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.

Affair-Proof

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Whenever I stumble across the words “affair-proof,” my mind responds like the Incredible Hulk — raging and ready to rip. Now, don’t get me wrong, I wish I could find solace in those words and place my faith in their sanctity.

But I can’t.

Because there is no such thing as an affair-proof relationship.

It simply doesn’t exist. And pretending that it does only causes additional pain and heartbreak.

Implied in those words is the understanding that if an affair occurs, the betrayed obviously did not perform his or her duties effectively to affair-proof the marriage. It places the blame for the infidelity squarely on the shoulders on the one who was cheated upon. Read the rest here.

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

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.

 

Dependable

Posted on by stilllearning2b

My husband made me cry today.

Yeah, I know. He didn’t really “make me” cry. I have the choice in how I respond, blah, blah, blah.

Because the way I see it today is that his actions could have led to no other response.

 

Let me explain and let’s see if you agree.

Today was Lisa Arends’ terrible, horrible, no good very bad day.

It started on my early morning commute to work. I was a couple miles from the house this morning when my “check engine” light came on and the car started feeling funny. I immediately pulled into a parking lot and shut off the engine even as I dialed my husband on my cell.

I’ve been playing a bit of Russian Roulette with this car for the past few years. I bought it new 15 years ago. Yeah, 15. When I bought it, I wasn’t even married the first time yet. Hell, I was barely of legal drinking age. For the most part, it has been dependable, but it’s of an age where a fatal incident may come at any time.

But I’m not ready yet. I’m still about 9 months away from cleaning up the rest of the financial mess that my lovely ex left for me and, until that is done, I don’t have the extra cash on hand for a car payment. Plus, I also still have his parting gift of bad credit to deal with. So, needless to say, that glaring red light on my dash this morning felt like the eye of Smaug before I was to be stricken from this earth.

I felt horrible waking up my husband, still recovering from surgery, but I had to get to work to handle the yearbook distribution. Without a grumble, he picked me up, ferried me to school, contacted his mechanic friend and waiting with my car until AAA showed up with a tow truck.

But I wasn’t crying yet.

The yearbooks went okay. Everything else? Not so much.

The graphing calculators, instrumental for the today’s lesson, must have been visited by some vampire version of the Energizer Bunny last night, as all of their batteries decided to drain en masse. And the school’s stock of AAA (not the auto company!) batteries in the last week of school? Let’s just say weak.

I managed to beg, borrow and steal enough batteries to cobble together the lesson. So far, so….okay. But then one of the critical websites disappeared. Not okay. I scrambled to find a work around while my kids (did I mention last week of school) got ever nuttier. The day was capped off by one of my students telling me he hated me and hated my class. If you’ve ever thought being around middle schoolers all day is sunshine and roses, you may need to take a Saturday trip to mall. And then try to make the random teenagers do math.

A coworker was driving me home where I was supposed to go with my husband to pick up the car. On the way, I received a text, “Will you grab my wallet out of the driver’s side door of my car on your way in?”

“Sure,” I responded.

Minutes later, I struggled to locate his wallet with my purse strangling me and my suitcase-sized lunch bag (no joke) bumping into my car behind me.

My car!?!

I’m embarrassed to admit it took me a few moments (a few meaning several here) to notice that my car was in the garage. I blame emotional exhaustion.

I bolted upstairs.

“What, why, how…?”

“I took care of it.”

He then referenced an old conversation. He used to ride motorcycles back when we met. He sold his bike when he decided it was too risky. Ever since, he’s been talking about getting a Corvette in its place at some point in the near future. I expressed some reservations, mainly arising from my own fears. I worried that if a Corvette was in the picture and my car suffered a premature death, that I would be in a bind. He assured me during that conversation that he had my back.

“Do you remember when we talked about the Corvette and I said I had your back with your car?”

“Yes.”

“Today I showed it.”

 

The cost.

The stress of dealing with it.

The uncertainty of work while being carless.

All done.

Taken care of.

See. How could I not cry?

In most ways, I trust him easily now. But when it comes to money and my basic needs (like a car), it’s harder for me to be dependent on someone else.

I depended before, and I was horribly burned.

But that was then, and this is now.

And after today, when he says, “I’ve got your back,” I’ll trust him to catch me if I fall.

Just as the tears are falling now.

 

And, yeah, he IS a keeper!