He’s Captain of this Ship…
Look at me dropping another post so soon…gotta love the consistency.
I gotta vent about what happened last Thursday.
I was able to secure a partnership with an art organization to have someone come into my classroom and teach my students for a few weeks. This partnership was brought to my attention by my department supervisor and paid for by the district by the way. The instructor would be coming in once a week, going through the program with students and I would get a little break from teaching while also being able to learn something cool alongside my students. This past Tuesday, I got the email that we could start whenever I was ready so I said let’s start asap. Everything was already in place…or so I thought.
I sent out a courtesy email to our site admin Thursday morning and CC’d my department lead and the art instructor. I just wanted to let them know so no one would be confused when an unknown person showed up to campus. One of the assistant principals was talking about how amazing it was but the principal was not as enthusiastic. I got a response from my principal that basically reminded me that as the captain of the ship, he needed to be the one to sign off on any new collaborations before they hit the classroom.
Now you’re probably thinking, duh, he should know about what sort of things are being taught in the classroom. But you should know, this man has never provided any support for anything in my almost two years at this site. He doesn’t even know what. I teach. Everything I have (classroom supplies, tables & chairs for students, an apple tv for projection) has been provided through efforts from my department supervisor and the district. This collaboration didn’t even need his approval. I’m not the first nor will I be the last person to have this sort of collaboration. They happen all the time. I was genuinely confused.
I spoke with a few of my colleagues thinking maybe I didn’t follow some sort of protocol and they assured me I did everything right. The instructor was texting me and told me she was still showing up so she did. She’s going to be teaching sustainable fashion design so her first lesson was on how to thread the sewing machine and she had the students sketch out some cool designs.
This partnership is going to be great, it’s just frustrating how the principal chose to respond.
Daylight Savings,Tutoring, & Square Pie Guys
Daylight savings has rolled back around and ya girl is exhausted. I’m grateful for the extra Vitamin D but I’m just so tired. Those first few days after a time change always feel so weird. I’m sleepier than usual, but somehow slightly more energized. Like this morning I didn’t want to get up and get ready for work but still managed to make myself breakfast (I don’t normally do that) and get to work on time. I also didn’t have the “Sunday Scaries” yesterday either. That debilitating feeling of existential dread that work is looming on the horizon. My boyfriend said it’s probably because we often spend our Sundays sleeping in or doomscrolling in bed. I have no shame in my lazy Sunday game, but I’m sure the science is sound regarding the correlation between doomscrolling and feeling like garbage the next day. I actually spent Sunday prepping for a tutoring session and meeting my student. I hadn’t tutored since I started my masters degree program during the pandemic and I forgot how much I enjoyed it. I don’t get to do enough one on one instruction with my classroom students because our class sizes are insane. But being able to sit with one student and give them the attention they need just hits different. They were super shy at first but left that meeting ready to hang out again next weekend. Knowing that I’ve helped a student increase their confidence probably scared my Sunday Scaries away. I also got to visit a library I had never been to before, it was huge. Almost couldn’t find the study room I had reserved. After the tutoring session, my boyfriend took me and our kiddo to grab some food. We ended up at a Square Pie Guys Pizza spot and we all agreed that that was the best choice. My son has always been a picky eater but seeing him enjoy food (without taking things off of it) was such a sight to see. Maybe the cure for the Sunday Scaries is just getting out and doing stuff with people I love. Who would’ve thought?
On another note, I’ve missed so much work due to my knees. I initially hurt my right knee back in July but it got worse when I returned to work. Our main elevator is broken so I have to walk all the way to the back of the building to access the working one. That walk takes up so much of my day that I often just take the stairs to get it over with. Naturally thats the worst thing I can do for my knee and it leads to my knee swelling and that’s what ultimately causes me to miss work. I started using a walking stick to help me back in November and it’s helped a lot but doesn’t do much for the swelling. Also, my right knee isn’t the only one causing me problems. My left knee is showing the same issues. My hypermobility is coming back to bite me. I’m hoping that I can find another school that is more disability friendly in the fall.
The Strike, the Stress, and the Friends We Made Along the Way
On Friday, February 6th, I got the email.
We were officially going on strike on Monday. We knew it was coming. We just didn’t know when. It had been hanging in the air for weeks — conversations in hallways, union updates, side-eye glances at inbox notifications. But seeing it solidiified in writing made it real. We were instructed to inform students and families, take personal belongings home, leave work devices locked up on campus, and to take out any perishables because we didn’t know how long we’d be out.
It felt heavy.
Tensions were high. I was anxious. I’m already dealing with my own personal, job-related stress (who isn’t?) and this just added another layer. The kids had questions. I didn’t have answers. I just had to get through the day. Teach like normal. Smile when I could. Stay steady. Before the day was over, I talked with some colleagues and that helped. There was relief in knowing I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t the only one feeling unsure. The last time our district went on strike was in 1979 — almost 50 years ago — and that one lasted six weeks. That fact sat in the back of my mind all weekend.
Before I knew it, the weekend came and went in a blur.
Then suddenly it was Monday.
We weren’t walking through those doors to prep lessons or greet sleepy middle schoolers. We were getting ready to make history. Together. Our superintendent closed the schools, so we weren’t picketing directly in our students’ and families’ faces. Instead, we marched down to the street. Where the public could see us. Where the city could see us. All week, we picketed at our school sites, neighboring schools, and across different parts of San Francisco. While we marched, our union bargaining team was negotiating a contract that could get us back into our classrooms.
The first few days felt grim. Uncertain. We didn’t know what was going to happen.
But one thing that did happen was our camaraderie.
We bonded with coworkers we barely see during a normal school day. We shared meals. Car rides. Snacks. Stories. We stood shoulder to shoulder for hours. I met educators from other schools. I made friends — real ones — in a city where I moved knowing very few people.
And that part caught me off guard.
I think it’s safe to say I’m not the only one who sees my colleagues differently now.
On what would’ve been Day 5, I woke up to chat messages and emails saying the strike was over, We Won! My knee was killing me. I was already trying to mentally calculate how I was going to physically survive another day of marching. So naturally, I felt instant relief.
But I was also emotional.
Being on strike is hard. You don’t get paid. People call you greedy for demanding fair wages because they refuse to learn about anything else you’re fighting for. You see the ugly side of public opinion. It’s exhausting in ways I didn’t expect.
But my emotions weren’t really about the politics or the pay.
They were about the people.
I moved to San Francisco not knowing many people. I’ve always struggled with getting close to new ones. I knew my colleagues were amazing before and I knew they had my back professionally. This strike proved they have it personally, too.
We took something that could have been completely tumultuous and — in true teacher fashion — made it fun. There was music. There were inside jokes. There were shared coffees and borrowed sunscreen and “see you tomorrow” texts. And somehow, it all wrapped up just in time for our scheduled four-day weekend.
I’m glad I made the move to San Francisco. I’m glad I landed where I did. I’m glad I met these people. They inspire me every day in the classroom. And now I know they’re people I can call on outside of it, too.
We made history. But more than that — we made community.
Happy New Year
Happy New Year, everyone!
We officially made it to 2026! I hope your holidays were filled with exactly what you needed—whether that was a lot of productivity or absolutely nothing at all.
If you caught my last post, you know I was reaching a breaking point with "performance" blogging. I was tired of feeling like I was turning in a term paper every time I hit Publish. Well, I’m happy to report that the winter break was the perfect "reset" button. I traded the smell of school acrylics and the stress of cardboard gingerbread houses for my own journals and zero deadlines.
Interestingly enough, I didn’t pick up my phone to doomscroll as much as I thought I would. Instead, I spent a lot of time exploring my city, journaling and leaning into the community side of my creative life. I had a meetup with Bay Area Paper & Plans, the stationery and craft club I started, and it was exactly the soul-fuel I needed. We spent the day making vision boards and just chatting—no pressure, no "grading," just vibes.
I’ve decided that one of my goals for 2026 is to keep this momentum going. I’m planning more events for the club with the goal of meeting up at least once a month. In fact, we already had our January event on the 17th! Our "craftivity" for the day was making Bingo Boards and Punch Cards (because who doesn’t love a little gamified productivity?).
It turns out, when you stop treating your hobbies like a second job, you actually want to do them. Imagine that!
I’m heading into this year with a "done is better than perfect" mindset. So, expect more random life updates, more raw art shares, and definitely more of those "occasional typos" I mentioned before.
I’m so excited to see what we all create this year. Let’s make 2026 the year of low stress and high creativity.
Cheers to the New Year!
Blogging Should NOT be this Stresful
It’s been a while since I’ve posted on here and I realized its because I’ve been taking this way too seriously. I’m an academic, I’m literally a teacher, and I started blogging years ago as a way to write in a more releaxed way. But I’m starting to realize that I’ve been treating my blogs like school assignments. So instead of being relaxing, I’m constantly stressed out and worried about getting a poor grade. Blogging should NOT be this stressful! Before 2026 comes in hot, I want to come on here and remind myself (and the world) that my blogs are MINE. I created them to share my thoughts, ideas, and passions with the world and I’m officially allowing myself to do that. I will be embracing the occasional typos, poor grammar, and crappy sentence structure. I won’t stress out about posting often, but rather posting when the inspiration strikes (with or without photos). This is a long time coming but better late than never, right?
That being said, I’m typing this on my lunch break with just a day and half left of school before break. I am surrounded by cardboard “Gingerbread” houses and the smell of acrylic paint. I am at excited for the upcoming winter break so I can craft and make my own art again. I have so many ideas in my head that I want to put on paper and I’ll finally have some time to do it.
If I don’t post again until 2026, I wish you the happiest of holidays and cheers to the new year!
When My Brain Wants to Create but My Body Says No
Some days I wake up with a thousand ideas rushing through my head. I can see them so clearly — zine layouts, journal spreads, blog posts, color palettes — all waiting for me to bring them to life. But then I sit down… and nothing happens. It’s like my brain is on fire with inspiration, but my body refuses to move.
Anxiety and depression have this weird way of coexisting inside me. One pushes me to do everything all at once, while the other whispers that I can’t do anything at all. It’s exhausting.
When I’m anxious, I get bursts of energy that almost feel like hope. I’ll start a dozen projects, open five tabs, make lists of what I want to create. But I never finish. My heart races, my thoughts won’t slow down, and suddenly the excitement turns into panic. I convince myself it’s not good enough before it’s even started.
When I’m depressed, it’s the opposite. Everything slows down to a crawl. I’ll sit there, staring at my pens or my iPad, knowing I want to make something — needing to — but feeling like my limbs are made of cement. I think about all the things I could be doing, all the ideas I should be working on, and it makes me feel worse. The guilt piles on until I can’t tell what hurts more, the sadness or the frustration.
It’s heartbreaking, honestly. To have so much inside you and no way to get it out. I hate when people call it “a creative block” because it’s not that simple. It’s more like being locked out of your own mind. You can see the art, the words, the stories through the glass, but you just can’t reach them.
And yet, even in the middle of that fog, I know the creativity never really disappears. It just hides for a while. Sometimes the only thing I can manage is jotting down an idea in my phone or doodling something tiny in the corner of a notebook. But that still counts. It’s still me showing up in the smallest way possible.
I’m learning that it’s okay to create slowly. That resting isn’t failure. That maybe part of being an artist or a writer, or a maker is learning to live with the ebb and flow of it all. My creativity might be quiet right now, but it’s still here.
If you’ve ever felt that ache, the one where you want to make something so bad it hurts, but your brain and body just won’t cooperate, I get it. You’re not lazy. You’re not broken. You’re just human.
And someday, when the fog lifts, all those ideas will still be waiting for you.
When Your Paycheck Becomes a Prisoner
This week has been nothing short of a nightmare. My paycheck was held hostage by my own bank—even after they verified that the check was real. Issued by a legit school district. Drawn from a legit bank. No fraud, no funny business. And yet, they still refused to release my funds, labeling it “suspicious.”
Here’s the kicker: I only get paid once a month. That one check is supposed to cover everything—bills, rent, groceries, the works. When it’s delayed, it’s not just inconvenient, it’s catastrophic. Autopay didn’t care about my bank’s paranoia. Bills bounced back, late fees piled on, and I spent the week fighting a battle I shouldn’t have had to fight in the first place.
And when I went back to the district to see if they could help? The answer was basically: well, everyone else got their money. First of all—you mailed me a physical check instead of depositing my money like you were supposed to. So yes, you are the problem. Don’t shrug off your part in this disaster.
I’m drained. Between chasing banks, pleading with customer service reps, and watching my account spiral, I feel wrung out. The stress sits in my shoulders and pounds behind my eyes.
But in the middle of this chaos, I keep circling back to one thing: I need to make something. I need to get this mess out of my head and onto a page or canvas before it swallows me whole. This weekend, I’m pulling out both watercolors and acrylics. No plan, no perfection—just brush, paint, and paper. Maybe I’ll splatter the frustration across a canvas. Maybe I’ll let the colors blur and run, the way this week has run me down.
Because when everything else feels out of my control, at least I can control the paint.
After the Long Weekend
Friday didn’t exactly start the weekend off the way I imagined. My paycheck never showed up in my account, and after way too many refreshes I had to leave work early to figure it out. Turns out the check was mailed. Not direct deposited. Mailed. Which meant I had to trek over to payroll, sit through the whole explanation, and then fix my direct deposit information right there on the spot because never again. My district switched to a whole new payroll system and somehow my direct deposit information got lost along the way. To top it off, my check STILL hasn’t cleared so I techinically still haven’t been paid yet. It’s 2025, this sort of stuff should NOT be happening.
Once that mess was sort of behind me, I decided to let the weekend be slow. The kind of slow that feels like hitting pause. I slept in, lounged around, and let myself just exist without needing to check things off a list. I spent time with my partner and my son, which was exactly the grounding I needed after the chaos of the week. Somewhere in there I prepped a few lunches for the week, and I squeezed fresh orange juice—something about it made me feel like I was taking better care of myself than usual.
Nothing big or flashy happened, but maybe that’s the point. After weeks of being “on,” it felt good to just be. That quiet space, without the pressure to perform or produce, is usually when the sparks show up—the zine ideas, the journal pages, the scribbles that eventually turn into something more. Sometimes the reset is the work.
First Week Back
The first week back officially ended on Friday, and I don’t know about anyone else, but it had me wiped out. This year, our school tried something new (well new to me anyway) a full “welcome back” week with a minimized schedule. Instead of jumping straight into long class blocks, students spent most of their time in advisory (homeroom) while rotating through their other classes for just an hour each.
On paper, it sounded simple enough. In reality, it was its own kind of marathon. Monday especially had us running around with assemblies, school tours, scavenger hunts, PE orientations, and even a zine-making session. By the time the day was over, I was ready to collapse.
The rest of the week followed a similar rhythm of advisory & community building with shorter blocks. Today we wrapped things up with a sample schedule that doubled as a spirit day preview which include grade-level activities to keep the energy going. The kids seemed to enjoy it, which helps, but I think every teacher I’ve seen around campus this week has the same glazed-over look in their eyes.
It was a fun, chaotic, and a little exhausting in that way the first week of school always is. I’m grateful we eased in differently this year, but I won’t lie; I was more than ready for a good night’s sleep. I ended up sticking around Friday evening, for our welcome back Pizza & Ice Cream social. I saw some of my former students which was nice & got to meet parents.
Over the weekend I got to hang out with some friends and saw KPOP Demon Hunters in theaters & then went out with other friends for a Girl’s Day Out Paint & Sip followed by dinner with our partner’s & kids/pets.
Last week was crazy and yet here I am, eager & ready to do it all again.
I’m Still Here, I swear
I sort of started this blog then disappeared into the void. It’s still my summer break and I am just too exhausted to do anything. I’ve been trying to make art (and actually use my Skillshare subscription) and keep up with my journaling. But I’ve mostly been sleeping. It’s not a crime but sometimes it feels like it is. Now that it’s August, the new school year is creeping up on me and I’m just not ready. Being a middle school teacher is not for the faint of heart. But I’m going to spend the rest of my break trying not to stress about that. For now, I’m going to just scribble in my art journal and rewatch KPOP Demon Hunters with my kid. I’ve also got so many ideas for some zines to crank out too. Don’t get me started on the PenPal letters I have yet to respond to. July just went by a little too fast for my liking. Anyway, this is me commiting to being more consistent in this space from here on out.
In the meantime, here are some things I’ve managed to post on Instagram:
Welcome to Dahlias in Full Bloom
There’s something both terrifying and thrilling about starting over.
This space, Dahlias in Full Bloom, has been blooming in my mind for a while now. I wanted a home for the parts of me that didn’t quite fit neatly into planners or to-do lists. A space for the messier reflections, for the zines that say the things I don't always say out loud, for the parts of healing that are jagged and slow.
If you’re new here (which, let’s be honest, we all are), hi. I’m Dahlia. I’m a teacher, a mom, and lifelong overthinker. I make zines and art, I write to survive, and I journal like it’s the only way I know how to hold myself together. While you might know me from other spaces on the internet, this space is different.
Dahlias in Full Bloom is where I let the stories breathe. The stories and zines I share here are raw, sometimes unpolished, always honest. They come from lived experience: my mixed cultural identity, my mental health journey, the quiet griefs and loud joys of everyday life.
I want this blog to feel like a well-loved notebook. Something you can come back to when you feel a little lost or want to be reminded that healing isn’t linear and creativity isn’t supposed to be clean.
Here’s what you can expect:
Sneak peeks into my zine-making process
Personal essays & reflections on identity, motherhood, teaching, and growth
Downloadable or printable zines when I feel like sharing (and I hope I do)
Journal pages, scribbles, thoughts I’m not brave enough to say out loud—but write anyway
The occasional rant about how exhausting it is to feel everything so deeply
Art therapy pieces as I work on overcoming perfectionsim
If that sounds like your kind of space, welcome. I hope you’ll stay a while. And if not, I hope you find what you're looking for.
Either way, thank you for showing up for me, and maybe even for yourself.
Here’s to blooming in our own time.
~Dahlia