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Slaberty

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I can’t stop thinking about an encounter I had with one of my students last week. In the spirit of extreme anonymity and privacy, all I will tell you is that he’s an adorable little elementary schooler, with a sensitive soul and wisdom beyond his years.

He walked into my office and announced, “You know what I was thinking about?”

“What?” I asked.

“My old school was like slaberty.”

“Slavery?” I questioned.

“Yeah.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well. You know how the blacks and the whites were all people but they were still treated differently cuz people didn’t realize that they should be treated equally? Well my school was like that. Like, I was a student! Just like everyone else! But since I was in the [name of special ed program] program, other kids didn’t realize that! They treated me differently. Like at recess? They wouldn’t play with me! They ran away from me because I was in the [special ed] program. Just like the whites felt about the blacks! It wasn’t fair! It made me feel stupid and dumb. I was a student just like them!” He was animated, pacing around my tiny office as he talked.

“Wow. I like that comparison. I don’t like how you were treated, but I like how you are thinking about it.” I told him.

He smiled. “Yeah. You know what? Teachers care about me here. I never, EVER thought that teachers could care about kids!”

And then I fought back tears.

The Great Big Reveal

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Okay. This is it. The Really Big Post that I’ve been dreaming/stressing/thinking about for almost 3 years now. 

The funny part is that it’s probably not that Big for anyone else except for me. So many people blog, I’m hardly unique here. (Can you tell that I’m trying to reassure myself?)

Anyway. Last weekend I very nervously told my fiance about this blog. He was excited, he’s been encouraging me to blog for years (not knowing that I was actually doing it), and I told him how nervous I was that he wouldn’t like it, that nobody would like it, etc. He very realistically, and gently, reminded me that I’m not a writer. Which was actually really comforting – if people don’t like what I write, that’s okay, because my job in life is not to write, it’s not to use correct grammar or perfectly articulate thoughts that people want to hear. I’m not a journalist, so the standards I set for myself can be fairly low. He asked if he could read it, and I said yes, and being the wonderfully patient person he is, he didn’t say another word about it for 24 hours. (I am much less patient than that, and if roles were reversed, I probably would’ve bugged him immediately until he gave me the link) A day later I emailed him the link to the blog, and….that was that. I felt like that was the first Big thing I had to do. 

And now? It’s time to share it more. Little by little.

Here’s what I’ve decided (honestly, despite my fears that nobody will like it, these are my Truths that I really do believe, in my core):

  • I will be okay if people don’t like what I write. When it comes down to it, I write for me, and I write for people who want to read what I write. If someone doesn’t want to read it, then….they shouldn’t read it. And that’s fine.
  • I will be okay if I don’t stick to my dream of writing all the time and constantly giving people new posts to read. I don’t want to this become a chore or something I dread. If people like what I’m reading, they’ll stick around, whenever it is that I happen to share something.
  • I will be okay if people disagree. I have opinions, and because of that, I have two choices. I can hide what I think and how I feel, thereby “playing it safe,” and also thereby trapping my essence inside of myself – or, I can say how I think and how I feel, set my thoughts free, and let them float to wherever they may land.

Other things I’ve decided: I’m not ready to fully introduce myself yet. Soon. And, I’m still a little too scared to post this on Facebook for every single person I’m friends with to see. I want to keep building it up small…so, next step is going to be posting the link on Twitter, which seems much less scary to me. Then an email to some friends and family. And then maybe Facebook. Or maybe not.

Okay. Here we go.

Publish Post.

Tangled

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When I think about my sensitivity, my permeability, my inability to take in an emotion and let it go, and my inability to think/feel/remember one thing without bringing up ten other feelings/thoughts/emotions, here’s how I think about it:

I imagine that many people’s brains have maps of loosely connected events. Here and there, one thing is connected to another. So something may bring up a memory, but it’s a loose connection, and it’s only one, so they remember it and move on.

But my brain? I imagine it like a tightly knotted ball of yarn. A maze of interconnected everything, so that when I hear one thing? It instantly makes me feel every single other thing it’s connected to. Every single event in my life is connected to multiple other ones, so tightly woven that it’s near impossible to just feel one thing. Or think one thing. Or remember one thing.

The beautiful symphony of scripting

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Please. please. please. read. this. post.
This post, these words, they explain, better than I ever could, why I indulge my students’ scripts, why I try to meet them in their world, or at least at the fence. 

(via Diary of a Mom)

 

Brooke skips through fields of words and frolics in their sounds. She rolls from one to the next — Water Water Besha Besha — filling her pockets with the ones that delight her senses, dropping the rest on the grass with a satisfying thud as she runs, overcome with squealing laughter, a vocal gymnast throwing sounds twirling, twisting, flipping into the wind. My girl loves sounds. As tongue-tyingly frustrating as they may be when forced into the box of Other People’s Perceptions, words and sounds and sounds that are words are wondrous, joyful, FREE when unburdened by Communicative Purpose. 

From today’s post – a playground of words, featuring Julia Bascom –http://wp.me/pNO8N-43n

On my mind right now

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-Am I useless? Am I accomplishing anything with my life? What purpose do I serve?

-How was there another school shooting? My heart hurts so much.

-Thoughts and emotions are flying around my soul and I can’t close off to them. It’s been a long stretch of increased permeability and it hurts.

-Am I an awful fiance/daughter/sister/friend? Because I feel like it.

-Am I responsible for everyone? Can everything be traced back to me? Do I hold the world’s suffering in my hands?

Sensitive soul

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Today I feel sad.

Maybe it’s due to boredom and feelings of I-am-doing-nothing-with-these-days-and-letting-time-slip-away, which inevitably leads to guilt, and more sadness. Maybe it’s because it’s been 10 days of relaxing over winter vacation, and due to a big storm, work was cancelled for today and tomorrow also. And I’m home on my own, which would usually be appealing and inviting, but after many days of being home, sitting on the couch watching t.v. and even reading don’t seem so appealing. 

Maybe it’s because I’m feeling raw, and I have been since yesterday — where I have no filter and every thought, emotion, feeling, worry, whether mine or someone else’s, whether real or perceived or imagined, are permeating my soul and all I can do is let all that energy swirl around inside of me and ride it out.

And I know, it doesn’t totally matter why. It’s not hugely purposeful or successful to think about why I feel sad, especially when the reasons are likely tenfold and indescribable. But it’s hard to just accept it and ride it out.

Solstice.

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I love the Winter Solstice. Rather than it being an awful, “ugh, I hate winter” day, it’s a day of light. Of us turning towards the light. It’s the shortest day of the year, but it’s the last day in which we turn towards darkness. Each following day brings one more minute of light. I love that knowledge, that we are gaining more and more light each day, that despite how cold or bleak the day may be, the focus is the light. I love tomorrow.

This is one of my most favorite poems, that seems to encompass not only daily life in general, but the idea behind December 21:

Towards the Light (author unknown)

By moonlight,
or starlight,
or in the sun’s bright rays,
I journey,
guiding my way
by keeping to the light
as best I can.
Sometimes all seems dark,
then I remember
how the poppy turns its head,
following the sun’s passage across the sky,
then rests in night’s cool shadows,
bowing in thanks
to whatever power
makes the stalk
stand straight and strong,
drawing deep from its roots
a wine dark love.
In moonlight,
the garden glows,
silvering the poppies.
And even by starlight
you can tell shades of darkness
if you try.
So do not lose heart
when vision dims.
Journey forth
as best you can—
bloom when you are able,
rest when you must,
keep your faith,
keep always
towards the light.