What Are You Waiting For?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Have you ever had the flu?

I mean the full-on, full-body type that leaves you shivering and feverish, an aching human husk collapsed beneath the covers. The rising temperature somehow short circuiting your brain until all thoughts are amorphous jello and the mind doesn’t even recognize its own attached body. The kind of illness where all you can do is stay beneath the sweat-stained sheets and wait it out, praying that it will slip out peacefully before it kills its hostage.

In those moments of acute illness, we have no choice; we are a prisoner of the poisons coursing through our bodies. All we can do is wait for the battle to be won before we begin the process of rebuilding strength and vitality.

But not all illnesses are so severe as to be debilitating.

Have you ever had a cold?

The kind that starts with that tell-tale scratch down the back of the throat before it progresses into a log jam in your sinuses. An illness that leaves you feeling depleted and irritated, especially when the cough lingers and refuses to vacate your rattled lungs. The encroaching mucus dampening your thoughts, like a heavy blanket slowing you down.

In those moments of lingering illness, we have a choice. We can back off from life and retreat to the blanket on the sofa, waiting weeks for the symptoms to retreat. Or, we can address the features of the illness with medicines and modalities while we continue to live our lives, even if they are slightly reserved.

 

The first days and weeks of divorce certainly feel like the flu.

You may well be flattened. Dependent upon others for every care.

Disconnected from your life and from your self.

But divorce is not an acute illness.

It’s a lingering one.

If you wait until you are healed to begin living, you will be wasting many precious days while sitting under the covers.

 

So, what are you waiting for?

 

I know you hurt.

But pain does not preclude life.

I know you think about the past.

But the past only steals the present if you let it.

I know you feel the empty ache of loss.

But wallowing in the hole won’t help to fill it.

I know you’re not healed.

But you’re also not contagious and life itself acts as a soothing balm.

 

So, what are you waiting for?

Get out there and live your life.

Embrace the possibilities and celebrate the successes.

The healing will happen alongside.

 

A Message to Those in Pain From Divorce

Posted on by stilllearning2b
wish I had known

The Words I Hate to Hear

Posted on by stilllearning2b

There are two words that I hate to hear more than anything else:

“I can’t.”

I hear them in the classroom. I read them on Facebook or on my Twitter feed. I hear them from coaching clients.

And I even hear them from myself.

And every time I hear those words, I see someone limiting themselves.

Defeating themselves.

 

“I can’t” doesn’t keep you safe.

It means means you’re afraid to try.

“I can’t” doesn’t mean you are not able.

It means you are uncomfortable.

“I can’t” doesn’t make you happy.

It keeps you from happy.

 

“I can’t” is often a knee jerk reaction. A plea to keep the status quo and resist change.

We become adept at shoring up our “I can’ts” with excuses disguised as reasons.

It’s a shield.

A security blanket.

A delaying tactic.

That only serves to hold us back.

 

The biggest lie we tell ourselves is “I can’t.”

Stop lying.

You can.

 

Let it Go

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’ve been in the classroom for thirteen years. And, in those years, I have accumulated a lot of…stuff. I have games and cards for curriculum I haven’t taught in many years. I have boxes filled with files that speak of units past. I have workbooks and textbooks, long since retired, that no longer correspond to the math that I (or anyone in the state for that matter!) teach. I have hundreds of labeled bags filled with measured out amounts of random items – pennies, pipe cleaners, little foam blocks – all used for math labs that are now curricular dinosaurs.

For years, I’ve carted around more than a dozen file boxes filled with these materials. I held onto them at first because I trusted that the educational pendulum would swing back and I would again be responsible for the teaching of polynomials and imaginary numbers. But with each election and each testing mandate, the chances became more and more slim that those topics would again trickle down to the middle school level.

But even as I let go of the notion of teaching these units again, I still held on to the boxes. Because those boxes held more than just paper and plastic; they contained the years that I considered my best in the classroom.

For a few precious years, I had the perfect storm in education: great curriculum, great class sizes and great students. By holding on to those boxes, I was holding on to the idea that the perfect storm may brew again and I could teach higher-level concepts to small groups of hard working kids. Every time I would move or sort through those boxes, I would grow sad, reminiscing about what was and what was no longer. The newer units didn’t hold the same appeal, not because they were worse but because the older ones were rose-tinted with memory, idealized in time. And with the old taking up permanent residence in my classroom, it was impossible not to compare.

I finally realized this year that keeping those boxes in my classroom is pretty much the equivalent of keeping my old wedding photos on my wall.

Uhh…no thanks.

It’s amazing the mental choreography we will create to attempt to rationalize grasping on to the old. We pretend that we may need it again in some, as yet, unknown future. Anxiety and worry speaking the language of “what ifs” in order to keep us prisoner to the detritus of our pasts. We claim that it serves as a reminder of the good times, even though its presence dulls the new. We allow memory and hope to create value where there is none and, even worse, waste energy and other resources on lugging around the boxes, both real and metaphorical,  from our former lives.

So this morning, I sorted through thirteen years of lessons and saved projects. I filled recycle bins and garbage bags and re-gifted the plastic tubs to a new home.

It’s a little scary.

Letting go always is.

But you can’t reach the next rung until you’re willing to release the last.

And it’s also freeing.

Letting go always is.

Because it’s only in releasing our grasp on the past that we are able to fly towards our future.

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When Will I Feel Better?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

“When will I feel better?”

This is perhaps the question I hear the most often.

And it is also the most difficult question to answer.

Because there is no single answer.

Healing does not speak calendar.

Feeling better has nothing to do with lunar cycles or landmark anniversaries.

It operates on a different timeline for everybody, depending upon the circumstances, prior experiences, coping skills and support systems. Some may feel better in weeks, while others take years. One person may appear to be healed while holding in the pain while another wears the pain until it wears off. Feeling better is not linear. It is more the slow decrease of bad moments intermixed with the increase of good than a step by step progression.

Feeling better depends upon perspective. You have to remember how bad bad could be to realize that it’s not so bad anymore. Healing is often subtle. The pain may have come in a great crashing wave, but it recedes like the tide, slowly and often leaving pools behind.

Your progress should not be measure against the progress of others, only against the way you felt in the past. There are no shoulds, no benchmarks to meet. As long as you are making progress, you are okay. You can accept where you are in the moment while still striving to do better.

Some of healing is passive, simply standing by and letting time wash your wounds. But if that is your only approach, you will be limited. In order to truly feel better, you have to take an active role in the process. Fuel yourself with quality food, good sleep, exercise and social connections. Seek out therapy or participate in therapeutic writing.Learn to calm your mind through meditation or yoga or time in nature. Have mantras and goals and scheduled smiles.

The biggest lie we often tell others is, “I’m fine.”

It’s okay to not be fine at all times. It okay to need help or a hug.

The biggest lie we tell ourselves is, “I can’t.”

But you can.

You can feel better.

It may not happen when you want it to.

But it will happen when you need it to.

The way you feel right now is not the way you will feel tomorrow. Or next week.

Find peace in the process and inspiration in the intention.

And you’ll feel better.