After my last post, I couldn't help but think how tangled up my own story became in the telling about AB. How the story seemed more about me than her, but that is how family is, you know. And really, some of her story is the groundwork she helped to lay and what continues after she is gone. AB is the type of person that easily recognizes in others their greatest accomplishments, but I don't think for a moment she would announce aloud her contributions. Maybe the best example is telling me she knows I raised good boys because they know how to hug. "They don't do that half assed back pat bullshit. They wrap you up and hug you." How does she think I knew to pass that on. She has held me through many hugs I didn't know I needed. Of course I passed that feeling of safety and love to my own children. How could I not?
In fact some of the biggest lessons about love in my life have come from AB. Lesson one, you see people for who they are and you choose to love them. When I was a teenager, I was difficult. I ran away. I snuck out of the house at night. I skipped school lunch to...well...I skipped school lunch daily. She loved me anyway. When the rest of the adults in my life were busy confronting, controlling, and correcting, she loved me. Don't get me wrong, she was honest with me about my attitude and choices, but the love shone through stronger than the reproach. It wasn't just that she loved me, she saw me. It wasn't until years later that I realized how much she knew about my depression and struggles because she saw ME, not my behavior. She didn't love me because I lived up to her expectations. I can guarantee getting a call in the middle of the night when I was at a bus station was NOT living up to her expectations, but she came. She chose to love me because in her eyes, I was worth loving. You don't stop investing in a person worth loving, and if they push and refuse, you simply love them from afar. Lesson two, you can love more than one person at a time. This one seems so obvious to so many people. I grew up with a narcissistic mother. I don't want to go into details in this post, only to say that a hallmark of the mentality is you must choose sides in everything and you can only love one person in any situation where a disagreement happens. From my experience, I could only love one aunt or sister or cousin at a time and that was the one my mom was closest with or approved of at the time. I absolutely hated this. I watched AB hold relationships with so many family members. I watched her combine her family with UB and raise kids that came to belong to....gasp....both of them. Although it was obvious that some relationships were closer than others, what was equally obvious is that AB would never shut a door...draw boundaries yes, but the option for coffee and fixing was ALWAYS there. Lesson three, my relationship with someone doesn't define someone else's relationship with that person. This one ties closely to number two, but there is a nuanced difference. I didn't fully understand this lesson until I got a divorce. AB knew my ex husband before I did. Through the years we were married, they were close. I mean, we were married for 21 years. Of course he was close to my family and an important part for more than just me. Even before we divorced, I was pushed away from his family. We were never really that close, so that isn't such a deal. However, Jeff was still welcome for coffee at AB's house. This was a hard one. You have to remember in my core learning, she was fucking it all up. He cheated so he wasn't worth loving. You could only love one of us and I was family. AAANNNDDD...my marriage ended, so he is no longer family. I was wrong, and she kept loving me through it. We talked, and I came to understand that they had a relationship completely outside of what he and I had. She was instrumental in me being able to forgive him and move on to loving myself. That is the lesson I am currently studying...how to love myself. She is a the perfect person for reminding you what makes you special, but again, she will walk along pointing out the scent but not the flowers. One of my favorite possessions is a locket she gave me. It is full of charms with a note explaining the meaning behind the choice of every one of them. So, she set me on the scent of what to look for. She will talk you through doubt and flat out tell you when you are wrong, but there is a lot of work in her lessons because she lets you sit in discomfort. Probably the greatest gift she gives when she is teaching self love is permission. In one of our conversations recently, I knew I was making the right choice but it was a hard one. I was typing and could see she was typing, and the messages popped up at the same time. She sent, "Give yourself permission." I sent, "I hope before you die I can learn to give myself the permission you give me." Truthfully, I aspire to learn to love myself as fiercely as she does before she dies. The lessons I describe tell a lot about who she is, but it is more powerful than just who she is. She is this person to everyone. The lessons spread through the friends that she loves like family. They are magnified and ripple through her family into the next generations as she is able to love her siblings, her children, nieces, and nephews, and now grandchildren and great nieces and nephews. It is impossible to ignore and learn nothing from her unless you have the hardest heart. I choose to believe that even my mother has learned from her even if I cannot see the results. I am made more certain by the fact that AB still invests in her. After all lesson one, person over behavior. I still have a lot to learn, but I know already I carry enough of her voice to help me get to where I'm going. When the time comes that I cannot reach out on the telephone, I will reach in my heart and she will still be there. Because she loves me on purpose and you can't wipe off AB kisses, you can only rub them in.
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In a recent conversation with AB, I was bemoaning the fact that one of my children was a learn by doing child. Climb a stool to touch the hot burner on the stove after being told it's hot, type of learn by doing. I reluctantly admitted that he might get that from me. She laughed when she said, "Well, yeah, you had a bunch of asshole adults around you. It's no wonder you wanted to know for yourself." The fact that she had perpetrated one of the most memorable offenses just made it all the funnier. One Easter she encouraged all of us kids to join her in starting a new family tradition by smashing our Easter eggs on our heads and peeling them as fast as we could. She even picked one up from the bowl and demonstrated. Imagine our collective shock to see raw eggs in our hands and hair. My prissy sister lost her shit, and I will never forget that moment of joy sponsored by AB.
Mind you, this is the same woman that throws pennies, buttons, and other shiny objects in her yard so that her grandkids can find treasures when they visit her. The same woman that had buckets of Bazooka bubble gum to share with her nieces and nephews. Devious bitch sipping her coffee all innocently and grandmotherly. So, let me tell you about the impact of this woman on my life and how I know her. Some of my earliest memories of AB are from when she lived with us for a short time. My god, I thought she was the coolest woman to walk the planet. I know now how little I understood about her living with us, but at the time, man! She always had time to chat. She told the best stories and wanted to hear about my days. She helped with chores instead of watching, and she helped us feel important and wanted. When things went wrong, she had time to explain instead of telling me to go play. I needed that validation. She worked a job where she could feed us pie and work at the same time! Right?? I loved visiting her at work. What do you mean "just a waitress", she was loaded. At least I thought that when our family dog shredded her purse and scattered money around the house. My juvenile mind couldn't handle the temptation and I took $20 thinking she would never miss it. I learned the true difference between AB and my mom through that. Ten year olds are shitty liars, and I was of course found out. AB reasoned with me and explained why she counted her money and said she was disappointed but happy to have the money back. THAT gutted me and hurt worse than the physical approach my own parents took in reaction to my choice. When my mom told me I had humiliated her in front of her sister, I knew she was wrong. AB was disappointed in ME and never blamed my mom for MY actions. Future interactions cemented my desires to be more like her. I found AB's razor in the shower and of course reasoned that I needed to shave because that was what women did. I attempted to shave but knowing so little about the mechanics of the act, I just left a clogged razor in the shower. I can remember my mom coming into my sisters' and my shared bedroom, waking us up, and forcing us to let her feel our legs so she could find the culprit. This was yet another opportunity for my mom to berate and beat me while AB explained to me privately that some day I would be old enough and she would help me if I had questions. While my mom could have learned from AB, she chose to react in jealousy. I can remember wanting a Barbie so badly for my birthday. Can you imagine a young girl's elation when she gets not one but two?! AB AND my parents had come through until my mom made AB return her gift and choose again. My mom chose jealousy at a time when my young mind could clearly see you get to choose who you become. These seeds she planted blossomed eventually, but it took some pruning, weeding, and her reinvesting in the project many times over. Probably the biggest revelation of having AB live with us was that she wasn't afraid of my mom. Holy fuck folks. My mom is a piece of work and a force of rage, jealousy, and chaos. I was in my late thirties before my fear subsided. To me, that was power. AB is a complex woman for sure, and one of the only family members that manages to maintain relationships with not only my mom but nearly everyone. I would liken that task to being an envoy to the districts in the Hunger Games. Through our conversations I have learned so much more about how connected she is to the family, and I sense that when she dies the loss will be similar to when her father died. We will be losing one of those fibers that keeps the rest from unraveling. AB was present in so many major moments in my life. There is no doubt that her entire family could say the same thing. She has had a hand in naming nieces. She has attended concerts, sporting events, and life milestones for grandchildren, nieces/nephews, and great nieces/nephews. She has hosted holiday get togethers. For me, she came to pick me up after I ran away. She was there beside me when my son died. How can one person be so much for so many? But there she is. She learned a lot of who she is from her dad. You only need to have seen their eyes to know this. They are so similar in so many ways. That compounds the impending loss in unimaginable ways. Both of them showed me and others in the family that it is possible to heal and become better than you were before. She never sugar coated the fact that it is hard work and your own work. She's the first to tell you, "No one can do it for you even if they would walk beside you the whole way," and then walk beside you the whole way. And I guess that is where most of my posts about her will come from...our journey together. The other day I saw a Facebook post that stirred thoughts in my mind. The gist of the message was to wonder what strong people have been through because mountains don't form without earthquakes. That seemed right, and it fit with a post I have been trying to pour out for a couple of weeks. It also got me thinking that I've seen poetry, inspirational posters, and art that compare strong people to trees, mountains, and storms.
So tell me, when you think about a strong person, what do you compare them to? And while you are thinking about strong people, who are the five strongest people you know? Whatever you imagine thinking of strong people, my guess is that the image is something that sets that person far apart from the typical person, almost unattainably apart. My other guess is that you didn't count yourself in the five strongest people you know, but I'll let you hold that and turn it over in your hands. This brings me to my thoughts from when I was walking in the forest and thinking about the snow and trees. On that trek, I was pondering how strong trees really are and how absolutely resilient they are. After all, when the snow falls and bends the branches, only the weakest branches snap. Usually these weak branches are dead weight and should go anyway. A tree bends and stands until it can shake the snow off. As a matter of fact, I watched someone shake a branch so the snow would fall off. The branch immediately went back to its original position. I knew that after winter, this tree would still be standing and probably even stronger because of the trials and pruning it endured through winter. I also happened to be ruminating on the start of a new year and resolutions. The juxtaposition of thoughts with the walk seemed like a perfect post in the making, so, of course, the poetic piece of my brain wanted to draw analogies. I tried. I really did. The draft is in my files. Something felt wrong about it though. What could be closer to the human experience than being buried under life and coming out on the other side? But then again what snatches the concept of strength out of the reach of many people faster than comparing it to a tree or a mountain? Who truly sees themselves as a mountain or a tree and struggles to embrace their strength? Not to mention, when did we decide strength had to be huge? Have you ever considered the strength of a seed, snow, or even a whisper? Some seeds will grow anywhere. I've seen dandelions rooted in what seems like solid concrete having pushed through the thinnest crack in the sidewalk. Snow is light and beautiful, but when it falls and collects, it takes a toll. It is heavy. It bends branches, buries grass, and forces change. And a whisper can make all the difference. There is no doubt my journey has meandered to the unsavoury side of life. But you know simply experiencing heavy and traumatic events didn't make me strong. Surviving them did. Choosing to see beyond the pain to imagine a better place tempered me. I am strong because I choose life. That voice doesn't always come out with authority and volume. Sometimes my strength is no more than a whisper...murmuring to myself that I am enough, that I can do today, that I can pull the duvet back and put my feet on the floor. And why are these thoughts about strength plucking strings in my mind? Simple. The pandemic and all it brings. I can see the fatigue in myself and others. Teaching has never been a harder profession. While teachers are used to situations they receive no training for, this has taken it to a whole other level. I don't think I have ever heard so many teachers express doubt in themselves and how their year is going. Let's face it, it isn't only the teaching. It is hard to live with so many restrictions and to mind so many guidelines. This is why I want people to be able to recognize their strength. So many times people will try to create a pissing contest out of anything. You don't know trauma...THIS is trauma. You don't know hard work...THIS is hard work. So I'm here telling you, you know panic, doubt, and struggle, but you know strength. Strength is putting on pants when you really want your pajamas. Strength is pulling up your hair in a messy bun instead of fussing. Strength is smiling when your back up , back up plan goes to shit. Strength is crying when you need to and laughing just as fiercely. Strength is leaning on someone as much as it is supporting someone. Strength is guarding your boundaries and saying no as well as it is pushing your boundaries and saying yes. Strength is cutting yourself slack and not comparing yourself to anyone else. Strength is setting down your pack and picking it up to carry on again. Most of all, strength is bringing yourself to the game. We need the jokesters, the storytellers, the mother hens, and the chaotic tornadoes. Embrace your strength and remember to love yourself on purpose. Back in red. What a first week back to school! I have planned and replanned, and I know I have pushed the staff to their limits. The practical work, I can handle...creating schedules, making digital lesson plans, and counting hours to ensure no one is over contract. What I can't handle is the thought of a teacher burning out or going up in flames on my watch. The stress that this situation has pulled up for me is the memory of watching teachers burn out and break down last year.
NOT ON MY WATCH. I made that promise to myself. I won't leave a teacher to sit in fear. I won't pile unnecessary tasks and paperwork on already overworked teachers. I won't expect too much. I won't let a teacher become lost in the guidelines. I won't let them forget they matter and they should matter first. I won't stand by and watch a teacher pour their soul into the colander of a situation that teaching during COVID is. I did that before. I did it myself. Now I am left with the still fresh scars of those memories. This week they are a throbbing reminder of what could happen. I'm not sure if you have ever watched a person wither to a shell of themselves, but it burns into your mind and heart. Last year, I watched a few teachers struggle in that mire. While the teachers clawed their way through, I know unequivocally that they are changed. The emotional toll that this type of teaching takes cannot be underestimated. Teachers instinctively know that these situations are not the best learning environments for kids, so they try to compensate. The reserve they tap? Themselves..their time, their energy, their heart. Before I truly noticed how much one particular teacher had tapped into her reserves, she had emptied the well and begun digging in the bottom in hopes of finding more. At this point, we are beyond the self care euphemisms...walks in the forest and petting fluffy animals was going to do fuck all to help in this situation. She was completely spent, and if we didn't get her completely out of the situation, the minimal cost was going to be that the teaching profession would lose a teacher. Hell, we were well on our way to maximum cost. This person was going to lose herself. This is another story that is only partially mine to tell. I carry forward pain, memories, a cracked friendship, and lessons from this time. Healing takes effort and time you know. I can look back and see a thousand things I wish I had done, a hundred conversations I should have had, but we all suffer from perfect hindsight. First of all, without a doubt, I was really in no condition to be providing support to other teachers. Fucks sake, I was fumbling through my first year in a new country, school, and curricular program teaching first grade through distance learning. I was an isolated workaholic working from home. I just as well have tossed the whole lot in a wood chipper and stood on the other side with a flamethrower. That was how it felt at times..like I was sifting through ashes looking for logs. It took tremendous effort on my part to step back from my expectations and start taking care of myself. I did it though. I learned I was strong enough to do this, but I also strayed far enough to find the borders to the point of no return. I tiptoed on the brink of burn out from working so many hours and trying to wrestle control from an unwieldy foe. The compromises I was forced to enter into with COVID were ruthlessly one sided, and the realization that my students simply were not going to grow as much as they would under a typical classroom environment was a horse-pill I reluctantly choked down. Now cue a return to those conditions. My mind is spinning, but in a different way and with different insight. Now, I am in a position of leadership. It doesn't have to be the same, and I have a duty to ensure it isn't. You see all these years, we've had it wrong. We say teachers are superheroes and let that be our excuse for our mammoth expectations. (By the way, the expectations and abuse of teachers' dedication is a whole other post.) The truth of the matter is, these PEOPLE are teachers. Do you see the difference? I mean really see it. Read it again and let it sink in...these PEOPLE are teachers. People have experiences, love, lives, memories, hopes, and dreams. Teaching is a vocation, a piece, not the definition, whole, or end all be all of who that person is. And yes, many times these people that are teachers do seemingly superhuman things. We truly have to see the person first and remember that outside of their vocation, there is life happening. This teacher is carrying fears, trials, failure, success, family, dirty laundry, the whole load like, oh you know....EVERY FUCKING BODY. So while I hear about people that put on pajama pants everyday (which by the way, you put on pants, so that is success)...or people that are day drinking on the regular (good on you for staying hydrated and happy)...or people filling their days by making TikToks (love your content, keep it coming).... I still hear about teachers berated for not doing enough, not catching the students falling behind, not this and this and this. Enough. THEY. ARE. PEOPLE. We don't all cope the same way. We aren't all equipped to deal with high levels of stress. We aren't all the same in many ways except in that we know what it means to be human. Do you know how we respond to humans facing defeat? We tell them, you have to put on your air mask first if you want to save others. We tell them, you are braver than you think. We feed them affirmations. We love them back together again. We offer to carry some of their load. And we let them do the same for us. I have my work cut out for me because I am determined to do my part and model this. How is it going to look? I will assign only meaningful and necessary tasks. I will be there for them and see them. I will acknowledge their efforts and remember that this is a job not who they are. I will remind them of balance and self care. I will prioritize their humanity. I will see all of the teachers under my care standing on the other side of this amazed by their growth and resilience. And honestly at this rate, I'll be standing beside them pouring the tequila because damn, teaching is hard work and they deserve it. If you know a teacher, check in on them in a meaningful way, especially the ones that look like everything is under control. Find a way to acknowledge the importance of their humanity. And as always, love on purpose. |
Nellie HillJust a woman leaping outside her comfort zone and telling the tale. Archives
April 2024
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