Documenting Daylight

Reader, for better or for worse, I want you to know me. I want you to know a teacher from North Carolina who keeps a backyard garden. A neurodivergent writer who is fighting to maintain a passion for the craft. A parent who wants the best for their kids. A lesbian who loves their wife and isn’t that different from you. Consider this corner a slice of life sharing space. A journal. A place where I exist in black and white. A place to scream into the void.

Perhaps you can join me and exist in this space, too. We can document daylight together. Send in your own thoughts and feelings and daily observations. Break bread with me in this weird, online ecosphere.

Posts will look something like this:

Tuesday, February 28th 2025

I anticipate today will be the only day of school. We had Monday off and there’s a snowstorm on the way. Anticipated totals range from one inch to six with various amounts of ice thrown in. For North Carolina, this is significant. Governor Stein has already called a state of emergency. 

Emergency. What a word. It screams danger and the need for immediate action. Doesn’t everything seem to scream the need for immediate action these days? Yesterday, my brain ran an incessant “what if” list, ticking off all of the things that could happen. I didn’t pull the list from my armpit but allowed social media to draw sketches of each and every wolf at my door. Last night, my therapy appointment centered around fear and who, ultimately, has control of it. Now, I’m not naive. I know that there are wolves at the door. But spending hours upon hours listening to similar think pieces about each animal has a tendency to lead me to insomnia and sickness, not to action. 

I have no intention of putting my head in the sand and ignoring the world, but I hope to transmute fear and anger and rage and pain and sadness into actions. 

It’s such a balance between protecting peace and placing such a tight bubble around myself that I don’t know about the wolf until it’s biting my face off. 

Switching gears. Today, I put each of my classes in a circle and discussed grading. I wanted their opinions on my grading practices and the feedback that I give. I value their opinions, but between their thoughts and the time I’ve spent studying the subject, I find I’m as confused as ever. What does it mean to have an A in English? Does it mean that you work hard, or does it mean that you’ve mastered the material? In most cases, grades don’t reflect the entire picture. 

This afternoon we have a teacher-led staff meeting. We’ll be discussing the value of feedback there as well. Feedback often terrifies and occasionally paralyzes me. If I’m in control and initiate the conversation, like I was today with my students, it’s easy to swallow. One characteristic of white supremacy culture is the need for comfort and the fear of conflict. How much of my feedback fear stems from being steeped in this culture? 

And then, there’s self-judgement. I’ll evaluate myself as a parent when I serve my children dinner. I’ll wonder what other parents think of me as I sit and watch my child at taekwondo practice.

I’ll worry about the words in this post and how they’ll land. 

Then, I’ll remember why I’m doing this in the first place. 

I want you to know me. I want to exist.