day out.

While brief, an hour of mindfulness was enough to offer a taste of the benefits of learning how to pay more attention.  When I came back to sub the next day, a teacher cornered me in the hallway, "That was the best professional development we've had," she confided.  I'm so glad.

WCSH 6 covers local yoga and mindfulness programs

The work I've been doing at the REAL School on Mackworth Island was briefly featured on WCSH 6 last night, sandwiched between some adorable shots of toddlers trying to do yoga. While I wish some of the language I used in our interview had been incorporated into the story, perhaps it will at least pique people's curiosity. These is so much depth to this practice that is challenging to capture in a short news clip. 

Feel free to check it out under the headline, "Should Schools Teach Children How to Meditate?"

The importance of personal retreat

Pain, right shoulder blade, excruciating. 

The pain in my right shoulder blade was almost immediate when I sat down. As I sat in stillness, I wondered about where it arose from. Did I hurt myself?  Was it from the two and half hour drive getting to the retreat center? Was it ever going to go away?

This was the beginning of a five day silent meditation retreat I attended over school vacation. I didn't have any particular goals for the time beyond strengthening my own personal practice. I was unprepared for the intensity of the experience from the first moments of beginning.

After the second day of sitting with this pain, I began to get angry at it. What the hell?  I'm healthy. I take good care of you. What's wrong with you? Can't you give me one moment of relief? As the anger built, I found myself grow more rigid in my seat. More upright. Taller. Holding on against the pain. Gritting my teeth in frustration as it intensified. 

By the third day, I was so frustrated I was nearly in tears. I dreaded coming to sit for the forty-five minute periods the community came together. When the pain came up, I started panicking. I fantasized again and again about getting up and leaving. I stretched aggressively to the left and right in desperation to escape it. And still, it persisted. 

On this day, we were allowed one group Q & A with a particular teacher. Oren Sofer, who teaches with Mindful Schools, was one of the teachers of this retreat. I came to him with a question about the panic, which was arising alongside the pain. He told me I could consider skipping some of the shorter sits and use that time for walking meditation, which I preferred (and didn't find painful). And he said this: Be gentle. Be gentle with it.

As I went on my first walk-instead of-sit, I cried tears of relief. I didn't have to force it. I was given permission to back off.  

From that moment on, I felt something shift inside. Not the pain. The pain was still there. But how I approached the pain. I began to really notice the pain. Notice that when I breathed in it lessened slightly. Notice that there was an occasional breath when it was completely gone. I noticed that if a subtly shifted my weight to the left hip, sometimes it would ease the intensity. I began to imagine it being hugged from all sides. I let go of my judgments about the cheesiness of this and said to it: It's okay. I hear you. I know you're uncomfortable. I'm here. 

And I felt different. I felt like I could come to sit without the fear. I could be comfortable with the discomfort. And it translated into other parts of my being. My yoga practice shifted. Whereas I was in the habit of ignoring minor aches that arose in a typical practice, I began responding to them and backing off. I slowed my movements and really took note of how it felt in different parts of my body. I looked at how I was trying to force myself to be okay with recent events in my life and my responses to those events. Could I be okay with the being upset? Or could I at least be okay with the disappointment of being upset? Was there some level at which I could let go of the judgement and be okay with whatever was?

Translation to the classroom: We are capable of being uncomfortable.

The Thursday before I left for my retreat, three boys walked out of the classroom at the alternative high school where I was working in week 6 of curriculum. When questioned by a teacher, they cited that they thought it was "hippie b******" and didn't want to go anymore. I asked to speak with them after they returned to the class, but they refused.

Before I came to the classroom today, I asked the teachers to ask everyone to stay for just two minutes of time. When I got there, I wasn't sure what would happen. I thanked them for being there, and told them the story of the silent retreat. "Sounds sh*tty" one student responded. "Yes," I replied, "It was." 

I told them I was sharing that story because I saw how I was asking some of them to do something that was uncomfortable. That they thought was dumb, maybe. And that I didn't need them to like me, or like mindfulness, but I hoped that they would try and be uncomfortable for that time. I told them that I asked this of them because I could sit for five days in pain, and the only difference between me and them was more practice, so I thought they could handle the twenty minutes, no matter how rotten. I told them they could choose to stay or leave, it was up to them, but I hoped they would choose to stay and try it. Because sitting with it has power by showing us how we can stay with those crappier moments in life.

Then I paused...

And no one moved.

So I began the lesson.

The power of personal retreat

In the end, this retreat was even more powerful than I imagined. It didn't just give me access to a deeper insight or knowing through the experience of being with my own discomfort. No, it also translated to the classroom, and allowed me to connect my students to this crucial insight. I sat those five days for myself, yes, but I also sat them for those boys, who maybe needed that reminder that they could do it, even if it was hard.

Heronfield Academy, Meet Mindfulness!

The Heronfield campus is an old converted horse farm that has rustic charm.

On Monday and Tuesday this week, I had the opportunity to meet with the welcoming students and staff of Heronfield Academy, a small middle school nestled away in Hampton Falls, NH. I joined the staff on Monday afternoon for an hour introduction to the practice and scientific basis for mindfulness. Through a study in Buddhism, many students had already been introduced to meditation. Flanking a round table, the staff talked about how it felt to sit with an attention anchor, like sound or our breath, for short periods of time. We also explored the usefulness of offering these practices to the students. As a former middle school teacher, I have witnessed the importance of giving this age group tools to stay present for their lives.

On Tuesday morning, I led a twenty minute community meeting in which the 83 students, staff, and I explored the experience of sitting with an anchor. A couple of brave students admitted they felt weird, and many noted they felt calm. One teacher how she noticed she was congratulating herself on doing a "good job" when she was able to follow her breath. 

I am always awed by a room full of people sitting in silence. Even in one minute you can feel the energy of the room shift. It was a beautiful quiet that morning on the farm. I am so grateful to have shared the space with these young people and the staff that nurture them.

Stories from the Field, Part VIII, Saying goodbye

I didn't expect today to be emotional for me. But when I finally had all of my students sitting  in a circle, I found a lump forming in my throat. I started by thanking them for investing whatever they could at that time and being willing to try out the experience. Then, I handed over a new bell to their teacher, Tracey Menard, so the class could practice mindfulness in my absence. She led us through one minute of light mindfulness, which drew some giggles from the class. I told them I would send along a script so they could take turns leading one another.

A week earlier, I scoured the snowy beach for smooth rocks to give as worry stones. I wanted them to have a physical anchor to remind them of the mindfulness practice. As they pulled the rock from the bucket, they each shared a takeaway from the course. Things like, "pausing when I am stressed...noticing my emotions...taking a breath...paying attention." The real depth came in the course evaluations. There, they shared how important the practice had become to them: 

"I use mindfulness when I’m having a bad day. I use what I’ve learned in this class. Mostly being aware of my surroundings."

"I think I can use it to help with my anxiety because I struggle with it a lot."

"I am really thankful for you teaching me about mindfulness because I really run away from my problems and now I can just stop and breath and think about what I do, so thank you so much."

"I really enjoyed it. The past month or so has been so tough with me ...and every Tuesday and Thursday when you come in, I really like forward to it because it makes me feel 10 times better."

I created an infographic to share some of the highlights from the evaluation below:

Not everything was positive. There are those three students who did not connect with the practice, and one who had concerns about my delivery. It has always been hard for me as a teacher, especially back when I was in the classroom, to let go of those "failures."  It's hard to hear the tough feedback without blaming myself or making the whole experience about the few students with whom I did not connect. But part of my work has been to allow myself to really soak in the good and hear the critical without drowning in it. So I continue my own practice. 

At the end of the day, there were so many sweet stories shared, and as I exited Ms. Menard's classroom to Adele's "Hello," with students singing me out from various corners of the room, I couldn't help but feel the love. I can't help but feel the love.

Update: Portland Public Schools posted about our work on their website in a post "DHS STUDENTS LEARN ‘MINDFULNESS,’ SHARE IT WITH OTHER STUDENTS"

Mindful Schools Post: Trust

I wrote this piece for Mindful Schools about trusting ourselves and our students when teaching mindfulness.  You can also read it on the Mindful Schools Blog.

Stories from the Field, Part VII, New Kid on the Block

Stories from the Field are small moments about how mindfulness is impacting the students I am working with, in hopes of capturing what it means to learn and use mindfulness. This story comes from an alternative learning program just outside of Portland, Maine:

After leading a "Smartifier" for the REAL School in December, I came back this month to start working with the students. There is always an adjustment period when you walk into a new room, and I was definitely feeling some new kid feelings. The first day I was in recruitment mode and tried to convince the crowds in 10 minutes or less that it's worth trying this weird thing (the teachers for one of the classrooms ended up volunteering the whole class, so I sold it well enough to hook the staff, anyway). The other group of four or five students literally ran away from me as I approached (the gym is a challenging space to recruit). One refused because I disrespected him when I asked them to sit by not saying please.  I only got to speak to one or two students who stuck around.  

On Day 2, I offended one of the more vocal students by calling him by the wrong name, and the name of his apparent nemesis (big oops). Even though he was disruptive, when I pulled him afterwards to check in, I made sure to make it about my error and asking him for his participation. Downstairs students were in and out of the room as allied staff members coaxed them into trying it out. 

After another week of small blunders, I found myself also making some headway. I started to notice barely perceptible signs of acceptance. Today, when I asked Sam to help me set up the projector screen, though the first request was met with denial, the second was with acquiescence. When we went through the body scan, every student but one had technology away, and not a single student spoke during that time. They even voluntarily read parts of the Portia Nelson poem we use called "Autobiography in Five Short Chapters." The downstairs group, which comes on a voluntary basis, has started to solidify with some regulars who are genuinely interested and curious about the practice. They readily offer their discomforts and comfort as we have gone through sound and breath as anchor. In both groups, the mood of the room perceptibly shifted after sitting together. In that way, we build trust.

Stories from the field, Part VI: When student becomes teacher

Cassie, Hannah, Anca, and Dylan teach mindfulness to a third grade classroom at Longfellow Elementary. 

Stories from the Field are small moments about how mindfulness is impacting the students I am working with, in hopes of capturing what it means to learn and use mindfulness. This story comes from a large high school resource room in Portland, Maine:

Cassie waits for students to raise their hand as the sound diminishes

Today, a group my students had the opportunity to take what they learned about mindfulness and put it into action.  Using their favorite lessons, four of my students walked one building over to Longfellow Elementary, where third grade teacher Megan Markgren invited us into her room.  To calm the nerves before we went next door, we did some grounding exercises, making contact with the desk under our hands and ground under our feet. Cassie, Hannah, Anca, and Dylan expertly taught students how to listen mindfully to a bell and how to pay attention to all of their senses while eating Hershey's kisses. 

Students raise their hand when they can no longer hear the sound of the bell.

When we left the room, everyone was glowing. I could see the pride on their faces, and I radiated it right back to them. Cassie and I talked about how it was disappointing that I would be ending next week, just as she was starting to understand mindfulness better. But that is next week. And today...today was better than I could have hoped. My high school students rose the to the occasion and owned the material.  Wherever they were in their own process, they were able to show confidence and poise while delivering the material. Today, my students became the teachers.

Update: Two more groups of students traveled down the road to Lincoln Middle School to present mindfulness this week.  Both groups did a great job of sharing their learning about mindful listening, breathing, and eating. They also shared their process of finding it, at first, a bit weird, but noticing they ultimately do use it by breathing when stressed out, focusing when playing sports and singing, and in general to savor each moment.

I am savoring these experiences right now and trying to really soak up all the goodness from them. It has been so powerful to watch my students own their learning and brave their own nerves (and the frigid temperatures we had to walk through) to share it with others. I will be sorry to say goodbye on Thursday.

Stories from the Field, Part V: When student first becomes teacher.

Stories from the Field are small moments about how mindfulness is impacting the students I am working with, in hopes of capturing what it means to learn and use mindfulness. This story comes from a large high school resource room in Portland, Maine:

Passing the vibratone

On Tuesday, we came back from break, and I immediately hit the students with script writing.  The capstone project for our 8 weeks together was going to be delivering mindfulness curriculum to students in nearby elementary and middle schools.  After reviewing all the lessons and content we covered, I gave them highly structured script templates to fill in introductions, the definition of mindfulness, an interesting hook, a practice section, debrief questions, and a conclusion. I thought they were ready to go.

The response?  Stonewalling. Students looked straight ahead, looked down at their desks, looked out the window. My questions about their response were met with resounding silence.  I went and sat with one group, as the classroom teacher sat with the other, and we both pushed desperately for what they knew and wanted to add. By the end of an 80 minute period, we had some half written notes to show.  

The classroom teacher and I were, at first, panicked. Why don't they want to do this? Do they really dislike it so much? Should we just roll it back to being voluntary and send only students who step forward to do it?  But we knew there were some students who would opt out who would be successful, if they just carried it through, so we didn't want to deter them.

Throughout the time working with students that day, I also had gathered some insight. When speaking with an eleventh grader, Cassie, about how I was surprised it was so hard to do, she shared: it was one thing to learn, but another to teach. She said she didn't really feel like she fully understood it yet, and that's why it was so hard for them to come up with ideas. 

They weren't being defiant or sullen, they just really didn't feel ready. And that's fair. I went through hundreds of hours of training in order to feel confident generating and delivering this material, and here I was asking them to come up with something on the spot.  I realized the whole point was that we wanted them to share the experience, not necessarily create it, so I ended up taking what they had come up with and putting in the strong curriculum I have access to (and draw upon regularly, I must add). 

When I went in today with scripts in hand, the students were happy to read through them with me and practice. A few even got excited about putting what was there into their own words, and we worked to make them true to their voices. It wasn't that they didn't want to do it, it's just that they needed support to make it happen. 

My students are always my teachers, and as I formally pass the reigns on to them, I want them to be successful in that endeavor. This time, it meant listening to them to hear the root cause of their behavior and responding to that. It meant being mindful of where they were in their learning, and meeting them there, to help them step into their new roles as teachers of mindfulness.