Scars

Posted on by stilllearning2b

How do you handle your scars?

 

Not the physical ones, the mottled yet smooth flesh that speaks of wounds to the body. But the emotional ones. The invisible lesions that cross your heart born from trauma to the soul.

 

It’s strange, you know, how we wear the marks upon our flesh with pride or at least confirmation of a life lived fully. We speak of battle scars and wounds of adventure. We allow the twisted flesh to speak of our courage or enduring spirit. We share the stories behind the blemishes with only the slightest hint of embarrassment or shame. They are not lashes of judgment; they are simply the spoor of life upon our skin.

 

It’s strange, not that we share those marks with little thought, but that we hide our emotional wounds so deeply. We speak of them with derision, as though they are separate and shameful. We dismiss them as baggage and belittle those who carry it.

 

But those wounds formed by the piercing knife of betrayal or the crushing blow of loss also have stories to tell. Those marks from past relationships and failures also are the traces of our pasts. We hide our heart’s scars as though they are shameful. As though the vulnerability that allowed the attack must be kept secret and the signs left behind buried deep within.

 

I have always loved the images of people who have embraced massive physical scars by painting them with tattoos. The breastless women with colorful murals across their chests. The amputees with often humorous paintings claiming the site where the limb once reigned. The burn patients whose textured skin serves as a unique canvas for tattooed paintings. The surgical scars that are woven into a larger picture, part of the story but not the entire tale.

 

I am always stunned by the beauty. Even more so than those whose bodies display an airbrushed perfection. These are strong bodies. Bodies that have felt the claws of life and yet still stand proud. Bodies that do not hide their stories, but embrace them and claim them and speak them in their own way.

 

Tattooed Scar Gallery (warning: some pictures may be NSFW)

 

Scars are not a sign of weakness.

 

They show that you are not afraid of life.

 

Let them be your badge of honor rather than your burden.

When You Remove a Negative

Posted on by stilllearning2b

One of the more difficult concepts for middle school students to master is integers. Specifically, adding and subtracting integers. Even when the concept is introduced with concrete and tangible examples, the students still struggle with the often counterintuitive nature of negative numbers.

You see, in elementary school, they are taught that addition always results in more and subtraction, less. But once those numbers become negative, the results are often reversed.

One of the ways I help them remember the rules for adding and subtracting integers in by relating it to relationships:

When a good person comes into your life, it improves the value.

When a good person leaves your life, it reduces the value.

When a bad person comes into your life, it reduces the value.

And the one they have the hardest time understanding…

When a bad person leaves your life, it increases the value.

photo-22

A Woman I Used to Know

Posted on by stilllearning2b

The student pulled a clipboard from the bin.

“Who’s Mrs. —?” he inquired, reading my old married name off the back of the clipboard.

I smiled, “Oh, just a woman I used to know a long time ago.”

Ain’t that the truth.

 

Many of the items in my classroom are labeled with my old name. When students ask who she is, I’m vague. Most have concluded that she is a retired teacher who gifted many of her classroom items to me.

In a way, they’re right.

She’s certainly retired. Not from teaching, but the old Mrs. — is no longer around. There are those who remember her and tell stories of those days, but they are behind us now.

Mrs. — has been replaced.

No, that’s not quite right.

She’s been transformed.

 

One of the more difficult aspects of a major life renovation such as divorce is that we struggle to imagine ourselves any way other than we are in that moment. If you asked the old Mrs. — who she was, she would speak of her role as teacher and tutor, she would talk lovingly about her husband, she would tell stories of her dogs and you would be cautioned from getting her on the subject of plants.

In those days when all was washed away, I remember feeling homeless in my soul. I didn’t know who I was anymore. Who I would become. I knew I would never be the same yet I couldn’t imagine anything but what I was.

And that was a scary place to be. Not the old me anymore and yet not the new one either. A limbo of self.

Scary and yet empowering. Because when you’re rebuilding your life and your identity from the ground up, you have the power of choice and the wisdom of experience. And that’s a powerful pair.

And the main choice I made was to be happy. Not happy because of the tsunami divorce. Happy in spite of it.

Everything else was secondary.

 

And now, here I am. Mrs. again. Dog momma again. About to plant again.

On the surface, much may be the same.

But beneath?

Everything has changed.

Because you can’t go back.

But you can always move on.

 

The old Mrs.— has retired. And now she’s just a woman I used to know.

And if you happen to see her, please tell her thanks for clipboards.

 

 

Bonded

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Last night I went to a holiday gathering. The only thing we all had in common is that we had taught (or, in some cases, still teach) at a particular middle school. But that single bond is a strong one. Some of the attendees  have been absent from those halls for several years (I am one of them), yet we return to this particular gathering every year like well-trained homing pigeons.

It’s unusual for a group of coworkers to form this kind of bond. But that’s because the conditions were unusual as well. It was an amazing school, yet, in many ways, it was the trenches. Our clientele needed so much from us that we were all full-time caregivers as well as teachers. Many of them came from violence and it was the only language that they spoke. It meant that we were also full-time law enforcement. We endured many changes of the guard with ever-changing rules and expectations. Some administrators were wonderful. Others, abusive. We became full-time counselors to our coworkers as well as our students. We had many tragedies stroke our students and our staff. We became family.

We bonded because we survived together.

We bonded because we all had a shared understanding.

We bonded because, on many days, that bond was the only thing keeping us sane.

Our relationships formed under great pressure and at great depths.

And that’s how diamonds are made.

And, as we all know,

Diamonds are forever.

 

In many ways, I feel the same way about you guys, my online community.

We have all survived.

We all speak a common language of love and loss.

We have all helped each other.

We have all been through the depths and the pressure.

And yet we won’t let the darkness quiet our voices or our spirits.

I like to think we shine like those diamonds, offering a beacon of hope.

 

As we enter in to the final days of the year, I am reflecting back on 2013. And feeling grateful for this community.  You offered me support when I saw my ex for the first time in years. You helped me process  my thinking when I was debating about leaving writing behind. You pumped me up with my latest endeavor. You celebrated with me when I married again. I had the pleasure of meeting some of you in the flesh, revealing the faces behind the stories. And, even more importantly, you supported each other, through comments and shares, offering hope and reassurance.

You guys are awesome.

I wish all of you the best as we close out the year. I hope you can celebrate the way you want – whether it be in a house full of people or tucked under the covers with a good book.

And, remember that you’re not alone.

We’re bonded.

 

 

 

How to Surf a Tsunami

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Many of us will face a personal tsunami at some point in our lives. We will be felled by a great wave bringing with it sudden change and loss. Perhaps your tsunami is in the form of the death of a loved one, maybe it is the loss of a job or a way of life or possibly you have lost the health you took for granted. My own tsunami was in the form of an unexpected divorce after being abandoned via a text message.

Regardless of the nature of your abrupt trauma, tsunamis have some common characteristics. By their nature, tsunamis are difficult to predict and even harder to prepare for. You have to face the realization that you cannot control your surroundings. The world that you knew is gone, swept away in a single move. You feel disoriented as you try to navigate this new realm.

Soon after the trauma, it feels like it will be impossible to rebuild. The odds seem insurmountable. The shock and grief permeate everything and make every move a struggle. Restoration after a sudden trauma is not easy, but it is possible. In fact, you can even learn how to surf your tsunami, moving through it with skill and grace.

The following are my healing tips for anyone who has been flattened by a tsunami.

Breathe

The blow of sudden trauma is physical. The body tenses as if anticipating another blow. The breath is the first to suffer; it becomes shallow and rapid behind a breast wrapped tight in a straightjacket of sorrow. Release it. It won’t be easy and it won’t be automatic, at least in the beginning. Set a reminder on your phone or computer to take several deep breaths at least once an hour. As long as the body is anticipating another blow, the mind will be as well. Sometimes it’s easier to train the body and allow the mind to follow.

Read the rest here.