Guest Post: Contrasting Being Connected with Just Connections

Today I am hosting my first ever guest post. It’s something I’ve thought about doing for a while – inviting others to share their words in my space – but hadn’t taken the initiative to organize. A few nights ago I received a message from a former student, from my senior year of high school when I was a student teacher in our religious education program, and she was a 7th grader. Now, years later, she reached out and asked if I’d share something she wrote. Yes!, I responded. Anything, anytime. She sent me her post that very night.

So, here you go: What follows are Melissa’s own thoughts and words. I think you will find that she and I have many of the same philosophies and ideas – enjoy!


Contrasting Being Connected with Just Connections

Today, journaling didn’t feel like enough. My words were jumping off the page. It seemed like they were screaming “share me”! So, in an effort to practice the things I value and find important, namely vulnerability and storytelling, I took a risk. I stepped out of my comfort zone. Here’s what I wrote:

Recently, the pervasiveness of social media in our everyday life has been at the forefront of my mental energy. Sometimes I feel like Facebook is mostly about keeping up appearances. I don’t actually find it very authentic at all. It’s simply a crafted glimpse into someone’s life. I am always intrigued to see what people are posting and sharing but as for myself, I’m never really that “open” or thoughtful on Facebook. So, to put it bluntly, if you’re only following me on Facebook I say to you, “you don’t know my life”. For some many people I know I am passively following their lives and occasionally liking their posts but that’s the extent to which we are “connected”. This managed identity gives way to statements such as this “Well, it seems like you’re busy and having a lot happening right now…” when you’d rather be asked ‘how are you today?”. Which, if we’re being honest. Most of us post more online on the days when we ARE struggling (or bored, lonely, anxious, etc.). For me, I post more on days that I’m not insanely busy and on days when even an hour of free time is overwhelming because I don’t want to be “stuck” in my own head. There’s a certain solace in social media. Furthermore, the paradox that we’re more alone and independent than any previous generation yet we thrive off of constant connectivity challenges me often. In a lot of ways it seems like in an effort to combat our own inner perceived notions of mediocrity we continue to strive for and subsequently advertise external achievements to build ourselves up. In this way, we perpetuate a definition of success that is controlled by comparison and that implies that we must burn out, or DO ALL THE THINGS to be successful. I wonder how much of this external confidence hosted by social media is a cover for the insecurities so many of us encounter each day.

But, I’ve decide to address and reframe this frustration with social media by looking at the positives. A couple months ago, I posted the following Facebook status: “Here’s what’s on my mind: Sometimes I feel like I could make a pretty strong argument as to why I should never work or go to school and instead be on social media all day. Everywhere I look recently, people are posting articles or statuses that make me think and help me to learn more. So, I feel like in some ways, Facebook is its own classroom. Maybe you have to know the right people…” This clickbait classroom has taught me a lot recently. I find myself scrolling through the various feeds I subscribe to with a different eagerness. I am seeking the thoughtful motivational quotes and pictures, latest news coverage, or exciting life events. I’m not reading Facebook seeking validation of my life or to fuel FOMO but instead I’m being inspired, much like how I anticipate this post will be received, by those who are taking chances and sharing more of themselves and their beliefs.

Earlier this year, a friend of mine encouraged me to listen to Brene Brown’s TED talk about vulnerability.  I gained two important messages from Dr. Brown’s talks. First, we live in a time where we are continually confronted with unattainable, conflicting, competing expectations about who we’re supposed to be. To me, this is further compounded by the constant need for validation, justification, and approval that churns in our mind even when we’re not willing to admit that it’s there. I struggle with these notions because they are contradictory. How can one seek approval if they’re not even sure who they’re supposed to be or what they’re hoping to achieve? In so many ways, social media perpetuates this.

The second thing I took away from Dr. Brown’s talks is this: it’s okay to be seen and heard. When I first heard this, I exhaled a sigh of relief. I felt like I was being granted permission to be proud of myself without fearing disapproval or being perceived as arrogant. Then, I stopped thinking about myself and realized, the best way I can embrace Dr. Brown’s message is by advocating for sharing and truly hearing stories. Stories have a special place in my heart. Stories connect us. They help us learn empathy and foster lifelong relationships. They are also the foundation of our society (think history class). Recently, I’ve been fascinated with stories! Both understanding my story and learning others’ has given me space to be critical and also to explore.

A brief digression to share some relevant resources: When I found out about The Strangers Project I was so excited. Check it out! More stories! More things to question and consider. Of course, I couldn’t view this site without thinking about my favorite TED talk, “The Danger of a Single Story” or the blog post from my incredible semester in Cape Town that inspired my love for stories and craving for understanding.

The story motif is not transient in my life. It’s complemented by a desire for everything, every moment to be a learning opportunity. Therefore, when a friend shared with me a difficult part her story recently I was again challenged by this sharp dichotomy of internally and externally facing selves. I never knew theveryone you meetat about her but I considered myself privileged to learn more about her personal life. I don’t have a lot of conversations that aren’t either super intellectual or very surface level (this is intentional, those spaces are safe and I can easily contribute and not feel overwhelmed typically). This is also mostly because I don’t reciprocate well and because I usually don’t have the words to participate in the way that person expects me to respond when they tell me personal things. But, I’ve been practicing vulnerability lately and I’m appreciative for conversations that model this important, powerful skill. While I never want anyone to struggle it was important for me to be reminded that everyone has their story and their challenges but also their composure that they put out to the rest of the world. That was influential for me. I learned a lot about myself and about friendship from that worthwhile exchange.

I was inspired to write this post today because in the midst of being inundated with thoughts about the power of storytelling and being distracted by the overwhelmingness of managing my external life on Facebook I scrolled past these two meaningful and complementary images that spurred my thinking about stories and vulnerability once again!

franklySo here’s my plea: rather than exhausting ourselves with the tiring task of crafting an identity that fits our mental images of what “success” and “happiness” look like, let us spend more time seeking, sharing, and honoring each other’s stories! I think this is best practiced through conversation and the commitment to creating safe spaces for diverse voices and experiences to thrive and be appreciated. When we stop comparing and competing and begin appreciating and recognizing we give power to individuals and let each person own where they’ve been and where they hope to go. We let each individual grow into and with their story and contribute to an identity they can be proud of and others can love regardless of the hurdles and struggles along the way. I hope that through sharing and supporting each other’s stories rather than fortifying spaces of harsh, judgments based on uninformed impressions we can grow and learn together and from each other and reserve judgment by recognizing that this is THEIR lived experience and their truth regardless of what they post on social media.


(Melissa Lovitz is a recent graduate from the University of Connecticut where she studied Human Development & Family Studies and Public Policy. Currently she is a graduate student at Brown University in the Urban Education Policy Program focusing on family and community engagement in urban communities.)

When Filters Fade

Sometimes words happen, and sometimes they don’t.

Today, they did.


I’m over at Some Talk of You and Me, writing about how raw I have felt lately.

p.s. There is no reason for me to link to Some Talk, other than I highly respect their community and feel grateful to them as they continuously honor, respect, and embrace me as a writer. Check them out, read what they have to say, and consider writing yourself. I can’t even tell you how empowering it is.

Things that made me cry today, in no particular order

lake

-Listening to one of our campers play and sing a song she wrote on her ukelele, about how much she loves camp.

-Watching one of our little 6-year-olds silently cry. And when I said, “I’m feeling really sad about camp ending. Are you?” he heavily sighed, wiped his eye, and said, “Yeah, I am.”

-Watching another one of our little 6-year-olds say goodbye to our therapy dog. He knelt down, and whispered in Cadet’s ear, “Bye, Cadet. It’s my last day of camp.” He then told us, “Cadet is so sad it’s the end of camp. Cadet wishes he could come back every day. Cadet is going to miss camp.”

-A thirteen-year-old camper saying, “I don’t want to go to school. I wish camp could be forever.”

-Four nine- through thirteen-year-olds making a conga line in the water during free swim

-Taking one last picture of our backyard this morning, and one last picture of the lake yesterday afternoon.

-The idea that yet another summer is done, in the blink of an eye

backyard

Okay or not okay?

“Are you doing okay?”
“Yes.”

“How are you?”
“Oh, I’m okay.”

What is okay?

For many of us, okay is a huge catch-all. Okay means that I am going about my day, doing great, hard work at my job, helping friends and loved ones and kids and co-workers and family members. I rarely (ever?) say, “No, I’m not okay.” For me, that statement only fits if there is an immediate crisis – a trauma, a death, a situation that warrants immediate attention. Because otherwise, of course I’m okay. I’m going about my days, functioning, doing great, so yes, I’m okay, why would I think otherwise?

I try to focus on, and embrace, and teach, that emotions have  shades, and situations have gradients, and it’s not all or nothing, there’s no black or white. However, a recent conversation led me to a personal realization: okay is a whole other continuum. Okay exists tantamount to other things.

I can be doing a kick-ass job at work, but not feel okay, if I’m anxious and panicky.

You can be maintaining your marriage, but not be okay, if you’re dealing with depression.

She can be beautifully parenting her children, but not be okay, if she’s fighting self-harm urges.

He can be getting all A’s in school, but not be okay, if he’s dealing with PTSD.

Do you see?

You can be successful in your life while you’re not okay. You can be in a healthy relationship and not be okay. You can smile and laugh at work and genuinely feel happy in those moments but also not be okay.

This gives us power. 

Saying “I’m am not okay” is scary. And maybe not always necessary to say out loud. But maybe we say it to ourselves. Because it’s not all or nothing. We don’t have to be in our beds, unable to move, unable to face the day, to “deserve” to say “I’m not okay.”

You deserve to say anything you want or need. You also deserve, you get, to not set a bar for yourself: I only deserve to ask for help if _____.

No.

You can always ask for help. You can always reach out. Outward appearances are deceiving. They deceive others and they help us deceive ourselves. Look inward. Deep, deep inward. Into the crevices and cracks in which you’ve been cramming thoughts, memories, feelings. Yes, you are fantastic at work. You have a wonderful family. You are loved. You are a role model. You take care of everyone. And, you might not be okay. And it’s time to face that. Embrace that. And get the support you need.

Because it’s okay to not be okay.

Not the thoughts themselves

(Sometimes I feel like a broken record, because I kind of say the same thing over and over again, just in different words and different ways. But maybe that’s kind of the point, because what we internalize and truly know in one moment, we doubt and don’t believe in another moment. So maybe the point is to keep saying it, over and over again, because each moment we capitalize on our truth is a moment that the truth solidifies more and more in our cores.)

I have been noticing lately (again) how the automatic thoughts that were such a part of my life for so long continue to linger. I have been empowered lately (again) that I have the choice to act on them or not.

One of the best, most freeing truths I ever came to internalize, was:

What matters is my reactions to the thoughts, not the thoughts themselves. 

Today, I felt embarrassed about the way I handled a conversation. I perceived myself as sounding incompetent, immature, and annoying. (And maybe I did sound that way, or maybe I didn’t, all the ruminating in the world won’t send me inside the other person’s head to know how she perceived me. It would be up to her to tell me – not my job to guess.) And it fascinated me how quickly after I heard the thoughts in my brain:

I am going to the gym right when I get home.
I am going for a run even though it’s hot.
I’m not going to eat dinner.

I no longer panic about those thoughts, though I don’t love them. But I’ve come to realize that my brain is wired this way. Maybe it’s genetic, maybe it’s neurological, maybe it’s synapses that were created in middle school and high school and college and still exist to this day. But also? Maybe it doesn’t matter why the thoughts come. Maybe (definitely) what matters is how I choose to react. And there’s nothing more empowering than that – knowing I have a choice.

I’m home right now. I’m sitting on my couch. I had a snack because working outside all day left me shaky and dehydrated. The air conditioning is on. I’m writing. I will eat dinner tonight. I don’t have the energy for the gym, so I won’t go tonight. I might go for a walk later if I want to gently, slowly stretch out my body. I will not harm myself. I will be gentle and kind.

Years ago? I didn’t have that separation between thoughts and actions. A thought was acted on, because there was no other option. But that’s no longer the case. And the presence of thoughts doesn’t erase years of progress, years of moving forward. It doesn’t mean failure and it doesn’t mean regression or relapse. The presence of thoughts means nothing except just that….that there are thoughts in my brain. (And? If I do or did act on the thoughts? That also doesn’t erase years of progress, moving forward, or mean failure. It means that all of us, myself included, are human. And perfection doesn’t exist. And that’s just life. And okay. And real.)

And so now I know.

I can notice the thoughts. Listen to them. Acknowledge them.

And gently send them away.

The beautiful gradient of being real

Sometimes I think that we feel like it’s all or nothing – we either spill our guts and tell our inner secrets or we don’t say anything and stay closed up.

But it’s not black and white. It’s a beautiful, sparkling gradient of dancing flecks and sparkles of colors.

The gradient doesn’t require having full length conversations about things. It doesn’t require telling it all. Nor does it require sharing it with everyone. It doesn’t require you to be serious and it doesn’t require any further explanation.

The beautiful thing about the gradient is every little bit falls somewhere along it.

The empowering thing is that each time you share – a word, a sentence, a story, you are healing yourself, working towards bravery, combating shame, channeling compassion.

It’s when you are talking with a friend you trust, and you casually throw in a funny anecdote about what your therapist said to you. (and knowing that you don’t have to share any more than that. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.)

It’s when you state that a comment made by a co-worker, or student, or camper, triggered you. (and giving yourself the power – knowing you don’t owe anyone an explanation about why).

It’s saying, “I need a minute, I’m really anxious” (and only saying more than that if you want to)

It’s asking a friend to check in at the end of the day (and knowing that you don’t have to be in crisis to deserve support. You always deserve support).

It’s the time that you say, “Last night was rough.” (and leaving it at that.)

Is it not such a relief to say one of those things, and be met with a smile, a laugh, a compassionate or empathic response?

All of those times – and so many more – put you on the path, away from the darkness and into the light. All of those times prove to yourself – I can be real. I can share. I can do this. And the more that we practice this, bit by bit, the easier it gets. The more we are real, the more we give others permission to do the same.

And we heal. Bit by beautiful bit.

What he says vs. what he means

Joey came into camp a few days ago, dressed in his normal shorts and t-shirt. It was “Superhero” day at camp, and many campers and staff were wearing various superhero shirts or capes. Theme days are not Joey’s thing, nor have they ever been. He observed what everyone was wearing, and told me, “I didn’t wear a superhero shirt.” I nodded, and reminded him that was okay.

He looked around, and then came back to me, saying, “People who didn’t wear superhero clothes are stupid.”

“Oh,” I replied. “Are you kind of wishing you had worn a superhero shirt?”

“Yes.” he nodded.

“So, you could say, ‘I’m a little disappointed I didn’t dress up today.'” I offered.

“Yeah,” he replied, and went up to his group leader, saying, “I kinda wish I had dressed up today.”


Two kids in Joey’s group hadn’t arrived yet. Joey asked me where they were and I told him they weren’t there yet.

“They’re sick.” He stated. “They got hit by a car. They’re dead. I hate them anyway.”

“Do you feel nervous because you’re not sure where they are?” I asked.

He nodded.

Later, once they had shown up, he told them, “I didn’t know where you were! Are you sick?”


Two options are present during free time after lunch. Part of the group is playing a soccer game and part is batting a beach ball back and forth. Joey is deciding what to do. He chooses soccer, then beach ball, and finally decides on soccer.

“Besides,” he tells me, “Beach ball is dumb anyway. I hate it. So it’s fine to choose soccer. Because people who play beach ball are dumb losers.”

“You know what? It’s okay to like both, and just pick one. Because another day, you could play beach ball. You can like both things.” I suggested.

“True,” he nodded. He ran over to the group. “I’m going to play soccer today and beach ball another day!”


The thing is, I know Joey really well. I can predict his every move, and I know exactly what he is thinking and when there is a disconnect between his thoughts and the words that come out of his mouth. It’s not always that easy, especially when it’s a new kid that we’re working with.

But the idea remains the same. That words are not always reliable for our kids – special ed kids, kids on the spectrum, kids with ADHD, kids with language disorders. Especially in an emotional moment, not all words are accessible. Have you ever been so mad that you just freeze because you can’t even get any words out of your mouth?

Sometimes when kids say one thing, they’re trying to tell us something else. Sometimes when a kid looks like they’re being rude, disobedient, or defiant, they’re really feeling a myriad of other emotions and don’t have access to those concepts to tell us. And yes – sometimes kids are being those things. But the idea is that we don’t jump to that conclusion right away. We think through the options first. We consider their profile, their neurology, their diagnoses. We wonder if their behavior is telling us something. We wonder if they are using those words as a placeholder to convey something else. We check in with them. We offer them language and see if they take it. More often than not, you’d be surprised – a kid will take the words you give them if they match, and won’t take them if they are an inaccurate portrayal of what they’re feeling.

If I had handled any of those 3 situations by telling Joey, “That is unacceptable behavior, you need a time out, you can’t say things like that,” nothing would have been accomplished. And of course – we still do process and explain. We give him friendly words to say instead of unfriendly/mean ones. We explain, “When you say ‘I hate them anyway’ it makes me think you’re trying to be mean. Are you?” If a mean comment is directed towards a kid, we explain to him why he needs to apologize, and what it might make the other kid think when he says mean words. We process, over and over again, the different ways to express feelings and thoughts, trying to build new neurologic and linguistic connections.

But we don’t punish. Because what’s the point? When the reason for the seemingly hurtful words is actually a lack of ability to express oneself, we need to teach strategies for accessing those words and concepts. And appreciate that they are even attempting to communicate in the first place.