Tonight, I am a mess.
A struggling, emotional, scared mess.
As a teacher, I recently had a few weeks off for the holidays. Days were busy–a combination of Christmas, traveling, and getting back on track with workouts. (Because, you know, I have somehow gained more weight than I want to admit). Somehow, in the chaos of it all, I began to forget to take my antidepressant.
Last Monday, I woke up and had to go back to work. As I went through my usual morning routine, I suddenly realized that it had been at least a week or a week and a half since I last swallowed that little pill.
Winter is always a hard season for me. Lack of sunshine, coupled with no ocean in sight, is hard for this beach girl’s soul.
Usually, Christmas is a time where I pep up, though. I love Christmas decorations, love the excitement, and believe that the only day it should snow is Christmas morning.
This journey of growth has truly been one of becoming–and one of shedding the things that don’t serve me. Continue reading
Everyday, I can see the progress I’ve made.
That, in and of itself, seems like a miracle at times. For so very long, I felt absolutely STUCK. Progress felt impossible, far-fetched, and highly unlikely.
Day by day. Minute by grueling minute. I. Kept. Going.
And slowly, ever so slowly, life started to shift.
My anxiety became easier to control. I started to get some of my confidence back. I started to no longer need my therapist to hold my hand through every moment. Continue reading
I am a thirty something woman.
My whole life, I have struggled to please others–especially the bosses or influential people around me.
I crave their approval. I want their validation. I want to know I am good enough. Continue reading
It’s that time of year.
It is dark when I wake up. Dark when I get home.
Cold. Dry. Windy.
It sounds silly to say, but I realized today…I am actually afraid of this time of year and what it will bring. Continue reading
I teach little people every day. Seven and eight year olds, to be precise. This year, I have one friend who can be particularly challenging. He is a boy on the spectrum, not in control of his emotions and easily overwhelmed by sensory stimuli and frustrations.
He feels best right next to me. Getting one on one attention. Holding my hand. Hugging me. Being up in my bubble. Each day, I do these things for him because he is also a child of poverty and neglect and it is my job to love and take care of him while I have him.
The other day, we were walking together. He had been having a rough day, and his signal is yelling, “I hate (whatever is bothering him).” Often, it is me, or a friend, or school, or his mother. My response is typical–“I’m so sorry you are feeling that way right now.”
After having numerous breakdowns that day, he held my hand and calmed down as I led him on a walk. He squeezed my hand hard and asked me, “Do you like me or do you hate me?”
I looked this sweet boy in the eyes. He held my gaze for a second, and looked elsewhere, uncomfortable with direct eye contact, as I said to him, “I don’t hate you at all. I love you.” He took a deep breath and relaxed, ready to go back into the classroom. Continue reading
There is this person, whose couch I could always curl up on and cry, laugh, or simply vent about my life.
This person showed me a kindness I had not ever experienced. A basic, human kindness–empathy. She saw me for who I was, respected me for who I was, and allowed me to be and feel whatever I needed to.
She believed in me.
And, eventually, it allowed ME to believe in me, too. Continue reading