For about ten days in the middle of February, either I or one of my children was sick. It brought my life to a complete halt. I had to take a few sick days to care for me/us; I was hardly writing; I didn’t maintain most of my healthy habits. Everything else fell away while I was taking care of our collective health.

I missed some school. I hate missing school, because when I’m not there, my students don’t get taught. There’s only one substitute who is qualified to teach band, and she has to be booked months in advance because she’s so in demand. Naturally, I couldn’t get her. My students went un-taught. Luckily, we’ve had almost zero interruptions from bad weather this winter, which is how I typically lose time with my students in February. I’m calling this the winter of germs instead. (Truth: if we’d had more bad weather and more days off, I think we’d have had less illness. Viruses have been running rampant in our schools.)

I felt guilty about missing school. But when I returned, I noticed that the time away had helped me regain something vital. I was more patient with the kids. I was more understanding. I took time to reconnect with them before diving into our overdue work. Teaching felt a lot better, a lot more human, after I’d had some time away from it.

The primary lesson here is obvious: we all need a break from our routines. The more people you care for, the more often you need to recharge your batteries. Getting sick is nature’s way of forcing a break, and unfortunately, that’s often how it seems to happen for me. I practice a lot of self-care (exercise, healthy eating, meditation, journaling) but I also care for a lot of people. It doesn’t quite balance out. I end up needing more than I’m getting, and at some point, I need a full-on break.

There’s a secondary lesson, too, and it’s a much harder one to learn. I’m not as important as I think I am. When I was out of school, my students did miss me. But their days went on without me. They still learned things in their other classes, and bonded with their friends. In the scheme of their year, missing a couple of band rehearsals and a lesson isn’t going to make much difference. Having a band teacher who was rested enough to be patient, understanding and ready to nurture again? That might make a bigger impact.

Those lessons, taken together, are two sides of the same coin. I need to remember and honor the lessons. I wrote this for myself:

If I value service to others, I must occasionally step away from the work of caring for them. Self-importance only leads to burnout; I must be humble enough to remember that I am only human, and therefore must make time to recharge my humanity.

I think I’m going to post it on my wall this winter.