To love

Love is a topic that is both completely simple and immensely complicated in my life.

I will try to break it down…

Growing up, love was a double edged sword. A weapon, most of the time. At least, in my immediate home.

A few people…namely, my grandma and grandpa, seemed to love me with no strings attached. It was wonderful, and their home became my most favorite place to be.

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Where did I lose my worth?

I had coffee after work yesterday with my priest.

He is my priest, but he is also my friend. His wife is one of the important people in my life…a supporter, a role model, a real friend.

The boundaries are fuzzy…but suffice it to say that I have a deep love for my friend and her family…including her husband, who also happens to be the person who helps me navigate aspects of my spiritual life.

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A mighty struggle

Since I started teaching in August, I have been tackling a lot of triggers.It has felt very multifaceted…

It is related to the school where I am teaching–one that I actually attended as a child. It is related to what I went through. It is related to who I felt supported by–teachers–always teachers. It is also related to who I am teaching now, and how much I am able to help and support them.

Let me give you a hint…for my struggling students, the ones who remind me of me? Or the ones that have it way worse than I ever had it?

…I am never able to help them enough.

And that hurts my heart. Continue reading

Teaching through trauma

I have spent the last four years working at elementary schools in various capacities. I have known, for awhile, that education is the career for me. It just took me some time to take the leap and go back to school to earn a second degree.

School was a safe place for me. Growing up, when life was crazy, chaotic, and traumatic, school represented a place where I could go and be free. Loved.

Throughout my schooling, there were a few individuals who saved me. The teachers who saw who I was, and encouraged me to do my best. The teachers who embraced me and made me feel loved and supported. The ones who saw beyond the messy hair or messed up clothes. The ones who didn’t care that my parents didn’t show to parent/teacher conferences and told me I was smart anyway.

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Downward Spiral

The things that anxiety makes me do cause so much shame.

Tonight, it is boiling up inside of me. I can taste it…and it makes me feel sick.

In moments of panic, I am weak. I reach out. I say what is on my mind because I no longer–in that moment–have the strength to pretend to be okay. I am too focused on trying to remember to breathe. On trying to convince myself that I am not going to die from panic.

I feel, in that moment, like I just need help.

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