This week has been full of really big emotions. The weight comes from COVID, work stress, family stress, depression, love, and life. There isn't anything new in my life, but I do want to help my brain process. I don't want to be buried under the weight of it again.
Therapy and experience have taught me that writing is the best medicine. I have been contemplating writing letters to several people in my past to address our relationships and the events that steered the course of the leg of our journeys together. I did happen to send one of those letters one time, and the response was, in hindsight, all I should have expected, but at the time, it rattled my soul. That experience along with a timely reminder from AB that it's not them who need the letters, convinced me to take another route. Framing matters. Perspective and analysis matter. Speaking and turning your truth over in your hands matter. So here I am in my blog deciding to write to the one that really needs to hear the letters from me. Dear Nellie, What a wonder you are, and oh, how far you've come. Had I whispered to ten year old you a hint of today she would have scoffed, even at that tender age, at the idea of even going to college. Twenty year old you would laugh in my face if I were to tell her she would be able to be alone and unafraid in an elevator with a man. Thirty five year old you was nearly certain there was nothing more to be gained from living. Thank goodness, she held onto those boys of hers. It is utterly astonishing with your jaded view of the real world and the people in it that you have held onto your wonder and spirit. While you have always seen passion and light in notable others, you didn't dare to recognize it in yourself. I can almost hear you asking if people will think you are pretentious and boastful to even write that first line. I also have to wonder, even now, do you ever take time to consider what a gift you are to people? Does it ever cross your mind when you ruminate on the value of others in your life and the gaping hole that would be left if they were gone that you, too, are someone that would leave a tremendous void if you were gone? I'll let you sit in that uncomfortable thought while I address others, but dear heart, you must appreciate that we have to return full circle to here. You have tried this letter writing before with your biological dad. I am not sure how many times you read his response, and let the words, "I have not missed out on anything by not having you in my life," sear into your heart, but you have grown since then. You were too wound up in the expectations of what his role as your father was, and he was too immature and damaged to accept his role. Better to see the faces of your precious nieces. Better to smile at the antics of your ornery brothers. Better to let some water run under the bridge. Better to leave with your lessons and the strength gained. Let's start small with this letter thing, shall we? Of course you remember in the fourth grade, when you were bullied for being too poor to have "real presents" when you brought your sheet of stickers to school to share, and one girl even stole the "cheap crap" your parents gave you. That teacher, the one that berated the girl in front of you and tore you down in the process by asking the girl, "Don't you realize how poor she is? Do you know what it feels like to ONLY get this for your birthday?" she gave you a gift that day. Sure, it was a tiny seed cast into the rip in your pride and watered with tears of hurt, but look today how your students harvest the fruits of that crop. If you were to write a letter to her, perhaps it should say, "Thank you fourth grade teacher for showing me the impact of ONE interaction on a school year. I have a single memory of fourth grade, and in my darkest moments as a teacher, I try to remember that this snapshot could be THE memory of me for my students. You have saved me more times than you know the agony of hurting a student more than they love my class, and you have shown me how to be a better teacher." Framing matters, Nellie, but that doesn't mean there aren't those that don't deserve the full heat of your rage. There are people that come into your life and do nothing but destroy the bits you allow them to touch and the pieces they take on their own. The men that have sexually abused you are entitled to nothing from you. I see the guilt in your heart because you are secretly pleased your ex father in law died a horribly gruesome death at the hands of another man while being confronted with his past. That man sexualized you in every private moment. His solution to getting caught with his hand in your pants and his penis in your mouth was to drop 14 year old you at a bus stop several states from home. Nellie, he was a vicious sexual predator and not only that a sexual predator of children. You do not owe him the space that guilt takes in your heart. His death, as his life, was a result of his own choices. You became collateral damage of vile humans. Wear your survival, but throw away the rest. Don't give the space and energy of yourself that it takes to carry anger or hatred for these men. And by the way, fuck a bunch of people that want to put value to virginity and the purity of women to a degree a young girl feels unworthy to have a spouse or partner because of how men handled her. You are nothing short of perfect for the right man. The trepidation and subservience to men that was drilled into your thoughts is invalid. You have grown beyond this reality and realized your value in a way that makes another relationship like your marriage an impossibility. You spent years where you didn't belong and dealing with situations you never should have faced. But, you aren't a victim anymore, Nellie. You walked out of that fire. When you filed the paperwork yourself and pushed the docket to another county in order to have your divorce final on the day you married him, you grasped at the power that was yours. Yes, he is the father of your children, but he gets nothing else, Nellie. He fought against you going to school...against you having friends, a job, a life. His random messages are not his concern for you or to inform you of important events, they are his attempts to wrestle back a piece of control and to manipulate you. He gets to see your life from afar without explanation. And when you find the pieces of yourself that were broken in your marriage, gather them up, not in anger or blame for him, but with healing and love of Nellie in your mind and heart. So, no, he does not get a letter. I know you believe your mom should be one of the letter recipients, don't you? Surely you are aware by now that her treatment of you is from a wounded child inside that never actualized her life dreams. It is from one who was belittled and undervalued until she saw that distorted view as her reality. Far from not understanding your hurt, she knows it all too well. However, while growth and empathy drove your choices, childishness and selfishness drove hers. You are mourning your expectations of the mom you wanted and needed. A stark contrast is drawn when you imagine treating your own children as you were cheated and are unable to understand how she clings to the patterns and distance. You know better, so you do better. She doesn't, so she can't. This also means she won't change, and a letter will have the power of an umbrella in a thunderstorm. While this knowledge does nothing to rectify the past, nothing can, except your reaction to and future action because of it. Never again allow her to be an anchor or to steer your choices. By the way, it is okay to cut toxic people from your life, even if you are related to them. Are you seeing the pattern yet, Nellie? All these people and yet you are the only recipient. These letters are meant to be about healing, fixing, and love not rehashing or drudging up the past. So, if you really want to write letters, focus on those people that supported you, built you up, loved you when you couldn't love yourself. Let people know when they impacted your life for the best, for they may not even know they have. You're not unique in this, you know, the struggle of growing up, of living. Telling your truths and acknowledging those that influenced your path is a selfless act. You can only imagine the ripples of impact of telling your story instead of holding it inside yourself. Love yourself enough to reach out to the right energy. Bask in all the good things in your life instead of questioning why they are there and imagining what might go wrong now. So, Nellie, all this hurt and all these truths, all the growth and lessons, all the love... what are you going to do with them? Love, Me P.S. Do you think you could find your second grade teacher, Mrs. Oswalt, on Facebook to thank her? That would be a great place to start.
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I'm not gonna do it, girl. I'm just thinking about it. I'm not gonna do it. I DID IT. Whoever says money can't buy you happiness was a fucking liar. My peanut butter happiness will arrive in three to five business days. Due to stricter guidelines, almost all businesses here in Norway are closed. The store near me that carries Reeses, aptly named Normal, is among the businesses that are closed. Last year, I was lucky enough to have a colleague bring me some Reeses eggs from Sweden, but this year, I was reduced to scouring the internet for a supplier and paying a price that was TOO DAMN HIGH for a little taste of home. You won't convince me it was a bad purchase. Low key wish that pillow was on my bed. Anyway, I have been a little under the weather since last weekend, and of course went to get the obligatory nasal swab. I was not prepared for that experience. Let's just say they have refined their technique since my last test. This time bringing tears to my eyes with the throat swab wasn't enough. She took a page from a man's play book and took one last poke to make me gag. When she did the nasal swab she didn't stop until she tickled my hippocampus. AND THEN...she left the fucking swab in my nose while she explained the procedure to a new nurse. They traded recipes for Påskeboller and had a coffee cup before they remembered me sitting there with a skewer in my nose. I had time to wipe away tears...twice. Again I endured the parting poke. I swear she pulled that thing out of my nose like it needed to navigate a spiral staircase on the way out of my nostril. I said, "Thanks? I think..." Then this woman looks at me and says, "Good luck."
Good luck like there is a COVID swab lottery? Congratulations, you are the 100th test today? What do I win?? Tell her what she's won, Johnny. Well, Nellie, you have won another birthday in lockdown. Not only that, Norway is introducing more strict regulations and all stores that are not grocery stores are closed. And finally, when you go visit your boys, you get an all-expenses-on-you stay in a quarantine hotel for ten luxurious days. We will even throw in four more COVID tests. This week has been a doozy at work as well. We had to move to home learning. It was just a perfect storm of circumstances. Between the quarantine of staff and the amount of staff out to illness, we simply didn't have enough people to cover the classes effectively. Not only that, it is the last week before Easter break and reports are due. Whew. I have been trying to nap between my bursts of work and had at least three warnings from my boss about not working myself to sick for my whole break. ( I promise I am listening, Beth!) My students continue to be bright spots in my days. Have I told you that they have the cutest little American accents? One of my grade level colleagues is British and you can hear the British accent in her students, too. It is such an adorable impact of our teaching on them. I have given them assignments to talk about fears, to plan a garden, to go for a bike ride, and to write spring poetry. Six and seven year olds are awesome y'all. They send me videos of themselves teaching younger siblings yoga, and they just go all in for every assignment. Two weeks ago, their assignment was to be an explorer and give me a tour of their backyard. Oh, the precious chatter. This week, they are helping their family make plans to get the yard ready for spring. Being able to assign real life application assignments and not focus so much on specific skills really frees me to educate the whole student. Even though I work my tail off in this job, I get affirmation on a near daily basis that this is what I was meant to do. This year, I get to celebrate Easter, Norwegian style, and I might recruit the oldest bonus child to execute some April Fools Shenanigans. Just know if there is no blog next week, the April Fools went off the rails, and you should probably send a search party. But seriously, I am looking forward to a nice break from work with plenty of time outside even if we finally have to join the western hemisphere and spring forward. With the new restrictions, we are really not supposed to do traveling or have guests, so it will be simple and quiet. I will color eggs because they taste better that way, and of course I will enjoy my Reeses candy. I will spend too much time snuggled on the couch with NBF and fall asleep in the middle of too many films. And all of that is just fine by me. Even though COVID had been swirling in the news, it was one year ago today that COVID burst into my life here in Norway to begin its stay as a rent free parasite. Unfortunately, it is still disrupting life in so many ways and adding complications to simple routines like shopping, school, and travel. There are many days the weight is palpable like a dog sitting on my chest, and other days I am silently resigned to new norms of behavior such as wearing a mask to go grocery shopping.
For months, my teaching life has been full of near daily reminders that kids' lives are disrupted and that they are missing out. It can become difficult to find enough positive news and encouragement when everyone around you is walking through the same molasses as you are. Teachers' energy reserves are spent creating the illusion of normality for adults. I say for adults because you only need to spend one day in any classroom in our building to know that kids are learning, having fun, socializing, and busy with the business of being kids. Kids are much more resilient than adults, and really, when the adults around them exude confidence and happiness, they pick up on that. When I am matter of fact about hand washing and hygiene routines, the students see it as just another responsibility not "OH GOD COVID". When I look in my students faces, I don't see the look of kids missing out. I see growth and wonder as I should. Just yesterday, we spent our recess building snowmen and having a huge playground wide snowball fight. These are the things of childhood. So yeah, I don't worry about the kids. I worry about the adults. I worry about the teachers that are letting the binding vines of anxiety, duty, and expectation entangle them to immobility before they are asking for help. I worry about the people that are coping with alcohol, food, and isolation. I worry most for the adults that choose to reach out to save everyone before saving themselves. The helpers that sacrifice their own well being for that of others. Unfortunately, too often I find myself teetering on the precipice. I take my responsibility to others seriously. I know the weight and gravity of teaching and life in "normal" circumstances, and I deeply feel the undertow during these times. This insight helps me to be effective in my job, but like anyone, I have to balance the care of myself to maintain that efficacy. Blogging and walking are two key components to maintaining my equilibrium. I know that I have not been doing either one with the regularity required. I took steps, quite literally, to fix the walking situation. The blogging has been harder. I have become more comfortable writing and sharing. I amaze myself sometimes with the amount of my story that I can give to you because it is contrary to my nature. The energy and self reflection poured into the blog has helped me see growth and renewed sense of purpose. Although, I wouldn't have thought this months ago, telling my story has given me power and perspective. Recently, though, my audience has grown and unfortunately, I have begun to censor myself more. Yesterday I sat on the playground for half an hour before school started contemplating my choices lately, and I can see far enough down the path to know where I am going. So today, I give voice to the truths that are choking me. In February, I was offered the Head of School position at a new school that was going to join our family of schools. Unfortunately, I have learned that the school will not open after all. I allowed myself to fall head first into the fantasy of seeing my career going exactly where I had hoped and to living closer to NBF to further explore and build that relationship. Today, this feels like a huge disappointment. My heart hurts from the loss of those hopes. But I do see the glint of the silver lining. I now know, the leadership in my school values my contributions enough to entrust me to lead a school. I heard the relief in my current Head of School's voice when I agreed to keep my current position instead of moving to a sister school. Those affirmations help to blunt the sting of the loss. Last week, I asked for and was granted a leave of absence of sorts from work. Many of you know me well enough to know asking for a leave from work is big steps for me. I will work virtually from May 7 to June 7 in order to travel to the states. I need to hug my boys. Had I gone until June, I would have marked the two year anniversary since seeing the younger BAH and a year and a half since seeing the OG BAH. I crave that hug where they wrap their arms around me and put their chin on top of my head. Gaming, phone calls, and messages can carry a heart only so far. So, I will endure all the quarantine and testing necessary to see them. My feeling is that this will fix a great many things in my mind and heart. Probably the biggest issue that needs air is my struggle to let someone love me. Where do I even begin on this? I knew I would struggle to balance my independence while letting someone wander behind the walls. I have worked for years to remember Nellie and realize the person I am and want to be. Unless you have lived in a relationship like my first marriage, it can be near impossible to imagine the power that is stolen and that you hand over. It took years for me to stop considering my ex in life decisions, but I did it. I clawed my way back to the wheelhouse to drive my life. My independence belongs to me, and it is a possession I value. I guard it fiercely and preemptively attack any perceived threat. "Perceived" becomes problematic as the mind can bring to life even the most far fetched ideas. I feel NBF reinforce how much he appreciates my independence. He has never asked or demanded a shred of it. I might even be starting to believe him, but shhh. I struggle to watch NBF cook and clean as that is "woman's work". I thank him anytime so much as a sock of mine is in the laundry he does, and I try to find small chores he might miss every weekend. It offends him, or maybe it is hurt. Either way, I am trying hard to stop. He would never say it, but I can see the pain in his face when I think I absolutely have to butt in. As a matter of fact, the last time he was cooking I was on my third time of offering help when he relented and gave me a task. "You can sit on the couch and shut up. Do some Norwegian lessons. Is that what it takes?" Before you twist your knickers, we were both laughing, and I took his light, humorous rebuke with the intention he put forth. And truthfully, I did need to sit down and mind my business which wasn't cooking dinner that night. Those two concerns are fuck all compared to actually allowing him to love me as I am. In the rawest place, I feel guilty that NBF has chosen this broken toy that was discarded by a spoiled, wretched man that couldn't be bothered to care for what he had. Of all the amazing, wonderful women in the world, NBF decided I was his best bet? Fucking hell, man, are you okay? Some days it takes everything in me to stay. To not say to him, I have had enough. You have to stop. Because all he is doing is loving me. The audacity, right? I have come to realize it is uncomfortable for me to sit in love. How sad is that? I can't help but wonder why a man would choose that. Why he would love me. I don't understand how he can see me, listen to my truths, and still choose this love. Every time I cry in front of him or share the very inner pieces of myself, I feel like I have started a timer on our relationship. Who would have thought that loving someone would allow them to touch hurts and broken places? Even the gentlest touches send pangs that reverberate and harken musty memories. But as I said, that is the rawest place where I know I need to toil away gathering pieces, unlearning, and rebuilding. There I find the results of generational abuse cycles bolstered by dysfunctional foundational relationships. The place I choose to start is that feral self that grabs any semblance of control with the grip of a toddler's hand in long hair. I have to focus the control where it needs to be, and that is within myself and fixing, not externally, making HIS choices match my expectations. This can only end in hurt. I do know enough to trust that NBF doesn't see the same view I do. I only need to catch a glimpse of him watching me do any number of mundane tasks to see he sees something I don't recognize. He is a master at scaling and finding weaknesses in walls as well. I am not exactly sure how he ended up in a place with access to so much of me, and yet, here he is, inside. He isn't scared or in a hurry, and I waver between fear and awe when I fully breathe that knowledge in. He doesn't let me withdraw into myself alone, and he forces me to look at his face when he tells me what I mean to him. He regularly reminds me that he sees the escape hatches he notices me eying. He has yet to take advantage of the ones I have found for him and tried to shove him through. Perhaps he really is serious and here to stay. Maybe I will give him another few months to break free or maybe, just maybe, I will sit in his love and learn to feel okay there. So... here I am having broken the blog dam and given voice to ideas that don't need power only reflection. What a wonderful feeling to let it all have space outside my head. And to the people asking me the tough questions (NBF, BAH, and AB), thank you for loving me on purpose and showing me there is a different way to see Nellie. |
Nellie HillJust a woman leaping outside her comfort zone and telling the tale. Archives
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