I am really struggling with work lately.

I wrote back in December about how work was getting both easier and harder. Now it’s just harder.

The surge of ICE agents in Minnesota has had a profound effect on my school. It was bad in December, and it has been far worse since January 7. I am usually pretty good at keeping my inner peace during times of supposed turmoil. I see so many people on social media who are so upset all the time.

“The past ten years have just been really hard,” they say, referencing the nation’s political divisiveness and All The Things.

“Yes, very hard,” I agree, as I narrow my eyes in order to better see their healthy children, secure housing situation, their blossoming career, and their annual international trip. I love you all, my deeply liberal friends, but if I was being honest with you, I would tell you that you are choosing to make your life more difficult by internalizing everything you read in the news and on social media. I don’t buy into the idea that we have to take everything so seriously in order to prove that we are good people.

I am very good at ignoring the handwringing and the angst, and a lot of people have been honest with me and told me that by choosing to ignore what is going on in the world I am benefitting from my white privilege.

This is true. I absolutely am. But it’s my choice to make and I have made it over and over again. There will always be suffering in this world. I am not going to waste this great life I’ve been given by taking on suffering that is not mine. There will be plenty of time for suffering later, or in my next life.

But this ICE surge in Minnesota, this is something I can’t ignore by closing Instagram or scrolling past it in the New York Times.

Here are some moments I would like to share from the last six weeks at work.

“I can’t come to school today because there are too many eye police outside.” This, the voice of one of my favorite second graders, a newish immigrant whose parents speak no English. She had to call the school herself because her parents could not. We all knew what she meant by “eye” police.

“Hi, I’m sorry my kids aren’t in school today; we are moving back to Tucson tomorrow. My abuela had an incident with the ICE yesterday, and she’s fine but it’s just not safe to stay here. Can you pack up my daughter’s inhaler and I think my son left his glasses and coat at school? Can you find them? We have to leave right away.” This family are all citizens, born in the United States, but their skin color and culture has made them a target. They departed for Tucson 48 hours after making that phone call. The boy’s class made cards for him. His teacher cried in the office when she gave them to us.

“I don’t know where my cousin is; I was at the federal building all last week and they still won’t give us any information.” This was our favorite substitute teacher, a Somali-American woman whom we all adore. She did eventually locate her cousin, but he had to wait an entire month for his first hearing. I have not yet heard the outcome of that hearing.

“Please, we are so scared. We have not left the house for a month. We cannot go to work and my son cannot go to school. Please, do you know of anyone who could bring us food?” This came to me over the phone through an interpreter helping me to reach out to a student who had seemingly vanished. I put them on the growing list of families who need food delivery. We moved their bus stop closer to their house to help with safety. Still, he has not come to school.

“It’s just a lot going on my neighborhood right now, you know what I mean? Every day there’s some sort of bullshit going down and I just don’t know if it’s really safe for him to be going to the bus by himself, but I don’t get home from work until eight, so I don’t know what to do.” This from a frustrated Black American mom whose son has been missing the bus due to ongoing ICE activity in their neighborhood.

“The girls can’t come to school today. Their father was detained by immigration yesterday, and they are too worried to come.” These are the words of an uncle of two students at our school, another newish immigrant family. The students’ father had the right documentation and was released a day later, but the girls have not been the same since.

“The following student has been transferred to the online school.” This from an email I have received too many times now as students transfer from our school to my district’s online school. The district took note and we are now offering a virtual option within our school for students who cannot make it to the building safely right now. Hopefully I won’t get this email again this year and we’ll be able to keep our community mostly intact. Still, my heart breaks for the students who I know would rather be at school with their friends and will now be stuck inside on a screen for months on end.

“Her mom texted me that they are moving back to Guatemala.” This has happened twice now with families assessing the situation and deciding that their home country is a better bet at the moment.

“I don’t mean to be alarmist or weird, but here’s my wife’s number in case something happens to me.” This from our principal, a father of three and also the unfortunate first line of defense in all emergency situations.

“When we turned the corner we saw ICE right in front of their apartment building. I didn’t feel comfortable getting in the middle of that. Could you call the family and check on them?” This was from a white mom who is helping to drive some of our non-white students to and from school. We tried to reach the family that day but never did get through. We still don’t know what the situation is.

I feel like a husk of a person when I come home from work every day to my safe house in my safe neighborhood where very little has changed. I want desperately to only exist in this cocoon of stability. But the white privilege spell has been broken, and the suffering has come home into my heart.

These are just families trying to live their lives and raise good kids. How is this helping anyone when parents can’t go to work and kids can’t go to school?

So here I am, finally ready to be outraged, finally ready to join the rest of my friends in indignation. Here I am and all I can find inside of myself is sadness.