Christmas Eve 2013

Let's see... This has been a year of more growing up. I imagine, that is what is supposed to happen as time passes.

Early in the year I was coming into my own as a teacher. I was having amazing results in the classroom, and for the first time in my career, I felt truly proud of myself.  Spring break was spent with some of my most favorite people in the world at the Oregon coast. I am so grateful for the people I work with, well most of them (haha). They support me and have my back, but challenge me to be my best person. We laugh and cry together, and I have never felt such love amongst co-workers.

While the school year came to a close, I was devastated to learn that my administrative team would no longer be part of the school I teach at. This weighed heavy on my heart and mind. I had come to respect and care for this team more than I ever thought I would - I mean, who loves their bosses? I did. They helped me in more ways then they will ever know. This change in leadership forced my own wings to open.

During the summer, I began volunteering as a "Comfort Companion" at a retirement community/nursing home. After my Grampa died on December 26th, I felt a strong calling to be a part of the dying journey. I felt in my heart that no one should ever die alone. Though I haven't been volunteering much since school started, knowing that I am a part of this team of caring and empathetic individuals makes me so proud.

While sitting with one man, his partner of many many years was there also. I was able to witness love  and life in its most pure form. In the end, only love matters.

I learned a lot about love this year... In order to have something that is strong and pure, honesty and trust is key. I learned that I needed to be more honest about myself. I also learned to be far more gentle and understanding. While I seek forgiveness and understanding, I still remain confused and humbled by many things ~ I suppose that is part of being human. Accepting that someone doesn't love you is one of the most difficult things I have ever done, and am still doing.

While I sit at my Grammas, the first Christmas without my Grampa, I ponder about what next year will bring. There are a variety of paths being illuminated, and choosing one will be difficult, though I am fairly certain that traveling will be happening, and I am very excited about that! The challenge this year is to accept the things I cannot change, focus on my own life goals, and love in ways bigger than I ever imagined.

I wish you a Merry Christmas and a New Year filled with hope, love, and grace.

Back-to-School Eve

So many emotions running through me. As teachers, I think we get just as nervous and excited as the kids do. We chose a profession that is relatively thankless as far a paycheck is concerned, but at the same time one of the most rewarding and fulfilling callings, in my opinion, of all time. Even though I have already spent my allotted $75 on supplies, been in more unpaid days than I can count, I still am so looking forward to tomorrow!

A whole new classroom! Full of possibilities & potential! Will they like me? Will I like them? (I joke, of course I will.) Will I be successful? Will I teach them to read and write, add and subtract? Will they fight? I can't wait to hear the hilarious musings of 6 year-olds. Or the first time one of them tells me that they miss their old teacher, because 1st Grade is hard! Or when we all just erupt in laughter. And when one of them, who just hasn't been getting reading, finally puts the pieces together, and we both smile proudly after they have just read their first book by themselves! These, and many more are the moments I live for!

And it must be mentioned that I work with the most incredible team of educators. These passionate individuals give teachers a good name - something that is so often lost in media portrayals of teachers. But these people are for real! The caring, compassion, and dedication to these little people astounds me every day! The amount of support they show me, is immeasurable!

So, here we are again. Another First-Day-of-School, and golly, I am I just so excited! Ready or not! I'll see you all in June!

Slut Shaming

I really wanted to stay out of and away from the "Miley" talks. I honestly did. But with so much being posted all around me, I feel a huge pull to respond. I am sure some of you will disagree with me, but so be it. I just hope, maybe I can give you something to think about.

I didn't watch the VMA's. In fact, I am not totally sure if I have ever actually watched the show. I'd like to think I was at some point that cool, but in reality, I have never been cool enough to care about the VMA's. Fine, I watch the talked about clips, but that is as far as my coolness factor goes. Yeah yeah, not cool at all, we've established that fact.

So all the "shocking" and "disturbing" pics and quotes came flying out into social media as if some major world news event had just happened - like "world hunger solved" or "global warming stopped", but no, this had to do with a young woman, Miley Cyrus, a pop princess and superstar. Still, I must admit, I was curious about what all the hoopla was about.

I watched the "shocking" performance. While watching, I kept waiting for what everyone was talking about. Waiting... waiting... and then the clip ended. I was left feeling sort of cheated, and not sure if I had missed something. I have been wondering what the hell everyone is freaking out about?! And I let it just be, until today.

I am just so annoyed at all the hate spewing about this woman, and the "feel sorry for her" crowd, either for her outfits or her choreographer, whatever excuse, is even more annoying. All this hating on a woman for a performance that was unapologetic. Sex aside, Ms Cyrus owned the night. She has power, and I think that is why everyone is pooping their pants. She had the power to make everyone stop and notice. She isn't a child. She can make choices, and she did, without apology. And for that, I commend her. How awesome it would be if we could all say, "fuck it, I do what I want! and fuck all you haters!"

She performed like a man! She owned her sex. She owned her body. She did what she wanted to do. And our american culture has such a disgusting reputation of shaming women who do such things, especially white women. Black women are just said to be "dangerous" while white women are noted to be sluts or whores - the Magdalene effect I will call it, or is it the Lolita effect? sigh - another blog. Did Ms Cyrus make you feel angry? Well, sweetheart, go out and get you some power!

And let's not forget, there was a man on that stage with her. A man 19 (?) years older than her - do whatever you want with that info, dear readers. I just want to point out that no one is talking about him. No one is discussing his role in that performance, and really, why would they in this culture of ours? He was probably just overcome by the Magdaline in Ms Cyrus  - can we say rape culture? (so many blogs need writing). He was perfectly "allowed" to be sexy and grind up on Ms Cyrus, but holy shit, stop the presses, she looked like she liked it!! (falls on fainting couch).

I think I should make my overall point now. Stop slut shaming. Stop shaming a woman who enjoys her sex. Stop telling women that they can't get down. (I have seen many of you get up on that, and damn, girl, you look hot!). You have every right not to be like Ms Cyrus, however, that gives you no right to tell other women that they are slutty for enjoying their sex. In closing, if you feel the need to slut shame, do yourself a favor, and go get you some power instead of attempting to take the power away from someone else.

Off to get my power... ie: vibrator. teehee.

Happy Marriage Wish

My very dear friend is getting married Saturday. I have a heavy heart because I am unable to attend.

When she first announced her engagement, my initial response was very inwardly selfish. I hated the idea of marriage, weddings, etc. Since divorce, I had become very bitter about the whole "happily ever after" concept, and now considered it foolishness. Naturally, my loud-mouthed self didn't hold back in this expression. I tend to express my "hurt" by joking around or being self deprecating, it is just one of many maladaptive coping skills.

I am not sure of the exact day, but I made some stupid and selfish comment, and I immediately saw the hurt in my friends eyes. And, not sure if this was the same time, or a few days after, but at some point, she told me she didn't want to talk about her wedding stuff with me because she didn't want to make me feel hurt or uncomfortable. What a realization that was! I needed to get my head right.

I really did reflect on what she said. I thought about how I really wanted to be her friend in this. I decided that I needed to put aside my own experience for a moment, and let her have her joy. My selfishness was stealing her joy, and I did not want to be that person. Certainly, I failed, and would make comments that I intended to be funny, but weren't. I tried to catch myself, and became more mindful of my interaction with her and her joy.

All that being said, I am so very very happy that I came to this conclusion - to let her have her joy. It helped heal me - sure, more selfishness, but whatever, cut me some slack, dear reader!

Over these past several months, I have seen my friend blossom into a beautiful bride! We have shared stories, laughed, and cried about the past and the future. We lamented about our insecurities, we held each other up while weak, and rejoiced in our success. I was honored to share in dress fittings and bridal discussions. This bride gave me a gift that I can never repay. The gift of experiencing my past and sharing my own wedding stories without the sting of sarcasm, only with the bitter-sweetness that comes from lost love. I write this letter in full knowledge that my marriage failed. Many things written in this letter I didn't do, I just didn't know any better. "I do" now...

My Dear Friend,
I wish you all the joy that comes with having a partner at your side. Wake up, look at him while he sleeps, and soak it in. Touch him gently, and remember his softness. Breathe him in, stroke his face and love him. Do not forget yourself. Remember to love yourself. Know that you are more beautiful that words can express. You are each a gift to the other.

You will certainly get upset and even angry. Know that you are human, that he is human, and that you are both fallible. Try and remember to be soft in these times. Do not let anger build walls. I do not believe in the "don't go to bed angry" rule - because sometimes, our partners can be real jerks! With that said, I also believe in not letting too much time pass, for it makes us bitter. Forgive, and move on.

Work on your marriage, everyday! Marriage is the hardest job you will ever have. Say "Thank you", even for the simplest of things, even after years and years, say "Thank you". Appreciate one another. Be grateful for the partnership you build, and express this gratitude - with words, songs, trinkets, and presence - also presents are good too.

Talk, and talk, and talk, and then talk some more. Know one another. Tell him your darkest and deepest fears, desires, hopes, and dreams, create safe space for him to express his - it will likely be more difficult for him, be patient. Breathe when it feels like he has nothing to say, for he does, please, just wait and hold space for him. He needs you to have faith in him.

Above all else, love fully and completely, foolishly and without abandon! Be silly and adore one another. Laugh, a lot. Hold hands and kiss in public. Be each others rock and cornerstone, but trust one another enough to call bullshit when it needs calling. Listen and hold one another, and remember your wedding day.

I love you and best wishes!
Amy Angell

Thank you, Friends.

Waking up this morning, I am choosing to feel mostly blessed.

Yesternight I had the joy of opening my home to my friends, something I have not been able to do for years now - with divorce and constantly moving, and general malaise of self, I just hadn't been in a space, physically or mentally, to throw a gathering.

In years past, get togethers, planned by ex-spouse and myself, always made me feel incredibly stressed out. I was a bitch the day of, I even warned him and any others close by, that I was a force to be reckoned with until the party started. It was bad. I remember the feeling in my stomach I would get, like someone was constantly punching me in the gut. Looking back, WHY?!? I guess I just remember wanting everything to be "perfect". Why? I don't know, this and many other things are why I am in therapy, so cut me some FRIGN SLACK!

This time, it was different. I woke up late, puttered around, lazily drank coffee, all things that were TOTALLY new in the realm of "it's get-together day!" Then, with Katy Perry (not my musical choice, FYI) blasting in the background, my roommate and I cleaned, tidied, organized, and prepped, for the first get together at the house, and we did so all while laughing. With all this smiling, I kept wondering to myself when Bitch-Self was going to be making her appearance. I had to run errands, go to the store, pick up friends... still waiting... And then people were here, but Bitch-Self never showed! In fact, I just felt happy and joyful that these special people chose to spend their time with me.

And how beautiful they were. The coming together, to share time, food, and stories. To see the wondrous smiles on their faces, to hear the giggles of their children. All shared with me. How am I worthy of such bounty?! That people will set aside all that is going on in their worlds, and choose to spend a few hours with me is an incredible blessing.

Thank you to all who joined me last night.

Save Me a Seat?

While enjoying the sunshine at a local restaurant this past week, I took notice of who was at the table: my previous principal, vice principal, and VP's partner (I am not exactly sure what she does, but she is super smart, in a doctoral program, and prinicpaly-like), and me. What was I doing there?! There were moments, in my crazy-brain, where I thought to myself, "At any moment, these women are going to wonder why I am sitting with them!" When we parted ways, my head swirled with possibilities. "Could I be one of these women someday?" "Could I be a leader?" "No, no, that is too scary and down-right, silly, I can't even imagine myself doing the things these women do!""Amy Angell" and "leader" sound ridiculous together.

This last week has been strange - on THREE occasions, someone different has proposed the idea that I am a leader and that I need to become a principal someday. These things are preposterous to me. But I am at least letting them bounce around in my head, like a toy - dreaming of the possibilities, what it would all mean. Seriously, every time I am alone with my thoughts these last few days, I discover that I am daydreaming about what it would look like.

I googled a book that was mentioned while chilling with my lady friends, "The Will to Lead, The Skill to Teach: Transforming Schools at Every Level". I then got sucked into the rabbit-hole of internet research. I eventually found myself looking at books on the topic, "Women in leadership", and found some interesting and thought provoking websites, books, articles, and workshops. One book that stood out to me was, "Lean In: Women, Work, and the Will to Lead". The author is a Facebook COO, has done a TEDtalk, and is Forbes #6 Most Powerful Women. I wanted this book, but thought I'll get it at Powell's when I am there next.

Then the day progressed, I ran errands (while continuing to daydream about being the "one in charge"), met my sister. We decided to go to a rummage sale at In Other Words. While wandering around picking up children's books for my classroom, Lean In, jumped right out at me! It was across the room, yet caught my attention, as if the book was yelling at me. Needless to say, despite the new release, hardcover sticker-price, I purchased it. I believe it was fate, and ignoring this kind of divive intervention would certainly come back to haunt me!

While in the car waiting for my sister, I opened the book, and was immediately drawn into it. Reading the introduction was a swift reminder of all the women's studies courses I took as an undergraduate. The waves of emotions I had during those classes swept over me again, as if I was right back there, learning about the reality of women here in the United States, and around the world. I couldn't wait to get home and read more (nerd alert!).

The 2nd chapter, Sit at the Table, is what has inspired me to write today, and dear reader, I promise we will get to the point soon!

A little background: I am a woman (I'd hoped this was obvious, but just so we are clear), I am a first generation student, I have a BS in Psychology, and a MS in Inclusive Education, and I have been a teacher for 6 years. I was asked in May of my senior year of high school, if I had thought about college (it should be known that most of my peers were being talked to by the "guidance counselor" in October about their college plans). I just assumed, and correctly so, that if I wanted to go to college, it would be up to me to figure it out. As a teen, my manners didn't find me, and I simply laughed at her when she asked me about my plans, and I told her I had figured it out. She then asked, "Oh, so where will you be working after high school?" "You must have misunderstood me," I told her, "I am going to college, and I will finish, and it will have had nothing to do with your guidance!"

Long story, short - I had completed my graduate course work, was part of the honor society for teachers, and now sat in a room getting ready to take a state exam for my teachers license. When the exams were passed out, I just lost it. I started crying, right there at my desk. I was so scared. We were given 4 hours to complete the exam (was it 6 hours? I don't know, it was an eternity). Between bouts of sobbing, thinking, and bubble filling-in, I completed the test. I was one of the last people in the room. As I left, I was sure that I had failed. I was certain that I would have to go through that grueling process again, like so many of my friends, like so many of my professors told me. Yes, they told me not to be surprised if I didn't pass my first try (even they assumed I wouldn't pass). Waiting over the next few weeks to find out was horrible. I kept looking at new test dates and times. I remember opening the email that contained the results, it said that I had passed!! What?! This had to be a mistake. I kept reading it over and over, certain that I had read it wrong, so certain in fact, that I even called to make sure that a mistake hadn't been made. There was no mistake, I passed, on my first try.

What is the point of all this? Well, in the 2nd chapter, Ms Sandberg, explains the "Imposter Syndrome". Reading these words struck me hard, "[I always feel like a fraud], instead of feeling worthy of recognition, [these women] feel undeserving and guilty, as if a mistake has been made, that someone soon is going to find out who they really are - imposters with limited skills or abilities." I cannot emphasize enough how I ALWAYS FEEL THIS WAY! Reading on, she explains that women explain away their own success by "insisting she did well because she "worked really hard," or "got lucky," or "had help from others". I have done this very thing, over and over and over again. It is IMPOSSIBLE for me to simply say "thank you", when someone compliments the work I have done in the classroom - I shrug it away politely saying that it "takes a village" or "we have all worked so hard", or "I could never have done it without the support of other teachers." And while ALL OF THESE THING are true, no where in the conversation, or even in my head do I acknowledge myself, moreover, I am wondering when they are all going to find out I truly don't know what I am doing?! I mean, did I even use the word "moreover" correctly?

To finally feel that I am not the only one who feels this way, is incredibly validating! I am surrounded by these amazing women, and I cannot imagine joining in their ranks. Perhaps, this is a very small step in the right direction? I don't know, I am just excited that these fabulous women wanna hang out with me! They make me feel smart, they make me use my voice, I feel that they care what I have to say. Even thinking those things, I am so unsure - do they really think this way about me? Do I really have important things to say? Do I really know what I am doing?

I want to sit at the table, I think, maybe, hopefully, I have a seat waiting for me. If not, ladies, will you save me one? I think I might need it.

My Privilege

Like many of you, I am disheartened by the Trayvon Martin case. It seemed pretty clear to me that George was guilty of at least manslaughter, given the "Stand Your Ground" (SYG) law. But to be acquitted on all charges, seems not only wrong in a legal sense, but more so a moral sense. Sure, our courts are made of laws, which is an important distinction to make. However, SYG as a defense in this case doesn't hold up. George pursued Trayvon, that was his choice. Even if Trayvon attacked him, because he likely was scared, George was a grown man, who made a choice to profile a black kid, and then shoot him when he supposedly felt his life was in danger, therefore George was protected by law. WHAT?! I call bullshit.

At that moment, the state of Florida made George Zimmerman: Judge, Jury, and Executioner. A grown man, packing a loaded gun, who was asked to "stand down" by 911 operators, took it upon himself to hunt Trayvon. Is this what America is? Have I turned a blind eye towards this virus of racism and hate? How can this still be happening?! And if anyone thinks this isn't about race, think again, and while you're at it, consider yourself infected with the virus.

Which brings me to my main point of acknowledging my own white privilege. Is is said privilege that made me think that George would be found guilty? I mean, I am so dumbfounded at this verdict! I think of the little black boys in my class, who grow up in a world, where a grown mad of lighter pigment may profile and hunt them down, and ultimately murder them. I am embarrassed to say, that I thought those days were over. How shameful for me to be so blind.

It agonizes me to think that my friends, colleagues, neighbors, all those with children whose flesh is darker than my own must tell their children to play in the backyard with their nerf guns out of fear of what the cops will think (yes, this is an actual friends story). That they must tell their children to stay inside after dark, because their mothers don't want them shot in the moonlight. How do we teach personal pride and safety at the same time?! How do we, as a nation, look into the eyes of our young black and brown children, and tell them that their country cares about them? What a joke! This ruling made it clear, that if you're black, and especially if you're black and young, you're disposable.

A sad day for America. We can do better. We must do better. If we want a better place for all our children, we must confront our privildge as white men and women - I don't have to worry about my babies playing the front yard. I don't have to be scared for my life and be taught the proper way to handle police, when I am pulled over. If a black man ever shot a white baby of mine, they would certainly be in jail. I or my white friends can have a gun if I choose, and no cop or court would find it suspicious. My white friends can smoke weed and be called hippies, while Trayvon was called a thug for the same thing. These are things I get simply for being of a paler complexion. There are many, many, more privileges I enjoy as a white person that would simply take too long to list. What is the point? The point is, that until white America faces its deep seeded racist virus that runs through her veins, nothing can get truly better. It is systematic, it is painful, but it must be done.

I pray for America, I pray for my white, brown, black, and everything in between friends. I pray for George Zimmerman, for I was taught to pray for my enemies. And I mostly pray for Trayvon Martin's Mother and Father, and for the rest of his family. I am sorry that America failed you. I am sorry you had to bury your child. I am sorry.

Out of the Nest

This was my 6th year as a teacher. In those 6 years, getting along with and having a positive rapport with my administrators was nothing to make note of. It is different now.

The school year 2011-2012, was by far, the worst year of my career. I was going through a divorce, and was basically absent. Not only in body (I missed an embarrassingly high number of days), but even when I was technically present, my head and heart were somewhere else. It didn't help matters that this was my first experience in a general education classroom. While I had been a special education teacher for 4 years prior, I discovered how naive I was about what goes on in a general classroom. To say I was overwhelmed, would be a significant understatement. While this was all happening, my principal was calm and relaxed with me. I remember her having a short, frank, conversation towards the end of that school year with me about how absent I was. I remember feeling incredibly embarrassed, and told her I would try my best to improve, and that I was going through a lot, and I knew that the kids deserved more. This was the only conversation we ever had about it.

I thought about not returning to the same school. I was offered a position in Hawaii, Maui to be exact. I know what you're thinking - "What the hell is wrong with her!?" Trust me, when the winter rains have been going for 6 months, I ask myself the same thing. However, the conversation I had with that principal was so cold, so unwelcoming, and I had such icky feelings from her, that I turned it down. I thought back to my principal... I remember something my cohort leader told us in graduate school, "The principal sets the tone for the building. Find someone you respect and that respects you." My current principal was this person.

That entire shitty year, she had supported me. She wasn't up in my face, she wasn't sending me angry emails. She quietly let me have my shitty year. I respected her, and I wanted her to be proud of me. This sounds silly and juvenile for a professional to say, but it is the truth. I respected her because she was up front, she didn't keep secrets from staff, she trusted us, she valued our opinions, she was a strong leader and didn't back down when faced with difficult decisions. When a parent was unreasonable, she fully supported the teacher. This is the kind of principal you want, the kind a teacher dreams of. Perhaps it is because someone with my background was never supposed to finish high school, certainly not go to college, and the thought that I would have a masters degree was well, insane. I think I don't believe it myself sometimes. I see this woman as a strong, independent, educated, leader! She is my role model. I am sure it is still the scared child that seeks validation, but there it is. Hopefully someday, I can validate myself, but for now, I rely on my leaders.

But, she is moving to a new school. Just as I feel comfortable with her. Just as I completed, what I think to be, my most successful, happy, and productive school year thus far, she is transferring to another school. When she told me, I was stunned. I thought she was joking around. I felt a rush of fear take over, and sadness fill me up from my heart outward. Then the tears came. And the thoughts, "How can I do this without her?" "How can our school survive without this woman?" "Dammit, I am so out of here!""I don't want to be here without her!" I was honestly surprised at my reaction. I didn't realize how much she meant to me. I have never had feelings like this for an administrator.

Thankfully, I have also developed close friends/colleagues also, and we have talked a bit since about this situation. I have realized I feel like a baby bird being kicked out its nest. I don't feel ready. I am terrified of having another shitty year. I am terrified of not continuing the greatness of this past year. I guess, when it comes down to it, I am terrified of disappointing people. I am terrified that a new principal will come in and be the worst. I am terrified I don't have the skills to do this. I am just scared. Change is hard. I wish her the very best. But I selfishly wish she would stay. I need her. Our school needs her. Can we continue this positive energy without her? Only time will tell.

Dance Class

Finally I decided to go. What was it that led me to this decision? I am not really sure, but I think it is as simple as feeling like I finally had "the time" to go. During the school year, I am so bogged down with work and exhausted, that I rarely go out during the week, and as I have gotten older, my weekend ventures have become less and less. This week is the first week off from school, and I decided I better give this PulsePDX place a try.

A dear friend has raved about this place for months, stating that it's the best, and it is so much fun, etc. I had my doubts, obviously, since it took me like a year to decide to check it out. The website is very flashy and cool looking - both attributes I do not have. I expressed my nerves to him, but he assured me I would be fine.

In classic "me" form, I started to get a headache about an hour and a half before class was supposed to start. "Perfect", I thought, "I don't have to go now!" But there was a slightly stronger voice that said, "No, you're going." Fine. I swallowed 3 advils and went on my way.

I pulled up and parked, my heart racing and I observed several beautiful women walking into class. Their tiny little asses perkily bouncing as they entered the building. Shit. More breathing, texted with my sister about what I was going to do, and how I hated being the fat kid in class. Breathe. Let me assure you, big women want to work out, but, at least in my experience, feel so out of place, that running and hiding is far easier. I felt the urge to run, but then I saw a few more people enter, and I just had to give it a go.

The greeting at the door was friendly and felt very genuine and welcoming. I was just so nervous. The dance room was cold, uncomfortable, but I knew it would warm up, so I tried to enjoy it. I watched the instructor close the curtains, which made the room really dark. The disco ball turning, club-like lighting, no mirrors. Dark & no mirrors, this made the space feel very safe. The music (being provided by a live DJ, by the way) started playing and we were on our way.

After a couple songs, I grabbed my water and checked the time, dammit, only 15 minutes in! How was I ever going to make it?! I felt kind of panicked, but continued trying my best to follow the steps. I was getting into it. I have taken Zumba before, and hated it, so the fact that I was enjoying this is note worthy.  Then, however, I hit a wall. The pace was picking up, the moves were getting trickier, I think we were about halfway through. I could feel myself getting more and more frustrated. I kind of stopped and just walked in place, thoughts racing through my mind: "I knew this was going to suck!" "You're going to be fat forever!" "You can't do this!" over and over and over again. But, I remembered what I would tell the women in my dance studio - "Get the fuck out of your head!" Slowly, I breathed, I let the music and rhythm wash over me. Walking in place I felt my heart pumping in my chest, just like the base pumping up against the walls. I opened my eyes to a room full of glorious energy. My body can move!

I stopped thinking so much about the steps, I tried as best I could, and when I couldn't do the moves exactly, I just danced and enjoyed where I was. I could see smiling faces, bodies moving this way and that, we were all here together, sharing an experience.  The music began to slow slightly. We began to slow our pace, our arms and chest open. I had a very chakra like opening. Tears began to rise. I had an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

I was thankful for the darkness, as it allowed me to be in my body. I was thankful for the lack of mirrors, for when I see my body now, it brings me nothing but grief. I was thankful for the music being loud and pulsating to bring me back into my body and out of my head. I am thankful for giving myself this gift.

I can't wait to go back.

End of the School Year

This time, it was different. This time, I felt something deep in my heart. This time, they moved me to tears.

It all came flooding over me at about 2:55pm, 5 minutes before the bell was going to ring, signalling the end of another school year. 6 years, I have been doing this, and the previous 5 had never brought me to tears. Year 6 changed that. Year 6 was the year I finally felt like I knew what I was doing in the classroom. This was the year that I finally felt like a teacher.

Thinking back on what the classroom was like at the beginning of the year: kids that knew their letters, but not how to blend them into words. Kids that could write their name, but not their thoughts. Kids that had basic math skills ready to build their foundation of knowledge. I was scared. The year before, I was so absent. Absent in body and mind. I failed before. This time, we succeeded. And "we" is the word so needed in this business of teaching.

I came to realize, on the last day of school, that this was the first year that I taught and I wasn't married. I didn't have a partner at home. I was on my own this year. With that said, over these last 10 months, I have built the most special, rewarding, exciting, and loving relationships that I have ever had in my life. I feel honored and blessed to call so many of my colleagues friends. We can laugh at ourselves and each other without fear. We can critique one another and grow together without guilt or shame. These friendships have changed me and helped me grow professionally as well as personally.

I can confidently say, that I taught these children how to read. I gave them a gift that no one can take away. I gave them freedom. I gave them hope. Don't misunderstand me, it has taken a village of teachers, counselors, principals, and parents to do this. I do not get all the credit. But I do get to stand proud as one of the contributors of this success.

So, at 2:55pm, I looked over the sea of little faces. I told them I loved them. Many of my kids come from rough homes and backgrounds. I worry that many of them are not told they are loved nearly as often as they should. I wanted them to know that someone loves them, I love them. We don't often talk this way as teachers, but maybe we should. Maybe the world needs us to state our truth of love. I love these children. I want the very best for them. Most importantly, these kids need to hear and know that someone in this world loves them.

With that sentiment being poured out, I saw one of my little ones crying, and then I lost it. Tears flowing down my face, my heart breaking, knowing that after the bell rings, things would never be the same. Sure, they will say "Hi, Ms Amy!" to me in the hallway, or smile and wave, but it will never ever be the same. They will have a new "Best Teacher Ever", and I will receive a new classroom to love. I savored their spirits, we hugged and cried together. And with that, I let them go.

This year, I became a teacher.

Mother's Day 2013

This last year was different. This year, I saw my Mom in a way I had never seen her before. I finally saw her as a totally separate being from myself. Seeing her life at the moment of my Grandfather's death, is one of the biggest "growing up" moments I have experienced.

Of course, our Mother's will forever be a part of us. We shared their bodies for a time, and when we finally emerged into this world, we maintain a part of them inside us. What does that all mean? I am still unsure. But this past December, I think I learned something.

My Mom had parents, obviously, but I never really saw that. Seeing my Mom care for my Grampa, showed me how deep familial connection is. Family. As she sat at his bedside, holding this old man, I saw her youth, I saw that despite our complicated relationships with each other, all that is put aside, to do what is necessary. I saw my Mom as a child, sitting with her Dad. I listened intensely to her words. I watched them closely. I saw my Mother's faith as a Christian, something that I had always known about, but never really seen. I saw my Mom as a raw human. She showed me her humanness. And I am changed, because of it. I grew up a little, well, maybe a lot.

When one of us is hurting, she has taught me that nothing else matters. That is the biggest strength of my family. My mother has taught me this over and over again. My family continues to rise up for one another, in spite of all the other demands of the world, and it always works out - no one gets fired from their job, the house eventually gets clean, the groceries are eventually bought... She has shown me time and time again, that love conquers all, even death...

So on this Mother's Day, I love my Mom because she has shown me what it is like to be human. She has shown me how to let a parent go, how to let them die. I love my Mom because she gets passionate about things that matter to her. I love my Mom because she loves animals. I love my Mom because she gives me snacks and treats. I love my Mom because she let us eat in the car ~ a luxury she was not allowed. I love my Mom because she raises chickens. I love my Mom because she is relatively spontaneous. I love my Mom because she let me play dress up for far longer than I probably "should" have. I love my Mom for always coming to my play performances. I love my Mom because she always stood up for me (even when I likely didn't deserve it). I love my Mom because she gave me two wonderful and adorable little sisters. I love my Mom because she got divorced, and can relate to my pain.  I love my Mom for showing me how to be with the dying. I love my Mom because she has shown me life and death. I love my Mom, I'll love you forever, my baby you'll be.

What Makes a Woman

What makes a woman?
Her hatred of her body, no matter the size?
The way she looks at herself with disdain?
She runs her hands over her skin, and feel this sinking ick feeling.
No matter the size, she still should lose some weight.

What makes a woman?
The products on her face?
The way she carefully creates a masterpiece every morning.
The burning of her hair for the perfect curl.
The tweezing, plucking, popping, blocking, shaving, waxing, unending work of it all.

What makes a woman?
Is it the sexual assault she has endured?
Knowing her screaming wasn't enough to stir the neighbors into helping her.
Knowing that even the words "sexual assault" covers up the reality of her rape.
The continual shame she carries when even thinking about men & sex. Every time.

What makes a woman?
Is it her ability to marry? Birth?
Keep a man, and settle down. Keep the perfect home. Cook the perfect meals.
Smile politely as he tells her he loves another.
Keep the betrayal inside.

What makes a woman?
The man that she will never have?
The way she yearns to be with him?
Is it the catching of his eye, maybe this time, will make him fall in love with her?
She knows she isn't good enough.

What makes a woman?
All these make this woman.
All these things break this woman.
All these things weigh on this woman, daily, every moment.
I am this woman.

Agressive Breed? More Like, Stupid People.

Today I was told I could not adopt a dog because she is an "aggressive breed". I met her at the Oregon Humane Society, where she has been since Christmas eve. Her description states that she has lived with cats and children, and I found out the only reason she was brought in was that the family couldn't afford her "medical" expenses, which were a simple flea/skin irritation. I met her, and she was hilarious and friendly. I was told that since she is a "power breed" they would have to verify that I could take her home. Sadly, I found out, my property has a policy against "aggressive breeds".

I will admit, I was once nervous about pit-bulls. Furthermore, I was nervous about any big dog. Nothing has ever happened to me, these are just big, strong, animals. However, over the past few years, I have met several pit-bulls, and have come to realize that they are really sweet and loving dogs.

It breaks my heart that these dogs are being discriminated against. The discrimination comes from a fear-powered media and a misinformed public.  Breed discrimination is linked to dog popularity, hence the more dogs of a certain breed are owned, the more incidents occur. Think about it, "In the 1970's Dobermans were very popular, hence a higher number of attacks by Dobermans in the '70's. Pit Bulls started rising in popularity in the 80's, Rottweiler;s in the the 90's" All these dogs have been thought to be "aggressive". But here is a surprising discovery I made today, google a breed of dog with "kill" or something similar, and you will find a story linked to that breed of dog.

Example (warning: these may be hard to read)
Golden Retriever
Labrador
Pomeranian


"A study performed by the American Veterinary Medical Association, the CDC, and the Humane Society of the United States, analyzed dog bite statistics from the last 20 years and found that the statistics don’t show that any breeds are inherently more dangerous than others."

People are the problem here. If you spay/neuter, train, love, and exercise your animal, you'll have a happy loving and loyal companion. Sure, accidents and tragic things will happen in life, however, linking these tragic events to a specific breed of animal is not only cruel, but wrong. Please, if you are still afraid of pit-bulls, read a bit about how they are loving and loyal. Find a friend with one and go play. I hope your heart will be changed. I am super bummed that I didn't get to take a home a new friend today, but hopefully I can start being a small voice of change.

Fulfilled and Unfulfilled

I had a realization today that I am becoming more and more fulfilled with my career. Two years ago, I never would have thought I'd have that feeling! But, here I am, really really happy at work! I adore the people I work with. They are smart, savvy, respectful, and overall loving people. They are nice to me, they think my ideas are good, they think I am funny. I find that I am now my happiest while I am at work.

While this is not the worst thing in the world, I mean, most people, I assume, would like to have a job they love and work with people they adore. So, I am not complaining about all that. I am however, noticing that I really am, only happy, when I am at my job. I am, truly grateful for this fact, but I just want more. Is it wrong to want more?

I noticed tonight, as I pulled into my driveway, that I started to cry. I feel super sad and bummed out. All my colleagues are busy tonight... with their family, friends, lovers, etc... So I sit at home, night after night, alone, and am extremely sad.

I am so far off balance, which for a Libra, is a HUGE deal. My only real piece of identity now is my job. I am so disconnected from love, sex, activities, hobbies, anything. All I do is work. Work, home, cry, repeat.

This sucks. This is depression.

Children Remind Me of Our Humanity

As a teacher, I see all kind of behavior from children. They hit, they scream, they cry, and they can sometimes be generally awful creatures. Today, however, students in my class, reminded me that we can be so wonderful and kind.

I have a student who is fairly intellectually challenged. Today, he was crying on the playground. This kiddo had only cried one other time, and when he cries, my world stops. I mean, he is so happy all of the time! So it is very unusual to see him sad. I asked him what was wrong. He very timidly stated that his feelings got hurt. The innocence in his eyes, and the tears that streamed down his face showed that the pain he felt was real and sharp.

I took him in my arms, and felt his pain along with him. I told him that I was sorry that his feelings were hurt. I held him for a moment and then asked him if he wanted to play or stand with me. He chose to play. Not before telling me, "I need to wipe away my tears." I helped him dry his eyes with the sleeve of my shirt, and he then bumbled off.

As I watched him walk away, only moments later were little friends flocking over to check on him. One little guy put his arm around him, and I heard him say, "It's OK, let's go play." Another little girl went to him, waited until she got his eyes and looked purely into them and genuinely asked "Are you, OK?"These little people, all caring for this wounded soul. Truly, almost every child checked in with him, patted him on the back, gave him a hug, smiled at him. They took care of him.

My heart melted with adoration, pride, and warmth, for the simple sweetness of children. These little ones displayed such compassion and empathy that I rarely see in adults, and they did it without prompting, without pride, without wanting anything in return. They did it from a place of unbridled love.

We could all learn from them.

The Greatest Man

A few years ago, I remember pondering the men I trusted.  Sadly, the list wasn't very long, and as I grew older, the list only grew smaller. On December 26th, that list dwindled even more.

My Grandfather was at the top of that list. I always felt safe with him. He would never do anything to put me, my sisters, my Mother, or my Grandmother in harms way. My Grampa was not a wealthy man, but I understand now, that we were all his treasures.

I called upon my Grampa several times in my young teenage life for a ride, or to take me to Les Schwab for tire repair. He always told me to get gas when the gauge was at a 1/4 tank, a habit that I have always followed. I would take Gramma shopping, and he would always tell us to "hold on to your purse!" Upon returning, he would make the same comment, "What'd you do!? Buy out the whole store?!" He'd look at what we'd gotten with a grin on his face, simply happy that we were happy.

I fear that the list of trustworthy men is also short for many girls and women. I am so proud to say that my Grandfather was the greatest man I have ever known. I miss him so much. I keep trying to hear his voice in my head. I want him to pat me on the back, and get sheepish when I would tell him "I love you". He'd just say, "Oh, yeah, I s'pose" He did say it back to me, at the hospital, I think he knew he needed to. We all needed to.

I miss Grampa. He made the top of my list, and it breaks my heart, that instead of the list growing, it simply get smaller with time. But I am blessed to have had him for a time.

Growing Up

Have you ever been present when someone takes their last breath? I have. Twice. This most recent time, it was different. My Grandfather, Keith, departed from this world on December 26th, 2012.

The events leading up to this are not as important as the approximate hour or so before that eventually brought me to his bedside that afternoon. That morning was spent with my Grandmother. During this visit, she had expressed hope that he would simply "go in his sleep".  At about 1 o'clock, I had a strong sensation to go and visit Grampa. Upon departing, she asked me to tell Grampa, "Hi".  I got in the car, and called my Mom. Immediately, I knew that it was time. I told her to relay Gramma's message.

I arrived in the hospital room at about 1:25pm. "It is time for Grampa to die," was my thought. My sister, Kimberly, and Mom we at either side of Grampa. I sat removed for a few minutes, simply taking in the energy of the room, along with the emotions of those present. I was confused and calm at the same time.  I first saw my sister, with tears running down her face, just sitting, holding one of Grampa's hands. The presence of my Mother, however, is what struck me.  She was sitting on his right side, holding his hand and looking into his eyes. I moved in next to her and wrapped my arm around her, and no longer could fight back the tears that were pooling up behind that dams of my eyes.

The sound of my Grampa's labored breathing broke my heart. It was the most horrific sound that I have ever heard in my life, and to know that nothing could be done, made it all the more wretched. Things happen during the death process that do not need to be written here, but my sister and I, without words, went straight to work, giving him as much dignity as we could. It was a task, that only strong souls could handle, and I am proud of my sister, and myself for that matter.  Then my Mom started to speak. She could have been speaking the whole time, but the energy in the room was vibrating and only to be drowned out by the sound of her words.

My Grampa's eyes were fixed upwards for the most part, until she started to tell him it was time to go. My hand now wrapped his and hers. Mom's words, "Dad, it's OK. You can let go. We are here. Mom will be OK." He fought it for a moment, but then his breathing became more gentle, far less laborious. His body relaxed a bit. She continued talking to him, with a tone that seemed to come from a Holy place, one that I had never heard from anyone before. She spoke with gentle authority "Dad, come on, it's time to go Home. Let go, Dad. It's alright... let go..." His eyes teared up... my Mom wiped them away... And with that, he was gone...

Tears poured out, as I stood slowly, my hand giving him Christ's blessing on his forehead, and closed his eyes. I then began to pray The Lord's Prayer over him... my Mom and sister joined in... forever and ever... Amen. 

I sat down, overcome with grief. "That was my Dad," my Mom said, as she pointed to his now lifeless body. She wept over him. I was slammed by intense rage. It was scaring me how angry I was. I kept thinking I would do anything to make my Mom not be sad. Then I thought about my Gramma, how unfair it was going to be that she would suffer with the pain that grief brings. My fingers dug into my flesh to distract my brain from screaming. Nurses, and now more family, and noise that had disrupted this sacred and now Holy ground.

This rage continues to flow through me. It has lessened some, but there are times I feel like I am going to explode from the depths of my stomach.

I was told today, that it is an honor to be present at someones death. I had forgotten that I have always believed this to be true. I have also come to realize that I see my Mom is a new light. She is a woman that I truly respect, love, and cherish. She showed me how to say goodbye, how to let go, and ultimately, how to die. I am still learning from this experience, but it has left me changed, and far more grown-up.