When It's Not a Wonderful Life

 A few days ago, I pulled myself out of bed and sat at my desk to start work, still in my pajamas. I looked around the apartment, taking inventory. The sink was full of dishes. There was trash on my desk from yesterday. The laundry was piling up. The stove was dirty. "You're officially in a funk," I told myself.

I've been having these self-diagnosed "funks" for many years. The only way I can describe the it is that I feel heavy. I feel like everything (and I mean Everything) will take an enormous amount of energy. Even the simplest tasks like putting on shoes or taking a shower suddenly seem like too much work. I have no idea what triggers these episodes. Sometimes they last a day and sometimes weeks, although I've gotten better at finding my way out of them. 

On this particular day, I sat in front of the computer for several minutes, just staring. "You can do this. You can do this," I kept telling myself. Finally, I opened the web browser. And the first thing to pop up was the news story about tWitch's suicide. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I have no idea why the death of someone I had never met, that I knew very little about, could hurt like that. But it did hurt. Hadn't I seen him and his wife dancing in front of the Christmas tree just days ago? I opened my phone and found that recent video, played it on replay. I cried the funk right out of me. I set my status to Busy and got up. I cleaned the kitchen, started the laundry, took a shower, and came back and had a productive day of work. But his grin in that video has haunted me ever since.

I've seen and heard all kinds of reactions to the news since that morning. Lots of judgements and assumptions. One of the most common sentiments is, "he had so many people that loved him." I don't have any idea what caused him to pick up a gun and shoot himself. I never will. But I do know that having people love you doesn't always make mental illness better. In fact, it can make things more difficult. When other people care about you, you can feel like you aren't deserving. Because they care, you can be a burden. I want the people I love to be happy, not worrying about me. 

Today, I watched It's a Wonderful Life. The scene that really got me thinking wasn't George's thoughts of suicide of the revelations that came after. It was actually the scene when he comes home from work after losing the money. He is gruff with his kids and wife. He yells at a stranger on the phone. He let his own stress and anxiety boil over and hurt other people. I do the same thing. I think we all do that sometimes. It was obvious that George felt guilty. He felt like a bad father and husband, which probably contributed to his decisions. We don't all have a far-reaching impact on the world like George did in that movie, or like tWitch did in real life, but we are all allowed to forgive ourselves for our emotional reactions.

Neglecting my chores doesn't make me a bad person. Snapping at my family doesn't make me a bad daughter or sister. Forgiveness is so important. For yourself and for others. Actions aren't always intentional, but rather side effects of something else going on in people's lives. Saying "I'm always here for you" is a nice gesture, but it doesn't mean much if we hand out criticism and advice easier than understanding and patience. Today might be terrible. Maybe tomorrow will be too. But every morning is an opportunity for something unexpected, something wonderful, something worth sticking around for.

It Get So Good Video

Being the Right Version of Myself

 For my 30th birthday this year, my friend Ashley visited me and we went to a Renaissance fair. While there, Ashley treated me to a palm/tarot card reading. You should understand I'm a very skeptical person. In the court system, everyone is innocent until proven guilty. In the mind of Roxie, everyone is false until proven accurate. The psychic recognized this. Her first descriptions of me were "stubborn" and "guarded." These assumptions are fair, but I did listen. Over the past 6 months, I have thought about that moment under a tent with my hand open in this lady's hand quite a lot actually. 

As she said, "You could meet someone special this year..." I truly had to force myself not to roll my eyes. She saw an absence of a ring and told me what she thinks single people want to hear. I don't need to meet anyone. I have lots of amazing people in my life. But how she finished the sentence is what made me soften. "...but only if you can be your authentic self. Not the selves you transform yourself into based on what you think others want you to be."

I've always been an exceptional liar. My parents can attest to how often I would spin an excuse to keep myself out of trouble. I never lie because I want to be deceptive. I lie in order to have the "right answer." Whenever anyone asks me a question, my first response is to think, "What answer do they want from me?" I often feign interest in subjects I know the other person is interested in. I complain about things that don't even bother me because I know it bothers the other person and I want them to feel camaraderie Sometimes this impulse gets out of control. I once told my chiropractor that my favorite restaurant was a place I had literally never stepped into, only because I remembered him mentioning it at a previous appointment. 

As I've grown older, I've realized that I easily mold into different personas depending on who I am around. Sometimes this chameleon-like behavior has helped me discover new passions. I wanted to fit in with people in my dorm during my freshman year of college, so I became a football fan, pretending to understand until I truly did. Now, football season brings me great joy each year. I absolutely hated beer, but a friend in college loved craft beer and I wanted to be around him, so I forced myself to buy the drinks he suggested. Then, I fell in love with one and continue to seek out new beers to this day. 

Other times, my pretending causes me great anxiety. That automatic response of, "Oh yeah, I completely agree" has led to me really beating up on myself. I don't actually believe that exercising every day or drinking protein shakes makes me a better person, but I've expressed my enthusiastic support for it so many times, I sometimes start to hate myself each time I sit on the couch after work. I don't think I need to pay off all my loans as quickly as possible or buy a house or seek a promotion, but the more I express support for other people in these endeavors, the more I question myself. 

As I sat in that wam tent on that weekend 6 months ago, the term "authentic self" kind of hit me in the face. Have I lost that self? Can I define who I really am and not the self I pretend to be in front my family or friends or coworkers? Do I know what is really important to me? What makes me an individual? My friend Sarah tells me often that I say, "I'm fine with anything" too often. She's probably right. I try so hard to "go with the flow." Maybe if I expressed what I want or don't want more often, I would meet the "special person" the psychic referred to. I remain skeptical. However, I will continue to reflect on this idea of "myself." I don't want to lose that person.

Things Teachers Deal with That Other Professionals Don't

 This August was the first August in my entire life that I don't remember "starting school." My year has always been organized by school start and end dates. This year, as I drive through my neighborhood, I see kids walking home from school and I feel the strong feeling that I'm late. I'm missing something. While I still work with school districts, I never had that "first day of school" feeling and it's left me a little disoriented honestly. I miss getting to know new students' personalities and planning out the year (I know I'm weird, but I loved lesson planning a unit.) I miss the feeling of "starting again."

But there are a few things I don't miss. There are tasks that teachers do without even thinking that are unknown to most professional communities. Here are a few things I no longer deal with at my non-education job:

1. Sneaking to the Copy Machine Before/Between/After Work Hours: 

Copies were literally the bane of my existence. Lots of jobs make copies, but most do it during their working hours. They also don't get reprimanded for making them last minute. I can't tell you how often I woke up early and didn't have time to even brush my hair because I knew I had to make 100 copies of a test before anyone showed up. Or how many times I skipped lunch to print something. Also, in every single education job I had, I was reprimanded because my lessons changed and I didn't have my copies sent out to the print shop a week in advance. In my current job, I was sent a printer that I don't have to wait in line for and can order ink whenever I want. 

2. Someone Walking in Mid-Presentation:

Principals or Instructional Coaches will just walk in your room as an educator with no notice all the time. I had nothing to hide, I assure you. But do you know how distracted a class of middle school kids can get when the principal stands in the back of the room? It also threw me off. Does he see the kid that's falling asleep? Does this lesson seem rigorous enough? Are my objectives posted on the board? Now, my manager might join a meeting that I am running, but she never pops in mid-presentation. I am very grateful.

3. Internet Outages Ruining Your Whole Day:

Everyone experiences computer problems or Internet outages. It is always an inconvenience in every job. Imagine this, though. You have planned an entire hour of students working on a project online. 5 minutes into the period, no access. All your plans are out the window. Think on your feet. Should they read something? You don't have enough books for every student. You can't leave and make copies (see #1). Should you give them paper to write a paragraph? That will only like like 15 minutes and then what? Think fast because the kids are starting to get loud and aren't staying in their seats. I hated those days. 

4. Creating a Substitute Binder:

Last month, I went to a birthday party in Vegas. How did I prepare for the day of work I was missing? I told my manager and set my email automatic response to say "I will be out of the office and will respond to emails when I return on Monday." That's it. When I missed a day of teaching, I had to create an entire binder before I left. The sub needs to know how where to find the materials, what the seating chart is, how to keep students occupied the entire period (and remember it's 3-5 different lessons each day so make sure he/she knows which period does what), where to take them for lunch, how to deal with the student who may or may not start screaming for no reason, what to do in a fire drill, what times the bell rings... Get the picture? 

5. Committee/Duty Requirements:

I like to volunteer and be helpful. I just don't like being forced to do it every day and to get a sub if I can't fulfill the duty. Every education job I know of requires participation outside of the classroom. You might be assigned to parking lot duty in the morning on Monday and recess duty on Thursday (leaving 10 minutes for lunch tops). Oftentimes, you are required to be part of a committee. I was part of a social committee, school improvement committee, and curriculum committee. I was assigned "door duty" where I just watched to make sure kids made it out of the school building each day and a "bus duty" where I made sure students didn't miss their assigned bus. It was exhausting.

6. Contacting Parents:

This probably should have been #1. The thing I miss least about teaching is contacting parents. I know some educators live for this. One of my coworkers called home every single time a student didn't turn in an assignment. I'm not a phone person anyway, but calling parents about a child's behavior are the worst calls I ever made. It was always a gamble. Sometimes they would politely said they would talk to their child. Phew. Other times parents cried and told me their hardships. Sometimes they yelled at me and wondered why I made their child feel bad. No matter what, I couldn't avoid the calls. I couldn't give a student a failing grade without notifying a parent. I once called an admin on my school phone to tell her that a student was trying to climb out the window of my classroom. She asked, "Have you called home?" 

Stay strong my educator friends. I hope the school year is off to a wonderful start with less of the stuff above. Stay tuned for Part 2. 

Bigger Problems Don't Make Your Problems Smaller

Imagine you have a leak in your house. The ceiling drips....drips....drips. You try to handle the problem yourself, searching for your bucket to catch the drops. But you can't make it stop. So you share the problem with others. 

The landlord comes in and proceeds to tell you all the other problems in the complex. There's a broken toilet next door and the fire that started a few weeks back. You feel bad for the neighbors with big problems, but as the landlord leaves, the dripping continues. 

Family comes by and see the leak. "Oh, we had a leak once," they say. "Only we didn't even have a bucket to catch the water back then. You're so lucky." Friends assure you it will get better. "It could be worse." Yes, it could definitely could be. That doesn't mean you don't want the leak fixed. Your bucket keeps overflowing.

Recently, a friend expressed overwhelmed feelings to me. Looking for a job, moving to a new house, dealing with kids...those drops in the bucket were adding up. But when I suggested maybe she should go to a therapist, she brushed it off. "Nothing traumatic ever happened to me. No one died or got divorced or abused me." I thought about how many times I had thought the very same thing. 'Other people' have the big problems. My troubles are nothing I can't deal with. 

There are always going to be bigger problems in the world. There's absolutely nothing wrong with expressing gratitude for the advantages we have. However, those bigger problems of others don't diminish our own stresses. It's okay to look out for ourselves. I can want to fix the leak in my own house. My worries are valid. Your well-being is important. It isn't a competition. We can listen to each other without discrediting one another. Bigger problems don't make your problems smaller. Take care of yourself, my friends. 💜

When Buses Aren't Safe Spaces

 I had a bus nightmare last night. It wasn't the stuck-in-the-bus, monsters-attack scenario you may be imagining if you've ever watched Jeepers Creepers 2. It's the memories inside the bus that haunt me.

A few years back, I was driving home after work as a teacher, when something caught my eye. A person was running out in the middle of the four lanes of traffic. I panicked when I realized it was one of my students, darting between vehicles to make his way safely to the other side. I breathed a sigh of relief when he casually began walking on the sidewalk again. The next day, I asked that student to stay after school. I expressed how dangerous his walk home was and told him how I worried about him and wanted him to take the bus instead. I saw the immediate panic in his eyes. He began to beg me not to make him do that and swore he'd be careful. I remembered that panic. I remembered when I would have rather run through 4 lanes of traffic than step foot on a school bus.

Buses were always lousy. So many field trips where we were asked to "Pair up!" and I was left on the bench alone, kids walking making comments like "Ew, I'm not sitting with her" or shoving 3 to a bench rather than be my partner. The middle school girls that gossiped from across the aisle: "What is she even wearing?" or "Why is she even on the team when she can't even run across the court?"

For reasons still unknown to me, by high school, my breasts were the topic of school-wide derision. Snide remarks as I loaded my duffel bag onto the seat beside me, desperately trying to provide some type of shield. "Did you pack a good sports bra? Don't know how you can play volleyball with those things flopping around?" I sat close to the front. Although unspoken, I knew the back was off-limits to me, but the proximity to teachers/coaches/counselors never seemed to help. They chatted to each other, oblivious to the torment I endured. (After being a teacher, I understand they were just enjoying adult conversation, but at the time it seemed like a purposeful affront.) Once, on a trip to a drama performance, there was an entire sport made out of flicking scraps of paper in hopes of hitting my cleavage. Girls seemed to love to see me squirm and got more ruthless, asking if I'd let certain boys motorboat me. When I didn't know what that meant, I was the target of laughter for weeks.

Boys were not better. I'm sure it was boys that instigated the paper flicking. On a few trips, a boy would sit next to me and I began to wish I was a social pariah again, sitting alone. They would find ways to touch and graze by me and I was so uncomfortable. I assumed something was wrong with me because I didn't like their attention. Did I even like guys? If not, would my friends and family hate me? Once, I was wearing a skirt on a trip and a guy wrote on my leg "Enter Here" with pen. I have no idea why I didn't stop him. I guess I froze. But I do remember the teacher scolding me when I asked to go wash my leg off when we reached our destination. I needed to stop "messing around."

I'm not saying that buses were the cause of my problems. Kids can be mean in any location. Bullies have a knack for finding places where adults aren't around. But when someone, like my student, doesn't want to do something, there's usually a very good reason. He never told what happened to him, but I never told anyone what happened to me either (until now). Sometimes, we speak out in different ways. This particular student would often yell at me, refuse to do work, or even throw things on the ground during class in frustration. I asked that kid to stay with me after class for 15 extra minutes to avoid the worst traffic for the rest of that school year, promising I wouldn't tell the principal or ever force him to take the bus. Each day, as the other students piled out at the bell, he would plop down on the couch by the bookshelf. I would see his body relax. He was suddenly calm and would chat with me about his brothers or video games. I think sitting there with him after school is one of my fondest memories as a teacher. I was lucky to have had teachers that provided those safe spaces for me when I avoided the cafeteria at lunch or needed a place to go after school too. After nightmares, I always think about the safe spaces in my life. Places like the front room of our house watching TV after school with my siblings or in my bed curled up next to my cat. It makes me feel calmer too. 

Sleeping on the Floor

 Growing up in a family of five, there was usually an odd-man-out. This was especially noticeable when traveling or going on vacation. Restaurant tables, vehicles, hotel rooms, and amusement park rides are all made to comfortably accommodate four. I'm not here to complain about some major injustice. This was an inconvenience. As I look back, though, I realize the kid cramped in the third row seat or sitting in the chair at the end of the booth or sleeping on the hotel room floor was oftentimes me. This isn't because I was forced into these positions. My family did not exclude me. I always volunteered. But why?

In Demi Lovato's song "I Love Me," she says "I'm a black belt when I'm beating up on myself. But I'm an expert at giving love to somebody else." I've always felt like this, my own worst critic, while championing others and their needs. I remember waking up on the floor of those hotel rooms with my hip bone grinding into the hard floor or shivering because the floor was always cold and thinking, "I deserve this because..." Fights with my siblings ran through my head. Of course they didn't want me to sleep in the same bed as them. I was a terrible sister. 

In many ways, I've been "sleeping on the floor" for people ever since. "You want to borrow that? I'll bring it to you because I don't want to be an inconvenience." "We can go to whatever restaurant you want." Even if I don't like it. I just want you to be happy. "I'll edit/rewrite that paper for you. No charge. It's my pleasure." Even when it takes me hours to finish. "I'll just grab an Uber. You shouldn't go out of your way to pick me up." I'll absolutely always spend my own time, money, or mental well-being instead of asking for anything from anyone else. They need the soft, comfy bed. Not me.

When I quit my extremely stressful job in February, I had this vision of myself with no worries, feeling so light and free. While it took a huge weight off my shoulders, I didn't feel like I was flying. I'm still clenching my jaw until it aches and not sleeping well. I still get angry suddenly for no reason. I know these things are all side effects of stress, but if not from my job, where is it coming from? It's me, beating up on myself. I'm worrying I'm not doing enough in a job that expects less. (In fact, last week, my manager told me to stop asking if I was doing enough because I was doing way more than she expected.) As ridiculous as it sounds, when I'm not sacrificing all my energy to helping others, I feel like I'm being "bad." 

I turned 30 this month and I made two resolutions for myself as I start a new decade. First, I will find moments of joy every single day. Life's too short to waste days. So far, I've committed fully to this and have found something every single day that brings me joy including exploring new places, cooking food I love, playing sand volleyball or bowling, or reading in the sun. Second is much harder. I will stop going places where I don't have a bed. I don't (always) mean a literal bed. I just mean I need to stop engaging with people when they aren't thinking of me and my needs in return. I will stop being an afterthought or a tool to get what they need done. I deserve to be comfortable and my needs to be heard. 

Surface Pressure

 Like many people across the world right now, I've been pretty obsessed with the movie Encanto. While, I've only seen it once in theaters, I have listened to the soundtrack on repeat on my way to and from work. While I can sing along to most of the songs, the one that I gravitate toward over and over again is the song called "Surface Pressure." As a teacher and an older sibling, I have often felt like Luisa's character, working to carry as much as I can and to be of service as many as I can. I was always piling more onto my plate, whether it was asked of me of not. This school year, I got crushed under the weight.

In high school, I was part of almost every club I could join. I stayed at the school until dinner time almost every night. I put in so many hours on extra projects like the yearbook and senior video. When I got to college, just taking classes didn't seem like I was working hard enough, so I joined the honors program and residential hall councils and became a tour guide. I stayed up all night so many times because that paper or project wasn't "the best it could be." I was always helping friends or siblings write their papers too. 

The late nights didn't end at college graduation. During the past 7 years of teaching (always at Title 1 schools), I have spent most of my nights worried about my students. How can I help them learn? What can I do to be a better teacher for them?  Do they have a safe place to eat and sleep tonight? I've woken up in the middle of the night to rewrite lesson plans for the following day. As I moved up to leadership roles at my school districts, my concern transferred to helping teachers too. Teachers would ask me for materials or how to do certain tasks or often would just need me to come and listen to them vent. 

Don't get me wrong, I didn't feel miserable throughout all of this service work. I prided myself on being there for everyone as much as possible. When I filled out bios on social media or dating apps, I always listed "Teacher" first. It has been the title I have loved about myself for so long. So, as I sat in a theater in November, after a particularly overwhelming month at work, and I heard Luisa sing, "I'm pretty sure I'm worthless if I can't be of service", it really hit home. I actually remember being startled by those words. That's how I felt. I felt like my entire self-worth hinged on how much I could help.

Later in Luisa's song she says, "Line up the dominoes. A light wind blows. You try to stop it tumbling. But on and on it goes." That's been my school year. It wasn't one big event that made me want to quit. But I've been trying to pick up those dominoes all year, but the wind has been relentless. So I started applying for other jobs. I knew I needed to get out of this cycle of tumbling down. The decision to apply elsewhere didn't make me feel any less guilty or lost. I told a friend once, "I think I'm going to lose my identity if I'm not a teacher. I'm going to lose my purpose." The friend said, "Maybe you should stop worrying about what you might lose. What might you gain?"

Luisa had the same thought: 

"If I could shake the crushing weight of expectations
Would that free some room up for joy 
Or relaxation, or simple pleasure?

So this week, I start anew. I took a job as Associate Customer Success Manager for an educational publishing company. I will definitely lose some huge parts of my life, but instead of loss, I'm trying to think of it as "shaking it off" to make room for better things. Wish me luck. 

Stop Labeling The Things You Are Not

 I remember the first time I made a declaration about what I could not do. I was standing in right field at softball practice, dragging the toe of my shoe through the dirt. I hadn't hit a single ball and couldn't seem to line my glove up with a ball, even in warm-ups. I saw the looks in my coaches' eyes as they tried to find a place for me out of the way. And I thought, "I'm not good at sports." 

Later, I was not good at making friends. I wasn't good at video games. I was not a singer. I was not coordinated. I was not musical. When Algebra came along, I was not good at math. I wasn't artistic. I wasn't organized. I wasn't funny. The list kept growing. When I was in college, I was once asked to write a paper about myself and I suddenly felt like I was defined more by the things I was not rather than the person I was. 

I wish I could tell you I started focusing on my strengths and I have much more self-worth, but I've since learned that self-love is a lifelong process. However, in this process, I have learned that labels aren't so black and white. I may not have excelled in Algebra, but I am good at logic puzzles and sudoku. And honestly, I think I could have been good at math if I hadn't stopped trying in 7th grade when I believed that I wasn't good at it and never could be. Also, our perceptions of our self can be way off. Didn't a boy in my class always try to cheat off me in my junior year? Why did he do that if I was so bad? 

I may not be good at softball or basketball or any of the sports I was asked to do as a kid, but that doesn't mean I can't or don't want to be active. I love swimming laps, no longer worried about keeping my time. I feel energized when taking a hike when I'm not comparing my speed to those around me. I really enjoy yoga. My family still likes to tease me often about how uncoordinated I am, but honestly I don't feel that way anymore. Did I drop things and run into things and struggle with hand-eye-coordination growing up? Absolutely. I was growing into myself. Like with a lot of things on my "You Are Not" list, with time, practice, and patience with myself, I got better. 

I am not saying we can all be good at everything. We are each unique and that's what makes us beautiful. But some things like art and video games don't have to be a competition and I can find enjoyment without being "great." Some things, like organization, can get better as I learn about myself more and what works for me. Some things, like humor or beauty, are all a matter of perception.

Recently, the thing I am "not" has been a writer. For years, I haven't even attempted to write anything beyond this blog and I even stopped writing in here for the past 3 months. My self-talk said, "I am not a real writer. No one wants to read what I write. I don't have any good ideas." Is that the point though? Writing is a way of expressing and letting out feelings we have inside. I can write a story and it doesn't have to be publishable to be something I can be proud of. 

I hope all of you can focus on what brings you joy, pride, and/or satisfaction without labeling all the things you are "not." You ARE many amazing things. Those are the things that count.