Our Mental Health, Our Fortune: A Reflection in 4 Parts

If lucky, our jobs and careers allow us access to the full human experience. We can bring all that we are, and if we can pay our rent, eat organic kale when it's on sale, send our children to school, or take a vacation here and there with enough gas money to make it from point A to point B, this may indeed be our bliss.  Imagine a job that offers a safe space to make sense of the world while being our multi-talented, neurodivergent, disabled selves. We, indeed, would be the fortunate ones.
When your job is your place of worship, it can be tricky.
If you're not careful, you might mistake the organization for the altar when, in fact, we are the altars. We embody our own sacred chapels and read from our unique holy texts. As Montessorians, what we bring to our organizations through devotion, expertise, and love surpasses any credential, salary, or title that can be bestowed.
As a Black woman, I am also acutely aware that many Black people in the United States have functioned as currency.  Stolen, divided, bartered, multiplied, and sold, the signatures of Black and Indigenous people signed on generations of dotted lines and census forms have equaled the wealth and abundance tenfold of many white families and corporations of this nation.   I use the word currency in its literal sense here, and even today, I find myself curious about how true this sentiment is in our present day and its impact on our psyches.
When we step into our classrooms, teacher education programs, volunteer board positions, and administration and researcher roles, we bring the power and wealth of our lived experiences. The very experiences and histories that marginalize us, induce daily psychological trauma, and label us a minority and inferior also seem to be the same things that somehow give us value in this society.
July is National Minority Mental Health Awareness Month. I invite you to find out more about it and its legacy. To honor this initiative, each week I’m reflecting on my 22 years as a social worker, mental health provider, educator, and equity practitioner. I’m also wondering about the health resources and care we receive in our Montessori institutions.
When I put myself to use where I am useful, I become an instrument of the divine.
I’m reflecting on how fortunate it is to go to work each day with a deep sense of purpose, to feel confident that one is working towards a bonafide mission, and to subscribe to a philosophy that aligns with our passions, culture and cosmic task. I also hold space for the reality that those spaces can be hostile to our presence and capitalize on our giving hearts and need for belonging. The fullness of who we are may be welcomed in some ways and on some days, yet somehow, at the same time, intensely despised.
The mental health implications of what I describe here are often difficult to articulate. Therefore, they are easily swept under the rug in a society that values the written word and measurable outcomes.  Yet these are some of the critical realities that can keep our Montessori movement at a standstill.
What would happen if we no longer dodge these spaces in our hearts, handbooks, and organizational policies? What would happen if Montessori organizations centered on the well-being of adults, just as we are taught to revere the child? Imagine our reverence of the child explicitly, including ourselves as adults.
There's always someone who will not want you to say what you know, and I get it. It can be a scary thing for all parties. Speaking the truth can be anxiety-inducing, and it can also be cognitive overload when forced to receive it. I sense there’s something far greater to gain from this important topic. I look forward to being in conversation with you all as I embark on this next stage of my Montessori learning and leadership journey. ​

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