Panacea
Teena Denny
For the past 29 years my chosen vocation has been working in an elementary school as an educational assistant. I typically work with children with special needs - kids on the spectrum, kids with behavioural issues, kids with learning disabilities. I’m good at my job. I love my job. Mostly.
Back in the dawn of the nineties when I was in college, I was told by prof after prof that this vocation has a shelf life - 15 years. 20 at most. Then burnout. Too physically demanding. Too many injuries. Too little financial compensation. Too many injustices in the system. Just too much to be able to effectively do your job after so many years. I scoffed at the time. This was surely my calling and I could do it happily for ever and always. I still believe that. Mostly.
After almost three decades in the field I still love my job and I don’t feel that burnout is lurking around any corners for me, but I do have my moments. Moments of frustration, of exhaustion, of feeling inadequate and inept, of cynicism so deep it feels like a wound. These are the times that an old adage runs on repeat through my head - I am too old for this.
For the last 4 years, I have been working at an inner city elementary school here in Ottawa. Children at my school face significant challenges rooted in poverty. Trauma, insecurity and mental health issues at home often spill into the classroom. The needs here are higher than anything I’ve experienced before, but because of that, the impact feels bigger too. My ripple in the proverbial pond spreads further.
Some days feel like a hectic, adrenaline-fueled fever dream. Backup required for a severely dysregulated student. Fights in the yard. Understaffing means extra responsibilities, and I’m pinballed from room to room, trying to put out fires. The noise, the chaos, the neediness - it can be smothering. It drapes around me like a damp, unshakeable cloak.
On especially stressful days, nothing helps more than a bit of healthy dissociation. I can usually manage it during my very brief morning break or while eating lunch. I put on my invisible noise-cancelling headphones and dip into my drug of choice: online auctions. I’ve become quite good at blocking out the staffroom and sinking into my treasure-seeking abyss, even if it’s only for a few minutes. It’s usually enough to give my brain a small reset.
Earlier this year, I stumbled onto something better. It has a rapid onset of relief and a much higher potency than a quick escape into the interweb. Its effect is immediate and grants me a complete reset.
My miracle panacea is a tree.
Not just any tree.
More specifically it is the bough of a tree that I see through a large window in one of the stairwells at school. The second floor window frames a set of branches that look remarkably like a pair of bent legs… and a very prominent penis. I call it Penis Tree.
Penis Tree amuses me far more than it should. There’s something about the ridiculousness of it - the old wizened bark of this otherwise noble tree, and that one very committed appendage announcing itself so proudly.
The instant I step into that stairwell, I check on it. It’s covered in snow today - feeling festive. Freezing rain means indoor recess, but also the potential for a well-placed icicle. It’s so cold - maybe that's why it looks so small? Spring brings a lush backdrop of green leaves that somehow only highlights the situation.
Not all of my thoughts are funny. Some are thoughtful or wistful. Sometimes there’s no real thought at all beyond “Silly Penis Tree”. But, without fail, I feel lighter in that stairwell. In the few seconds it takes me to walk down those steps, something shifts. A small, perfect reset.
I’m pretty sure that tree holds magic.
Someday I’d love to come upon a squirrel perched on that bough. Or a bird’s nest tucked right into the bend. It feels like that might mean something - that I’d unlocked the final level, paid off some small, invisible debt to the universe.
But for now, a few stolen seconds of bemused reflection is enough.
Enough to breathe. Enough to reset. Enough to go back.
I give Penis Tree a small nod and head downstairs.
