"What's a bitch gotta do to get a shout out?" There is just something endearing about people that will tell you exactly what they need. She's my bitch, we get each other. But she did get me thinking and wondering if there are other people waiting for their shout out. Which in turn started me thinking about why I am indebted to specific people in my life. I try to err on the side of caution when mentioning people because what in my mind seems like a statement of gratitude or a funny anecdote could be perceived differently by the other person and because some stories, while valuable, are extremely painful and hard to share. Life lessons aren't always Hallmark worthy. For example, every parent who has ever complained about my teaching has given me reason to pause and reflect. In all instances, it has led to personal or professional growth in some form or another. It has given me great insight into people, values, and parenting. From them, I've learned my love of my students is bigger than their criticism of me. One mom sticks out in my mind because I sat in my car and bawled like a baby after her parent teacher conference. I had dared to tell her that I thought her daughter needed extra help in reading. I get it, no one wants to hear these things, and she and her husband reacted in anger and confusion. The husband died mere months later, and it devastated the family. I did what any teacher would do, I took a class collection, we made cards, I bought a plant and gift cards, and I loved on that little girl with my whole heart. I sent our class stuffed animal to stay with her for as long as she needed. I gently pushed learning, but some days, I just let her be herself. I had lost my own dad just a year prior, and as an adult, I could barely manage to function on the hard days. The last day of school, she and her mom brought a gift and there was a letter inside. I still have it, and I still read it. It is a powerful testament to a mother's love and the grace of a strong woman. My students are another source of invaluable learning and gratitude. I've learned you don't pick up "mud" from the floor with bare hands and that pissing contest means something totally different in first grade than in the adult world. I've learned there is nothing on earth that disappears faster than pencils and glue sticks, and there is no gift sweeter than random rocks and dandelions. I've learned parents break children's arms but not their spirit, and that even twelve year old boys need held and hugged. I've learned trauma knows no boundaries, and that I am healing myself through helping my students. Similar to students, I have had many friends come and go in my life. The adage of leaving footprints is truth. My best friend from childhood has been a fixture and reminder of my roots and simpler times...even if I am in denial that we are grandparenting age. I have friends that carried me through college who still proffer their two cents and share my passion for teaching. Friends from the internet and from shared experiences like a son going to Marine bootcamp. There are friends from marriage that I let go in the divorce because I wasn't able to handle the connection. There were friends that taught me never to loan money you expected back, and that people will take advantage of the kindness of other people. I learned that sometimes you can be too much for someone or that they can be too much for you. I've experienced laughter, support, adventure, and bonding. Friendships in my life have waxed and wained, and some have ended from moves, fights, falling out, and growing up. But i needed them all. Family obviously comes to mind as well, but I picture myself carefully navigating a minefield. There are explosive and destructive masses of negativity among the priceless jewels. I have an aunt and an uncle who absolutely dote on me. Despite being closer to their age than their children's age, they consider me one of the kids. Which comes with being treated to dinner as well as the expectation that I set the table. Never underestimate the power of an aunt with a towel over her shoulder yelling from the kitchen, "GIRLS, come set the table." Because even at 40, you will do it. My aunt also made sure every time I left her house I had a bag of, well, stuff. I say bag, but what usually started out as dinner leftovers, ended up being two or three stuffed bags. I would always laugh and joke about the "bags of crap" going home, but those care packages ...sigh...I miss it. Don't get me wrong, I don't miss ALL the things, but watching her dig through drawers and choose things for me, that in her estimation I must have, THAT I miss. My uncle is more quiet and patient in his love. He's loved me since forever. When I moved to Andover, he brought and bought furniture, installed my washer and dryer, and gently stepped into a dad-like role. He introduced me to everyone as "the one who made me an uncle." When I told him I was moving to Norway, he beamed, he helped me pack, he hosted a goodbye party, and he cried when he told me how proud he was. There's another aunt who is the mom and gram I aspire to. I'm not quite sure how she never lost her shit when we left siblings tied to trees in a pasture, had cow patty fights, and came home covered in the top layer of a pasture. She let us pack lunches and disappear for the day. One day I saw her throwing pennies in the yard for her grandwees to find, and that was when I realized she was just born for loving kids. I love her on purpose for so many reasons. She recognized the depth of my depression before anyone. She linked me to my grandparents in an honest and powerful way. She was the first face I saw after my son died. She has been by my side for some of the worst of my life, and she always has a cup of coffee and time to chat. At this point I pause and hesitate because the real landmine lurks. My mom...quite possibly the person who taught me the most about life. As an adult, I can understand more of her damaged perspective and keep it in its place as I work through my issues and unlearn. As a child, I absorbed, studied, normalized, and emulated her take on life. From her volatile anger, I learned to easily recognize moods and became keenly aware of minor nuances in emotion. These skills are essential in a classroom, and I believe it is one of the reasons I am successful in teaching. However, the other side of this is that I amassed strategies to even the keel in the short term without ever practicing how to manage and sit with emotions. In those moments when it was about defusing a situation, humor and pacification became my steady allies. Loyalty was another valuable lesson from her that came with an enormous price tag. Maintaining my relationship with her became contingent upon taking her side and adopting her opinion, no questions asked. In my naive endeavor to garner her approval, I burned through familial relationships. Some of these relationships have never recovered, and I have missed momentous life experiences. Unfortunately this bled over into my friendships where I became the tyrant. The difficulty of unlearning that behavior was compounded by the knowledge that you can slowly kill a person's soul with your words. My very existence was a living, breathing, dependent reminder of love gone wrong in her life. I was consistently reminded of my place as an outsider in their core family to the point my biggest fear was that my family would win a trip for four and I would be left home as they happily accepted the prize. Any attempts to dream were quashed with a healthy dose of mom's "reality." I was "too short and fat to be a model". I was "too hard to love to find a good man to take care of me". I was "too smart to be 'just' a teacher," yet I was "too high minded" to pursue marine biology. Her efforts muted me, tore me down, and left me a wreck with a razor sharp tongue. There was a point in my life where I would have told you that I wanted to go to college and never look back. I didn't want children, and I just wanted to explore. But my life's lessons to this point left me hollow and desperately searching for love. It was from this place that I chose a life partner which means I have my mom to thank for my marriage that resulted in my boys being born. Those two are by far the hardest and best thing I have accomplished and witnessed in life. In the most stark explanation, they come from what my mom molded. Eventually I learned that there comes a time when you have to let go of a toxic person regardless of blood ties. You will never be loyal enough, you will never placate their every need, you will tire of watching relationships fail, and you will lose sight of your very self. So, I chose me and moved on knowing that I could never stop learning and unlearning, Perhaps the best lesson from my mom is that I will never love my children the way my mom loved me. They have taught me that cycles can be interrupted, but that every parent finds a way to "f*ck up" their kids. They have shown me that looking down to see your smiling child is precious but looking up to see them soar is invaluable. Raising them I realized you can't make up for your own childhood, but you can make up their childhood. Watching my sons become men and establish their own lives I have come to understand that to be your best self, you have to be your own self. I love them beyond all reason and cannot imagine my life's arc without them. As I try to end this post, all I can think is that there so many stories, so much appreciation for the lessons learned and the life lived, and I know I am missing big moments. If you didn't see yourself, know that I value your place in my story. So, shout out to my aunt who will always celebrate milestone birthdays the July before me, albeit a decade ahead, who was my first photographer, who taught me how to drive and let me have my first sip of beer, who gave me the world's worst nickname, and who inspired this post.
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The sky fascinates me. It always has. As a child I laid on my back and let my imagination chase the clouds across the sky. Seeing the hues of red and orange kiss the Kansas sunrises and sunsets calms my heart and mind. And when the sun beams down between billowy clouds, I feel a tinge of sadness that I can never capture a photo that will match the beauty my eyes witness. So, it is no surprise to me that I find the sky here in Norway so captivating. The clouds and sky display a combination of colors that is remarkable. Try as I might, I cannot capture the depth and serenity on film. When I was young, I stayed for long stretches in the summer with my Gramma and Paa, and of course, going home was hard. Gramma would tell me when I went home that the sky was the same sky for both of us. It helped me to feel closer, safer, and loved. I've always thought of the sky as a connection to her, and later I began to use it to feel more connected to other family members. I have an aunt that sends me a picture of her sunrise every so often, and I don't think she realizes that I close my eyes and hug her and imagine being with her. When I miss my children, I look to the sky and remember that we see the same moon and sun. It's amazing where we humans will search for and find comfort and connection. As a teacher I get to witness so many acts of social connection on a daily basis. One of those powerful moments happened a few days ago. One student's iPad had died, and she was just devastated that she would not be able to read on Epic. Another student called her over to his desk and said he would share. She stood by his desk for a couple of seconds and then next thing I knew she was in his lap and he was carefully flipping the pages from behind. You could just see the caring big brother he is in his actions. These moments make teaching so rewarding. As a survivor of trauma, I struggle with relationships , but I have been pushing myself since moving to Norway to maintain the pathways of friendship. It's been a little tough to stay as connected to special people back home because the seven hour difference is the worst amount of inconvenience. I'm getting off of work, when everyone at home is headed into work, and by the time their day is done, I'm in bed. I've done better here than just about any other time in my life about making friendships a priority. This weekend, I went well outside my comfort zone and went to a hockey game and then out to a pub afterward. When you accept friends into your life, it means you are opening yourself up for hurt feelings and loss. Learning that even after all I've lived through that I am willing to risk this gives me great joy...and tremendous anxiety. I continue to muddle through this new territory of sharing my story and leaning on others, but I am finding that it is not as scary as I envisioned. Make no mistake, I still value my time alone to recuperate and reflect. Honestly, I think it is more that I need this time. And who knows, maybe I am even ready to welcome love into my life, but for now, maybe I'll try another hockey game!
Last week, I was stuck in some negative thoughts, and I simply wasn't ready to share those stories and that reality. I skipped the week, and thought I could brush past the thinking. However, I have some faithful readers that thank me regularly for saying the hard things they recognize but can't verbalize. I take that mantle of responsibility seriously, and I am thankful to be understood.
It is inevitable that there will be days or weeks when your mind wanders into the dusty files in the back. This doesn't necessarily mean you should drag them out and flip through. Memory is such a fickle creature. Far from being snapshots or videos of our experiences, our feelings shape them. Every time we revisit memories, our current self files it away with a twist of experience or new feelings piled on top so that next time we peruse, the memory has shifted further from the original. Knowing these things does nothing to assuage the reality our mind creates, though. It isn't that I think we shouldn't revisit memories and experiences, only that we must recognize how we affect them. It even happens with pleasant memories. Have you ever thought about how inside jokes seem funnier, experiences seem more meaningful, and fish get bigger with every retelling? Not to mention heroes and villains become immortalized in their role instead of retaining their true selves as flawed humans... just like everyone else. This knowledge seems more burden than helpful at times. For starters, there are some people I simply refuse to give the benefit of this mindset. This doesn't mean I hold the anger or withhold the forgiveness because that only damages me, but it does mean that I can acknowledge my flaw of limiting my view of some people to the monster my memories created. Not to mention, life would be easier if I could continue to view the doctor that oversaw my first son's birth as the incompetent buffoon my mind conjures instead of a man who made mistakes. It would be easier to view my dad as the hero that rescued a single mom with a child than the very human and flawed man that he was. At the same time, this knowledge does make forgiveness and grace easier to give. It has opened honest conversations with my sons and within myself as I acknowledge my own humanity, foibles and all. I know that I have hopes that my children remember me in a balanced, albeit mostly positive, light, so I acknowledge my mistakes and I acknowledge my sons' reality. The danger of all or nothing thinking is that we begin to put humans on a scale from zero OR ten with no middle ground. We develop impossibly high standards not only on others but ourselves. I know that my life's traumas and the responsible people have altered my views of the world and of all people. Most of the traumas sat in full view constantly and obstructed my vision, but I became accustomed to the view and let it be my reality. Then I lived my life based on that reality. I judged myself, my ex-husband, my family and friends, and even new people I met through that encrusted lens. When I began to chip away at the plaque, it was painful as light flooded in. I could hardly believe what I saw let alone accept the reality as light crept to the darkest corners for the first time in a long time, and I wondered how much of myself I exposed in the process. This blog has been especially difficult, as I have never been fond of sharing my story. Hoarding my story to myself was a way to protect other people from me and to hide. If I owned my experiences and realities, I would be obligated to deal with them. It is still hard to explain to someone why completing a workout on a gym elliptical between two male strangers is such a milestone for me. Will people really understand that the unconditional love of my family feels at times like a jewel I need to justify possession of and at other times like sunshine to dance in? How much do people know now?? Do my boys see the beast in the corner whispering to me that I damaged them, and do they see me stab it with every positive experience and hug I can capture to keep it in its place? Do people see the heavy fog surrounding my thoughts about my teaching abilities, and do they know that children are the beacon that orients me? What a struggle and journey to clean my lens and unpack and repack the things that needed organized, and make no mistake, it is a process that continues. However, I sincerely love the new view, the less crusty view, the more forgiving view. I wouldn't have believed I would feel stronger for exposing these pieces of myself, yet I do. I believed there were hurts that would never heal that I have labeled forgiven and given myself permission to never open again. I wouldn't have thought opening my view meant I would see myself as differently as I see others now. I know for certain five years ago me, wouldn't have dared what is my normal now, and I am proud of that. From sunrises in Norway to forging new friendships, my view has changed. There will always be a lens through which we view the world, and it is up to us to know the limitations, layers, and reality of that lens. So don't be afraid to poke around, to remove and add layers, and widen the view. From a young age, I have been irritated with the seemingly limited prospects available to my gender. I can clearly remember hearing numerous times that I would never find a husband if I didn't learn how to _____ or stop doing _____. It didn't occur to me until after these messages had been internalized that a man didn't deserve to be my husband if he didn't appreciate my brains...sigh...and mouth. Hidden in my heart, though, was a minuscule grain of thought that perhaps I was meant for more. I explored these thoughts when I was in the fourth grade and completed studies on foreign countries in gifted class. This course of studies sparked my fascination with the Scandinavian countries in particular because of their focus on the empowerment of women. The Scandinavian countries spoke to a piece of my heart that I have guarded zealously and tucked away to a secret place for many years. The social aspects of women's rights is not a focal point of this essay. It is only important to understand that this move to Norway is ambition manifested. Traveling to teach in Norway is confirmation to 9 year old me, that she wasn't wrong to dream and aspire. It is not lost on me that I waited a long time to truly believe in myself, to understand that I am enough, and to embrace my messy, wild soul, but even so, this is where I start my new year, my next decade. Like many other people, I have a list of travel wishes that I truly felt would stay in the hopes and dreams category forever. The fjords of Norway beckoned from my first glimpse in an Encyclopedia Britannica. My fascination with powerful Viking women has burned in my brain since that fourth grade project. The Troll Forest in Norway has been on my bucket list since 2014. And you know, I've been in Norway for five months now, and I never once sat to seriously plan a way to quell those desires to experience and learn. Sure, I have explored in Norway. I have seen beautiful scenery and had fantastic experiences with my new colleagues. However, I haven't ticked any of those boxes so to speak. With Brad coming to visit, though, I couldn't disappoint him with a trip to Norway to sit and watch Netflix with mom on the couch. Hell, we could do that in the states. And that is when it really hit home, if Brad deserves that, then why don't I?? So you know what I did? I planned selfishly. For this trip, I didn't say no. We stayed in a motel with a view of the mountain in Bergen. We visited the aquarium. We took a fjord cruise on a ship. We traveled by tram to the top of Mt Fløyen in Bergen to hunt my trolls. We ate reindeer and moose burgers and steaks. We visited the Viking ship museum in Oslo. We went to the Oslo Christmas Market. We walked in nature. We took a side trip to Sweden. We bought souvenirs, took too few pictures, and thoroughly enjoyed our time together. We ticked boxes. We lived.
Life can't always be like this, though. Life is about balance, learning, and growth. It is about creating a masterpiece that is you. My masterpiece needs the deep dark colors of disappointment to emphasize the bright shining hues of success. It must have the sparkle of reflection to dampen the intensity of sorrow's pale abyss. Most importantly, I am obligated to provide attention and fine tuning to my unfinished masterpiece. So regardless of new years and new decades, I endeavor to work on this masterpiece. For I am the sum of my experiences and choices, and looking back I wouldn't change a thing, but looking forward I see I hold the paintbrush to the canvas. Happy New Year. May you find that you can love all the shades and stages of you. |
Nellie HillJust a woman leaping outside her comfort zone and telling the tale. Archives
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