Clarity

Every year for the last several years, starting in 2012, I have picked a word and participated in Ali Edwards' One Little Word workshop throughout the year.  This year's word that I have chewed on for 7 months is

For July, I have been sitting with my word almost daily. A question that keeps surfacing: About what am I clear at this point in 2020? I thought I would take some time for a brain dump on my sorely neglected blog.  

It is clear to me:

• that life is precious
• that talking about lives affected in terms of percentages is callous
• that the society I live in (United States) believes it is invincible
• that hypocrisy is rampant
• that we are all affected by COVID-19
• that public opinion changes on a dime
• that people can amass great amounts of power and have very little sense
• that schools and their teachers are vital to a well-running economy
• that children's sports are viewed as more important than protecting children's health
• that a large portion of US society gets an F in science
• that critical thinking and discussions are skills that must be instilled in our youth and retaught to our adults
• that I look through the world with the lens of a white female
• that I can always make it a priority to understand a different perspective
• that shutting my mouth and listening is not synonymous to agreeing, and it is helpful for the common good
• that sometimes people with good intentions make bad decisions 
• that wide brushes need to be put away
• that I can't be surprised at how we treat people of all backgrounds when we abort unborn babies and neglect the aging
• that considering a person's intersectionality helps in understanding his/her view
• that I need to perpetually think and surround myself with minds that bring up differing perspectives
• that my definition of summer has non-negotiables
• that altering the rhythms and seasons of life can have a ripple effect in my emotional health
• that social media can build up as well as tear down
• that everyone is doing the best they can with what they have
• that we need to lean in to delayed gratification
• that I dislike feeling physically vulnerable because of the non-action of those in charge of my well-being
• that autism can be lonely when you are a teenager
• that hiring practices rely heavily on social communication skills that are created through a lens that excludes many
• that I need to open a school that has alternative "business" hours for kids whose circadian rhythm matches mine
• that powerful women can intimidate the weak
• that depression sucks the life out of its victims
• that the new "normal" stinks, but God has a reason for new pathways
• that my job as a human is to learn the lessons that this time in history is teaching

That's a whole lot of clarity!

JoLynn

November 9. Again.

People recognize anniversaries of all sorts of things.  Birthdays.  Weddings.  First dates. Passings of loved ones. Major national events.

What is November 9 for me?  Tomorrow will be 9 years since the ugly specter of depression has been a diagnosed part of my life.  Nine years since the day which started with the high-pitched, unending screaming of a toddler who could not tell us what he needed.  Nine years since I could not step foot in my sixth grade classroom because I could not pull myself together after 16 years of teaching middle level, mainly because I had no patience left by 7:45 AM.  Nine years since this metaphor rang true: You must put on your own oxygen mask before you can assist your children.  Nine years ago, I thought for sure my sane life was over.

What has happened over the last nine years?  A grade-level change that I viewed as temporary, but God keeps reminding me is actually the best thing for me. Going back to school with the hopes of surviving year after year, when, in fact, I thrive.  Expanding my circle of friends and colleagues.  Relying on God more than ever before.  Realizing that anything can be lived through.  An exceptionally wonderful son raised to age 18, who completed high school and is commencing through college.  Losing 40 pounds, gaining 40 pounds back, a result of going on and off meds.  Saying my earthly goodbye to my grandmother, as well as some friends.  Going through the diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorders with both of my sons.  Getting an equally wonderful son into school and making sure his needs are met every year.  Moving closer to some friends, and farther away from others, like the ebb and flow of the sea.  In and out of therapy.  Creating my own therapy of scrapbooking and cardmaking.  Attaining Master's degree number 2 in Educational Leadership.  Moving in and out of people's good graces in my work life because I insist that things be said and not ignored.

As I type, I am trying to wean off of my second SSID.  I am not sure this weaning is a good idea after today and the motivation suck it has been, but it HAD been going well.  But this weekend involved embracing the death of another loved one and its grenade-like shock on my soul.  Death is always a catalyst for depression in me.  But I am fighting like hell to smack it down this time.  We shall see.

On Grey's Anatomy and Reliving Traumatic Experiences

One of my general rules of life has been: Face it.  In life, there are shitty things that happen.  Avoidance does not make them go away.  Facing gives them less power.  But I think my theory has its holes.

When I was younger, and I was sure the Winter Warlock or Bigfoot was outside my window waiting to snatch me up (second story window in the city...talk about irrational), my way of "facing" that was to close my eyes tight until I fell asleep.  If my eyes were closed, whatever was out there could not touch me.  Or at least that was my logic.  And it worked.  Morning came.  I was safe.

However, there are bigger things in life that happen, and deeper wounds that I really think, rather than "facing" them to become calloused to the pain, I might need to start avoiding.

I think I should have turned this week's Grey's Anatomy off when I saw what was coming, but I figured "facing it" would be healthier.  For the last few seasons, Grey's has been fairly jolting and heavily sad.  There was an episode where a newly pregnant Meredith watched a gunman shoot her husband and then had a subsequent miscarriage.  This gunman had gone on a frightening rampage through the hospital.  I was pretty shaken by that episode.  Being in a profession that has "intruder plans," the idea of people going on shooting rampages is, alas, part of what could be any teacher's reality.  So, that episode was brutal on my emotions.

In this week's episode, a family was in an accident.  All of the adults in the car passed away.  One after the other.  First the grandmother, then the mother, then the dad, leaving the three children orphaned.  The oldest child was celebrating her 18th birthday.  She watched each of these persons in her life die.  Her father was on life support and his organs were slowly shutting down.  She had to decide to take him off life support.  It was at that point that I COMPLETELY lost it.  From the decision to her watching her father take his last breaths without a respirator, I was a mess.  It was not a "therapeutic" feeling.  It reopened a wound, and it felt awful.  So, my theory of facing things that are difficult really did not work out too well in this situation.

I know in life I cannot avoid stories that involve the ends of people's lives, and not every "death" scenario makes me have this type of reaction.  However, I am not sure intentionally exposing myself to storylines that take me down an emotional road that caused me decades to deal with is entirely necessary.  Live and learn.

When OCD and Depression Collide

In the decade of the 1990s and early 2000s, I was the sole reason that manila folder companies like Mead were living high on the hog.  I filed everything.  In December (or February depending on the year), the year's files went from our file cabinet into a box, lovingly numbered with the year.  Alphabetized files?  Yes.  Everything one could possibly want to save?  Yes.  An organized hoarder?  Yes.

In 2007, when the rubber hit the road and depression knocked me on my ass, I really think the depression was having a bitch-slap festival with my self-diagnosed OCD.  I have filed NOTHING since then.  I have a stack in my basement that is waiting to be filed.  Important papers have been placed in various baskets.  However, if we needed a paper, my former self would have known which box and file to look in to locate it in 20 seconds flat.  Now, there's a pile somewhere.

Do the math.  I was married in 1992...when this file frenzy began.  I did this until 2007.  That's about FIFTEEN boxes.  They are now stacked in my garage, awaiting being hauled away by a shredding company. Enter depression again.  It's much easier to sit down and stare at a computer screen (and I mean stare) than to go through these boxes to remove anything vital (yes, Mother, I found your living will!).  So, I realized I needed help.  I asked Scott to bring just one box in at a time to let me go through.  So far, three boxes have been gone through.  Here are some snippets of conversation:

"Did you ever transfer your 401K from KARMAK?"

"I don't know."

"What is this life insurance policy?  Is it still active?"

"I don't know."

The list goes on and on.

And in the time that I have taken to write this?  Another box bit the dust.

So, I guess my message is sometimes, depression has to be looked square in the eye and told to f-off or pay rent.

May this year be the year that I start scanning stuff and getting rid of paper copies of what I do not need.  Maybe.  Or maybe I should just celebrate getting through these boxes.