Tag: life lessons

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“And”

It often seems that “or” is the preferred conjunction. It is “A” or “B”? Are you happy -or- sad? Do you want this -or- that? But, “or” draws a line. It divides. It claims sides. It is black and white.

But what this life has taught me, what fostering, mothering, nursing and living, has taught me, is that straight lines rarely occur in nature. In between two clearly defined groups, there is often a fuzzy divide. And shades of gray most commonly compose reality, instead of absolutes.

I believe we’ve far overused “or” and perhaps should instead consider another, more powerful conjunction- “and”.

This past fall and winter, my family entered the transition of closing our foster license and entering a relationship of permanence with our foster children (now just our children). And as we walked (and continue to walk) that journey, I was struck by the level of grief and loss that I felt. The inability of my children to reunify with their biological parents felt like a failure- not our failure, not even a failure of the system… but a failure nonetheless. That grief, coupled with the grief of closing our foster license, when I wasn’t yet ready to be done, when there were still more children I wanted to help… weighed heavy on me.

And yet with that loss, there was simultaneously relief- relief that I no longer had to comply with the foster requirements- of home inspections, health and finance records, required education, court approved travel requests and paperwork, relief that we could simply raise these children on our own without the bureaucracy of the agency, relief that we wouldn’t have to say good-bye this time, relief that safety and security could be provided at our hands and that these children’s futures seemed more certain than ever.

As I toiled with this inner conflict, I held the tear-stained faces of children who too felt “and”. They wanted to stay -and- they wanted to go back. They wanted this new family- an older brother and sister, zoo of animals and new adventures -and- their small, quiet family of origin. They love that they came to us -and- they hate that they had to. They wanted to fix what wasn’t able to be fixed -and- they wanted stability. They wanted “out” of foster care, and “in”- because they wanted to hold onto hope and possibility.

Together, we are both happy -and- sad, washed with relief -and- burdened with longing.

But this clarity of “and” didn’t begin with this most recent chapter. Instead, my reflections have allowed me to see that it was there all along.

On their day of arrival, their timid smiles relayed happiness -and- uncertainty, sadness -and- hope.

In times of leisure and recollection, when we gently and casually recall their early days and the new things they had to learn- like what “Pjs” were and meal and bed times, they laugh, confused by how it was once new and delighted by how far they’ve come… and other times they feel embarrassed… but it’s usually a little bit of both.

Holidays and vacations are often triggers. Behavior is often its worst during the times we give the most. And acknowledging that behavior lead me to affirm to the conflicted child that I held in my arms- “You can love what we’re doing here -and- be sad that it wasn’t like this at home. You can celebrate this moment -and- wish that things were different.”

My therapist, who was appointed to me from the agency to hep me dissect the tremendous load that came with my children’s story, and heard me grapple with understanding their parents through two different viewpoints, shared these words – “Parents can love their children very much, going to great lengths to show their affection and offer protection… AND do tremendous harm.” Parents can love -and- hurt, want to provide -and- be unable.

To my children, as they unpack the complexity of it all- You can love someone and acknowledge all the many things they did well -and- hate some of the choices, conditions or circumstances.

As I mother 4 very different children-3 teens and 1 preteen, each with unique personalities and character, I can affirm that all of my children are wonderful people who carry great strengths AND they are learning. They fumble, misstep, and all have their challenges. The straight A student has as many areas of concern as the one who struggles just to pass, they’re just in different areas. The child who’s been labeled a “trouble-maker” is one of the most compassionate I know. The one who’s a gem in school, often gives me the most fits. The natural born leader is taking an untraditional path. The academic genius is learning basic executive functioning.

And the “and”s continue…

When people discover what I do for a living they often say “Oh, labor and delivery, you work in the happy place!” And yet I hold a dual role of both a staff/charge nurse and a bereavement nurse. I watch life both begin and end and absorb the wails of heartache and cheers of celebration. I’ve aided families who have held birthday parties, complete with cake, guests and decorations, for a baby that was yet to be born, because they knew they wouldn’t survive long post-delivery- a joyful -and- heartbreaking event. I’ve received a baby from the sorrowful yet relinquished arms of a mother who couldn’t provide and placed it into the ecstatic arms of the adoptive parents whose dreams were finally coming true. And it’s always an AND.

What I’d like to see less of in the world is less boxes, less labels, less assumptions, less “or”s and … more willingness to see and accept the complexities and intricacies in all of us… the “and”s.

I can be a great parent/nurse/partner -and- feel defeated, overwhelmed and fall short sometimes.

I can adore the life I’ve built -and- need a break.

One can feel discouraged by life’s circumstances -and- proud of things done well.

In each of us, resides both light and darkness, beauty and pain. We don’t have to, nor should we ever, ignore one over the other. They coexist, one alongside the other. I can see one’s powerful light, without ignoring their darkness. I can tend to one’s pain without losing sight of the power and beauty they still possess.

A gain can simultaneously be a loss.

Tears can be shed for both sadness and joy and the two emotions can oscillate so quickly it’s like a vibration and you no longer know which one is causing the let down.

As my children learn to navigate their new lives and the telling of their very personal stories, I hope that the people who are so privileged to know them in that way, hold space for their trauma and loss and the byproducts brought on from it- the anxiety, the insecurity, the compulsions and unusual coping skills… AND I hope they see them for all the wonder that they are and behold, their resiliency, their character, their humor, their intellect, their humanity.

And I hope each of us too, see and are seen, both for what we do well -and- where we struggle- for that is how we are both nurtured and aim for improvement. When together we see light alongside the dark, our focus can shift from a good vs evil, black vs white mentality to a focus on complete personhood, humility and humanity. When we stop comparing and dividing and feeling as though we have to prove ourselves, we promote a society that both allows fault and fragility -and- encourages its members to learn from one another and grow.

When we don’t have to pick whether we’re the creature that crawls on its belly or the magnificent one that flies… the caterpillar or the butterfly…. but instead acknowledge that in all of us, we are both, the sooner we can become.

When we can sit in the open and restful place of “and”, we can more quickly and more clearly see ourselves, in all of our beautiful complexity… and take in the very same from the world around us.

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Finding Beauty in the Storms

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When I was a small child, I spent a fair amount of time in my grandparents’ residence, especially during summers it seemed. There, I learned about gardening, and how to make “Mimi’s iced tea,” and the freedom of running through the sprinkler in your underwear on a hot day. We ate homemade popsicles and sour grapes and ran around with our cousins until we collapsed on the cool ceramic floor.

The days were relaxed and easy and full of sunshine.

But sometimes, as summer afternoons seem to produce, a storm would roll through. And as the skies would darken, we’d run into the house to take shelter. You’d think that as young as we were, we’d be frightened by the storm. But Mimi would express her gratitude that the flowers and the plants were getting “a nice drink of water”. And when the thunder and the lightening would begin, and a thunderous clap would shake the house, my grandmother would shout, “Home Run!”. Yelling as loud as the thunder itself, her exclamation never gave us the opportunity to fear the startle that the thunder clap produced. “The angels are playing baseball” she’d tell us- likely her monotheistic version of Zeus and his thunderbolts, to ease our tiny nerves. She’d even call out their names “Nice one Gabriel! Whooohooo Michael is up to bat!” We were too busy imagining a celestial ballgame via my Mimi, the sports announcer, to fear the storm that was passing overhead.

Maybe that’s where it started.

Or maybe it was my father, scooping us up in his arms and running us outside, to watch under the shelter of our tiny porch, the “light show” of purple and white lightening bolts ricocheting across the dark skies. “Ooh! Ah! Look at that one!”, he’d comment on the weather phenomenon as if it were a fireworks display.

“You don’t think it’s scary Daddy?” A natural angst ran through our youthful veins as we stood outside, just out of the elements, in a powerful storm. “I think it’s beautiful” he’d say. And under his protective arms, our anxieties turned to excitement as we searched the sky for the glorious electrical surprises.

Maybe that’s when I learned to find beauty in the storms.

 

Those are amongst some of my earliest memories, before I was even school-age.

I feel like we tend to hold a special place for our early-childhood memories. The ones we have before reason and intuition and the awareness of life’s challenges become blaringly apparent to us. Memories, like secrets, tucked away in a treasure box and kept for safe keeping before the storms of life start rolling in.

And lord knows, the storms would be many.

Poverty, addiction, abuse, illness, divorce and death…like hurricanes raging through my life…with them came damage. That damage took years to repair and brought with it, the reflexive action to board myself up and hide; like a shore-side resident battening down the hatches before the storm hits. Only, I hid emotionally, not physically and the boards were nailed to my heart, not my home. Despite my early childhood lessons, I had forgotten how to look for beauty. I learned to be both afraid and numb at the same time. Negativity disguised as “realistic expectations” invaded my every view of the world; and I came to expect tragedy everywhere.

Every life encounters storms, some more than others. But no one is immune. Heartache and hard work, misfortune and tragedy rain down on everyone sometimes, regardless of your background and life choices. It’s what you do when those storms come and what lessons you choose to take away with you, that begins to define your character.

 

It took me years to see the beauty in my storms.

The beauty in poverty that is the drive to work hard and learned resourcefulness.

The beauty in pain that is perspective and an understanding of both humanity’s tragic weakness and tremendous strength.

The beauty in broken promises that is the opportunity to mend and then grow.

The beauty in ends, which yield new beginnings.

 

Beating rains both tear-down fragile plants and soften hard grounds.

Floods, whilst destructive, yield fertile soil if you take the opportunity to plant seeds in it.

Dark skies cool the air and make us appreciate clear ones even more.

And after the storm, despite the damage and debris, there is always a quiet and a sense of new beginning as the birds and small creatures venture back out of their nests. And small children find puddles to jump in.

 

I remember the first time my children witnessed neighborhood kids running and screaming when a thunderstorm rolled in. They watched with puzzled expressions, the cartoon-like antics of the panic-stricken children collecting their toys and scrambling inside. And they asked me, “Why are they acting like that?”

“Because some people are afraid of storms.” I said. I explained how storms can bring strong winds and how lightening can hurt you, and that we must find a safe place and exercise caution. “Or, maybe it’s the loud thunder that they don’t like,” I said…

“But my grandmother and your Pops used to say …” and I picked them up and took them to the front window, to sit on my lap and shout “Home Run!” while we watched the “light show”.

As a girl, (and still now), I prayed that every day be a sunny day. Under blue skies and puffy white clouds, I rolled in the green grass, hunted for bugs and hidden treasures and soaked in the warmth of the sun’s great rays. My soul remains invigorated by the energy that a warm summer day produces. And it is calmed by its quiet nights when crickets and peepers lull me to sleep.

Never do I look to the skies and ask for a storm to come. Never would I choose dark clouds over cotton-ball-white ones or beating rain over clear skies.

But when the storms do roll in, because they inevitably, always will… I am grateful for a child-like grandmother and a brave and understanding father, who taught me to find beauty in the storms.

 

 

 

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The Accident

accident picIf you or someone you love has been hurt in an accident….

No it’s not a Saiontz And Kirk commercial … it’s a perspective you might not have considered. Or maybe you have … and you just need to hear it again. Here’s the story of My Accident…

I was sixteen years old with a learners’ permit. I was working a relatively new job at a restaurant and I was scheduled to close that night. During that time, the first year of my first “real” job, I was getting “hazed” (for lack of a better word) as the new girl. And the girl, or should I say, the completely grown and educated senior staff person who was closing with me that shift, was particularly cruel that night. She was doing absolutely everything she could to make my life and my job miserable as she and I tended to our closing duties. She was rude, made me do things twice and criticized my every move. And I was bound to follow her command because she was the well-respected senior staff and I didn’t know any better.

I had already confided in my parents about the ‘mean girl’ behavior that had been going on for quite some time now and had on several occasions, talked about quitting. But my father wouldn’t have such a thing.

“Don’t you dare let them win!” he said. “You keep going back and you do your best. You’re not going to let them drive you out. That’s what they want. You quitting means that they have won.”

So, by this night I had already made up my mind to push through and not be defeated. But it made me angry … really angry! I was done crying about it and now I was just pissed.

And by the time I clocked out and walked to the car where my mother waited in the passenger seat to allow me to drive home … I was furious.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked. “Why are you so angry?” Angry words spewed out of my mouth and in response to them came “You’re not going to talk to me that way”, “Knock it off”. In an effort to curb my anger, she made me more angry.

A back and forth banter between a teenage girl who had just been torn to shreds and a mother who couldn’t understand her ensued.

Eventually, it became, “Pull over the car, you’re not driving.”

But it was too late … I was too angry … I didn’t pull over.

It was raining and we were headed down a portion of road that had only one lane in each direction with a speed limit of 50 mph. Going the full 50, in the rain, fighting … before I knew it, I had lost control of my vehicle. I jerked the wheel, fish tailed and sailed into oncoming traffic, hitting a truck head-on. The combined impact of both vehicles led to a 100 mph impact. No one had a chance to brake.

I have no visual memory of the impact or the seconds leading up to it. I woke-up to by-standers prying my door open and my vehicle filled with smoke. It was hardly recognizable. Both air bags deployed and the dash was pushed into the car. My mother was beside me, incoherently moaning, and I could see fluids pouring onto the street. As the two men pulled me out onto my feet, my feet gave out. I didn’t realize at that time that I had jammed my feet into my legs from the high impact. I heard one of the men say, “Hurry…this car is going to blow.” And inside that car laid my mother, too hurt to be moved.

I cried out to the men, “This is my fault!” And a sweet, broken english, well-meaning voice said to me in my ear “Shhh … don’t incriminate yourself.” The men carried me to the guard rails where I sat in pain and watched the only view of the accident that I had caused. My mother was in too much pain for the men to carry her out and the truck doors were too mangled to open. Alone, I sat there and sobbed. I caused this accident. It was all my fault and tonight, I thought, someone might die because I let my anger get the best of me.

When the first responders came, I remember my mother wailing as they pulled her out of the vehicle and I asked a paramedic who was evaluating me if my Mom was going to die? She looked right into my eyes and very sincerely said, “I don’t know honey. But we’re going to get her help as fast as we can.” She then asked me what happened to my clothes. For the first time I looked down at myself and saw that my red work polo and khaki shorts had been shredded – from the seat belt? from the shearing force of a car slamming to a halt under 100mph impact? … who knows? Right then, all that I wanted to know was that everyone was going to be ok. I was the only one sitting outside of the vehicles and that wasn’t fair. I alone should be paying the price for my mistake … not these people … not my Mom.

The entire stretch of the road was shut-down. The ‘jaws of life’ were brought to the scene to open the truck from the top and to get its passengers out. My Mom was pushed on a stretcher all the way down the street to a helicopter waiting in a near-by parking lot and then flown via medevac to Shock Trauma. I was later told that the street was lined with parked cars and people on their knees in prayer. They transported me via ambulance to a different trauma center to avoid the trauma teams receiving two critical patients at once. Because of the high impact of the accident, it was protocol to assume our injuries were life threatening.

Inside the ambulance with me, was a passenger from the truck that I had struck. When they closed the doors and the sound level dropped inside the ambulance, I said to the man, “I am so sorry sir.” “Yeah, well my leg is all cut up because of you” was his response. He didn’t need to accept my apology. I hurt him and the people he was with and that was on me. No one was there to tell me it would “be okay” or that it was “just a mistake”. I fucked up royally and I knew it.

Eventually my Dad and sister got the call and made it up to the hospital to see me. I was stable, miraculously, no major injuries other than my feet, a badly strained neck and back and some bumps and bruises. They soon left to go see my Mom who was expectedly in worse shape.

And then no one else came. The news apparently didn’t make it to the rest of my family that night. I sat in my hospital room until the following afternoon, alone. And I wondered if my Mom pulled through. I wondered if the other people survived too. I wondered if because of my moment of anger, I was responsible for killing someone. The burden was so heavy, I just wanted to die.

You see, I’m convinced, if you’re a normal human being … nothing is worse than unintentionally hurting someone else. Knowing that I was responsible for hurting people was the worst punishment I could have ever gotten. So when I was later found “not guilty” on all counts due to the fact that the police officer in court had not witnessed the accident and the other party did not show … I hadn’t “gotten off”. Fines and a delayed ability to get my license wouldn’t have mattered at that point. I had already paid the price. Hearing my mother wail as they pulled her out of the vehicle, being told that she might not survive, sitting in that hospital room wondering what had happened to everyone … praying and crying in the dark, alone … that was my price! That was living hell!

I later found out that everyone in the other car survived with minor injuries and were released from the hospital the next day. My Mom too survived – with a shattered wrist, cracked ribs and bruised lungs, but our relationship took way longer to heal than our wounds did. Because she, like so many who are hurt, wanted me to pay a price. What she couldn’t understand that day is what so many people can’t understand. Sometimes the natural consequences of an action are the most impactful. And life-long cycles of anger in a home can have devastating consequences.

What I did get from that day (aside from chronic back pain and weak ankles) … was a very serious respect for driving. It was my father who made me get back behind the wheel before fear paralyzed me from ever driving again. But never again would you find a reckless driver in my seat. Nor would you find me in the passenger seat with a reckless driver next to me. – Later in my teens I was known to tell any one of my friends to pull over if I thought someone’s driving was unsafe and I’d start walking. No racing or “donuts” in my youth. I had already used my “how to cheat death card”. There were no more second chances. Life was precious and I needed to feel safe again.

I learned the importance of controlling my anger and the gravity that not controlling it could cause. And I learned that no amount of bad examples set for me would excuse me for the consequences of my own actions. Just because I grew up in a home where anger was often uncontrolled, it didn’t excuse me from the harm that I myself had caused.

I learned that people don’t have to accept your apology and they don’t have to see your perspective … but you still owe them that apology and you still owe yourself a lesson.

I learned that although my father may have been right about not letting people “win” by pushing me out … I still let them get the best of me by allowing myself to get so angry. And in doing so, I almost paid the price with a person’s life. So I did lose.

I could have left the scene of the accident forever changed with anger and blame and a lack of personal responsibility. I also could have left the scene with paralyzing guilt and fear. Instead, with time and serious soul-searching … I gained respect, experience, and perspective. And I learned how to admit when I was wrong and to take responsibility.

As I started out saying … this isn’t a law firm commercial. If you’ve been hurt by someone’s negligence … by all means get your bills paid for and your life compensated …but while you heal your body and your home … heal your heart too. And consider for a moment that the negligent perpetrator may not be a monster after all … but a hurt little girl who with a split second jerk of the wheel will hold a lifetime of regret.

And if it was you who’s at fault … own it, pick it clean for lessons, put those lessons in your backpack and continue on your journey called “life”. Your pack may be little heavier now … but it’s filled with tools that may one day come in handy.

(follow-up note: Those “mean girls” at one point in my life or another all came back and apologized to me. I admire each of them for their maturity and they’ve grown to be lovely adults. And I’m really glad I didn’t quit that job … because I ended up meeting the love of my life there a few years later. Ain’t life funny that way!)

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The great lesson that we’re not teaching our daughters

daughterIt’s no secret that girls are dramatic. They can also be clicky and catty and down-right terrible to one another. I think the average parent knows this and does their best to teach their children to be kind and inclusive and to avoid gossip. At least I sure hope they do…. The world is far too cruel to not make this lesson a priority. I’d like to believe that we all want our children to grow up to be kind people and that as much as we don’t want our daughter to be the subject of bullying, nobody wants their daughter to be the mean girl either.

But there’s one practice that I have noticed is getting missed in this ‘life lessons’ section of parenting. I like to call it the “informant practice”. I’ve noticed it amongst young girls and grown-women alike. It’s a practice that happens when a person is friends with person “A” and they hear person “B” say something negative about person “A”. They think that in order to be a good friend to person “A”, they have to go back and tell them what person “B” said. It is a practice that is structured to appear like loyalty but is in actuality a betrayal.

You see, when someone is your friend, your job is to support them and protect them. It’s not to be their informant. When someone is your friend, you want only goodness for that person. To be honest, you really should want only goodness for everyone. When you take negative information back to a person who otherwise wouldn’t have known, two things happen. One, they get their feelings hurt because they are now aware of what negative things people say. And two, they now have negative feelings towards the person you told on. There’s no goodness in that. There’s no support or protection. You might as well have called that person the negative name yourself. You single-handedly allowed your friend to be hurt by words that they otherwise wouldn’t have heard and have pitted one person against another in an effort to strengthen your own friendship. That’s screwed up!

Lets explore an example: What happens when you tell your friend “Mary” that your classmate/acquaintance/coworker “Johnny” said that she was fat/a bitch/lazy/ unreliable? In your mind, you are being loyal to Mary. You want Mary to appreciate you for informing her of Johnny’s disrespect. You don’t want her to trust Johnny. While your friendship may be temporarily strengthened, Mary has now been affected by being called fat/lazy/a bitch etc. and her self-esteem will tell the story somewhere. In addition, Mary now carries negative feelings towards Johnny. So the friend that you were suppose to protect, who was feeling just fine earlier today, is now hurt and angry. Nothing good came of this except for some temporary, selfish boost that you received for being “the informant”.

A second practice that likes to piggy-back onto the “informant practice” is the “Don’t tell” practice. This involves sharing the negative information, as previously stated, and then saying … “but don’t tell them I told you.” Ahhhh…killer!!!! So now, you’ve handed me an emotional pile of shit that I didn’t have before and now I have no way to unload it or deal with it because you’ve obligated me to secrecy. Again …..super-screwed up!

It’s selfish. It’s immature. It’s painful. And I’ve seen it over and over again in elementary school , middle school, high school and in professional places of work. You may feel like this is a practice that your girls will grow-out-of or that it’s the harmless workings of the girl social structure. But I assure you, if we don’t teach them now, they will continue to do it as adults. It’s a practice that hurts people and offers no goodness and it needs to stop.

Now, if everyone at work is complaining that your friend is “always late”. -Or- All the kids at school are reporting that your friend has an annoying habit of giving people wet willies. You can certainly be a good friend and say “People are noticing that you’re late a lot -or- Hey, people don’t like it when you give them wet willies. But you don’t have to single-people-out or quote them in order to make your friend aware of a behavior that is undesirable.

In conclusion, we need to teach our girls, ourselves, that it’s not enough to just be kind. It’s not enough to avoid starting or spreading rumors or gossip. In order to be a good friend we need to protect our friends from the negativity that other people unleash. In order to be a good friend, we sometimes have to stomach what other people are saying … even if that lets that person get away with it. Because friendship and loyalty means sometimes taking a hit or swallowing hard so that your friend doesn’t have to.

Life is hard. Growing up is hard. Parenting is hard. We don’t need to make it any harder. If we teach our girls now, how to be a good friend, how to stop negativity, how to strengthen our interpersonal relationships from the start, then, we in turn make their lives happier and more productive and we make the world a better place.