What I Wish You Knew – An End of the School Year Reflection

I’m baaaaack. After nearly a year away, I am ready to once again start writing. It has been an incredibly chaotic year with many excellent happenings (weddings, true love, teaching the children, etc.) and a handful of not-so-good happenings, too (hospital visits, crushing uncertainty, job changes, etc.), but really I am just lazy. So I don’t really have a great excuse for not updating this other than the fact that Friends is now on Netflix, and every time I watch Parks and Rec, I tell myself I’m only going to watch one episode and then end up finishing half of a season.

Anyway.

This year has been a strange one at school. I am growing into myself as a teacher, most definitely. There is a lot less of the last-minute scramble to find something to fill my time and occupy my students and more meaningful learning. I am more confident and less likely to let the other teachers “guide” me (read: tell me what to do). I am not perfect, but I am growing. It is a process, not perfection.

And yet, with all of the improvement there has been this year, there has been a definite lack of passion. I think much of it has to do with the group of kids I have this year. Don’t get me wrong, they are good kids. They are. However, there has been more of a struggle with them. More apathy, more laziness, more bullying, and a lot less laughter and mutual understanding has made this year frustrating and sometimes exasperating.

But these kids have taught me in their own way. During many sleepless nights trying to solve the world’s problems (okay…battling heartburn from stress), I would think about these kids. I would wonder what the morning would bring and who would actually turn in their homework. I would think about the day’s challenges and be grateful for the experience (no matter how harrowing it was). I would silently cheer the day’s triumphs (of which there weren’t usually many) and hope for more the next day. And most of all, I would think about what I wish these students knew about their teachers.

So last year, whereas I wrote my students a letter that quietly apologized for my faults, this year I wish I could convey to these students what I wish they knew about me.

1.) I have bad days, too. I think too often, we expect the adults in our life to be invincible. They are supposed to have all of the answers and perhaps, most importantly, have everlasting patience with us. More than once my patience has run short this year. Not because you are bad kids. But you are kids. And kids can be frustrating. I can be frustrating. So please remember on the days you are frustrated with me (because I yelled or am expecting a lot from you), I have had those days where I am frustrated with you (because I have to talk over you and know you are capable of more than you put forth). I am only human, kiddos. Some days I wake up on the wrong side of the bed and am grumpy. Be gentle with me. I try the best I can to be gentle with you.

2.) I dislike standardized tests as much as you do. I am well aware of how stressful these tests can be. Believe it or not, they are stressful for me, too. They impact the amount of time I actually have to instruct you, and they make you all a little loopy (to put it mildly J). I think the time it that is required to take these tests only take away from your education, not add to it. So the next time you sit down to take one of these tests, don’t resent me. I am not the one choosing to do this to you. I am feeling the same frustrations as you.

3.) You are not your test score. I understand how demoralizing that number can be. Trust me; it doesn’t only reflect back on you, it is what is used almost solely to judge my competence as a teacher. So the enormity of that score is not lost on me. However, when I look at you, I don’t see a number. I see people – people who are talented at a myriad of different things. I see future actors, chefs, writers, teachers, doctors, engineers, mechanics, businessmen and women. I see good people. Your score says nothing about the kind of person you are. I take that number with a grain of salt, and so should you. Instead of striving to be a certain number, strive to be certain kind of individual: one who is honest, kind, and tries their best.

4.) If you would stop talking so much, you would be better learners. I get it. Sometimes I think (and joke) that I became a teacher simply for the fact that I get to hear myself talk. My family accuses me of this at least once a month. Talking is important. It makes you feel important and allows you to express your opinions and ideas to others. But how about you try this: The next time someone says something to you, instead of immediately launching in to your opinion or offering an anecdote on the subject, simply LISTEN. Give the other person a chance to impart their wisdom on you. Sometimes talking only breeds more ignorance. Learning how to listen is an incredibly vital skill, too. It is an art that I think is lost in this world where social media and Facebooking/tweeting/Instagramming things about ourselves has become the norm. And when I’m up at the front of the room talking, engaging in these pertinent listening skills is important too, because, more likely than not, I’m talking about your assignment for the day.

5.) My job is hard. And quite honestly, I think every job is presents its own challenges. So it upsets me when I hear you (or anyone) talk about how easy my job is because I get the summers off. During the eight to ten hours I spend at school during the day I am not just a teacher: I am a role model, a surrogate mother, a counselor, a planner, the calm of the storm, an assessor, a tour guide, a librarian. I am the greatest version of myself when I am with you. You bring out the best in me (and sometimes, admittedly, the worst). No one told me that there would be times I was so overwhelmed, I would cry on my way home in the car. No one told me that sometimes I would want to shake you, but most of the time I would want to hug you. No one told me that some days you would make me laugh so hard, I would have tears in my eyes. No one told me that sometimes I would be so worried about you, I would stay awake for hours at night, wondering what I could do to help. And no told me that this would be the hardest job I ever had, but also the most rewarding and humbling.

This is what I wished you knew.

A Quick PSA

I have a post that many will consider humorous, but that just didn’t seem right to post tonight in light of recent events.

Today the world lost a great actor, Robin Williams, to an apparent suicide.

My heart breaks, not only for Robin and his loved ones, but for anyone who has lost someone to suicide or who has been so lost in the depths of depression, they don’t know where else to turn.

Here is what I want to say to those of you who are out there and suffer from an anxiety disorder or depression or loves someone who does:

For those of you who love someone who suffers from depression or a similar illness:

There is nothing you can say that will make this person “snap out of it.” And honestly, there is nothing you can say to that person that is “right.” I know this is frustrating and makes you want to pull your hair out, but it is the honest truth. The gift you can give this person you love so much is exactly that: love. And sometimes, love means seeking help even when the other party is scared to.

To those of you who are suffering from depression or a similar illness:

This illness (and that is exactly what it is, an illness) will wreak havoc on your eating and sleeping habits, and your physical well-being. It will bore you to death, make you cry, and cause extreme anger all in one fell swoop. You will have days where you feel extremely guilty because there are people who are fighting “real” problems all over the world like hunger, genocides, and war.

But you ARE going through your own personal war, and sometimes that is the hardest thing for those in our lives to understand. Many people will say things to you that are profoundly and utterly unhelpful such as: “You aren’t trying hard enough” or “Don’t you see how good you have it?” Please don’t get angry at them: These people are trying to be helpful in their own way. But also please be wise enough to recognize this and seek help elsewhere.

I know asking for help feels counter-intuitive. You feel like the loneliest human being in the world and a terrible, ugly ogre who no one will ever love, but that is untrue. You need to fight this lie that your brain is telling you and seek out resources that can lift you up, educate you, and help you manage your depression. If you had diabetes, would you deny yourself the insulin? No. Depression is no different from any other disease: the havoc it wreaks just can’t be as clearly seen on the outside.

One final note: Please, please, please know that you are never alone. There are people out there who are suffering from the same thing you are, and there are people in this world who want to help. Let them. Love them.

You are strong. You are brave. You are enough.

If you, or someone else you know is suffering from suicidal thoughts and you don’t know where else to turn, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline:1-800-273-8255

Robin Williams’s tragic death proves one thing to me: You can never know the depth of someone’s pain. Please reach out with kindness to others tonight (and always). And in the words of The Academy:

Genie, you’re free.

A Brief Interlude

Okay. So. These last few weeks have been crazy for a multitude of reasons. I have been playing pseudo-mom for a couple of kiddos while their parents are on vacation (I thought I was ready to be a mother. I have never been more wrong about anything.), planning my school year (every single time I see a commercial for school supplies I yell, “NO GOD. PLEASE NOOOOOOOOO.”), sitting poolside (soaking up the last few precious moments of peace before the end of summer), and becoming domestic around the new apartment (it’s a an experiment that is failing spectacularly, thank you for asking). However, I wanted a to take a quick moment to say: 

THANK YOU.

Ever since my blog post was published on HelloGiggles (I’m STILL hyperventilating about it), I have received an incredible amount of support and love from around the world, and the delightful chance to correspond with others who have shared similar experiences to my own. I have gotten emails and comments, and while I am working hard to address each one individually, let me answer a few of the recurring questions that seem to be popping up:

Do you have an actual anxiety disorder? Because you sound a little wound-up.

I do. And I am. I am learning to deal with it one day at a time, and I appreciated the messages of support I got in that regard. It is good to know there are other worriers and over-thinkers out there!

How are you still single?

Dude(s), I have been wondering that for years. Next question.

Will you write a guest-post on my blog?

There is literally nothing I love more than sharing experiences with people. I also like writing. My mother thinks I like writing, because, like being a teacher it means I get to hear the sound of my own voice all the time. So, mom, I would like to point out the fallacy in that statement because you don’t HEAR yourself write. And besides, when I write, I like to hear it in my head in someone else’s voice. Preferably someone else much cooler than me, like Tina Fey or Grace Helbig. Or anyone who isn’t me. The short answer to the question above is YES. (Although I have probably scared many of you off by now.)

Do you really keep a frying pan under your bed?

…if I told you that, I would have to kill you. Or smack you in the head.

Are you really as awkward as you say you are?

My first full sentence (and this is no lie) was “I hate the people.” You tell me. 

You seem kind of dramatic.

This, my friends, is a statement. But yes, I kind of am a walking hyperbole. My family and friends have learned to react accordingly, and I hope you will, too. 🙂 

Can we be friends?

I LOVE MAKING FRIENDS MOSTLY BECAUSE I AM REALLY BAD AT IT. So yes. Please and thank you.

So once again: You guys are INCREDIBLE. I want to cry. No seriously, I am probably going to eat some ice cream, cry about it, and work feverishly on writing something a little more worthwhile (probably about my failed attempt to be Super Mom). 

Happy Thursday! 

The Six Stages of Living Alone for the First Time

For my entire twenty two years on this earth, I have always lived with someone. Sometimes that someone was my family, and, in more recent years, roommates. I enjoy people, and even when you become engaged in silent battles of wills over who will do the sink full of dishes (ahem, Katie and Kara), I think having a roommate or roommates is a wonderfully comforting thing. Who else will have dance parties with you to terrible pop songs, patiently listen to your love life woes, and share a Pepperidge Farm Cake with you for dinner?

This year, however, will be the first time I have an apartment on my own. This decision was not up to me, but rather it was how the cookie crumbled. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous over this prospect. I have never had to spend copious amounts of time with myself, so beginning this process has been an eye-opening one. After settling into this apartment and being here for a few weeks, I have learned that, much like anything else, living alone has stages.

STAGE ONE: Hesitance

Where should I put these dishes? How the heck do you decide what cable provider to use? HOW DO I USE THIS BLENDER? Stage one is characterized by indecision and endless questions. All of a sudden YOU are the one who chooses where everything goes and how you will arrange the furniture. You also are in charge of paying your electric and gas bills on time without someone constantly reminding you that you owe money. You feel wary of everything and overwhelmed by anything. Your helpful, jolly band of merry moving friends may help you move into your apartment and they may or may not witness you have a breakdown over the fact that you forgot to buy a potato peeler, and they will love you anyway.

STAGE TWO: Joy

When all of your furniture is finally moved in (after many yells of “PIVOT, PIVOT,  PIIIIVOOOOOT!” to your increasingly less jolly band of merry moving friends), and your cable is turned on, the place starts to feel a little more like home and a little less like a prison sentence. Your pictures are up on the walls. Your clothes are in the closet. And dang it, your favorite foods are in the fridge. This is your kingdom and you are its benevolent ruler. The magnitude of the situation hits you all at once: YOU CAN DO ANYTHING YOU WANT. Pant-less cooking? Check. Watching a three hour marathon of trashy television (Oh, Pretty Little Liars, you never let me down)? Check. Eating anything you want without the fear of judgment? Can I get an “AMEN”? Check check check check check. You will live joyfully and lavishly and pant-lessly for at least several days, simply because you can (and, let’s be real, you hate pants).

STAGE THREE: Fear

The euphoria of stage two starts to wear off just a little now. Loading the dishwasher is a little less exciting because, let’s face it, it never was really exciting, you just temporarily lost your mind with your newfound freedom. Cooking whatever you want has lost a little of its magic too, because you also have to do all the clean-up. Bumps in the night become terrifying because what if a serial killer had climbed your balcony and is waiting for you to fall asleep so he can slit your throat? You start to sleep with a frying pan under your bed because it was a good weapon in Tangled, right? You have a tiny fear that you might slip, fall, and hit your head in the shower and drown and nobody will find your bloated, decaying body for weeks. However, you hide these small fears and keep your chin up – it possibly can’t get any worse than being in your own head like this, right?

STAGE FOUR: Abandonment

Oh it can and will get worse. The novelty is wearing off and the parties and gatherings of friends who celebrated your independence with copious amounts of food and laughter has trickled off. Many times, the only person in the apartment is YOU. By this stage all of the starry-eyed wonder of living on your own is gone. That romanticized, honeymoon phase has met its demise. Now, all you feel is this sort of irrational hurt at EVERYONE (let’s all think back to my post about being an unlovable human sometimes. This would be one of those times magnified by about one thousand. So if you easily get uncomfortable by gratuitous self-pity, you might just want to click out of this right now.). You feel like the people who are supposed to love you the most in the world have picked up and left you (in reality, most of them are only about 30 minutes away. Some are only a three minute walk away.). You are at your most vulnerable, and there is no one there to tell you it is going to be okay except for you – and that is scary as hell. You spend a lot of time lying on the floor, staring at the crack on the ceiling while eating popcorn. Like, an inordinate amount of time. Sometimes you cry. Sometimes you won’t even REALIZE you’re crying, you’ll just start wondering why your eyes are blurring as you’re trying to cook your chicken and BOOM – you’re weeping. You may also crawl across the floor because that feels like it’s the only appropriate way to express your emotions. Stage Four, in short, is a slow motion train wreck.

(Note: Let’s all keep in mind that I’m somewhere in between Stage Four and Stage Five at the moment, and like any halfway point, it’s a little awkward and weird. So I’m going to name Stage Four and a Half after myself. I feel like that says it all.)

STAGE FIVE: (WO)MAN UP!

You are getting sufficiently tired of lying on the floor eating snack foods. You pick yourself up. You put on clothes that aren’t yoga shorts and a ratty t-shirt. You might even go to the pool and read a book. Basically, you realize that the pity-party is SO not endearing, so it is time to face it: This is what your life will be. Along with this surge of self-loathing at the pity you have been wallowing in, you have a little anger. You’re feeling a little wronged (even though you haven’t been), and this stage sometimes comes with striding around the grocery store, angrily picking out produce and aggressively responding, “YOU TOO” when the cashier tells you to have a nice day. Basically, you’re a grown woman who don’t need no man (or a roommate, for that fact)!

STAGE SIX: Acceptance

You gradually settle into a routine. Once again, living alone starts feeling less like a punishment and more like an opportunity to grow. There are going to be bumps in the road; it is inevitable. It begins to dawn on you that being alone doesn’t have to mean being lonely…but you also (wisely) realize that sometimes being alone DOES mean being lonely, but that is something you must learn to cope with (healthily). You probably start doing yoga or meditating or writing a really witty memoir about being your twenties (I don’t know, I haven’t reached this stage yet, guys. I’m pulling things out of the air!) or starting your magical journey to becoming a master chef. But maybe, just maybe, it’s as simple as waking up in the morning in your queen-sized bed with the sunlight coming in through your window and feeling like you are exactly where you belong at this moment in your life.

10+ Books for Your Twenties

Okay, so I have been having a little mental freak out every single time I look at the calendar and realize my twenty-third birthday is creeping closer and closer. For me, twenty-three seems very real. Like, there’s no pretending anymore that I am not an adult. I’m an adult. I am officially a “twenty-something.” When you’re twenty, you’re just cute. It’s like, “Oh, look at that girl trying to be a grown-up! She knows nothing. SO PRECIOUS.” Twenty-one just doesn’t even count. Nope. And when you are twenty-two, no one cares. You are fresh-faced and just out of college, so people give you a lot of leeway. You are taking your first (shaky) steps in the adult world and trying to figure out the moves to the metaphorical dance that everyone else seems to know, all while trying to pay your rent, make yourself dinner, and be a functioning human being.

Because all the above combined with the fact that I love giving unsolicited advice, I have compiled a list of books that I think everyone should read in their twenties, or at least keep on their bedside table to keep for reference when you are having a moment.

1.) Bossy Pants by Tina Fey

The fact of the matter is I love every little thing about Tina Fey. In addition to being a hilarious person, I think she is incredibly intelligent and creative, which are two traits I admire deeply. And the character of Liz Lemon? Brilliant. She is someone almost every woman can identify with. Tina Fey is just so utterly REAL, it shocks and awes me. She is my spirit animal. But aside from all that embarrassing gushing, this book is very insightful. She talks about what it is like to grow up slightly oblivious and very awkward. She tells real stories about graduating college and wondering: WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? And maybe, most, of all, she is proof that everything will turn out just fine.

2.) The Missing Piece by Shel Silverstein

This is such a simple, sweet little story, but every single time I read it, it resonates with me. I think we all (especially during our twenties) are looking for that THING that completes us – whether it be love, a career, friends, whatever – but sometimes we find pieces that don’t exactly fit. And that is okay, because that is part of the journey. Sometimes you have to experience the things that don’t quite to fit to know exactly what does fit you perfectly.

3.) Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh

Please, please, please check out this book. I laughed so hard, I cried when I read this. Brosh tackles not only how scary it is to be a “grown-up”, but she also gives her readers hilarious stories from her childhood, and applies the lessons she learns there to her current, adult life (which I appreciate immensely. Isn’t our young self sometimes so much more infinitely wiser than our present day selves?). We meet her precious little sister, her ever-patient parents, and her neurotic dog. This book is like talking to your best friend. Not only this, but I think this book is an incredibly important read for anyone who suffers from anxiety or depression or loves someone who does. Her description is spot-on: devastating, but equal parts funny. Also, this book has pictures. Check check check check.

4.) The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls

This memoirs is equal parts sad and aggravating, and so, so beautifully told. You think your family is messed up? Read this, and tell me your family is screwed up. Walls takes us into the dysfunctional life of her dysfunctional family. She is raised by her artistic, flaky mother and alcoholic father. The story she tells is proof that even when our families disappoint and fail us, we can still love. Perhaps that is what family is all about. Her story is astonishing and brave.

5.) Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden

This is one of my all-time favorite books. I have read it at LEAST once a year every year since I have been a ninth grader. The prose is wonderful, and the writing transports you into another culture and time (and Golden writes a woman’s point of view very adeptly, in my opinion). Sayuri’s coming-of-age story is one that is both heartbreaking and triumphant. If you think YOU have a tough life, try being trained to be a geisha. It is all about perspective, people.

6.) The Yonahlossee Riding Camp for Girls by Anton DiSclafani

This book was just recently recommended to me by a friend, and I read it nearly in one sitting. It is sort of like Mean Girls meets the South with horses, but that description lacks the depth of the storyline and characters. Thea is sent away from home during the Great Depression to a privileged boarding camp for girls because of some unspeakable act she has committed that is alluded to throughout the book. There she meets girls who have been affected by the Depression in many different ways, and it is there that she learns to confront what she has done. This is another coming of age story, but a very, very unexpected one. This book is one part mystery, two parts scandal, and all about growing up.

7.) Beloved by Toni Morrison

I read this book for the first time during my senior year of high school, and subsequently again two or three times throughout my college career. It is a book where I notice another tiny, lovely detail I missed when I was reading it the first few times around. What I love about this book is the characters’ unique and distinctive voices, and watching the way they grapple with their pasts. Perhaps the best lesson learned from this book is that YOU are your “own best thing.”

8.) Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell

This book is for my YA (young adult) novel fans out there. However, I almost don’t consider it a YA book as much as an “emerging adult” read. Does that make any sense? The protagonist, Cath, struggles to find her place in the very new and scary world of college. Her best friend and twin, Wren, for the first time wants to live separately. Cath is awkward, shy, and very, very anxious. She finds her solace in writing fanfiction about Simon Snow (think along the lines of Harry Potter) and uses it to escape from a world that makes her feel lonely and afraid. She meets a motley crew of characters who ultimately help her grow into herself and confront the issues of her past. This is a perfect read for anyone who ever felt like they were doing college all wrong (raises hand).

9.) The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

This sat on my bookshelf at home for a long time, unopened, despite people telling me that it was an IMPORTANT book. Like, THE MOST IMPORTANT BOOK EVER. If you don’t read THE MOST IMPORTANT BOOK EVER, you are uneducated and hopeless. So, simply because people told me I should read it, I didn’t Big mistake. While this may not be the “Most Important Book Ever Written” (can ANY book really fairly win that title?), I do think it is an important read for anyone who is in their twenties and trying to decide what path they are choosing to head down in their life. Plath accurately describes the panicked feeling of seeing the many journeys you can take and being faced with the realization you can really only take ONE of those journeys. Plus, this is a really cool book that delves deeper into the mystery that was Sylvia Plath. Any of you out there who are literature fans will enjoy this sometimes darkly comic read.

10.) Oh! The Places You’ll Go! by Dr. Seuss

I read this to my students every year as a reminder of what great people they are. And selfishly, I read it because it reminds me that I still have a lot of mountains and wonderful things ahead. Kid, you’ll move mountains.

(Below I list other books you should read because I figured if I rambled on about more than ten, I might not have any friends anymore.)

11.) The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

12.) Harry Potter series by JK Rowling

13.) Looking for Alaska by John Green

14.) The Liars Club by Mary Karr

15.) Blonde by Joyce Carol Oates

16.) Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

17.) The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

18.) Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer

19.) The Road by Cormac McCarthy 

20.) To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee

EVERYTHING IS WRONG AND NOTHING IS RIGHT (Overcoming Summer Woes)

I can be a drama queen. I will be the first person to wholeheartedly admit this to you. I have my moments of hand-against-the-head-fainting-and-crying episodes, and I have (literally) cried over spilled milk. When I was twelves, my mother bought me a tank-top with the words “Drama Queen” emblazoned on the front in the symbol for “Dairy Queen.” I wore it sheepishly, but also in a weird, shameful, oxymoron-ic way, kind of proudly. 

I was trying to remind myself of the above today after being put on hold with Time Warner Cable for OVER 30 MINUTES. I reminded myself of this when something (again) went wrong with my car. I also reminded myself of this when I realized I forgot to bring my friend’s present AND the fruit tray for her birthday picnic. I reminded myself of this again when my roommate texted me telling me that there was something weird going on with our rent bill. I told myself to take a deep breath. I reminded myself that sometimes my tendency to be dramatic makes me blow things out of proportion, and this wasn’t a big deal. But after (politely) arguing with the TWC representative on the other end of the line and hanging up, I trudged up front campus with a dark cloud over my head and biting back tears as my friends walked ahead of me chatting and laughing and shading their eyes from the sun.

About this same time, I got a text from another friend asking me if “everything was okay.” I wanted to text her back in all caps, “TIME WARNER CABLE IS RUN BY INHERENTLY TERRIBLE PEOPLE, MY CAR IS A PIECE OF CRAP, I AM MOVING IN TO AN APARTMENT I CAN’T AFFORD, MY LOVE LIFE SUCKS, AND I JUST SAW THE FIRST BACK-TO-SCHOOL AD OF THE YEAR. SO YES, EVERYTHING IS GREAT.”

However, I didn’t text her that, because that might have caused some alarm. Instead, I texted back something much more mild, calm, and socially appropriate (hard to believe, right?). At that moment, I was doing everything in my power not to burst out sobbing while running across campus wildly, flailing my arms and screaming, “Everything is wrong, and nothing is right!” I did square breathing. I laid on my back and focused on my breathing (this didn’t look THAT weird to my friends because we were on a picnic and lying down is totally appropriate picnic behavior). I made a list of things in my head that make me happy (puppies, sparkles, ice cream, not wearing pants…). I even contemplated doing a few yoga moves, but nixed that pretty quickly because I was wearing a skirt and I wasn’t really feeling like exposing my underwear to the people of Kent or traumatizing my friends.

So as I breathed and listed and laid there, I tried to remind myself of a few very important points:

1. Take things one day at a time.

   It is so easy to get lost in the “what ifs” of life, especially when confronted with a problem (or many). Hardships are magnified by about a thousand when you worry about what is going to happen tomorrow. Who knows what is going to happen tomorrow? You certainly don’t, so start dealing with today.

2. It is okay to be overwhelmed.

   I think a lot of times we tell ourselves we have to be strong all the time. That is nearly impossible. You are going to encounter rough patches, and it is totally normal to cry or be angry or stress eat during these times. Convincing yourself that you aren’t allowed to feel overwhelmed or sad when things change or unexpected obstacles are put in your path is not healthy. If you need to cry, you need to cry, sister (or brother) friend! Bottling up the feelings will only make you feel worse and probably lead to something really nasty like stomach ulcers.

3. Don’t take it out on anyone else.

   This is one that I have to remind myself of often. While, yes, you are allowed to be mad and sulk a little bit, it is never okay to project those emotions on someone else. Keep the negativity away from others. Punch a pillow. Write angry poetry like an angsty teenager in your journal. But do not snip and snap at your family, friends, or coworkers. It never solves anything, because usually, these people want to be there for you and are feeling concerned. Don’t do damage to the people who are trying to help, even if you feel like they aren’t really helping (trust me, they are).

4. Things are going to be okay.

   Simply put: Chin up, butter cup. If things aren’t okay in the end, it’s not the end.

I laid there for a few more minutes going over this list in my head, and thinking back to the time someone very wise told me about the rule of ten. I was upset about something that I don’t even recall anymore, and she very calmly turned to me and said, “Is this going to matter in ten seconds? Yes. Is this going to matter in ten minutes? Yes. Is it going to matter in ten hours? Probably. Ten days? Less so. Ten weeks? Probably not. Ten months? Nope. Ten years? You won’t even remember this.” That spoke volumes to me. As I remembered back to that time, I brought myself back to the present and started thinking of everything that went right today.

 

I ate breakfast with my grandmother.

I got to celebrate 23 years of one of my oldest and best friends.

I ate delicious, homemade cupcakes, and drank n equally delicious beverage,

I got to hang out with my dad. 

I cuddled with my favorite kitten.

I spent time laughing and reminiscing with old friends.

And at the end of the day, I realized I have it pretty good. Things are stressful now, but that is the nature of life. That is the nature of your twenties. I am (most likely) going to survive it.

But all people from Time Warner Cable are still inherently bad.

 

 

YOU’RE NOT MY MOM (Navigating the “Big Questions” of Life)

For whatever reason, once you graduate college people think it is completely appropriate to inquire insistently (read: aggressively) about your life decisions/what you will be doing next/where you will be getting your Master’s degree/when you will get married and pop out a few kiddos. Whenever I am at a family function or meet up with old friends or run into students’ parents at Acme while I’m buying produce, I dread these questions. Usually when someone asks me one of these questions, I have this overwhelming urge to yell: “YOU’RE NOT MY MOM!” and run away flailing my arms dramatically. My mom (and surrogate mothers) can ask me these questions (because tough love), but as far as the rest of the world, just STEP DOWN. I think I speak for many twenty-somethings (I would say all, because that would be presumptuous, and I may be a lot of things, but I like to think presumptuous isn’t one of them) when I ask all of you who want us to map out our lives for you in intricate detail when we get together for some tacos on a Wednesday evening to please cool your jets. Please, I beg you.

I try not to let these questions bother me. I really do. I have a lot going for me in my life right now. But every once in a while as I lie in bed at night trying to fall asleep, I realize these questions spur questions of my own. (I’m a chronic over-thinker…I’m working on it.) Namely, about some of the decisions I have been making in my life recently. These are a few of the recurring ones that I probably give way too much time and thought to.

1.) At what point are you too old to shop at Forever 21? “I mean, c’mon. I’m going to be 23. That means only two years ago I was 21! I’m still in my early twenties. C’mon, guys!” That is the conversation I have with myself every single time I walk into this store. Literally EVERY SINGLE TIME. And as I stride in confidently, I suddenly feel deflated when I see the trendy clothing on the racks. Trendy clothing I will never be able to pull off (because I look like a fool in rompers) and don’t understand how to wear or sometimes even put on. So for me, the days of Forever 21 (and Urban Outfitters) have passed – but this doesn’t mean that I don’t still ask myself this every time I get an email in my inbox from one of these stores. Also, at what point do I have to stop wearing leggings as pants? Clearly the best pants are no pants…but clearly that is also not what a grown, professional adult thinks.

2.) How do I want to further my education? This question gives me hives. It really does. Just when I thought I was done dodging this question (I made it through undergraduate, people! What do you want from me?!), I start fielding questions on the next step of my educational goals. I honestly don’t know where I want to go from here. I think it is safe to assume my Master’s will be education related, but I will admit, there are some days where I am not even sure of that. Teaching is an awesome profession. It, at its most selfish base, is so fulfilling. I may go home at the end of the week exhausted and sometimes with an empty wallet, but always, always, always with a full heart. I am the best version of myself (granted, a PG-rated version) when I am around my kiddos. However, as incredibly gratifying as the job is, I can see myself also going into something that has to do with libraries. Or maybe even counseling. I want to reach out to people, but I’m not sure exactly in what capacity that will ultimately end up being. I suppose I could also open up an ice cream store. Ice cream reaches out to peoples’ souls, right?

3.) How am I going to keep myself healthy? I think about this a lot, because, as my mother tells it, “Everything goes downhill once you reach 30.” I also have an unnatural fear that I will not live to see my fiftieth birthday, but that is a post for a whole other day. Anyway, I have never been an athletic person. I did ballet for ten years and was mediocre. I loved it, but I was nothing special. Mostly I loved wearing the pretty costumes and the toe shoes, okay? So sue me.  Do it Watching me attempt any sport is a sight to behold. And up until fairly recently, I was too self-conscious to play sports out in public. I could exercise, but usually it was running or going to the gym and getting on the treadmill or lifting weights. However, as you probably garnered from one of my previous posts, I LOATHE running. And exercising in the gym is all well and good, but it was nothing I ever looked forward to. Recently, I decided to (wo)man up and try some sports, even if I was going to look like a moron doing them. I bike, I play tennis, I play volleyball. Do I look like a floundering imbecile while I do it? Almost always. Do I care? Not really. I have fun now. And I feel good while I’m doing it. In addition, I’m making a concentrated effort to eat better. Yesterday I made roast potatoes. I did not burn them. Check and mate, sir. I am working to be healthier. It’s a journey.

4.) Love life? …I can’t even. Done with this point. Done before I even began.

5.) Where is “home”? I struggle with this question on a daily basis now. I grew up in Kent my entire life and spent my educational career thus far in the Kent City School systems, and then at Kent State University. There is something so incredibly comforting about Kent. Whether that is spending time walking around downtown or spending time with my family, I am in my comfort zone. HOWEVER, moving to Copley has been so good for me. I am a bolder person. I am a more independent person. And the most beautiful realization is that I have found a family in Copley, too. My friends and coworkers have all become important parts of my life. So maybe what I am discovering is that “home” is not a place, but people. Still…where does that make my home?

Growing up is a strange business, my friends. Strange indeed. But I’m lucky to do it around so many awesome people, places, and experiences. Now excuse me as I go obsess over these questions some more as I try to fall asleep.

An Open Letter to My Students

Dear Seventh Graders,

Isn’t it amazing how much clarity a year of chaos can bring? You have been world-class public speakers, expert grammarians, fabulous Greek and Latin root investigators, careful researchers, and passionate debaters. You have been wonderful students, and I will miss you. But, before you leave me to be big-bad-eighth-graders; I have a few things to say to you.

You are not special. I don’t care what the basketball trophies on your shelf, the straight-A report cards, or mom and dad say otherwise. Believe it or not, kiddos, I mean this in the best, most loving way possible. The world does not owe you a living. Too often, I see people my age strutting around as if they are a gift to the world, yet they never actually GIVE anything to this world. I want you to avoid their mistakes. My mistakes. You are not better than anybody else just because of the clothes you wear or the place you were born or the company you keep. Yes, you all have wonderful and unique traits and qualities. You were born with different passions, talents, and ideas. But it is precisely because of these major variations that you should seek out others and ask their opinions and hear their ideas – just because you have some spectacular, intelligent, and worthwhile ideas doesn’t mean that someone else in this world doesn’t have equally (if not more) spectacular, intelligent, and worthwhile ideas. Share and connect with others because you are not special. Everyone is.

Education is about far more than grades. It breaks my heart when I see students crying over a “B” in a class or lamenting over a less-than-perfect grade on a paper. I understand that grades feel incredibly important, I do. I used to be in your shoes once. I cried many tears over “imperfect” work and complained to my parents over the “A’s” I felt I deserved in certain classes. I understand that there is a lot of emphasis is placed upon grades to further your position in your class and to determine what kinds of classes you will take in high school. But those little letters are NOT what education is about. There is so much in a classroom that cannot be assessed. That means it is up to you to decide what your teachers, classmates, classes, and extracurriculars can offer you other than what is stated directly on the syllabus. Education is a process. Education is a journey. It is progress, not perfection.

Read. I know, I know. This seems like a shameless plug for my subject. How clichéd is it that an English teacher is telling you to read? But I’m also here to say – I don’t care WHAT you read (newspapers, graphic novels, fiction, nonfiction, poems, magazines), WHERE you read (unless it is while operating heavy machinery or during your classes), or HOW you read (in small, manic bursts, or very, very slowly, or standing on your head) – I just care that you find something to read that you can enjoy and think about. Read to educate. Read upon principle. Read to nourish your mind.

Hold yourself accountable. To me, the greatest act of love I could show each of you as a teacher (and yes, I do love every single one of you) is to hold you accountable. I hold you accountable for your homework, the grades you get in my class, and the way you behave in this classroom. But I am not always going to be there to do that. Your mom and dad are not always going to be there to do that. You have to learn how to accept the consequences of your life (good AND bad). And whether being responsible means working for good grades, practicing more, or simply keeping a promise, YOU must be the one to figure out how to hold yourself accountable. What are the strategies that are going to work best for you? The reason we teachers do it to you now is because we want you to succeed. Please want that success for yourself.

Go out into the world and do good. And no, I don’t mean do well. I mean do good. Make your life matter. Strive to do something you believe in, something you think is important. That is going to look different for every single one of you, and that is what makes your service truly incredible. Strive to help others and make the world a better place to live in. One of the most truly peaceful, satisfying, and delightfully curious revelations about the human experience you will make in your lifetime is that selflessness is the best thing you can do for yourself. It changes others, but it also changes you.

Be kind. Remember when we were learning about fables this year and we talked about the moral of Aesop’s fable “The Lion and the Mouse”? “No act of kindness, no matter how small is ever wasted.” Live by that motto. Sometimes being right seems like the most important thing. I know that feeling better than anyone, but what I am finding is that it takes a truly strong, intelligent, and courageous person to let go of that ferocious need to be right and to instead be kind. Remember that even when fondness doesn’t feel like it is in your ability, compassion ALWAYS is.

You are important. Perhaps this seems like a big jump from the first point I made in this letter, but to me, it doesn’t seem like a very large one at all. Every single person in this world is important, including you. You are so, so loved. And if you can’t think of one single person who cares about you or thinks of you as important, I would like to tell you right now that you are lying to yourself, because I care about you. You are the first people I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last people I think about before I go to sleep at night. So you dare try to tell me that you are not important? You matter. You are important. You are loved. You are enough. You are the reason I am here.

Thank you, seventh graders. Thank you for bumbling through this year with me. Thank you for your patience and the laughter and the constant, humbling surprises. You have been MY teacher. Now, get on your way! Be brave, and keep making me proud.

Love always,

Miss C

P.S. Visit me next year…there may or may not be candy involved.

I Hate Running with Every Particle of My Being (And Other Truths of My Twenties)

1.)    Everyone in the world who enters into their twenties seems to develop this passion for running. They buy legit running shoes. They run half marathons. They run marathons. They find runner friends and talk about running. I tried to jump on that bandwagon in the days of uncertainty and angst that followed my graduation from college. I would run around my parents’ neighborhood and despair about the fact that I had no job, no place of my own (and no bedroom in my parents’ house anymore), and honestly, no motivation. Running seemed like something logical and healthy and productive and a way to stop hating myself.

Wrong.

I literally hate every second of running. Every. Single. Second. I routinely think about how I can get out of running. I sometimes cry while I’m running. Sometimes I’m so sure my heart is going to stop; I actually sort of will it to so I can be put out of my misery.

I’m going to take up Pilates. Or maybe rain-dancing.

 Truth #1: I’m not a runner. I never will be.

 

2.)    I’m at this odd phase in my life where I have NO CLUE where to shop in the stores anymore. There are times I wander around Kohl’s an ANXIOUS MESS because I don’t know what section I should be buying clothes from. Sometimes Misses’ seems too formal and stiff. I buy business clothes in the Misses’ section, so it doesn’t feel like I can buy casual clothes there, too. They’re, like, business causal, and I’m not about that life yet. But then I go to the Juniors’ section and I have this ethical debate with myself: If the girls I teach shop in the Juniors’ section, should I really be shopping in the Juniors’ section? How incredibly embarrassed would I be if I showed up in the same shirt as one of my kiddos? They’d never let me live it down. My colleagues would never let me live it down. My roommate would laugh forever. It is at this point, I start feeling an anxiety attack come on, and I leave the store because I can’t handle the pressure.

Also, can we discuss the store Forever 21 for one hot minute? That store intimidates the crap out of me. You walk in and it is HUGE, and it is filled with a million fashions that I don’t understand/will never be able to pull off. Do these thoughts make me officially an adult? Or, as my students claim, old?

(I bought a cami from the Juniors’ section the other day, but I maintain that doesn’t count because I wear it under my clothes. So no one knows my shame.)

Truth #2: I’m bad at clothes.

 

3.)    I self-sabotage (if you couldn’t tell from my last post). I think to some extent, every twenty-something is like this.  Maybe it is just the age? I seriously feel like I’m more angsty than I was in my teen years. There are all these insecurities and uncertainty, and I feel like I’m constantly between wanting to jump for joy over the independence and freedom of my age, and wanting to lie down in a dark corner and cry over the independence and freedom of my age.

The entirety of my twenties is a contradiction. I really would love to find a nice guy who wants to hang out with me and watch Netflix and thinks my bad jokes are funny. However, as soon as a guy starts showing interest in me or by some miracle decides to flirt with me, I’m all like, “Commitment. Vulnerability. RUN AWAAAAAAY!” and decide I am much better off watching Netflix alone in my sweatpants because, that way, I don’t have to share my snacks with anyone.

I also can’t commit to something like making a real meal. That is a lot of work. Sometimes I read recipe books and imagine myself as one of my best friend’s moms who is a domestic goddess and try to channel her Italian woman spirit and knowledge into my cooking. But that takes a lot of energy and usually involves kitchen gadgets that I don’t understand and am too scared to use. I pat myself on the back, tell myself it was a good effort, and then make myself some mac and cheese.

It’s almost like I hate myself.

 Truth #3: Everything scares me.

 

4.)    I automatically assumed that when I got a (real person) job that was full time and had benefits, I would carry on living my life exactly the way I lived it when I didn’t have (real) money. I had survived on a minimum wage part-time job for six years of my life, and thought to myself: “I’ve been making under $15,000 a year for forever, so now that I’m making more than that, I’ll just save the extra and I’ll have ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL THE MONEY!”

NOPE. You idiot.

(Do you ever feel the urge to just smack yourself because you can be so dumb, or is that just me?)

Let me tell you, you get used to a certain kind of lifestyle when you are making over minimum wage. Here is one thing I realized: I LOVE fresh produce. LOVE. Fresh strawberries? Got to have them? Beautifully ripe avocadoes? Jesus, take the wheel. But when you go from paying $1.99 to buy about 20 packs of Ramen noodles to paying $3.99 for one quart of strawberries, you start to realize your grocery bill is more expensive.

Things like this also happen with your hair. Take me, for example. I was perfectly content to dye my own hair and did it on multiple occasions throughout college. Then, I got my hair professionally dyed and I look in the mirror and realized:

WHY DID YOU PEOPLE EVER LET ME OUT OF THE HOUSE IN COLLEGE?

Everything was the same, even tone. I will never go back to boxed dye, mostly because I was forced to recognize that I botched literally EVERY TIME on my own.

Take this into consideration with the rising cost of living (I’m shaking my fist mentally), utilities (why do I use so much electricity?), and general shenanigans, this brings me to my next truth.

Truth #4: Things are really expensive.

 

5.)    Okay, a more serious note now, people. Put your glasses and thinking caps on, and listen up to Auntie Shelby. The final truth I have stumbled quite hard across is a simple one: Being kind is more important than being right.

For a very long stretch in my life I was considered a “smart kid.” Really, this means nothing. I’m not bragging. I simply got labeled that because I hung out (and still do) with some incredibly and unreasonably intelligent people. I was quiet in school and got good grades (I’m pretending senior year wasn’t a thing). So automatically I got lumped in with the smarties. I’m not complaining.

I will be completely honest here: I got used to hearing that I was smart. I am used to being praised for my brains, and it is nice. I like that people can appreciate thoughtfulness. However, today (which provoked the writing of this), one of my students asked me; “Don’t you think it is extremely important to be smart, Miss C?” Another kid chimed in with, “Well, duh. It means you’re almost always right!” And then, a third student who doesn’t talk much piped up and said, “But isn’t being kind more important than just about anything?”

That really struck me. Because isn’t that young lady right? If we weren’t all trying so hard to be the “smart kids” and did a little more listening to each other, wouldn’t this world be a better place?

Just a thought.

Truth #5: Always, always be kind.

Sneaky Self-Loathing Spiral

Over the past few days, I have had a lot of free time on my hands. With only three more weeks left in my school year, that, may I add, have been all planned out (can I get an AMEN?), I had suddenly gone from 100 miles per hour to a stunning 0. Zip. Nada. Zilch.

Okay, I may still be going at about 35 miles per hour, but the point is I have slowed down enough to have time to myself.

And that, my friends, is where the trouble begins.

As I sit on my couch and mindlessly click through all of the episodes of “New Girl” on Netflix, trying to remember why I’m doing it because I have seen every episode at least twice, something very, very unsettling started:

The sneaky self-loathing spiral.

Now, this sneaky self-loathing spiral is no new thing. In my ample amount of free time, I have been thinking back to the previous years of my life and identifying a pattern: Anytime I am about to go through a transition or change in my life, I become a little self-destructive. In order to showcase this, dear readers, I will take you back to the first moment I can remember this being a thing – the fifth grade.

I remember the day clearly (actually, I don’t…I don’t even remember what I had for breakfast yesterday. But it sounds more authoritative if I say I remember the day, so…I do however remember that I was wearing a light blue shirt that I insisted mother buy me that said “Angel” across the front in girly script. The only reason I remember this is because I look back on this specific shirt with embarrassment and fondness because I made horrible wardrobe choices and still do.), and it was a day during the tail-end of my fifth grade year. April or May, maybe? Anyway, I was generally being a defiant and surly 10 year old because…well, 10, and also I was feeling nervous about the idea of leaving my elementary school (which was walking distance from my house, people! This is a big deal!) to go to the middle school, which I had been told smelled like a hospital and looked like a prison (it did).

It had been a rough day for me. People were getting all excited about this middle school nonsense, and all I felt was a sense of impending doom. I just really wanted to read my Harry Potter book in peace during reading time, but that was proving impossible. We had a substitute teacher that day, and as 10 and 11 year old will do, my class was being unruly and rude. Our sub left the room for a minute, probably to compose herself because we were being so awful, and the class kept getting louder, and louder, and louder. The louder my peers became, the more my annoyance grew. All I wanted to know is HOW THE HECK HARRY’S NAME GOT INTO THE GOBLET OF FIRE AND I COULDN’T FREAKIN’ CONCENTRATE.

That is when, impassioned, I climbed on top of my desk, stood up, and screamed: “WON’T THIS MADNESS EVER STOP?”

The room fell immediately silent and every eye was on me. After all, in my peers’ eyes, I was just that quiet, frizzy-haired girl who sulked a lot, never said much in class, and wore that dang “Angel” shirt way too much for her own good. I don’t think they knew what to make of my antics on that day.

Of course, sensing a disturbance, the sub came back into the room, found me on top of my desk, and promptly sent me out in the hallway until I could “cool down.” None of my classmates got in trouble. You’re welcome, fifth grade class. You’re welcome.

While the above it just a small act of self-destruction, let me continue with my case.

I think we have to consider the entirety of middle school a self-destructive period for pretty much all of us. It is a cesspool of bad haircuts, dubious wardrobe choices (this period in my life included a beautiful long-sleeved black shirt that had a majestic white horse on it, galloping across a river. Mom, why did you let me wear this?), and braces. So I move forward.

The next really specific instance I can think of is my senior year of high school. I will be the first to admit that I had a shady work ethic at best my senior year. I was, like in elementary school, not pleased with the idea of having to uproot my life and go to college. People were going to expect me to be an adult. I was NOT ready for this.

The year before, the young, idealistic (senior year me was looking back and giving her the proverbial finger) junior year version of myself had decided it would be REALLY BENEFICIAL to my future to take a calculus class.

I am not a math person. I have never been a math person. I will never be a math person. So when my teacher began giving homework on the first day of class, I promptly began ignoring it. In fact, those first two weeks of school in which our calculus class was assigned at least 6 assignments, I turned in none of them. Absolutely none—not even the assignment where all I had to do was get my parents to sign off on my textbook. I never even took my textbook to class.

At the end of this two weeks of me not taking notes, making beautiful doodles in what was supposed to be my math notebook, and generally being a distraction to those around me who were working, the teacher called me up to the front of room at the end of class.

“Shelby.” That was all he said. He seemed to think a few moments before he said the next thing: “What do you want to do with your life?”

Me: “Get out of this school.”

Him: “I mean after college, Shelby.”

Me: “I don’t know. Journalism? Something with English?”

Him: “Drop my class. Now. I don’t want to see you here next week.”

And so I did.

This meant I had two study halls at the beginning of the day which eventually became me getting late arrival so all I had to do was show up for my third period class, which was French. I routinely showed up late, with coffee in hand. I didn’t do homework and answered all of my teacher’s questions with “Je ne sais pas.” Clearly, I was very productive.

There was also an unfortunate incident where I started bawling my eyes out in a restaurant because they put onions on my bagel when I asked them not to. Meltdown central, I was late for my AP English class that afternoon because I couldn’t pull myself together. I was between raining fire on the person who mistakenly put onions in my lunch and lying down on the floor in defeat.

Then there came college. After I got my student teaching placement, I felt so panicked about being an adult and a teacher; I went out and got my practically waist-length hair chopped up to just below my ears. It looked terrible.

After college/student teaching: spent most of my time on the living room floor of my apartment not packing up even though I desperately needed to, typing and then backspacing all my cover letters, and drinking beverages out of my Harry Potter tumblers.

And here is the commonality between all of these incidents: While I’m doing these (fairly minor…most of the time) self-destructive things, I am feeling some sort of shame or self-loathing. For example: Thursday of last week I sat on my couch watching “Medium” on Netflix, and as I watched I realized that this was a scary episode that I probably shouldn’t be watching right before bed…so I had a little conversation with myself.

Rational Shelby: Shelby, stop watching this. You are never going to get to sleep now. You will dream about serial killers all night.

Sneaky-Hate-Spiral Shelby: You’re not my mom, don’t tell me what to do.

Rational Shelby: SHELBY IT IS 11 O’CLOCK AND YOU HAVE SCHOOL IN THE MORNING, GO TO BED.

Sneaky-Hate-Spiral Shelby: Nope, I hate myself too much.

This pattern keeps repeating itself over and over and over again. How do I beat this?

I’m riding the struggle bus hard, guys. Really this long, drawn out post is to warn you: Keep my away from scissors and glitter. I can’t be held responsible what kind of dumb crap I will soon regret after I get into those. And for God’s sake, please keep me out of the hair salon.