This was recorded in the library on June 27, 2022; it is the first follow up to:

During the pandemic, there were so many side effects that schools refused to consider. Jade, who experienced both in-person and remote learning, summed up one of them: "When I was an underclassman, upperclassmen were my lifeline." For students who started high school during quarantine, those connections never formed. Masks and remote learning made it feel like everyone was a stranger.

Face-to-face interactions were replaced by text messages, even when students sat right next to each other in class. "We barely talked; instead, we texted," Jade told me.

For students like Jade, who needed structure and had a 504 plan, the inconsistency of pandemic schooling was especially challenging. "I went through hell and back," she said, struggling without the support she relied on.

For Jade and many others, the library became a sanctuary. "The library was where everyone felt they could go." My goal was always to create a welcoming space where students knew someone was rooting for them. "Having a welcoming librarian who made sure we didn’t fail was huge," Jade shared. "It felt like a safe space in a school full of strangers."

I want to acknowledge that there were many teachers who provided this kind of support. Unfortunately, the administration and one particular teacher often negated these positives.

However, the administration didn’t share this vision. Despite the positive impact on students and appreciating my contributions before the pandemic, they decided they no longer wanted a welcoming library. They wanted something more controlled, less open. Because of my success, they couldn’t directly fire me as a librarian; instead, they gave me a fake title, isolated me, and eventually humiliated me. In the end, they let me go, the librarian who had built this nurturing environment.

The decision to close a welcoming library shows a misunderstanding of what students need most: connection, support, and a place to call their own. Jade’s experience is a reminder of the hidden costs of pandemic schooling—lost connections, a diminished sense of belonging, and the need for spaces where students can truly be themselves. And my experience is a reminder of the cost of keeping one's integrity during times of crisis.

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