Shifting
It has been a strangely beautiful and poignant 20 or so days since I wrote the last entry. After S and I wept and talked on the couch that day, after J and I exchanged those e-mails about the NPR story she had sent me, something in me began to shift. I was suddenly stronger, no longer relying on J or S or anyone else to carry me, as I had been, I realized, for much of this semester, maybe even this year. I have been feeling stronger and more able to really enjoy each moment for what it is.
Thanksgiving weekend was wonderful; S and I reconnected and spent a lot of time cuddling and talking. We got a gigantic Christmas tree that I couldn't really afford and a beautiful wreath for the front of our house and we spent all weekend decorating and admiring it. It tipped over multiple times, three of S's favorite ornaments broke, there were tears that dissipated into S saying, "But at least I have beautiful things now that are mine, even if sometimes they have to break." And then a friend of ours came over with a giant piece of wood and a drill and somehow stabilized the tree, and it has been beautiful ever since, even if it did displace one of our couches, even if it is totally in the way all the time in our tiny house.
After Thanksgiving, there were a few dramatic and awful moments. But, I did a revolutionary thing, and something that every therapist and book says I should never do--when S got crazy, screaming, throwing things, holding a knife to her wrist, I told her calmly that I loved her and would always love her, but that I didn't want to get hurt. And I drove away. I went to get a Subway sandwich, texted J, and when I returned, she was calm, she'd cleaned up, and she was sorry.
That's when I realized something has shifted in S, too. Kids with trauma feel abandoned all the time--anything, from being on the phone when they have a question to seeing fear in your body or face cause them to assume that these parents who have them aren't really forever parents. So, you're not supposed to walk away. You're also not supposed to yell or touch them either, of course, when they are freaking out, unless you're putting them in a hold to keep yourself safe--but leaving is not an option. And yet, I left, and it worked. I had tried that a few times early on, and leaving had been disastrous, had ended with S running away or doing more damage than she would have otherwise. But now--now, even if she doesn't always know it, I think in her heart she knows I'm never gone for good.
And so, I was suddenly cheerful, feeling good. I was suddenly able to enjoy every moment I had with J, whether we were having wine and deep conversation until 4 a.m. or she and her friends were singing Christmas carols outside my house at 1 a.m. or we were having a quick conversation while exchanging S in the middle of the day. I would think, we are so lucky she is in our lives, and our friendship with her is so beautiful and amazing. I felt the same way about the class I have this semester that I absolutely love and the one that has been somewhat of a disappointment (though admittedly, I think the death of my student who was in the class is playing a huge role in that). I was able to see what I did love about the students in the less-than-desirable class, to find even the most annoying among them endearing, and, when some of the students in the good class seemed to peter out at the end energy-wise, to seem less interested and enthusiastic about the material, I didn't take it personally.
And, for once, I was really enjoying the holidays. I was taking my time shopping, loving putting together a Christmas card with photos of our last year, loving all of it. I even went back to the church I left so long ago when the new minister invited me--and S and I felt comfortable there, and the pain I'd felt for so long after leaving seemed to have dissipated, too. We went with on a harrowing drive to see K, S's other beloved college buddy and horse teacher who now lives five hours away. It took forever to get there in a blizzard, but we made it, and again, although the visit was brief, I found myself thinking not how sad it was that these people were no longer going to be living in our town, but how lucky we were to have them in our lives forever, and to believe that it would be forever. It was all so incredibly beautiful and poignant, and I was happy.
And, in the midst of this happiness, S and I got the flu, the school held their meeting without me and never told me what was discussed, and I simply took it all in stride. I realized S is either going to get through high school or she's not, and I have to let go a little. I mean, don't get me wrong--I still have a tutor for her, still send notes to the school when her IEP is not being followed, still support her learning as much as possible--but again, I'm taking all of this less personally somehow.
Also in the midst of this happiness, something else happened: I learned that I had received the city's Human Rights Award. I have to admit I've always sort of scoffed at the stupidity of awards, and even resisted having an award for community service at our college until I was pressured into it by administrators. But, honestly, now that I have actually won something that actually relates to what I really care about, I have to admit it feels really, really good.
I honestly had no idea that the narrative of my life--which I like to believe centers on social justice--made any sense to anyone else. So much of what I do is behind the scenes, and so much of it might not be recognized as human rights work unless someone is really paying attention--and yet, people have been. In my good days, I can see that I have affected individual people's lives, but it's hard to see whether the work I've done has actually affected the community as a whole--and although I think the jury is still out on that question, I'm also glad that other people think it has.
Anyway, I felt so incredibly honored. There was a wonderful awards ceremony at a city council meeting and a wonderful party at my place afterwards, and honestly, I don't remember the last time I've had so much fun or the last time I've laughed so much. It was one of those perfect moments where everyone who has been supportive of me was in the same room (although maybe not at exactly the same time) and we were truly celebrating.
And then, suddenly, it was the last day of classes, and I was madly grading finals, and all of the sudden it was time to say goodbye to J. We had made a plan that we'd go out to eat at the diner in town and then we'd say goodbye, but of course I asked her to come back to our place so I could give her some books in lieu of a better gift later, and then sat on our couch and held each other and cried for a long time, even though we'd meant to make it less dramatic, even though she had a final to finish and packing to do.
But I told her that the last time we'd had to say goodbye, even though it was less permanent than this time, I had felt so hopeless--like there was no way I could get through my father's death and the semester that would follow without her, no way S and I would end up in one piece. But this time, even though she's going away more or less for good (though of course there will be visits in both directions), I knew that knowing her had made us stronger, and that although we were going to miss her terribly, I knew we would be OK.
That was last night. This morning, I woke up and did the things I used to do to take care of myself, the things that were habits before my father died almost a year ago and the year 2010, one of the hardest in my life, began. I don't know why we don't take care of ourselves when things are hardest, but it is too late to worry about that now--this year is gone and I am moving forward. I read devotions and did yoga and now I'm drinking coffee and writing here, and soon I'll wake my child and we'll have a good day. Her tutor, who next semester will also be her college buddy, will come to relieve me for a few hours so I can wrap S's gifts and work on my grading and hopefully have a little time to go to the gym, which I've literally not done this entire year, and I'll still get everything done in time to leave for Ohio and to meet the grade posting deadline.
In the middle of next week we'll drive there with our dog and stay in a hotel and, although this is not at all the norm for our family, I'll explain that it's the way we have to do it in order to get through the holidays--that S needs her dog and her own private space, that we need to be able to have time alone together. And I know we'll have a good time at the family gatherings, that I will love holding my new nephew and spending time with my crazy loud Greek family, because I'm in the mindset now where I can be in the moment and see how everything is so beautiful or so sad or so hard and know it's just that moment, so I need to sit with it, lean into it, take it all in, and then, when it's time, to let it go.
Thanksgiving weekend was wonderful; S and I reconnected and spent a lot of time cuddling and talking. We got a gigantic Christmas tree that I couldn't really afford and a beautiful wreath for the front of our house and we spent all weekend decorating and admiring it. It tipped over multiple times, three of S's favorite ornaments broke, there were tears that dissipated into S saying, "But at least I have beautiful things now that are mine, even if sometimes they have to break." And then a friend of ours came over with a giant piece of wood and a drill and somehow stabilized the tree, and it has been beautiful ever since, even if it did displace one of our couches, even if it is totally in the way all the time in our tiny house.
After Thanksgiving, there were a few dramatic and awful moments. But, I did a revolutionary thing, and something that every therapist and book says I should never do--when S got crazy, screaming, throwing things, holding a knife to her wrist, I told her calmly that I loved her and would always love her, but that I didn't want to get hurt. And I drove away. I went to get a Subway sandwich, texted J, and when I returned, she was calm, she'd cleaned up, and she was sorry.
That's when I realized something has shifted in S, too. Kids with trauma feel abandoned all the time--anything, from being on the phone when they have a question to seeing fear in your body or face cause them to assume that these parents who have them aren't really forever parents. So, you're not supposed to walk away. You're also not supposed to yell or touch them either, of course, when they are freaking out, unless you're putting them in a hold to keep yourself safe--but leaving is not an option. And yet, I left, and it worked. I had tried that a few times early on, and leaving had been disastrous, had ended with S running away or doing more damage than she would have otherwise. But now--now, even if she doesn't always know it, I think in her heart she knows I'm never gone for good.
And so, I was suddenly cheerful, feeling good. I was suddenly able to enjoy every moment I had with J, whether we were having wine and deep conversation until 4 a.m. or she and her friends were singing Christmas carols outside my house at 1 a.m. or we were having a quick conversation while exchanging S in the middle of the day. I would think, we are so lucky she is in our lives, and our friendship with her is so beautiful and amazing. I felt the same way about the class I have this semester that I absolutely love and the one that has been somewhat of a disappointment (though admittedly, I think the death of my student who was in the class is playing a huge role in that). I was able to see what I did love about the students in the less-than-desirable class, to find even the most annoying among them endearing, and, when some of the students in the good class seemed to peter out at the end energy-wise, to seem less interested and enthusiastic about the material, I didn't take it personally.
And, for once, I was really enjoying the holidays. I was taking my time shopping, loving putting together a Christmas card with photos of our last year, loving all of it. I even went back to the church I left so long ago when the new minister invited me--and S and I felt comfortable there, and the pain I'd felt for so long after leaving seemed to have dissipated, too. We went with on a harrowing drive to see K, S's other beloved college buddy and horse teacher who now lives five hours away. It took forever to get there in a blizzard, but we made it, and again, although the visit was brief, I found myself thinking not how sad it was that these people were no longer going to be living in our town, but how lucky we were to have them in our lives forever, and to believe that it would be forever. It was all so incredibly beautiful and poignant, and I was happy.
And, in the midst of this happiness, S and I got the flu, the school held their meeting without me and never told me what was discussed, and I simply took it all in stride. I realized S is either going to get through high school or she's not, and I have to let go a little. I mean, don't get me wrong--I still have a tutor for her, still send notes to the school when her IEP is not being followed, still support her learning as much as possible--but again, I'm taking all of this less personally somehow.
Also in the midst of this happiness, something else happened: I learned that I had received the city's Human Rights Award. I have to admit I've always sort of scoffed at the stupidity of awards, and even resisted having an award for community service at our college until I was pressured into it by administrators. But, honestly, now that I have actually won something that actually relates to what I really care about, I have to admit it feels really, really good.
I honestly had no idea that the narrative of my life--which I like to believe centers on social justice--made any sense to anyone else. So much of what I do is behind the scenes, and so much of it might not be recognized as human rights work unless someone is really paying attention--and yet, people have been. In my good days, I can see that I have affected individual people's lives, but it's hard to see whether the work I've done has actually affected the community as a whole--and although I think the jury is still out on that question, I'm also glad that other people think it has.
Anyway, I felt so incredibly honored. There was a wonderful awards ceremony at a city council meeting and a wonderful party at my place afterwards, and honestly, I don't remember the last time I've had so much fun or the last time I've laughed so much. It was one of those perfect moments where everyone who has been supportive of me was in the same room (although maybe not at exactly the same time) and we were truly celebrating.
And then, suddenly, it was the last day of classes, and I was madly grading finals, and all of the sudden it was time to say goodbye to J. We had made a plan that we'd go out to eat at the diner in town and then we'd say goodbye, but of course I asked her to come back to our place so I could give her some books in lieu of a better gift later, and then sat on our couch and held each other and cried for a long time, even though we'd meant to make it less dramatic, even though she had a final to finish and packing to do.
But I told her that the last time we'd had to say goodbye, even though it was less permanent than this time, I had felt so hopeless--like there was no way I could get through my father's death and the semester that would follow without her, no way S and I would end up in one piece. But this time, even though she's going away more or less for good (though of course there will be visits in both directions), I knew that knowing her had made us stronger, and that although we were going to miss her terribly, I knew we would be OK.
That was last night. This morning, I woke up and did the things I used to do to take care of myself, the things that were habits before my father died almost a year ago and the year 2010, one of the hardest in my life, began. I don't know why we don't take care of ourselves when things are hardest, but it is too late to worry about that now--this year is gone and I am moving forward. I read devotions and did yoga and now I'm drinking coffee and writing here, and soon I'll wake my child and we'll have a good day. Her tutor, who next semester will also be her college buddy, will come to relieve me for a few hours so I can wrap S's gifts and work on my grading and hopefully have a little time to go to the gym, which I've literally not done this entire year, and I'll still get everything done in time to leave for Ohio and to meet the grade posting deadline.
In the middle of next week we'll drive there with our dog and stay in a hotel and, although this is not at all the norm for our family, I'll explain that it's the way we have to do it in order to get through the holidays--that S needs her dog and her own private space, that we need to be able to have time alone together. And I know we'll have a good time at the family gatherings, that I will love holding my new nephew and spending time with my crazy loud Greek family, because I'm in the mindset now where I can be in the moment and see how everything is so beautiful or so sad or so hard and know it's just that moment, so I need to sit with it, lean into it, take it all in, and then, when it's time, to let it go.
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