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.