Biting My Tongue Until It Bleeds

Posted on by stilllearning2b

“If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”

We’ve all heard that wisdom. Advice handed down by a parent or teacher, perhaps in response to unkind words we uttered or as a reminder that we don’t have to share every thought that crosses our minds.

And much of the time, that advise is indeed wise. It’s usually better to scroll past an inflammatory post on social media than to attempt to engage. There is no reason to share your annoyances about your coworker with them (as an aside, I am so happy that the singular “they” is now accepted!!!! no more him/her nonsense!!!). And even in a relationship, biting one’s tongue is a critical skill to develop.

Yet, as is so often the case in life, this advice is written in black and white, while we live in a world of gray.

Sometimes there are things that need to be said. Things that may not be nice.

Another truism guides us here –

“Before you speak, ask yourself: Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind?”

And that’s where I often mess up.

Not by saying things.

But by holding them back. Letting them build. Until they erupt, small bits of truth simmered until burnt in emotions and assumptions.

Which isn’t fair to the person on the receiving end (unfortunately, usually Brock) and it leads to a room full of ugly emotions.

It’s an error in identifying what words are necessary. An error that leads to a muddling of truth and an unintentional dash of unkindness as the initial feelings are allowed to go to rot.

Recently, I’ve made an effort to identify the reasons why I have a tendency to bite my tongue until it bleeds:

Introversion

As an introvert, I tend to process silently (or in writing), only speaking once I’ve had time to think about something. It means I’m not prone to impulsive comments or saying something that is only half-thought out, but it does mean that I can give the impression that I’m complacent when I’m really trying to think about what to say.

Analytical Nature

I naturally tend to analyze (every)things. That combined with an independent streak means that I try to solve the puzzle of my emotions on my own. My brain naturally gathers and examines data points, only sharing the conclusions once they are reached. Unfortunately, the conclusions are often not valid.

I Want to Be Liked

I don’t want to be a bother. A nag. I want to ride the waves rather than make them. As a result, I will often swallow my distress instead of voicing it. Choosing to make myself ill in an attempt to preserve others. Yeah, there’s a little ugly martyrdom there.

Self Doubt

This is a side effect of the divorce. I struggle to differentiate between feelings that are originating from something that is bothering me in my present and those that are simply echoes from the past. And as healing becomes more complete and triggers fewer are further between, I find that I try to dismiss things too quickly. Only to have them bubble up later.

Flood-Prone

Even though my triggers are better, the fear of abandonment can still cause me to flood with emotion, shutting down all hope of rational thought for a time. And when I’m flooded, I tend to retreat. Shut down.

—–

I used to avoid expressing my feelings out of a fear of confrontation. A worry that displeasure would immediately translate to rejection.

I’ve come a long way on that fear, no longer nervous about speaking up.

And I thought that was enough. That courage to speak meant that I would speak when needed.

And I’m having to accept that there is more to it than that. And that even though I’m no longer afraid, I’m still not where I want to be.

I need to learn to get better at identifying what emotions are merely the death throws of a dying trigger (and are best ignored) and which ones are the cries of an injured heart (and need expressing).

I need to get better at not allowing my analytical brain to create spreadsheets of data without at least alerting the other that there is processing going on.

I need to get better at speaking up instead of building up.

At sharing my truth before biting my tongue for so long that we both end up bloody and raw.

I’m good with restraint.

Time to become better with release.

 

‘Cause He’s the King

Posted on by stilllearning2b

In my freshman year of high school, I had an art class during the last period of the day. The art teacher’s six-year-old son attended the elementary school next door, which released an hour earlier than the high school. Every day, about five minutes after the start of class, the door to art room would open and that small kid with a big personality would stride into the room, greeting the teenagers as though they were his friends.

On one day in particular, his personality had the entire class entertained. He walked in as usual (except this time with a Superman cape tied around his neck), proceeded to the front of the room and placed his hands on his hips. By this point, all paintbrushes were down and all eyes were on him.

“I have an announcement to make.”

We started chuckling at the idea of a kid barely out of diapers making an announcement to teenagers (who, of course, know everything).

“I named my penis last night.”

I looked over at the kid’s dad and noticed the blush spreading to his hairline. I don’t think genital epithets were on the lesson plans for that day.

“What’s his name?” called a kid from the back row.

“Elvis. ‘Cause he’s the king.”

 

I could use a dose of that confidence right now. Okay, maybe a bit more “king of the world” and a bit less “king in my pants,” but you get the idea. I envy that confidence found in the young. Before they have time to be hurt. Or to fail. When they can wear a Superman cape and believe that it really does provide super powers.

 

I’ve been on spring break this week and I’ve been using the time to finalize the preparations for my next career. And it’s real now. I’m no longer just in training for the next step. I’m taking it.

And maybe I should be wearing a Superman cape. Or at least some super hero undergarments. Because I’m scared.

It’s hard leaving something you know for something you don’t. It’s hard leaving the comfort of confidence for the fear of starting over. It’s hard releasing what you have been doing even when you know that it is past its expiration date.

Put me in a room full of math teachers, and I quickly emerge a leader. Throw me to the lions in the form of a group of teenagers, and I can tame them. I can factor any polynomial, write songs to help kids remember and write a pass to the nurse’s office while simultaneously writing a lesson on the board. In my teaching life, I may not be king, but I know where I stand and I am confident in my knowledge and abilities.

But just because it was right for me then doesn’t mean it is right for me now.

Just because it is known, doesn’t mean it is all that I will ever know.

I hate the feeling of not knowing the answers. Of being the novice. I used to read the textbooks before the start of the semester so that I wouldn’t walk in a complete neophyte. But there are some things you can only learn by doing. Some things that cannot be mastered through books or courses alone.

I keep thinking back to my start in teaching, to those first days in a classroom with only the most minimal of substitute training. I was petrified, yet the students never knew. I had no idea what I was doing, but I learned more every day. The uncomfortable feeling of being an imposter was fleeting and was slowly replaced with an expanding confidence.

And it will be that way again. After all, new is always temporary.

 

As I work to gain the confidence to release the old to embrace the new, I have so much empathy for those of you that had to make the decision to leave a dying or dead marriage. Even though my divorce was an end I never wanted, I’m sometimes thankful that the decision was made for me. I didn’t have to make the difficult choice to release a hold on the known and drop into uncharted territory. I just had to figure out how to survive once I was in free fall.

And since I might get some strange looks if I wear a cape with my heels, most superhero underwear comes only in kid’s sizes and I refuse to name any part of my anatomy “Elvis”, I’m going to have to go with something a little more subtle – a new background on my phone. And I’m breathing:)

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Voices of Divorce

Posted on by stilllearning2b

We all know about The Five Love Languages, but do you know about the five voices of divorce? You may not refer to them by name, but if you have faced the end of a relationship, you have certainly heard their call. Unlike the gentle languages of love, the voices of divorce are harsh, often abusive in tone. They tell us that we are broken, they implore us to lash out at ourselves and others and they plant seeds of fear and doubt. If we listen to the voices for too long, we risk believing their lies and falling into their trap. Learn the tricks that the five voices of divorce use and how to escape their grasp. Click here to read the rest of the post.

Do You Ever Hear That Voice?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Do you ever hear that voice? The one that tells you that you’re not (good/smart/strong/thin/pretty/rich) enough?

The voice that finds your insecurities and broadcasts them back to you?

The voice that makes you question your choices. Your life. Your worth.

Do you ever hear it? Do you listen?

I’ve been listening to it lately.

It started innocently enough. I needed to buy a new pair of sandals to replace a pair that self-destructed. I made a stop at the shoe store on my way to gym. At the store, I took off my gym shoes and peeled off my socks only to discover that the polish on my toenails was chipped and half rubbed off (the natural consequence of spending more time running than on toe painting).

I looked up and noticed that all of the other women in the store were perfectly polished – nails and otherwise.

I felt embarrassed. I felt ashamed.

The voice whispered to me that I was not good enough.

I got over it enough to locate a pair of sandals and escape to gym, where I thought I would be safe.

But the voice followed.

It watched the other women in the gym and was quick to point out comparisons.

“Look at that! She can squat 140 pounds. You can’t do that!”

“Oh, look. She’s wearing that cute Athleta outfit you wanted. Too bad you only have your old race t-shirt on.”

“Look at her form on leg lifts! You’ll never be flexible enough to do that.”

Over the next couple weeks, the voice was like a malignant parrot on my shoulder. I’d shake it off for a time, but it kept coming home to roost. It seemed to feel the need to comment on every area of my life:

When a pair of shorts I wore last summer wouldn’t quite make the journey over my hips, “Well, look at that. Getting a little chunky there, are we?”

When one of my students complained about a boring lesson, “Wow, you can’t even make M&Ms entertaining. That’s pretty bad.”

When I looked at my book sales and saw that they had slipped, “What did you expect? It’s not like you’re any good at this.”

When another week went by and I hadn’t finished a piece I started for Huffpo, “You’re just a fraud anyways. Just give up on it.”

Yesterday, after more than a week of this verbal abuse by my own critical mind, I decided I would take some action. I stopped at Walmart on the way to yoga, thinking that some new makeup would do the trick. Maybe eye liner has some magical gag order action. The eyeliner is nice (and much easier to apply than the broken, stubby pencil I had been using that always threatened to leave splinters along with its color) but it didn’t shut up the voice.

That’s because I was allowing the voice to distract me from the true insecurities.

I wasn’t really upset about unpainted toenails or curvier hips.

It’s bigger than that.

The life of a teacher has a rhythm: frantic action in August and September settle into a routine that slowly builds in intensity until it peaks in May. And then we breathe.

Except I’m not content to simply breathe.

I’m not content to simply be a teacher.

I want more.

But I don’t know how.

Last summer, I was singularly focused on finishing the book and getting the wellness coaching business up and running.

I succeeded on both fronts.

This year, I have so much I want to do.

But I also have doubts. Am I wasting my time and energy? Which paths do I explore and which should I ignore?

Last summer, I posted four small bulletin boards above my desk, labeled body (marathon training), book (notes, etc. for writing it), blog (goals and post ideas) and business (goals and info for the coaching). I have not altered the boards much since the summer. As I look through the pages tacked to the squares, I realize that I am accomplished most of what I intended last summer.

So why is it not enough?

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Change is scary. Risk is scarier still. My inner critic is telling me to maintain the status quo, to not dare to post bigger goals and intentions. The voice tells me not to try so that I do not risk failure.

Today, I am telling my inner voice to shove it.

I am dedicating today to rebuilding my boards. I am committing to posting bigger goals and aspirations than before. I am pledging to sort through my ideas and clarify my paths. I am promising to use those boards as inspiration and motivation this summer.

So, yeah, I hear that voice. But today, I’m telling it to shut up. After I paint my toenails, that is:)

(This post makes me think of that old SNL skit with Stewart Smally: “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me.” 🙂 )