Social-emotional learning (SEL) has become a primary focus in many school’s strategic plans. Fortunately, there is a long list of literature, articles and research that outline the importance of SEL and the positive impact that it can have on student development. Knowing this, teachers try to fit these lessons into their morning meetings, projects, special classes, birthday celebrations, snack times and lunch hours. They are attempting to adapt to both learn about and create space for SEL, but SEL requires more time and consistency, with a heavy emphasis on time.

As an early childhood counselor and educator, I work with children in their beginning years of development and the families that care for them. Knowing that SEL is valuable and requires dedicated time, my school has taken the approach of allowing me and my colleagues to stay with the same caseload of children for five years, which is a rare opportunity for counselors and educators to have in this field. During this time, it takes students about two years to understand my role as a “feelings teacher.” They go from asking me, “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” to telling me about their feelings the moment I step into their classroom. By the time they are in kindergarten, they are fully accustomed to my presence. Some of them introduce me to caregivers I have yet to meet, while others greet me with a hug as they enter the building on their own or hand in hand with friends. They have grown physically, but also emotionally as they are able to notice and deal with their emotions more readily.

As I’ve built these foundational skills with my students, my school has also given me enough time to build an expectation that students discuss their identities as a valuable component within the SEL curriculum. My teachers and administrators understand that this is imperative to the work that I do in creating systemic change and in building relationships with my students where they can feel comfortable discussing identity in an authentic, holistic and vulnerable way. The time I have been given to incorporate identity into SEL has allowed me to explore, experiment, and, most importantly, give my students new tools to navigate the world and their identities and grow and mature in their learning.

Bringing Identity to the Forefront

In her book “Unearthing Joy,” author Gholdy Muhammad speaks on the importance and impact of taking the time to get to know your students deeply. Specifically, Muhammad says, “It is important to get to know children in authentic, loving, and meaningful ways so that you learn who they are, who they’re not, and who they are destined to become on this earth.” I have learned that it is important to center identity as I learn more about my students. Acknowledging and affirming their identities creates opportunities to teach SEL on a deeper and more impactful level.

Although I work in a predominantly white institution, I work to focus on uplifting each child’s experience in the world while simultaneously acknowledging the role of prejudice, racism and oppression in our schools. My experiences over the years, when I have had the time to work with and collaborate with a diverse group of teachers, have taught me that teaching SEL without discussing these topics is often the easier and quicker route to take, but it also creates more opportunities for harm. Instead of settling for this, I challenge myself and my colleagues to lean into discomfort and expand our understanding of SEL. In doing so, I find joy in the incremental and marginal change we have created within our school because it creates an opportunity for continued growth.

As I enter first grade with my students, I notice that as much as I have learned about them, they have learned about me. They expect to hear my jokes and know that as a Black woman, my hair will look different almost every time they see me. We have developed a consistent and trusting relationship where they are holistically seen and valued, and it shows in their engagement with SEL lessons and their ability to problem-solve and express themselves.

One day, during our fourth year together, I was preparing to read the book "What Do You Do With a Problem?” for my SEL lesson, and I began by asking, “What problems do you see in your world?” Students began speaking about gun violence, robberies and people being treated unfairly. When one student spoke, another would add to their idea and tell the story from their perspective. Students also spoke about their families in India, experiencing harm and the effects of racism in America.

One child expressed grave concern that “Black and white people would always fight.” This became a focus of the conversation for a while until one of my students noted that the injustices Asian Americans experience are rarely discussed. He challenged me directly, telling me that we don’t talk about these things enough. Instead of reacting negatively or quickly moving on as we ran well over time, I listened, made time and space for the student to discuss his experience, and respectfully validated him as this conversation continued. I was unprepared for this conversation and looked to my teacher colleagues for help; they stayed present for the conversation, which went on for 45 minutes. We never even read the book.

The True Power of SEL

As I left that conversation, I felt many emotions. Mainly, I was proud of them for being capable of a conversation that was so dynamic and important. Using their self-advocacy skills, they were able to speak up and challenge me, centering experiences that matter the most to them and their families. In learning their personalities over the years, I created a safe space where they knew their voices would be heard, valued and amplified. I could get to know my students for who they are as individuals, and they understood that not only did I know them, but I also had a relationship with their teachers, which created a village of care they could lean on when needed.

Giving SEL the time and space it deserves allows children to become more self-aware and connected to their peers and adults in the school setting. This feeling of safety allows for learning environments that encourage challenging and expansive conversations and community building that values and respects the identity of all students. Doing this while also building consistent and real relationships with students creates the foundation for a uniquely safe educational environment. It creates opportunities for students to learn to be better citizens to one another. When our students are regulated, able to think critically, and encouraged to speak up about the things that are important to them, educators can better navigate students' concerns while honoring the identities and feelings that come along with them.

SEL is and should always be a part of our work as educators. However, to have a positive and lasting effect on our students' lives and relationships, we must create environments where more purposeful and intentional time is dedicated to SEL and understanding the role of identity.

I was in my twenties when I began my career as a child trauma psychotherapist on the south side of Chicago, right around the corner from the neighborhood where I grew up. As a young therapist at an outpatient psychotherapy practice, I was excited and thrilled to work in my community with a majority of my clients being Black children and families.

As a Black therapist, it was easier for me to empathize with them; in the process, I learned a lot about the prevalence of abuse, neglect and complex trauma within our community. I focused on acknowledging and processing the daily effects of trauma through narrative frameworks. The relationships and connections that I made fueled me through the heavy, difficult, yet rewarding days.

My job was not easy. I was one of the only Black therapists on the team and the majority of my colleagues were white. I entered this role excited for connection and the opportunity to create change. The more I learned, the more I experienced the effects of microaggressions and systemic racism within the foster care and mental health system. No matter how hard I pushed to create change, I seemed to find myself in a cycle where the families I worked with were being re-traumatized by systems that were designed to keep them under-resourced and in a state of chronic stress and trauma.

I would question these systems and the negative patterns that so many of our children and families seemed to be in, but many of my colleagues would simply shrug and state that there was nothing more to be done. Some of my colleagues spoke about leaving the work at work and driving home where they could separate their personal experience from their professional experiences. They even told me, “I could never do this job if I was working with the kids and families who live in my community.” I was proud to be doing important work in my community, and yet I felt as if I was not making a visible impact. Eventually, this disconnect led to vicarious trauma and burnout. I needed a break.

This led me to work within the independent school system. In 2016, I accepted a position as an early childhood counselor, working with a diverse group of children from nursery school through second grade. The young kids I work with call me their “feelings teacher.” I teach them about emotional identification, emotional regulation and identity formation. I begin each lesson with deep breathing techniques, teaching them how to pause and asking them to smell the flower and blow out the candle.

When I began this new role, I told myself that I deserved a break from the trauma of working within foster care and mental health systems where I felt ineffective and complicit in the cycle of harmful care. Often, I would make progress with a client and then they would need to move to another foster home or experience another trauma. The therapeutic work I did seemed to have no end. I understood that trauma psychotherapy was the foundation of my education and professional experience, but I went into this new role excited for a new opportunity to create change.

A Turn of Events

Coming into a predominantly white institution (PWI) as a Black woman is no easy feat. I was consistently called the wrong name, interrupted during meetings and my expertise was routinely questioned. Despite these micro and macro aggressions, I was able to make connections and build authentic relationships that allowed me to feel comfortable in my role. Eventually, I was in a position where I was able to effect change and create opportunities for myself and others to feel seen, heard and more appropriately valued.

Just as I was beginning to get settled into this new role of leadership, COVID-19 arrived in the spring of 2020 and completely changed the way we functioned as educators. When schools shut down, we shifted our work to online platforms and many of my colleagues were forced to develop new skills in working with computers and technology. One of my administrators looked at me solemnly and said, “School is going to look so different from what we know.” It all happened quickly, and we were unable to make time to pause and process.

Later that fall, many school systems remained remote, but as I was working with the youngest learners, my colleagues and I were required to come back to work in person. This was a stressful transition as we separated desks and split classrooms between two rooms. Teachers feared for their own safety and that of their families as they risked exposure on a daily basis and juggled evening Zoom sessions that were designed to calm classroom caregivers when a student tested positive for COVID-19. I was terrified as I thought about the possibility of bringing COVID-19 back to my mother and young son. I thought about the statistics that showed Black and Brown populations being disproportionately affected by COVID-19, “resulting in higher morbidity and mortality rates compared to other racial and ethnic groups.”

During this time, COVID was not my only worry. News channels outlined numerous instances of Black and Brown lives being unjustly taken, social unrest and relevant protests. Once again, I began each day with fear — fear for my well-being and fear for the life of my young Black son. I was afraid to discuss what was happening with my students, but I was more afraid of what would happen if I completely ignored my lived experience and that of so many others like me.

Black families were experiencing multiple traumas, both COVID and police violence simultaneously, which called for addressing this experience and combating fears through affirmation. So, I used my voice to create change. I read books affirming Blackness and spoke to kids, teachers and families about what was happening in our daily lives and their roles in speaking up.

I found myself in an impossible position: I was being asked to support and take care of my students, teachers and administrators while I was in a state of intense stress. As a Black woman, I feared for my life, and for that of my family. Yet, I still showed up to work every day and put myself at risk. I was dealing with my own trauma while needing to help others through their own at the same time. As was the case early in my career when I was working on the southside of Chicago, I felt a commitment to create change during COVID, because it was an opportunity for me to make positive movement forward, even if it was small.

In my school, I am able to sit with my teachers and take time to remember the ways in which we existed when we were in the middle of the pandemic. During team meetings, we are able to empathize with one another and understand that we are not alone in our experience. We discuss being isolated from those we cared about and things we do today that are still directly connected to our pandemic experiences. We acknowledge that educators have always carried a heavy load and that COVID has made that load almost unbearable. Sometimes, we talk over a cup of herbal tea and discuss tools that might help with stress management.

Having these conversations allows us to be vulnerable and creates opportunities for us to connect in a real and meaningful way. This allows us to be more present and emotionally available for our children.

Taking Care of Business

Earlier in my career, I was young and holistically and selflessly committed to the care and well-being of the children and families that I worked with. I cared so much about meeting their needs that I did not focus on my self-care, and I ultimately experienced burnout as a result. Now that I am more experienced, I have a clearer understanding of what self-care should look like and I am able to focus on identifying and exploring my feelings in times of crisis, understand the ways that my identity and lived experience shape my worldview, and center the importance of building a community that affirms and uplifts my voice and identity. Perhaps, I would have lasted longer in my early career if I had been able to do this sooner.

I realized the foundational importance of taking care of yourself before you can help others. If we can do this, we will be more present, grounded and available to the impressionable young minds for whom we are responsible. The same goes for identity formation; if we as educators can understand and recognize our identity and lived experience, then our students will be able to do this as well.

It was imperative for me to acknowledge my experience as a Black woman to work as a school counselor. This centers who I am, how I experience the world and what I do, no matter what the work might be. Accepting the role of identity in my work allows me to continue building the relationships and connections that I have always valued and prepares me for the heavy, difficult, yet rewarding days ahead.