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.

 

 

 

Anniversaries That Aren’t

Posted on by stilllearning2b

This one passed with barely any recognition. It was just another day. I only became aware of its familiar form as I was signing passes for students. Yesterday marked what would have been (note: NOT what should have been) the 14th anniversary of my first marriage. And there were no ghosts. No whimpers from the past. No nothing.

It was a day unmarred by bygones and what-ifs.

But it hasn’t always been that way.

Here’s my post from last year’s anniversaries that aren’t:

 

Today would have been my thirteenth wedding anniversary. Thirteen years ago today, I married my high school sweetheart on an empty beach in Florida. The photos from that day capture the love we had. The youth. The innocence. The promise.

wedding pic

What would have been our tenth anniversary was the hardest. He has left five months prior and we were still legally married. I used a psychiatrist’s appointment as an excuse for a sick day off work (the last day before winter break and a planned trip to San Antonio). After the morning appointment, I took a Xanax (one of three I took during the whole experience) and spent the day in my bed in my friend’s guest room. I distinctly remember not wanting to be alone and feeling reassured that her husband and then her father were going to be there throughout the day. I couldn’t muster up the energy to be social. I don’t think I ever made it down stairs, but I remember listening to the sounds coming in my door. I spent the day in a fugue state – not awake and not asleep. I tried to read, but couldn’t. I tried to sleep, but that eluded me too. I cried. A lot. I wrote. I cried some more. I could not face that anniversary that wasn’t.

By the would-have-been eleventh anniversary, I was in a much better place. I was situated in my own apartment and in the early stages of a new relationship. It was still a very difficult day. A sad day. I went to work. I functioned. But I also broke down and cried a few times. I was afraid to be alone that evening and spent the night at Brock’s. I still mourned what had been lost, but I also saw hope for the future.

Last year, on would be anniversary number twelve, I felt okay. I didn’t feel like I was a damn holding back a wall of sadness that was waiting to crush me. I felt okay. But I didn’t trust it. I remember tiptoeing through the day, as if I might release the pain if I tread too hard. The pain didn’t come. I spent a normal (as normal as a middle school can be) day at work and spent a quiet evening on the couch with Brock.

And today? On lucky number thirteen? I’m alone at the moment and I okay. No, I’m more than okay. I’ve been aware of the date but it hasn’t hurt. I left a note for Brock this morning as this same date is a difficult anniversary for him for different reasons) and I received an image with the following quote from him on my Facebook:

Good relationships don’t just happen. They take time, patience, and people who truly want to be together.

That definitely helps keep any demons at bay:) I came home to Brock and his friend, who just had knee surgery, on the couch laughing and playing Call of Duty. It was a scene that made me smile – two friends helping each other and laughing while doing it. By the time I got back from the gym, Brock was at ju jitsu, where he will be until after I’m asleep (I’m pitiful in the evening). I’m alone on December 18, but I’m not alone. I’ve let people into my heart and they are with me even now. Oh, and Tiger and Maddy too:) It’s hard to feel alone when you have a 90 lb pit bull on your lap!

photo-181

Anniversaries that aren’t are strange things. They are meaningless and yet we mark them. It’s a time when we used to reflect upon the past years of the relationship. Now that the relationship is over, we find ourselves playing a game of “what if?,” wondering what this day might have looked like otherwise. These anniversaries are so piercing at first, the loss overwhelming and threatening to undo a year’s worth of work. But they don’t have to stay that way. We can let them soften, let them become mere curiosities on the calendar. I see it like a number line. I used to count the positive numbers away from my wedding day. Now, I am on the other side of zero, counting away from my divorce date. I can see today as would-have-been thirteen or I can celebrate it as it-is-three. I bet you can guess which view I choose:)

So, I am wishing myself a happy anniversary. And I am celebrating three years of loving and laughing and learning. That’s an anniversary I can celebrate every year!

 

 

And today, yet another year out, I am still celebrating. And wishing all of you happy anniversaries that aren’t.

Announcement

 

Water the Flowers

Posted on by stilllearning2b

In my old life, I had a one acre yard that I was determined to turn into a woodland garden. Every year, from February to June and again in the fall, I planted small starter plants and divisions. By the third year, I had these petite and vulnerable plants spread across the entire yard. Watering them became a real chore and usually resulted in someone being ignored (and possibly even killed if it was particularly hot or dry). Something had to change.

I spent one summer laying out a complicated, serpentine labyrinth of soaker hoses, each long run connected to a water source with an individual control. I planned it out so that the water guzzlers had the higher pressure lines and the more drought tolerant had the lower pressure side. Once my project was complete, I could water the entire yard throughout a day with only five minutes of actual effort.

And it worked. The plants that were tucked in the back of the yard or in easily forgotten corners finally received a regular drink just like their more prominent brethren. They showed their appreciation by putting on size, often triple that from the year before.

Whatever we nurture, grows.

By the following season, there was a marked change in my garden. The tiny little plants, once isolated in their adult-sized spacings, began to knit together. When I gave a tour of the yard, I no longer had to speak for my plants, explaining the vision. They spoke for themselves. They were healthier. And I was happier, as my time could be used for more skilled and pleasant chores than holding a hose.

Yet all was not roses.  There were a few runs where the soaker hoses had to cross a no man’s land, filled with scrabbly grass and weeds, in order to get to next planting area. As I was watering my flowers, I was inadvertently watering my weeds as well. As a result, I had thick, lush patches of chickweed and knotweed, more prodigous than any desired plant.

Whatever we nurture, grows.

In the garden, this is an easy fix. I replaced the soaker hose with a solid one in the areas where no water was needed. As a result, the weeds failed to thrive and were losing the war against the now-stronger desired plants. By paying attention to the flowers and ignoring the weeds, the garden grew.

Whatever we nurture, grows.

This is true in our lives as well. Think about where you energy (physical or mental) goes. Are you fixated on a problem area in your life? Do you focus more on your weaknesses than your strengths? Is your emphasis on what is wrong rather than what is right?

Whatever we nurture, grows.

When we spend too much time and energy on the weeds in life, we inadvertently water them. They grow. We fail to see the blossoms through the thicket of weeds. And, if we continue to nurture the negativity, it will eventually choke out the blooms, leaving only the thistles behind.

Every life, like every yard, has weeds.

Yet every life

Every relationship

Every encounter

Every situation

also has blooms, spots of beauty and joy and exuberance.

So water the flowers.

Whatever we nurture, grows.

Related: The Garden

I Never Learned This in School

Posted on by stilllearning2b

So December 2013 is another month marked by yet another school shooting. It’s almost commonplace now yet as I looked around the excited faces of our middle schoolers at their annual basketball pep rally this afternoon, it’s unimaginable. I cannot envision one of them turning on their classmates and teachers with a deadly weapon. I cannot picture an armed intruder entering our school.

And I don’t want to.

After Brock heard about the latest incident on the news, he brought up the idea of doing some pro bono training for teachers. This is a man who has made his life’s passion about protection and defense. I have no doubt that his empty hands against a gun would at least result in a fight. He wants to share his expertise so that teachers could be better prepared. I appreciate and understand his motivation and intent.

But I don’t want to.

I don’t like assuming the role of a security officer at school. I am stretched enough as teacher and counselor and social worker and nurse and cheerleader. And playing police defeats those other roles. The roles I signed up for. I don’t know if I possess the capacity for the duplicity required. Middle schoolers don’t respond to clinical detachment; you have to form relationships. But how do you build a relationship at the same time you train how to take them out? Perhaps it is something that can be learned.

ButI don’t want to.

It makes Brock upset. And, I’m sure, scared every time he hears those reports. He knows techniques and strategies that could potentially help. It frustrates him that I don’t want to learn those operations. But I don’t know if I can and continue to work in my role as a teacher.

I never learned this in school. I was taught how to attack curriculum, not people. I was taught how to motivate kids, not take out adversaries. I learned how to break apart the processes of math, not the bones of others. I am sure I could learn these other lessons,  these techniques more suited to SWAT than pep rally.

But I don’t want to.

Maybe it’s my way of keeping my head in the sand. Keeping the possibility at a safe enough distance. Maybe it’s because being a teacher is overwhelming enough and I can’t imagine adding another layer to balance. Perhaps I’m just not made of the right stuff to be able to respond tactically in chaos. Maybe it seems futile because I can not (will not?) dedicate the time needed for real training.

I don’t know.

But I do know that these reports always shake me to the core.

The hard slap of reality delivered with a frightening regularity.

I do know it makes me want to hug my students.

And assure them they’re not alone.

I do know it changes the way I feel, walking into my job every day.

It puts the little things in perspective.

I just read an article today that discussed the first national summit on school shootings. Those involved were trying to come with a profile that would fit the classic perpetrator. And basically, what they came up with was a pretty typical teenage boy. Not necessarily a loner, no more likely to come from a single parent home. Just a kid.

The kind that move through my classroom every day by the dozens.

I don’t want to view each of those kids as a potential shooter.

I can’t.

What I can do is try my best to see each one as an individual. To build relationships. To reach out. To listen. To get help when needed. To reassure and motivate. To build community and trust.

I may not know how to wrestle a gun from someone’s hands. But maybe I can do a little bit to keep it from those hands in the first place.

And hope that is enough.

Rewrapping Divorce As a Gift

Posted on by stilllearning2b

This piece from two years ago is still one of my most popular and shared and has garnered some of the more interesting responses. It seemed appropriate to share it again.

I was asked to write this piece by an editor at The Huffington Post. I knew they wanted the salacious details. I also knew that I wanted to show that no matter how bad things are, you can can use them as a springboard to something better.

 

As we continue in the holiday season and many of you continue on in your divorce journeys, remember that we cannot always change our circumstances, but we can always change our attitude. And that may be the best gift you can give yourself.

Rewrapping Divorce As a Gift

My divorce certainly did not present itself as a gift, trussed up with a big red bow like a Lexus in a Christmas commercial. Instead, it was a big ugly box, filled to the brim with explosives. It was a present I never anticipated and one I never desired. But, as it came with a “no return” policy, I was determined to make the best of it.

I was with my husband for 16 years. Sixteen good years. Little did I know a tsunami was forming beneath the placid surface of our marriage. A tsunami that reached land one afternoon when I received the following text message:

“I am sorry to be such a coward leaving you this way but I am leaving you and leaving the state.”

The warning sirens never sounded.

Click here to read the rest.