Don't Take This Personally, But...

At Sophie's kindergarten parent-teacher conference, I heard that her only challenge in class was an unwillingness to tell the other students when she had a problem with them.  She could go to an adult to "tell on" a student, but had difficulty confronting the child directly.

When I openly laughed at this point in the conversation, her teacher asked if my daughter came by that honestly, and was I uncomfortable with conflict?  I admitted that she did and I was.  I confessed that I did not easily find my voice in confrontations, that I also struggled telling people directly when I have a problem with them.

Fast forward four years and a few life experiences, and I am still struggling.  Although I have found my voice, although I do not shy away from confrontation, I really really still struggle for wisdom in conflict.  I struggle deciding how much to verbalize my feelings to someone who is frustrating me and how much to process internally and privately.

One of my favorite books is The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz.  It is an amazing book that helped put much of the noise inside my head in perspective.  His second agreement is "Don't Take Anything Personally."  The idea is that anything anyone else tells you, even if it is about you, even if they know and love you, is about them.  That is a very powerful idea to me...and a very freeing one.

People who are giving me compliments, people who are giving me advice, people who are giving me criticism...  Those people might think what they are telling me is all about me, when, according to Don Miguel Ruiz, each statement is all.about.them.  The truth is that no matter how clearly someone thinks they see me, they are looking through the filter of their own history, their own accomplishments, their own failures, their own joys, their own sorrows, their own fears, their own hopes, their own Life.  

What I understood today?  That is totally ok...  Because I do the same.

So, back to conflict...

In my perspective, conflict happens in an atmosphere of trust or an atmosphere of distrust.

Atmosphere of trust

Open, honest, respectful conflict is a gift.  When I have disagreements with people who love me, I learn something about myself and about my relationships.  I know that all the anger and fear coming up are all mine and not theirs.  I can see that the uncomfortable soul opening process is just the lesson I need breaking free from the walls of my ego.  And those who love me give me space to handle that privately.  In the end, all we have left are the lesson and the love, and the rest we can let go.  The second agreement is easy to uphold because we both trust each other.

Atmosphere of distrust

And sometimes I have conflict with people who don't trust me - people who are sometimes disrespectful, unkind, and have unacceptable behavior.  These people do not trust my perspective and I do not trust theirs.

This is where I struggle the most inside myself.  I might see unacceptable behavior...but am I seeing clearly?  I am hearing a lack of respect, but is there some overlay keeping me from understanding the other person's point of view?  I might even feel attacked, but is it possible I am just unhappy with how they are phrasing their disagreement?  

Even if I do see the situation clearly, is this a battle I should choose?  If I truly see unacceptable behavior, when is it appropriate to demand better and when should I walk away? Where is the wisdom inside me to make that decision?  Is that wisdom always going to be hidden inside my sticky ego?

Again and again, I feel like I circle the same question here.  

Where is the balance?  How do I live what I know?  

What does a wise woman look like when she feels disrespected?  

How will I know when "doing the right thing" has veered into pompous self-righteous territory?

How can I balance the Toltec wisdom of the second agreement with the refusal to accept someone else's crap?  

I don't see that chapter...  :)

Tell me if you find it.

S.S.S.S. - In the classroom

In an earlier blog post, I talked about my opinion of all advice:

 S.S.S.S. - Some Things that work for Some People Some of the Time and Some Reasons why.

I love being a teacher.  I truly cannot imagine work that would make me happier or more fulfilled.
The blessing and challenge about my job is that, when I am in the classroom, I am on my own.  I have the freedom and responsibility to create the best possible learning environment for my students.  

I still have moments where I stare at my desk five minutes before class searching for that key - phrase, activity, worksheet, graph - that will unlock the students' understanding of this particular concept.  

(I should probably mention here that I have been teaching for 15 years.)

Tenure-track teachers are now required to write a teaching philosophy at my college.  I have never been required to do that, and I am quite intimidated at the thought.  

Teaching philosophy?  

The smart-aleck Kentucky girl in me quips "How about...Learn'em real good?!?"

A quick Google search leads me to several sites that talk about addressing the needs of my students and department...which sounds really good.  BUT...don't those needs change?  From class to class?  From year to year?  From student to student?  I just cannot fathom one philosophy statement that would serve for me in all situations.

I don't know if I can articulate everything I want to accomplish inside my classroom throughout every semester, every class, for every student.  Maybe that comes from not really being able to articulate what I feel my role always is.

Am I the "guide on the side"?  Am I an academic personal trainer?  Am I a grader, tutor, cheerleader, counselor, bureaucrat, really good talker?  In any given semester, I feel that I match all of those descriptions at one time or another.  Which one is the main one?  What should I be reaching for most of the time?  I just don't know.

Sometimes I feel that lecturing is best (there, I said it).  Sometimes I feel that hands on discovery works well.  Sometimes I feel that all they need is to try these problems next to another student and talk them out.  Sometimes a rallying speech around "you can do it!" works wonders.  Sometimes a pleading "For goodness sake, please think!" gets us through a rough patch.

The real difficulty is that to do my job well (I think), I have to make everyone uncomfortable.  My students need to struggle a bit to hone a skill for their academic toolbelts.  I need to stretch my comfort zone to keep from sounding stale.  The college needs to offer professional and technical support, which requires money, time and space (which we don't always have).

It helps to talk to my fellow teachers...all of the different viewpoints of what exactly we should be doing in there are SO very interesting and very diverse.  The conversations highlight that teaching is a very personal activity for all of us.  We all have our own visions (SSSS).  And those ideas can change and evolve as we get more experience.

A teaching philosophy whose themes are "learn'em real good" and "make everyone uncomfortable" might not get published in a journal, or be well-accepted by my dean, but it is all I have got right now.

If I were better at writing maybe I could make it sound better?  ;)

Words and Phrases That Hurt, part I

I was raised to treasure the idea of free speech.  My mother was a product of the 60s, and I am most certainly a product of my mother.  She detested the idea of banning a book, no matter how disturbing.  The rule in our family was that I could read any book in the house, as long as I discussed it with her.

(As an aside:  When I was nine I asked her what the word irony meant.  Normally, she would have made me look it up in the dictionary.  This time, she went to the shelf to get a book, and insisted I read A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift.) J

I write all of this as an introduction because I want you to understand that my intention is not to ban words or dictate feelings.  I merely want to open up a conversation about how the word retarded makes me feel.

My son is six years old, and he has some fairly invisible disabilities.  After about 30 seconds of talking with him, however, anyone over the age of four could see that he is severely speech delayed.  I have every confidence that he is treated with kindness and respect by every child and adult at his school.  My concern is NOT about what names people call him to his face right now.

Many years ago, I forwarded an email with the word “retard” as a joke.  That was before I was a mother.  I was wrong.  A colleague gently tried to tell me I was wrong, and I could not hear her.  It was not a shining moment for me as a human being, and I am not proud of it.  Although this email was not directed toward a specific person; although I was not pointing and laughing at someone else, it was (and is) unkind to have that word in my vocabulary.

For those who do not have a developmentally delayed loved one, I think it is difficult to empathize with us.  It is difficult to understand how uncomfortable this word might make us.  It is easy to think (as I once thought) that this word does not inflict pain if it is not aimed toward a person. 

Lately, here are a couple of contexts that I have heard this word from thoughtful, caring people:

Fellow grocery shopper:  I was trying to finish that report, but my computer started acting retarded.
College student: Crap, I missed that negative sign.  I am so retarded!
It seems that some people feel that this word is ok as long as there are no names called at people.

They were NOT pointing at my son and laughing. 
They are NOT mean people. 
That word was NOT meant to hurt anyone.
BUT…

·        In that moment, that word cuts me emotionally.  It is a small cut, but it is a cut based on the knowledge that “retarded” is exactly what some people would objectively call my sweet, amazing boy.

·        In that moment, I recognize that the word “retarded” is not dead.  Every time I see how easily someone uses it in everyday language, I fear for the day that he will face children in a schoolyard who easily aim it at him.

·        In that moment, I am hit again with the realization that some people will think my child is less than because he has challenges.  I face again that most people think “retarded” is a thing to be feared and avoided. 

·        For some, it represents things not working or mistakes in thinking.  It represents viewing of Life as a crazy race in which my kiddo cannot keep up.

Again, it is not my intention to police words.  I am not offended when people use it in my presence. 

But it hurts a little…every time. 

Have I Told You Lately That I LOVE You?

Have I told you that I am grateful for you?  
Have I told you that I am so appreciative of you in my Life?
Have I told you that I am not taking my Life for granted?

If so, you are not alone.
I say that often.
To many people that are awesome.  
(Seriously, you didn't think it was just you, right?)

Hello.  My name is LizzieC, and I am addicted to gratitude...  

These are authentic feelings.
I am grateful for my friends and family; I am appreciative for my blessings; I am happy to experience every blessed moment on this crazy Journey.

But today I peeled back the layers of joy and gratitude and found an major infestation of fear.  I think that my attempts at "gratitude and loving of Life" have had a mildly manic quality to them these past few weeks.  As my days have gotten calmer, my head clearer, and my heart more healed, I have tried to rejoin the living.

I have consistently told everyone how much I love them (just in case).
I have been consciously present in as many moments as possible (you never know).
I have expressed my deep gratitude for every blessed thing
(I'm grateful...  really...  Get it?  All is good...  I'm fine...  I'm handling it...)

The reality is that "living" looks different after a tragedy.  Always.  I will not be the same person I was before John died.  Ever.  That is not necessarily bad; it is just uncomfortable.

And every now and then, the sum of all my losses catches up with me.  

To be this age and have experienced the death of all grandparents, both parents, aunts and uncles, and a brother, sometimes makes me feel a little lonely... and scared.
The cumulative effect of all these people that I love dead sometimes takes its emotional and psychological toll.

I have spent the last few months working hard at being grateful.
I am scared to stop being grateful for one moment, or else everyone I love will disappear.
Superstitiously, I hope if the Universe sees how appreciative I am for these people, they won't be the ones to disappear.

When the memories of those I have lost wash over me, it comes with the realization that I have so many more to lose.  

That realization becomes fear - a cowering beast inside me that is silently, unconsciously begging God to not smote this one.

I need to figure out how to live beside that fear.  There will always be loss.  Then, we begin again.  We love again.  We trust again.  We heal again.

"You can talk the talk, but can you walk the cake walk?"

Here is a confession...

I am most intimidated in a room full of moms.

I have felt this way since Sophie was a baby (ten years ago) and have never quite shaken it.
I consistently feel like a fraud when attending elementary school events.
I always have the notion that the other moms see me as inadequate.

I know...

...it is me.  
...it is not them.  
...they are not doing or saying anything that a rational person would see as judgmental.

These are my crazy issues - they are sticky and not easy to pin down  (working, being a mom, trying to balance, failing to balance well, having a special needs child, not accepting help graciously, and so on, take your pick...).  

I have gads of issues and consider them fodder for years of blogging.  

The important aspect to me is how I deal with this challenge.  I want to be good.  I want to do good.  I want to serve the school and these fabulous children and their wonderful families.  So, I keep trying.  I keep going.  (I keep being very uncomfortable.)

Here is what I don't know...  

How long and far should I take the discomfort?  How much can I contribute when I keep sending out emotional pricklies in my aura?  Should I just accept that my best contribution is to send the cookies/check/napkins/M&Ms and stay away?  Do other moms feel this way?  How can I hide my feelings better until I get past these issues?

Again, I my struggle is with the practicality of living my beliefs.

(Subtitled)  How do I model for my kiddos acceptance of who I am, while also modeling willingness to be uncomfortable for emotional growth?

In other words,
How hard is too hard?  How uncomfortable is too uncomfortable?

This is an answer I have to find for myself.  And I will...probably the day Anthony graduates. sigh.

Nervous level severe (red)

Monday afternoon found us in a strange place in a room full of strangers talking loud and fast.
Here we are three days later, and Anthony's anxiety has been raised to nervous level severe (red).
This is a small glimpse into a few moments of what that looks like at our house:


I walk into the school to get the kids.

Anthony (the first thing he says to me): Jeremy's eyes are brown.

I changed the name of his classmate.  

Eye color is one of Anthony's obsessions right now.

Me: Mmm-hmmm... 


Anthony (whining): Are Jeremy's eyes is brown?

Actually, his speech has improved significantly this year.  

He has come far.

Me: Tell what you know, Anthony.  Ask what you don't  know.  Whining is inappropriate.


Anthony (whining): Monty is whining, Mommy...  He is unappropriate!!!

 Monty is our cat.  

He is not in the van with us.

I am secretly gleeful Anthony used "un" to mean "not".

Me: ...

Anthony (trying another tactical move): What's tomorrow's lunchfortodayis?

Anthony still has some echolalia.  

This means he sometimes has trouble separating a phrase into its separate word components.  

He will use it as one "word" without really understanding the meaning.

We  are still in the van.  

Surprisingly, I do not have the school lunch menu memorized.

Me: I don't know, Anthy.  We are almost home.  I will help you find out then.

Anthony (not liking my answer): lunchfortodayis.............?

This is where I get payback for years of dropping the end of sentences as a ploy to get him to talk.

Sophie (under her breath): Just make something up.

I am not proud to admit that I often do just this when Anthony is at nervous level elevated (yellow) and  above.  

For some reason, me saying that I don't know generally drives him over the edge into screaming territory.

We pull into the driveway.  

At this point every day, we have a pretty complicated daily routine leaving the van.  

On a nervous level low (green) day, Anthony...

1) unbuckles as soon as we drive onto the driveway and stands beside my seat

2) puts his hand over mine to put the van in park

3) turns off the radio, cruise control, heat, in that order.  God have mercy on your soul if one of those is already turned off

4) puts away my sunglasses in the flip-down holder

5) puts his hand over mine to turn the key and take it out of the ignition

6) unlocks all doors

On a nervous level high (orange) and above day like today, he does this entire process with one hand on my face.

Today, during this benediction, we have a few more interchanges about 

people's eye colors 

possible lunchfortodayis menu combinations 

Monty whining

Just to make sure I understand his emotional state, he holds both of my cheeks and insists "GN*!"

*GN is a throat sound that Anthony uses as a "word" when he needs to express the inexpressible (comparable to "smurf").

A few minutes later Anthony and I come in the door.  I am carrying the mail, my purse, two grocery bags, both backpacks and...(yup)...Anthony.  Sophie is already in her room, and I am pretty jealous of her at this second.

Anthony gets down (after one more face touch) and runs from window to window singing a song that starts with "Mommy, watch this!" (x 3) and morphs into random bits of recognizable tunes which all have the words replaced with "GN".

A few minutes later.

Anthony (frantic): MOMMY! Where did you go!?!?

Me: I am in the bathroom, Anthony.

Anthony (standing 1 mm away from the bathroom door): Are you pooping?
Me: I will be out very soon.

Anthony (reverse psychology): I don't want cereal for snack.
Me (careful not to use sarcasm): No. No cereal after school.

Anthony: Can you give me nowyourchoicesare?
Me (still in the bathroom): Good job using a question.  You can have nuts, raisins, or fruit before supper.

Anthony: or..........
Me (washing my hands): Those are your choices.

Anthony: or..........ice.......

Anthony: or..........ice crrrrrr......

Me (sternly): Those are your choices.

Anthony (yelling): OR......!?!?
Me: No yelling.  If you yell again, you will go to your room.  Not appropriate.

Sophie turns on the TV and sneezes at the same time in the other room.

Anthony (startled, starts yelling): ATTTCHOOOO!  I sneezed!  Say "blushyoo", Mommy!
Me: OK.  Go to your room to calm down.

Anthony (as I am firmly marching him upstairs): Did I sneeze, Mommy?
Sophie (snaps and starts screaming as we walk past her): NO! NO, you DIDN'T!  I SNEEZED!  ME!!!  NOT you!!!
Me: OK.  Both of you.  Upstairs.  Now.  Calm down.


They are both yelling at me all the way to their rooms.  
Anthy's opinions are mainly GN-related, and Sophie gives a Shakespearean-worthy monologue on the unfairness of her Life.  

While they are upstairs, I take the opportunity to search the house for chocolate/wine/earplugs/sedatives/cookies/muzzles.  
There are none of these items in my cabinets...the cabinets I can reach anyway.

A few minutes later.

Anthony (yelling from the top of the stairs): I am calm now, Mommy!
Me: OK.  Come downstairs.  Speak nicely to me.

Anthony (sweetly): I don't want to play MarioKart.
Me (wishing I had hidden the Nintendo DS): You can play while I cook.  Calm words.  Walk away when you are mad.

Anthony (plays video game; grinds teeth at every curve.  The "You Lost" music is playing.): YAY!  I won, Mommy!  Mommy?  I won.  IwonMommy, IwonMommy.
Me (noncommittally): I am glad you are having fun playing

Anthony (crying hysterically): Did I win, Mommy?
Scene fades.



From that moment until bedtime, we saw:

• 26 more GNs
• 3 more trips to his bedroom
• 2 more complaints about the unfairness of Life
• 1 mostly Mom-sided conversation about how boring Life would be if "completely fair"
• 11 more face touchings
• 2.5 minutes of blessed quiet in the basement bathroom before they found me
• 5 eye color discussions
• many, many deep breaths
• 2 (infinitely healing) bedtime hugs, kisses, and I love you, Mommys

Birthday Wishes

Today is my 41st birthday.

I am too old to declare last year (or the coming year) to be the "best year ever!!!"  I know that every year will have joy and sadness, comfort and challenge.  My birthday wish is that I experience each year (day, hour, minute) without having to constantly judge it.

One of my few beliefs is that it is more important to develop who I want to be rather than worrying about a bucket list of stuff that I want to "do".  However, I am old enough now to recognize that "who I want to be" - that person - sometimes does the difficult and scary things.  My birthday wish is have the courage to do when I see that "doing" needs to be "done".

I am zen enough to know that every thing I need is inside me, but I have been around long enough to be awed at loving friends and family in my Life.  I am overwhelmed with tears of joy and gratitude when surrounded by the people who want to celebrate my birthday.  My birthday wish is to be the kind of person that deserves having these people I love so much in my Life.

This year I have had much joy, I have had grief, I have had fear.  My birthday wish is to transform those feelings into a heart more open and humble.

Every, every moment is a gift.  I am so thankful for everyone I love.  My birthday wish is to keep enjoying the ones in front of me, while honoring those who are not.