Boundaries as an Educator During COVID

As a university instructor, I’ve struggled with a lot of professional challenges during the pandemic, but the biggest one has been setting boundaries.

I know that many throughout the education sector — from preschool teachers to postgraduate supervisors — face a similar dilemma. We want to do our best for our students, and we know that so many of them are facing unprecedented difficulties during the pandemic. But we also know that we can’t be everything every student needs — teacher, IT helpline, problem solver, personal assistant, research helper, emotional support, social worker, advocate, cheerleader.

This dilemma isn’t brand new for 2020. Even during non-pandemic times, university students run into a lot of problems, because, well, they’re human beings, and human beings have complicated lives. It was sometimes stressful to set healthy boundaries then too. Most educators care about their students — I do! — and it’s tough to remember that just because you really, really want to help this person doesn’t mean that a) there’s anything you can do or b) that you’re the most helpful person to do it.

But the pandemic turns the intensity up one thousand percent.

First, so many people from all walks of life are suffering. Socioeconomic differences have been made starker; people are losing their jobs, their daily routines, and sometimes their loved ones. Everyone’s health has been impacted, whether because they’ve become ill, because they have less access to practices that make them feel good (like going to the gym or hanging out with other people), or because the constant stress/worry/risk-assessment calculus of the pandemic is psychologically exhausting. (Or all of the above!)

Not only are there more problems — for everyone — but fewer solutions are available. Plenty of the institutions and networks that people use for formal or informal self-care are closed or offering limited service. The economic instability worsens the problem for many: money can’t buy health or happiness, but it sure widens the range of possibilities to cope with health and emotional challenges. And folks who used to be able to turn to their social circles for support may find that no one has the bandwidth to be leaned on these days. I have no idea what resources my students have access to anymore.

Except one.

If I see a student registered in my class, completing assignments and sending emails, I know they have access to me. I can assume they probably have access to other resources — they’re probably taking other classes with other instructors, they should in theory have access to all the university’s resources, and most (all, I really hope!) have other supports in place that allowed them to become part of my course in the first place. Some might even be thriving in the pandemic as it opens up new learning possibilities for them.

But I don’t actually know any of that. Maybe their other instructors aren’t helpful or aren’t approachable or are struggling themselves right now. Maybe they’re twenty-second on the wait list for university services. Maybe they’re attending university despite the resources available to them instead of because of them. Maybe they’re only taking my course because participating in this online semester was the best of bad options available to them.

I know I’m not a doctor or a therapist or a life coach. I’m just a regular, untrained human adult, and even if I had boundless energy and motivation, I can’t solve most problems for most people — heck, if I can solve one problem for one person, that’s probably miraculous.

It’s still difficult not to see the ways I could make life better for my students if I just pushed myself harder. I could offer drop-in Zoom sessions every day! And respond personally to every single one of the hundreds of weekly discussion board posts instead of reading them and noting them for later grading! I could email more students individually so they know someone cares and follow up more frequently with those who aren’t submitting key assignments and check in even more often with students who’ve disclosed that they’re struggling! I could be on my email every waking minute of the day, weekend or not, so nobody has to wait for an answer!

Writing out those possibilities like this makes it feel obvious how untenable they are. I’m affected by the pandemic too; some days it’s hard to motivate myself to work. Often it’s physically painful to work on my computer (thanks, nerve problems!). I’ve been trying but not succeeding at working eight-hour days and stopping after dinner to focus on other things, but the work expands to take up as much time as I’m willing to give it.

I can’t be on-call 24/7, despite being relatively lucky in terms of available time — I’m generally healthy, I don’t have kids or elders to take care of, and I have a spouse who shares the load of chores and household maintenance. I’m fortunate to need to work only one job and to be able to do it from a safe, quiet home office.

My good fortune makes me feel like I should push myself harder, to better “deserve” my luck. But just because others have less time or fewer resources than I do doesn’t mean that I can do more or that I’m not already struggling.

I know that, the same way I know that the first step of first aid is to make sure it’s safe for you to try to intervene: no matter your intentions, you aren’t helping anyone if you push yourself so hard that you end up needing help too. But the boundaries are difficult to draw, even when I know it’s for my health and the overall benefit of the people I’m trying to support. Even more difficult is the fact that the burnout goes up the ladder: my fellow staff and faculty who are working on their parts of the university package are also overwhelmed and unable to devote themselves to every student who needs them. I might not have training in X or Y, my snake-brain hisses, but if the person who does isn’t available, shouldn’t I try to help with them?

No. Not if I actually care about helping and not harming. I have to have respect for myself and for the person who needs the support. I have to remind myself of the ways I can help — extending deadlines, listening carefully, expressing kindness, offering flexibility, assuming the best of those who reach out — and figure out how I can be supportive within those areas.

It’s too bad that knowing it doesn’t make it easier.