choosing & claiming
September 8, 2013 § 2 Comments
Recently my thoughts have chased around a common theme, the words we use and our responsibility to ourselves and others to exercise integrity. It began just before one of my posts was selected for Freshly Pressed. Days before the happy surprise I mused to my husband, What if I were finally Pressed and the post was one I wouldn’t wish to be my introduction to a greater audience?
There’s a vulnerability in collecting thoughts, beliefs, uncertainties and worries in a public forum. We release pieces of ourselves for critic and interpretation by strangers and friends, alike. Of course this truth extends into every corner of our life, beyond the words we consciously choose to share in writing.
At the same time I was curiously contemplating the value of introductions to strangers in written language, I met my children’s educators and support staff for an introduction that called me to question how we identify self in the context of education. I mulled over my statements alongside each teacher’s sharing looking for reflections of possibility and lines in the sand, trying to map the year ahead in a dialogue of partnership by first identifying my role as my children’s advocate.
A series of otherwise inconsequential events seemed to clutter pockets of my day with distractions; peer interactions, social media, serendipitous exchanges in supermarkets and school yards. In each instance this theme of language, choosing our words and claiming ownership of our thoughts in writing, speech, and silence have been following me like a string of tin cans rattling noisily between business begging me to look behind me and forcing stillness.
I tend to believe that these little life nudges are born of a subconscious warning that calls our attention to a reflective state. Today I am nestling in, trying to find the message that has been following me between statements of self, asking me to evaluate my words and uncover a lesson I might otherwise be overlooking.
collective conscious
September 6, 2013 § 6 Comments
In the cramped corner of my social media news feed one person’s comment created a consciousness that informed a genuine moment of consideration for casual unkindness. An unflattering image immortalized on film, a flippant comment dressed in humor but cloaked in judgement; sticks and stones tossed harmfully into the company of strangers and friends.
It began with a photograph posted in jest. I had witnessed the image and allowed myself to find humor in the company of collective amusement. I shared the image with my husband, distractedly wondering at the appropriateness of its placement. There was an uncomfortable echo that seemed to amplify the silent laughter into something garish and shameful.
Having eavesdropped on a thread of thought among old friends and strangers, I dismissed myself of accountability and walked away from the questions and discomfort of the moment. A nagging uncertainty followed me.
In much the same way I stumbled across the unflattering image, I soon came across a comment I wished I had been brave enough to compose. A stranger identified the unkindness, making each silent witness look publicly at our collective response.
Today I am acknowledging my laughter and silence with a greater consciousness of passive unkindness, wishing I had spoken for the stranger as if they were a friend.
may be, maybe not
September 2, 2013 § 3 Comments
I may be wrong. Maybe not. Most of my greatest lessons came at the cost of my pride. Uncomfortable conversations and misguided intentions are usually tinged with emotions that color conflict with shades of self challenging me to see beyond the feelings cloaked in language.
I am less comfortable with conflict than I am my errors; my stomach in knots and heart in my throat I tend to retreat behind words studying a circumstance for clarity, trying to catch images of truth in a faceted experience reflecting prisms of personality.
Recently I stepped outside the comfort of contemplation into conflict. Reflecting on words spoken rather than written, I wonder at the error of insinuating over absorbing; interjecting in place of observing.
Still there are moments when speaking up for self or others mandates wading into discomfort. This past week I have attempted to speak through my emotions, words heavy with worry and pride. I have invited criticism and judgment for choices guided by little more than my gut.
My lesson has been one of humility. In each experience I may have been wrong, but I may be right. Time will speak to my choice, but I have come to understand it isn’t enough to think clearly, we must also endeavor to give voice to the certainties of self that inform others.
In much the same way I instruct my children to use their voice to identify their values, ideals, and boundaries, I, too, must be willing to speak up even at the cost of conflict and error.
to my son’s teachers
August 30, 2013 § Leave a comment
I sometimes wish I could gift you the experience of visiting our past, allowing you to shadow old experiences which have created challenges that accompany us into new relationships. I would show you the five-year old version of my son, teary eyed and determined, his hand beneath my own as we shaped each letter together during endless hours of homework. Conscious of his ability, I willed him to perform a volume of work that weighted his backpack with repetitious exercises in busy work and suffocated his evenings from learning.
I was determined then to prove to my son and his teachers that he was different, but not less than; capable rather than exceptional. In years to come I would look back on these elementary school evenings with remorse, seeing the slow diminishment of joy in the absence of a more natural exploration of his environment. The little boy who raced towards school room doors began retreating into independent interests for the satisfaction of learning. Books and ideas littered his silence, replacing questions. Where he once admired teachers for their wisdom he began to resent the restraints of rote exercises in recycled knowledge.
Notebooks and loose leaf pages riddled with ideas and images replaced listening. Restlessness for concepts long mastered between pages of science themed periodicals and volumes of reference books challenged the value of classroom tasks. The school day became a place of frustration and disconnect; unengaged with school work he was equally misplaced among peers. Here I failed as well.
Empty refrains of they don’t understand, be patient, things will get easier fell on deaf ears as my promises failed to come to fruition. Rarely did children understand. Instead I worked with therapists to prepare my son to learn the language of his peers’ behaviors, determined to nurture relationships that were unbalanced by ignorance. We learned to hold tightly to those we could trust and to guard ourselves against unkindness.
This little boy is no longer so little, but he carries the sadness and frustration of old disappointments among curiosity and hope into each new school day. Beneath his resistance to try is an eagerness to be inspired, his fear of unkindness lies just beneath his wish for friendship. He is waiting for reassurance that the space of his school day is safe to set aside his shield of disinterest and distraction. His loyalty and passion are promises based on trust, first earned but forever true. The young man before you, capable and exceptional, in spirit and in mind.
written word
August 28, 2013 § 11 Comments
To my daughter,
I keep returning to a recent memory, my thoughts snag on the image of your form bent over a note card. You were writing a letter of thanks, one hand balled tightly into a fist holding the stationary in place.
You do the same when you read.
Your body naturally contracts with the force of your concentration and I am reminded great strength rests in your small hands. I have often imagined a day might come when reading would flow through you with greater ease, instead it remains an exercise of will. Every page is a beautiful victory.
Thank you for modeling grace and determination, for allowing me to explore language more conscious of the treasure of literacy. Without you books were little more than the air I breathe, I slipped between words casually unaware. What came easily to me has more value for my experiences as your mother.
Of all my favorite storybook characters, you are my heroine.
Love, Mom
self
August 27, 2013 § 4 Comments
This space began as a written wish to share a simple moment of humor, growth, or grace with another soul. Initially I imagined sharing the stories of strangers who serendipitously came into my life leaving footprints on my path. Instead the entries evolved into a quiet celebration of an exceptionally, average experience. Days not unlike yesterday.
After saying goodbye to my children at their schoolhouse doorsteps, I wondered at how I might contextualize the uncertain emotions that accompany this familiar departure. There is a melancholy that fills the silence in my children’s absence, an awkward emptiness that echos off the walls that cradle the sounds of home. Alone I am more conscious of my identity without the easy markers of motherhood.
Lonely, I busied myself with nondescript errands; efficiently accomplishing tidy to-dos to unclutter the evening ahead for family time. This distracted drifting was interrupted when strangers stumbled upon my thoughts, creating an indulgent moment of self. While the freshly pressed post that created a unique introduction to an audience of strangers was tied to my identity as a wife and mother, the acknowledgment served as a timely recognition of a solitary effort.
Today I am marking this personal milestone with the same care my daughter nestled her school supplies in the sterile, uniform space of her classroom desk to assign value to an empty seat. Holding a moment close to weigh it in gratitude.
chance & choice
August 25, 2013 § 8 Comments
This week I was reminded of a valuable lesson: chance presents opportunities, choice empowers us to create change. One small act of faith accompanied by a series of intentional decisions have created an opportunity for our family to embrace uncertainty and for me to see myself more clearly.
I hesitated to share my last post, to speak of a new academic worry openly and to label an educator closed-minded. When I did, I wrote: I admire uncomfortable honesty. I write often of challenges to mark my children’s experiences and to center myself in greater self-awareness. In honoring our story I share difficult truths, this time I uncovered reflections of self of which I am not proud; my own uncomfortable truth.
My initial instinct in response to a brief, hurtful encounter with an educator was to shuffle my son’s schedule to avoid heartache and headaches. I wanted to shield him from unkindness or shortsightedness to create an atmosphere where discrimination wouldn’t clutter potential. Sometimes chance highlights choices to help us better see ourselves.
I was also hiding from the struggles I knew would shadow our school year. I labeled another but didn’t name my own shortsightedness. As the mother of a special needs child, when faced with the responsibility of advocating for my son and similarly challenged peers I chose an easier path. Chance humbled me with a difficult choice. I could leave my son in a classroom with a teacher that did not yet understand his needs or I could place him in the company of an unkind peer who had systematically bullied him for over a year.
Measuring experiences against uncertainty, flushing out potential from fears, weighing worries for the lesser of two harms I realized I could not so easily avoid the discomfort of an uncertain classroom. In both instances there is a threat of harm, an absence of control. The greater truth is we cannot so easily orchestrate our lives to avoid our fears.
If one choice hadn’t created new conflict I would have hidden from an opportunity, overlooking my son’s strengths and our abilities as a family to navigate a difficult experience. In focusing on protecting my child from harm, I almost overlooked his ability to inspire and inform. I expect this year will be riddled with challenges, more so for the uphill struggle, but the possibility that we can make a difference is encouraging. I am taking a chance and making a choice. I cannot shield my son from every unkindness, but I can have faith in his ability and my own to navigate difficult experiences with integrity.
introductions & expectations
August 23, 2013 § 8 Comments
For the past two years I have been fortunate enough to sit with my son among teachers and support staff in the quiet halls of his middle school just before the beginning of a new year. Prior to introductions my son is a name attached to a series of diagnoses and lengthy reports; in person he becomes the sum of his smile and I am the voice of his needs. I do this so that each member of my son’s team knows I am a committed partner in my son’s education and will advocate for classroom resources that enable greater success.
Beneath the informal introductions is a subtext: this average looking child has exceptional abilities and frustrating challenges, but he is capable academically. He will struggle to make eye contact during your lecture, but will retain your lesson almost word for word. He will fail to perform written exercises in traditional form, but verbalize coherent, complete answers as naturally as he breathes. He will act socially immature at times, because it is a foreign language he is largely fluent only in textbook application. No one is more aware of his differences than my son who lives in a body with a mind that is often overlooked because his needs are largely invisible, until they become inconvenient. His abilities often humbling us when we uncover his strengths.
This year, for the first time, an educator gave me pause. I could feel their displeasure as clearly as if it were a physical being absorbing the air from the room. Heavy walls stretched between us and while I measured the distance separating our perspectives for a path that might create shared expectations, I could not find common ground. For the first time I identified undertones of prejudice. Despite the tightness in my chest and lump in my throat, there was much to learn from listening. I set aside defensiveness and sadness to educate.
My son lives everyday with needs that make simple tasks overwhelming for the social undertones. I could easily place him in a modified academic setting, but I would be compromising his education and undermining him and his peers’ ability to navigate shared space. The behaviors that some might see as inconvenient to their day are not intentional acts of misbehavior, but invisible handicaps typical to his diagnoses. If my son’s legs were broken we would give him tools to aide his movement. If he could not speak or see, we would give him tools to perform alongside able-bodied peers. Patience is our greatest accommodation. I have never compromised my expectations, rather my son strives to meet a standard that is often higher for the effort it takes to balance his needs to perform among peers as an equal. My son faces unkindness and frustrations with determination. It is because of his abilities that I advocate for him, not his inabilities.
In truth, I admire uncomfortable honesty as a promise of possibility. We learn from one another in lessons that extend far beyond thoughtfully prepared classrooms. Each year I am wiser for the team of educators I partner with and I hope their lives are richer for the experiences we lend them. We begin with introductions and expectations to mark a new path.
inside out
August 17, 2013 § 2 Comments
Most days I wake to a small weight that invites sleep. Rather than hide from worries I nestle into a quiet routine, letting them settle in the silence. I acknowledge them over my cup of coffee, allowing them light and air, using the space of my morning to mark the recognizable pieces of possibility between each certain challenge. Like a slow-moving yoga posture, I open my heart to the day and then lean purposefully into consciousness.
As we near a new school year these worries speak in louder tones and my muscles are tender with the concentration in each intentional exercise in faith. My daughter’s enthusiasm rests against my son’s uncertainty, one child’s fears leaning into another’s hopes. I hold each conflicting emotion firmly, recognizing each child’s truth alongside my own and keeping them in the light where shadows cannot distort the measure of strength in our form.
We live inside, out; moving through our days wearing our hopes and fears in our smiles. Leaning into friendship and compassion, against fear and uncertainty, toward strength and possibility.
scratch
August 14, 2013 § 2 Comments
An expected goodbye offered a moment of hope this morning. A new school year waits just around the corner and the change I have come to anticipate has created reassurance in place of anxious anticipation.
This morning I received a lovely letter of goodbye from my son’s school aide. After months of shared struggles and success, he is moving on to a new experience. Where previously I might have taken comfort in a familiar face, I am happily more at ease with the unknown. Uncertainty feels familiar, not knowing holds both promise and potential. A new opportunity to grow.
We are starting from scratch and in doing so we set aside bad habits for new goals. Old mistakes will linger only in our memories and previous accomplishments will become irrelevant as we look forward, setting new expectations. The blank space of endless potential and the unmarred newness of this moment invites colorful dreams, hope in new forms.
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