New Chapter

The past two years (and some change) have been a challenge, to say the very least. Dark days and bright spots, loneliness, many hours of research, and a smattering of soul-searching. As I have finally reached the end of a particular marathon, I want to reflect on what I've learned. (Hey, I'm a teacher, everything is a learning opportunity, right?)

I've learned that:

• Living in silence doesn’t help the healing- it only perpetuates the pain. Speaking up opens the door for people to help, and for you to help others by sharing your story.
• Prioritizing your own health and healing isn’t selfish, it’s survival.
• Seeking help isn’t weakness, but courageous and bold.
• It is during the worst times of your life you will get to see the true colors of the people who say they care for you.
• Forgiveness doesn’t erase a traumatic experience - but prevents that experience from destroying you.

I've also learned a great deal about myself.

I am:

• Shocked at how much I actually enjoy reading research articles.
• Confident that I am meant to teach.
• Infinitely inspired by my students (past & present).
• Stronger than I’d realized.
• Filled to the brim with determination.
• Empowered by my family and friends.
• Open to and excited for the future.
• Moving forward.

The thing about going through a hard time - no matter your particular situation - it's all about your reaction, response, and mentality. Some days are easier than others, and some seasons are dark altogether. It's a challenge to find perspective. I came across this poem this week and teared up at it's beauty and simplicity.

Illness has admittedly impacted my struggle with depression lately- but, Life, I take you... and I am determined as ever to love you. I've fought to hard to get this far! 

the thing is

by Ellen Bass

to love life, to love it even

when you have no stomach for it

and everything you've held dear

crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,

your throat filled with the silt of it.

When grief sits with you, its tropical heat

thickening the air, heavy as water

more fit for gills than lungs;

when grief weights you like your own flesh

only more of it, an obesity of grief,

you think, How can a body withstand this?

Then you hold life like a face

between your palms, a plain face,

no charming smile, no violet eyes,

and you say, yes, I will take you

I will love you, again.

Why?

Every teacher is approached with the popular question, “Why do you teach?” As an educator in urban schools and low-income communities, I frequently am asked, “Why do you teach there?”

I teach because I am passionate about motivating students to learn. I believe that every single student is capable of successful moments and that each success, no matter how small, is worth celebrating. I teach “there” because all students deserve highly qualified and dedicated educators, not just the honors kids or families in wealthy communities. I teach because I have found that I am my truest self in a classroom and am honored to partake in that privilege every single day.

Usually, this is followed by a second question: “Aren’t you scared?” (… of the neighborhood, community, etc)

Yes! I’m scared of what boring and non-applicable assignments my students would have received, and the learning opportunities they would have missed. I’m scared of how my life would be tragically less colorful, challenging, and fun without the diverse talents and personalities I’ve been blessed to encounter within these culturally rich communities.  I’m scared that without passionate and dedicated educators, a day may go by that a student in this community would not be reminded that they are fiercely believed in, capable of success, and worthy of encouragement.  

I consider it a calling and a sincere privilege not only to be a teacher, but an urban teacher. It is not a resume-boosting challenge, a philanthropic mission year, or even a stepping-stone toward a career in educational policy. This is my life’s work and wholehearted passion.

Tuesday Huesday

Mojito Time! (image source)

Gift Inception: Gift Within A Gift

For my birthday, my parents gave me a most precious gift. This ring was my Mom's and they had it cleaned and reset with a new pearl, to replace the original- which had been shut in a car door.

I was overwhelmed with gratitude and excitement as a childhood thought came to a realization. I would peer into mom's jewelry box and put it on for moments and imagine what it would be like to be "grown up." That ring was the epitome of lady-like demure and strength, probably because that's what the incredible woman who wore it embodied.

Plus, the pearl being my birthstone- it was just the coolest thing to which I aspired. And who would have thought, that it would reflect my personal style, all these years later? A classic simplicity.

And now, I wear it daily with overwhelming love, pride, and memory. But I had a double-take the other day, when I happened to glance down at my hand...

Holy crap- that's my mom's hand!

I know as I've gotten older, I see many of my features reflect hers, especially the shape of my hands. But this one was particularly profound. 

Wearing that ring, the curve of my fingers, the dimples in my knuckles, the soft veins on the top - that's exactly what I remembered about the hand that I would hold as a little girl. The hand I held excitedly walking to my first day of school, walking into the grocery store eager for a cookie and Golden Book, skipping through the yard, if ever I was scared, or every time we'd pray- that was the hand I knew. 

I love you, Mom and Dad. Thank you for this unbelievable and meaningful gift - both the tangible and absolutely immeasurable one.

The Depression-Clutter Cycle

There's this unspoken rule about what goes on behind closed doors. But I'll let you in on a little secret, there is a direct correlation between depression and organization. When you sink into a dark struggle and feelings of worthlessness, your physical surroundings end up reflecting that chaos, frustration, and self-hatred.
It becomes a struggle for control and motivation. You feel like a failure for letting things get cluttered, and hate yourself a bit more. It's pretty sick.

A blogger named Olive turned her self-frustration into an honest art piece. Here's a glimpse behind the closed door.

 

Though my house isn't dirty, but it has become cluttered in the midst of constant classwork, on-the-go lifestyle, lack of energy, and loneliness. And in return, I get overwhelmed - feeling worse about myself because of the clutter, among everything else. What a disgusting cycle!

I am working on it, though. Manageable chunks at a time, 20 minutes here and there. Slowly chipping away at what feels insurmountable - it is a physical manifestation of my progress- emotionally and physically. I'll take the little victories.

Tuesday Huesday

I am headed to Maine this weekend to celebrate the wedding of some sweet friends! I've never been, but have heard wonderful things of how charming, beautiful, serene, and delicious Maine can be. Can't wait!

(image source)