Pandemic Teaching + Spaghetti Sauce: The State of My Energetic Container.
What the hell is a "container" in woospeak? And how do we keep it clean? In this week's edition of Everyday Woo, I'm working on having a little grace for the stains that I just can't scrub out.
Everyday Woo is a place for the woo curious to learn a little more about spirituality, culture, and intersectionality in a not-too-serious way. Here’s what I’m thinking about this week…
✨ Protecting My Spaghetti-Stained Energetic Container.
One funny thing I’ve noticed after poking around spiritual spaces on the Internet for quite some time is the presence of what I term “woosplaining.” Basically, common concepts are rebranded and wrapped up in the moonlight-dappled terminology that the Witchy Wide Web is so fond of:
Speaking up = ✨activating your throat chakra✨
Connecting with your physical body = ✨grounding✨
Realizing something = ✨receiving downloads from your guides✨
And the list goes on. For the most part, this doesn’t bother me. Like most facets of society, spiritual spaces have their own lingo, and learning the meaning of phrases like “solar return” (woospeak for your birthday) is kind of fun if you ask me.
But one word in particular irked me. And it was one of those things that, after I saw it one time, I couldn’t stop seeing this word everywhere. It felt kind of like this:
The word? Container.
It seemed like every woo influencer or person with a spiritual-sounding handle on Instagram was chatting about creating a “container” of some sort. And, to be honest, my first reaction was to roll my eyes. Great, yet another way to woosplain a really common thing.
From what I gathered, in this context, a container is simply a group or a space that is created to hold something: a dialogue between like-minded people, a certain energy, or a place for personal thoughts to exist. Lots of spiritual folks launch “containers,” or apps/newsletters/sessions for people to co-exist or engage in a shared learning.
With that broad of a definition, I felt like pretty much anything could be a ~container~: my tarot Instagram account, the yoga classes I teach, and even my very favorite Facebook group (have I mentioned that I love cats?).
I wanted to yell, “Y’all are just talking about a group. GROUP is the word you want!” I know. Take my tarot cards and put me in Woo Time Out.
I had an inkling that there was more to this concept than some clever, witchy branding, so I did a little digging around on ye ole Internet and discovered a different way to think about a metaphorical container: we as human beings are containers too.
You’re likely familiar with the term “bubble,” as in, “stay out of my bubble,” “leave a bubble of space,” or, “Ms. K, he’s in my bubble! He won’t stop poking me with his pencil!” (That last one might be exclusive to me).
Whether you term it a container, an energetic field or a bubble, the meaning is the same: this sense of the word refers to you and your energy.
So, naturally, I started thinking about me. My bubble. My container. I wondered what my container would look like in a literal sense. Would I be one of those trendy bento boxes, full of fun compartments? Or maybe I was a mason jar, perfect for overnight oats or something else equally aesthetic.
I got honest with myself. And I came to a very non-Instagrammable visual for what I feel like.
My container is like that one, sad, spaghetti-stained Tupperware that still works but has definitely seen some shit.
It should come as no surprise to you that this middle school teacher is as burnt out as my favorite nag champa candle that I keep desperately lighting, hoping for just one more scent sesh before I call it quits.
Over the past two, pandemic-riddled school years, I’ve pivoted more times than Ross with that damn couch: from virtual learning, to distanced in-person teaching, to a horrible hybrid combo that resulted in no one getting the best version of Ms. K. Including me.
The mask mandates.
The futile attempts at keeping middle schoolers out of each other’s bubbles (see above).
The “make it make sense” rulings of school administrators who seem to have forgotten what it’s like to work with children.
The even more disconnected and frankly harmful political pontifications from elected officials who must have had a really awful third grade teacher.
I could go on, but I probably don’t need to. Suffice it to say that my energetic container is lookin’ a little worse for the wear. I’m still able to hold a lot (the pandemic-related trauma of my students is heavy, y’all), but the marks remain, like those dreaded orange-red streaks that color the plastic sides of a Tupperware container. No amount of cleaning in the form of self-care challenges, chocolate and encouraging notes can wash away that.
A lot of language in the woo world is focused on fixing the messes that we’ve made and scrubbing away the marks of the past experiences we’ve had. People sell tarot readings, astrology chart analyses and reiki under the implied guise that, when you emerge from your session, you’ll be restored to a pristine, sparkling clean version of yourself. Ready for whatever the world will throw your way. From plastic to porcelain!
But it just doesn’t work like that. If you show up with those lofty expectations, you will be disappointed. I don’t care how slick the branding is or how many times the phrase “life-changing” is used about a healing. It will help, but it will not solve everything.
Part of protecting and, yes, cleansing, our energetic container is making peace with what just. won’t. budge. One quick guided meditation might help in the moment, but it doesn’t fix the larger, systemic problems or traumas that caused those deep marks in the first place. And we shouldn’t expect it to.
Does that mean we resign ourselves to a life akin to that of the least-favorite Tupperware? Nah.
For me, I’m making peace with my spaghetti stains, but I’m also looking for ways to prevent new ones from happening. Part of this is seeking out healings (because they do play a role), but I’m thinking more long-term.
I’m looking for systems to protect and restore what energy I have so that, when I inevitably need to use it to hold space for the kid who’s crying about not having friends, it’s there and ready to go.
Here are a few systems that I’m trying.
✨ Creating a Take Care menu. After reading about this idea in Sam Slupski’s publication Healing Field Notes, I immediately made my own. This is a list of simple activities that you can do when your container is feeling particularly cluttered, and doing so doesn’t require a lot of thinking at all. You can just look at your menu, pick one, and immediately feel better.
✨ Telling people when I don’t have space. This is hard to communicate, especially to people you love. But a checked-out, low energy Katie is not what I want to offer people who are asking for my time and support. One way I’ve been subtly signaling my availability to folks is by using the Do Not Disturb feature on my iPhone. Other iPhone users can see when I’m in that mode, and it reduces the pressure I feel to text back immediately. Outside of this, I’m fond of simply saying, “I want to really listen to this, but my energy is low. Can we chat later?” I follow up when I’m ready. That part is important.
✨ Checking in before saying yes. I’m a yes girl. If someone asks me to read something, explain something, or fix something, my knee-jerk reaction is to immediately say yes without truly considering the state of my container. I’m trying, as much as possible, to implement a wait time before commiting to something. Be transparent about this, and don’t ghost people who need an answer. But one way I’m activating my throat chakra (lol) is to use the phrase, “I’ll think about it and let you know by (X) date.”
✨ Setting an effort limit. This one might be a bit more controversial, but I personally have set a limit on how much effort I’m willing to put into certain things, especially those that both sap my energy and take me away from the heart of my job, which is to help kids. I work best with clear-cut limits, usually relating to time. So the data spreadsheet that’s supposed to show my teaching ability in cold, hard numbers? I’ll say that I’ll spend my plan period on it, and if I still can’t get it finished, I’ll ask for help. If I can’t get a slick website up with all of my kids’ projects that makes me look like The Best Teacher Ever? I spend one hour on it and move on. I don’t leave things unfinished, but I also make peace with the fact that this is not where my talents are best used.
Some of these tips are so simple that it feels ridiculous to write about them. But the thing about our spaghetti-stained containers is that they start to feel really normal after a while, and before long, we stop seeing just how beat up they are altogether. I want to see myself for who I am (a woman and teacher who is in need of care) and make small yet meaningful changes accordingly.
My take on this whole thing called life? The goal isn’t necessarily to turn our Tupperware into a pristine Le Creuset vessel. It’s to work with our humanity and to appreciate it. Spaghetti stains and all.
Do you have a container that’s feeling a little worse for the wear lately? I’d love to hear how you’re dealing.
Mantra for the week: I protect my energy as an act of love for myself and others.
Tarot card of the week: The World
The 22nd* and final tarot card in the major arcana is one that, in my view, seems deceptively simple. It’s an obvious positive, right? “Yay, the world is yours!” And I do think that the World is a welcome card to see and quite affirming, especially if you’ve been working through a long and difficult cycle in your life.
The World invites us to rest on the laurels that encircle the Dancer in the center and to see just how fulfilling it is to be here, in this moment where you are seeing the ending to a story you started writing a long time ago. But the nudity of the Dancer and the wands she holds in her hand speak of something else to consider: with every ending comes a beginning.
The Dancer is innocent and without shame in her nakedness, reminding us of the Biblical story of Adam and Eve, who also felt this way in the Garden of Eden. The wreath around the Dancer is in some ways an Eden, ensconcing her in this moment of bliss and balance. The World is very safe, but ultimately, we will have to leave this garden and journey forth once more.
The wands she holds speak of the power she will take with her into the next cycle—the lessons learned will not disappear. But eventually, she will return to the energy of the Fool. The circular shape of the wreath around her? It creates the number 0, the number carried by the Fool and the number that represents the absence of expectations as we move forward.
When we receive the World, we are called to stay in its safe hold. We let the World cradle us as we explore the power and fragility of the new self we’ve stepped into. We are asked to look back at all the steps we took to arrive here. But we are also pushed to open ourselves up once more and return to the curiosity of the Fool, who we always are, no matter where we find ourselves in life. Always learning. Always exploring.
Prompts to think through the energy of the World:
In what areas of my life am I experiencing completion?
In what ways can I protect my energy as I shed a former self?
What am I being called to explore next?
Where can I celebrate my growth this week?
A painting / a song / a poem to represent the World
*worth noting that today’s date, 2.22.22, is also tied to the World. A lot of folks see this date as a portal that is completing a cycle and ushering in a new energy. This, tied with the fact that the United States is experiencing its Pluto return, means a lot is shifting in the collective. Definitely interesting to consider!
Looking to work with the energy of 2.22.22? I shared an easy tarot spread on my Instagram account. Let me know if you try it!
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Okay, "woosplain" might be my new favorite verb. 😂