moving to a new forum

Hey all...
    I have been notoriously bad about updating on here.

    I think it's because it was too personal, too real, too broad.

    I couldn't' always find the positive spin to the struggles I faced while trying to parent and school and struggled to find the time and motivation to write about it.

     So, I didn't.  I thought about it, and took notes for possible  blogs, but didn't follow through and eventually I made it all the way to the last step.  All I have left is writing the last chapter of my dissertation.  And, my life is moving in new and exciting and different directions and I would like to invite you to join me.

     I am moving to www.liveyourvalueseveryday.com a site in which I have challenged myself (and family) and several other families with whom we are friends to attempt to live our values for an entire year.  Feel free to follow our journey, to try to live your own values, or to share your stories with me on that forum.  I apologize to any of you whom I let down with my poor follow through on this venture.  My hope is that by having a targeted topic and others for whom I am accountable will help me keep this new venture on track.  I look forward to this new journey and I hope to see some of your there!  --Ashley

Shouldn't keep silent...so, WAKE UP!

In the light of the continued violence, and the coincidental (or is it?) fact that while given time to work on dissertation proposal stuff today, I can't get into my school's library website (you know, where I have all of my articles saved), I feel the need (and have an extended amount of time) to discuss the police violence.

It is a problem.  It has always been a problem and likely always will be without systemic change.  Power corrupts.  Regardless of who you are, how you are.  There is a lure in the power over other living things.  This is clear when my kids pull legs off of a bug "just to see what happens" or when I feel a sense of relief and mightiness when I finally shove our dog into his cage after 10 minutes of tussling.  I am not saying this is morally right or okay, but it is.  It is fact.  It is human nature.  And, it is nasty, troublesome, and worrisome.  And, it is costing lives and the stability of our most precarious communities.

It is also innate and, often, unnoticed by those who succumb to it.  Almost like the slippery slope we often discuss in ethical dilemmas--power is a slippery slope.  It can be used for so much good, but one misstep, one power/fear based response leads to the ease in making more of these responses.  This is true no matter what other factors are present.  It was true in the Stanford prison trials, it is true in wars, it is true in the dynamics between parents and children, correctional facilities, schools....the list goes on.  It is true in any power dynamic where one individual is implicitly more in power and in control.

Then we add culture and things get even messier!  Add a culture of "us" vs. "them" and that power differential becomes even clearer.  Add years of media in which cops are depicted as dirty, out to get the little guy, and untrustworthy assholes AND in which Blacks, particularly Black males are depicted as gang-bangers, thugs, noncompliant, shit starters that are loud and blatantly ignorant and unreasonable AND in which young men (White or Black--though the black ones are often also depicted as described above) are depicted as mouthy, disrespectful, drug abusers.  And the fact that this media is not incorrect in some, maybe even many cases, and that each culture (the police departments and the Black communities) are teaching their new recruits/their children to be aware of these unfortunate realities that may exist in interactions with another.

And we have this absolute mess.  We have police, who should be level-headed and calm, approaching cars containing Black men already making judgment calls about the kind of person they are pulling over.  There may be fear, there may be hatred, there may just be a well honed sense of othering as a "fact" of life, which if we are being honest may be the worst possible scenario--this imbedded othering that is not even slightly conscious.  We have Black men and women, and young men of all races, who see the police and are scared and/or angry.  Who immediately know they were pulled for demographic reasons.  Who have to attempt to assuage the officers by being overly polite.  Who can't be "too nice" because that is suspicious and who have to be aware of every single word, movement, and expression they make because anything can be taken as a sign of resistance, of refusal to give in to the inherent power of the police.

Are all police this?  Probably not.  Do all Black men/young men experience this?  Probably not.  Does it occur?  YES.  More than we know.  Social media has opened our collective eyes to this, but it is nothing new.  It's just more visible now.  And for those of you who say it happens to everyone--you're right it does.  However, there is no doubt it happens to Blacks in disproportionate numbers.  They are pulled over and involved in altercations with police at nearly twice the percentage of that which they represent in the population.

So, what do we do?  Before the nation erupts into an all out race war.  Because though race is a driving force in this issue, it is not the only one.  The racial differences provide fuel to the fire.  The othering provides all the opportunity to turn this into an "us" vs "them" issue...but it's deeper than that.  It is an abuse of power.  It is cultural responses to years of systemic abuses.  It has started with Black men, but it won't stop there...it never does.

We need to stop.  We need to reevaluate.  We need to examine the values, culture, and roles of the men and women in charge.  They are the ones with the power.  They are the ones who need to show change....they need to earn the respect of the citizens whom they protect--not through violence and power.  That doesn't work--at least not long term, as the shootings in Dallas suggest.  Fear based power is not viable for the long-term.  Go back to the basics.  Treat people with respect.  If you pull over someone and they are being an asshole, no need to be one back.  No need to climb on a public transportation bus to reprimand a teenager who smiled at you!  This is not how you gain the respect of the people you serve.  This is how you ensure another generation of cop haters and cop killers.  This suggestion won't make much of a difference right now, but it can make such a difference for the next generation.  Training programs for incoming cops, regular re-evaluations, scenario based practices, self-care and diversity programming, daily interactions with the community that are not power-based, town halls, empowerment of the community.  They all can make a difference.  This doesn't mean the communities have the right to be disrespectful or hateful, it doesn't mean cop-killing is justified.  It means things need to change, and those with the power need to do the changing first, because if they don't, the change initiated by the ones without the power are often, historically, violent and shattering.

What are your thoughts, reader?  How do you discuss this with/around your children, if you have any?  Do you teach your children to fear the police?  Do you teach them to fear you?  

Integrating Over Balancing

In the last post, I wrote about my difficulties in balancing my self as a mother and my self as a student.  The struggle I was experiencing in balancing, in fully living two different roles in my life, made me think of the literature surrounding identity development, particularly for minorities.  As one moves through identity development, they tend to hold on more strongly to one identity or way of being (such as an African American moving from holding on to the cultural norms of the majority and trying to pass, then, after experiencing microagressions or other negative race related experiences from the cultural majority they often fully embrace the minority identity and reject the majority.)  With additional self-reflection, awareness, and an environment that allows for this type of personal exploration and growth, the final stage of identity development is often some type of integration.  This is the individual's ability to live in the margin of their intersecting identities.   An African American is both of African descent (Black) and an American.  This means they experience both what it is to be Black and what it is to be expected to live within the norms of the majority (American culture).

While attempting to balance, I realize now that I was attempting to fully embrace one identity as a time, that of student or that of mother.  I tried so hard to keep the two separate.  Bringing them together felt vulnerable and weak.  I should have been able to seamlessly move amongst and between the two identities without either bleeding into the other but I couldn't.  No one could, at least not forever--even someone who has only known these two identities as existing together.   I, personally, have been doing this since the birth of my first child AND my first year of graduate school, entering into my 7th year!) Then, I was faced with a reality in which I could not choose one identity over the other.  I finally had that moment where they had to exist together.  That moment when I couldn't fulfill the role of student because of my role as parent.  I could not turn in an important assignment because sick kids (and a power outage of all things) made it impossible.  I had to accept the role my self as parent played in this late assignment when letting my professor know my assignment would be late.  AND....

IT WASN'T THE END OF THE WORLD.  It was OK for me to be a parent AND a student.  My faculty understood.  They didn't see me as weak or trying to make excuses.  They saw me for what I was--trying my best to be a good mom and a good student.  After this experience, I talked with my husband about this experience and I realized maybe my self as student and my self as parent have influenced one another in more positive ways than I had initially considered.

I would not be the child therapist I am without having my own experiences as a mother--rapport building is easier and I come with a great box of fun games and toys and a working knowledge of most cartoons.

I understand and can empathize with parents much more efficiently than I did prior to being a parent.  I get what it's like to be so frustrated with your children you want to shake them, to be at the end of your rope, to feel hopeless and helpless, afraid, and alone.  And, the parents can tell that I know this.

I am so much more forgiving of my children, my clients, and their parents.

I have a great grasp of lifespan development, wonderful behavior management techniques, and access to databases and resources if ever my children need additional supports.

I am a student parent at all times, in all ways.  The moment I started accepting that and integrating the roles I felt such a sense of relief.  It is okay for me to be both.  I don't have to give one up to lean into the other (as I would were I balancing) but, instead, I am able to lean into one, while pulling the other with me.  When I'm really focused on myself as student, my role as mother is still there, informing my knowledge, awareness, and skills building and utilization.  When I'm home with my kids and focused on them, my role as a student is still there informing my decisions in how I choose to interact with my children and how I reflect on my choices and plan for the future of our family.  I feel stronger.  I feel more effective.  And I feel like I can begin to forgive myself for not always being the best in one identity or the other, as long as I am being the best student parent I can.

That being said, I think it is important to also share this:

6 full years of trying to navigate competing identities and I already feel as if I have  barely escaped full mental breakdowns multiple times.  I can not imagine balancing marginalized identities for my entire life.  I recognize in this blog both my ignorance and my privilege as I work through and discuss my struggles in reconciling two very privileged identities (doctoral student and mother) and the realities of those who are attempting to integrate minority and less privileged identities within the context of mainstream culture. 

What experiences do you have in integrating roles/selves?  How have you managed to find a way to be more than one "self" at the same time?  Was it a more authentic feeling or a struggle? 

Balancing Act Is Not Quite the Leaning In I Had Hoped For

I know you've probably heard the saying that insanity is doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result.  This definition of insanity fully describes the continued attempts I've made to balance my many different roles in life over the past few years.  They are not often complementary and more often than not, compete with one another for my time, my attention, and my passion.  It is hard to feel complete in any role while you are also wearing other roles.  It's difficult to simultaneously serve as a devoted mother and a conscientious daughter, a determined student and a committed employee.  I'm sure many of you, if not all of you, have experienced similar role strain in your lives.  This is the concept from which the idea of balance in one's life arose.

Balance.  The ability to hold many different identities, ways of being, and responsibilities at the same time.  Some of us are naturally better at this than others.  Some of us have learned ways to cope with varying roles.  The problem arises when we are unwilling or unable to let one role drop in order to hold onto others.  This is my struggle.  This is parenting through a PhD.

I have come to the realization that balancing is not working for me.  I can't be the parent, the student, or the wife I want to be when I'm visualizing leaning into one role while simultaneously leaning out of others.  This type of life view and way of interacting with my varied roles has led to increased resentment and depression as I see missed opportunities and lost chances to connect.

Balance, for me, appears to be an illusion of greatness.  The idea that I can somehow be the best in each role by managing my time and energy well enough.  While that may be the case in most situations, missed deadlines, lonely children, and lacking peer relations in my life tell a different story.  Balance does not allow for leaning in to all roles--it prevents it--particularly when life throws curveballs.

What are your experiences?  Have you found a way to balance or is something still missing?  How have you found a way to manage all your different roles and responsibilities?

Catch Up

So...Good News!  I finished my first draft of my first chapter.  It's probably close to one of the crappiest pieces of academic work I have ever turned it...but, it's a start AND a start is better than nothing.  Plus that start took me 22 hours to complete--22 hours to write 15 pages...yep, less than one poorly written, crappily composed page per hour.  BUT, it is a full draft of the first chapter of my dissertation, and that is huge.  Some people never even get that far and they spend far more than 22 hours one it.  So, all in all, good news!

Also, another professor has agreed to adopt me for dissertation.  He stated it was because I won't "make him dig trenches".  I sure hope not, because that will mean this process is even more stressful than I am planning for.

Also, I am winding down my hours in psychological assessment, which is perfect considering the level of burnout I'm experiencing from report writing and vicarious trauma experiences. 

Let's hope I can continue to just barely make it for another year and through internship and I will have made it.  It feels weird to think I'm on the other side of halfway at this point.  I'm past half, getting closer to done and I'm not sure to dread it or welcome it.

I'm a Dissertation Orphan...and don't really care

So...for those of you who don't know--I am officially a doctoral candidate.  This means I have passed all my comprehensive exams of knowledge and have been deemed able to move forward to the dissertation process.

Exciting and terrifying at the same time.  This process is big.  Really big in my case, because as usual, I'm being an over achiever and hoping to complete a mixed methods project (crunching both number data and interview data).  One would hope to have support in navigating this process--the first big girl research adventure--but it hasn't really worked out that way.

My advisor and chair of my dissertation (the one who has supposed to help navigate) has received a job offer too good to give up and will be leaving this summer.

I should be upset and worried, I should be throwing a fit.  But, I can't seem to get myself that worked up about it.  Perhaps it's because I am not as far along in the proposal process (the first draft of my study in which I complete the review of prior studies and get down to the nuts and bolts of my study) or maybe it's that my program has lacked in support throughout so it's not that suprising.   I think the biggest part though is I don't have the energy to be concerned about it.  In fact, I've known for weeks now and I have yet to reach out to other professors to obtain a new dissertation chair.  I've been to caught up in the day to day, in the countless psychological assessment reports I'm required to write (each one takes 12-15 hours to complete), the classes I have to keep up, the four kids at home that I just can't even begin to think about my dissertation as a whole, much less care who's supposed to be supporting me with it.

My plan for this?  My last ditch effort to finish my doctoral program on time (bc if my proposal is not successfully defended in early Fall 2016, I will be unable to apply for the following years internship) is to ask my husband for a weekend at the end of April to write.  My goal is to have chapter one (of three) complete by the end of that weekend.  Is it possible?  yes.  Likely?  not really.   And as for no longer being an orphan?  Per the rules of the school, I need somebody.  So, I will set up meetings and try to beg someone to care...hopefully more than I do at this moment.

out from under my "no tough feelings" rock.

It has been nearly a year since I last wrote in this blog.

I would be stretching the truth if I said I haven't had time.  Time has been tight...really tight, actually, but not so tight that I could't take half an hour to write.

The truth is, I haven't wanted to.

I really, really wanted to keep up and keep you all up to date on everything.  To be encouraging and witty and grateful for every challenge I have faced and overcome.

But, I did not want to process those challenges and pull out that wittiness or gratefulness.  It felt like so. much. work!   I have been bottling and numbing tough emotions my entire life, shying from actually facing and processing difficult experiences.  The hecticness of this past year tied with the loss of my brother nearly two years ago has just compounded the desire to hide under a rock and let things pass me by.

I don't have a happy ending to this.  In fact, this short blog post is my way of sticking my head, just incrementally, out from under my "no tough feelings" rock.

So, hello world.  Hello readers.  If you found this you probably already know life raising kids, going to school, or both is awfully tough.  And scary.  All-encompassing and draining.  And, sometimes you just want to hide.  To quit for awhile.  To allow ignorant bliss to take over your worry and your knowledge of what's waiting for you in the following semester or when you open to door to a room n which your children have been playing quietly (together) for far too long.  What you may not know is that eventually....ever so slowly....you will be willing to venture back into it all.  To face the challenges head on without the fear and the hope for ignorance (well at least not as often.)  You will be willing to come out from under your rock...it may take hours or days...or, like me, a year or more.  And you may actually be stronger for it.  You may find you needed that time for self preservation and protection and that you can take more now than you thought possible before.  Hello again friends and I hope to see you again, the next time we both have the courage and strength to come out from under our "no tough feelings" rocks!

Toughest counseling session to date!

I don't often discuss the actual counseling side of my experiences in graduate school, mostly due to the privacy and ethical considerations. However, I am having a really tough time letting my most recent session go.

For those of you who don't know, I am completing a counseling psychology practicum in which I provide psychotherapy to children and their families. I work with children as young as 3 and as old as 18. One young client (6 years old) began to see me towards the start of the practicum placement (around late September, early August) and continued to see me every other week until this week, our last session together. You see, as a student, I have a finite amount of time I am allowed to stay at a site before moving on to the next level of training.

This is actually okay with me--I like knowing I will get a wide range of experiences and training. I actually even felt okay with terminating services with everyone and completing our good bye sessions over last week and this week. But this client, man did he change my mind about that. He entered the room with his mom and immediately asked if he would ever see me again. When gently told no, he began to cry and continued to cry through most of the session.

While talking with his mom about his progress and what she perceived as most helpful, the client wrote me this note:

"I love Mrs. P. so so so so so so much!  I love Mrs. P. so much. Bye!"

He asked me for my phone number, asked for a hug several times, and did not want to talk about what we had done so far in therapy "because your making me cry."

It was THE hardest session I have ever had.  Not in the typical ways, but in the I want to pick you up and make everything okay for the next several years way.  You know, the way I can't respond.  I did not want to lie to him and was/am aware of how lying could make the transition harder, as he would be holding out hope that I would show up.  Additionally, as much as I would absolutely love to check in with him and his family in the future, that is not very therapeutically helpful to hold on to them so tightly.  So, I have to just remind him to use his coping skills, let him know it's okay to be sad and I'm sad too, and model giving a proper good bye.

It sucked!

When have you done something that you know to this day was the right thing to do, yet, you found yourself grappling with the negative aftermath?  How did you manage it?

Me...A professional?

I just returned from a professional conference...not a big national one, but a great statewide (Colorado)effort to bridge the gap between a variety of different service providers (teachers, mental health counselors, the juvenile justice system, case workers, and academics) who work with children and adolescents. I had the unique opportunity to provide a 90 minute workshop to interested individuals in managing vicarious trauma--best defined (at least in my eyes) as the "cost of caring".

I was excited to have my proposal accepted...mostly because it gave me a reason to travel to Fort Collins, Colorado, but also because it allowed me the opportunity to engage in presenting a workshop on something I have come to be increasingly passionate about.

What I didn't really consider, until after the conference, was how this was yet another step I have take that leads me further down the road of becoming a "professional".

I was struck with so many feelings of inadequacy AFTER the presentation. "What gave me the right to give this talk?" "What did I really know?" "Could I really be effecting change on some grander level by sharing these ideas and interventions?" "Could this possibly lead to the consulting type of work I so desperately want to engage in post-degree?" "Could I engage in it pre-degree...or am I really already at THAT point? Am I already a professional to some degree?"

That idea is scary to me. The idea that I may actually already be able to bring something to the table. With this idea comes some level of responsibility for engaging in professional activities, for sharing and disseminating useful knowledge.

Immediately after having the above thoughts, I then laugh at and question myself. Who else feels this level of responsibility?

As you grow in whatever vocational field you chose, as you become a professional or an expert, what level of responsibility do you feel? Am I an overachiever--feeling a responsibility and need to act that may not necessarily be expected? Am I setting myself up for failure, or worse, putting myself in a position where I may be imparting knowledge in a non-helpful manner to others?

Have you felt this pull? This need to do something meaningful with your new found 'title' of "professional" or "expert"? If so, how did you reconcile the feeling? What did you do to meet your feeling of responsibility?

Shout out to Single Parents

This weekend was rough--and not in the emotionally wrenching, "we were driving home from my brother's funeral last Easter" way I had expected.

It was physically and mentally exhausting.  It all started Saturday afternoon when "Nannie" threw up in the car on the way to Target (for last minute Easter goodie shopping).  Then again at home, and again before bed.  This was followed by "LiLi" throwing up shortly after falling asleep.

After this point I laid out a number of towels on the playroom floor (MUCH easier to clean than carpet) and began to just switch out towels after each episode of throwing up--which seemed to be happening every 10-15 minutes.  Then crying was heard from upstairs and "Addie" had also thrown up--she was brought downstairs and "Frozen" was played multiple times.  The girls would fall asleep, wake up feeling crappy, cry and whine, puke, get cleaned up, be given a new towel, have their heads rubbed and get some snuggling then fall asleep again...giving me time to climb back into the pull out sofa bed and fall asleep.  For about three minutes before going through the process with one of the other girls.

I may have been able to handle that.  Hell, I may have asked for a gold star or a cookie--you know, mom of the year and all that.  But, then I started puking.  Yep.  And those of you who know me know how that lays me out.  Done.  Game over.  Mommy is no longer in the building--at least not in any helpful manner.

In swoops reluctant husband and very helpful mother in law--on Easter.  Husband very lovingly offered water and ginger ale, kindly suggested I sit outside and get fresh air, and allowed for many, many welcome hours of time in bed WITHOUT children.  Mother-in-law took children off of husbands hands so he wouldn't lose it attempting to protect my fragile sanity at that point.

Then I began to feel less puke-y and more migraine headache bursting my head-y, just in time for "Sax" to begin screaming--like back to I'm a cranky old man newborn screaming.  And I walked for two hours with him--because rocking or sitting and bouncing would not calm him, nor would his swing or countless songs--just walking and slight bouncing.  This was not good enough to put him to sleep; just good enough to keep him relatively quiet.

As I was walking with him, well into an hour and a half at that point, and, yes, I'll admit it, I was crying a little bit.  At this point I was struck--profoundly struck--by my awe and undying respect of single parents.  I.  Don't.   Know.   How.   You.    Do.   It!   But, it is amazing.  I could barely keep it together and I had the help of my husband AND his mother.  I cannot--CANNOT--imagine going it alone over that 48 hour period of time.  God/Allah/Nature/All Individual's on this Planet BLESS you all!

The perseverance, spirit, and grit it must take are truly inspiring and at a level to which I doubt I will ever obtain.  Only in the face of true suffering can one grow to that extent.  Kudos to you--each of you.

What do you hold as sacred?

Long time since I've written, since I've just let these thoughts flow.

Sorry all.  I have lots of reasons, excuses, explanations--but in all honesty, I just haven't felt it.  I haven't felt the pull to put my thoughts, my emotions, my experiences down for the world to see.  Things have just felt too raw, too fresh, too personal to put out there for the world to see....maybe even too much of each of those for me to see and acknowledge myself.

BUT, here I am.  Back for now with a very poignant question--one posed in one of my courses this semester.

What do you hold as sacred?

Initially I thought--well this is easy...but, is it really?  What do you value so strongly that it can change your behavior, your mood, your thoughts?  What holds such power over you that there aren't words to describe it?

Me?  what was my answer?  I wanted to look beyond the "givens" of "my role as a parent", "my children", "family".  Without those expected answers, what was I left with as truly sacred, truly spiritually moving, in my life?

Answer:  Moving Water

Something about it moves me, stirs me to action, calms me, excites and rejuvenates me.  I can sit on a pier, stand in the rain, run my hand through a puddle for hours.  It doesn't get old.  I find peace and comfort in the sound of waves, gentle and lapping or energy in those rushing and powerful.  Water terrifies me, tempts me, sustains me.  There are so many metaphors one can make with water and life and death and peace and power.  For me, moving water encompasses each and all of these and something more--something indescribable--something sacred. 

What is sacred to you?  How?  Why?  What is your experience with this sacred object?

A Little Bit of Cuteness=A Whole Lotta Thriving

I keep on going back to my suggestion of thriving vs surviving last week.

To be honest with you all, right now I want to just throw my hands up and "just survive" for a little bit, to stop pushing myself so hard, to stop expecting so much.  I can almost convince myself to do it, then I see this:

 I mean, let's be honest here....who can feel that they are just surviving when looking at these two?  Despite the drowning feeling that I sometimes experience (okay, maybe often experience over the last couple of months) this, THIS right here, gives me buoyancy.  I do more than survive because I want these smiles to stay on those faces for years to come.  (and selfishly because I want smiles like that on my face also.)

 I never feel more alive than I do when I am outside with my kids.  The fresh air invigorates me, the smiles and laughs spark a happiness inside of me that is not often touched.  The genuine joy the girls show prompts me to find new ways for them to experience joy--whether that is a walk in the neigborhood, a trip to the zoo, or a playground in their playroom (shhh...don't tell them--it's a Christmas surprise!)

 Despite that, I still find myself struggling.  I still ride that rollercoaster of highs (feeling like I'm thriving) and lows (feeling like I'm barely surviving.)  It may be the simple fact that I have four kids -------------------------------------------->

It could be that I just don't have enough hours in my week to meet all of the demands placed on me in the variety of roles I play.

 These roles make it increasingly difficult to find my happy in being a mom and in chasing my professional dreams.  The sheer number of roles and responsibilities almost cement the fact that I am often just barely surviving in each.

How can one possibly find a desire to thrive, and take hold of opportunities to do so, when each step towards thriving in one area is a step away from surviving well in another.

It feels like each "extra" I take on for school hurts my family and each "extra" I take on for family hurts my school.

 

 That's when icy reality sets in.  I am not a super hero (as much as my friends like to joke that I am).

I am a flawed individual.  I make mistakes.  I make really, really bad decisions sometimes.  The worst is that, particularly now, sometimes my really, really bad decisions effect others--others like my children (or my clients, even), whom I am supposed to protect and do the best for.  I hurt.  When I hurt, others hurt.

When I struggle to just survive, I threaten to limit the thriving my children may do.  I limit their abilities to become "super" and dampen the enthusiasm they need to see for life, for love, for seizing the day.  When I struggle to survive I am not present with my children, my husband, or my clients.  I am stuck inside, stuck in life, stuck outside of seeing me and the good in me, the good in the world, the benefits and strengths I can bring to the world, to my family, to my clients, to me.

That is what these photos remind me of.  That cycle I face daily.  The struggle I feel and the four main little reasons I have to keep pushing, to keep trying, to keep wanting to thrive.

It is a small but powerful fact that thriving does not start with the big, superhero powers but with the small foundations that create a strong base on which to draw strength when all you really want to do is just survive.

Activities like the family painting time above help me to build a source of strength from which I can create not only a thriving family but a thriving self.  I give my children my best, but at the same time, I take so much from them--a different way of viewing the world and my place in it, a humbleness, a smallness that is so affiming and so calming.  A reminder of those simple things in life and the fact that without those, without those moments, those smiles, that peace found in family and in nature--without those--then I would be just surviving.  As long as these simple things are in place, I have all the tools, strength, and support I need to not only survive but thrive.

What simple things helps you build a foundation of strength from which to thrive?

How would you define thriving?  Need it be an all or nothing concept or can it be fluid?

How much does strength=thriving?

What do you do when you feel yourself slipping into "just surviving?"

Please take a moment to ask youself these questions (feel free to respond in the comment section, but more importantly, just take the time to reflect.)  It is utterly important that we each find a state in which we feel empowered.  A state in which we feel we are in the place we belong and that we are thriving in that exact spot in this exact moment in time.  Good luck to each of you as you navigate what leads to thriving in your lives.

Survive or Thrive in the Irony of life

I know I promised you all updates and photos of the kids from the wedding...then I just disappeared into my lice infested home for weeks!

That's not actually the whole story. Good news?--We seemed to have gotten rid of the lice in one set of two rounds of "Rid"ding--well technically the cheap store brand of "Rid" and a ridiculous amount of combing, screaming, crying, and head picking. Bad News?--I had yet another useless organ (this time my appendix) removed due to incomprehensible and indescribable pain.

Picture me (those of you who know me)--those of you who don't picture any roughly 30 year old woman--lying on the bathroom floor curled in a ball crying, raising only to throw up. Then, things get even more interesting as you pan out and see an infant in a Bumbo seat smiling and cooing and a 20 month old toddler running over to copy Mom's throwing up. "Brudder, blech, Mama. Hahahaha. Blech, Mama." Then running back over to climb on the mom's back so that toddler can more easily "Blech, hahahahaha" into the toilet.

Yep, that whole life is fragile, let go of control thing--it may actually be literally killing me.

Let me share a secret with you all--I was JUST starting to feel like myself again after the last surgery. Just beginning to dance in the kitchen with the kids, lift the bigger girls, play a little more roughly. Now, it's back to attempting to not lift more than 15 pounds--YEAH RIGHT!--and feeling sore and keeping from snuggling too closely because little elbows, feet, hands, and knees dig into the laproscopic incisions.

And I can't help but feel bitter. Angry with my body. Beyond frustrated with my lack of control in ALL things (side note: I was already WAY behind in clinical hours for my practicum, then I had to reschedule 13 hours of clients--13!!!). Further, I am terrified. Every time I feel a pain or slightly nauseaus, I worry that there's actually something more, that my other ovary or some other ridiculous organ is disinigrating or preparing to explode, or something. So, maybe this is sounding a bit like PTSD...it may be. Surgery is scary. Emergency surgery is even more scary. Emergency surgery scary is ridiculously more scary when there are kids waiting for you at home.

Here I am, singing the same song to a just slightly different tune. I wonder if life is just trying to beat into my thick skull that there really is nothing I can control. But, at the same time as I am learning that very very hard lesson in ridiculously hard ways, I can't help but try to maintain some control over the few things I can control. I'm faltering though...losing my will to hold onto that control.

What do you do when life beats you so hard that you begin to lose the will to fight back (READ: I am NOT talking lose the will to live, I am talking about losing the will to push above and beyond, to excell, to be great.) When, if ever, is it smart to just throw your hands up and live the status quo? When does life "win" in the tug of war between just surviving and thriving?

How do you thrive? Is it always a conscious effort? When do you know you need to let go a bit and just survive?

Life has a funny sense of humor...

Yep.  Life and it's humorous irony.  I know I have written on this before.  That no matter what I plan, no matter what is happening life ALWAYS throws me a curveball.

Probably always throws you one too, huh?

I was planning on a great post all about my sister's beautiful wedding, how wonderful, albeit ironic, it was to have a "new" brother.  I was gonna go on and on about how full I felt as I watched my girls play with their grown boy cousins--and maybe a little worried by the little crushy smile I saw on the oldest's face and what it would mean in the teen years.

Then life slammed me with a couple amazing research opportunities.  I was going to write a post about that.  About my wonderful research opportunities.  About the fact I am working on a meta-analysis, which is a pretty high level stats type project.  About the fact I can see long-term implications for this research.  I was going to tell you all about my awesome bibliotherapy program I get to create from scratch and implement in a local kindergarten class to build empathy.  I was going to share all the nitty gritty details with you about the projects, my hopes for what they could mean, and my worries about fitting it all in.

Then, the oldest came home from school with an itchy head.  And school, work, research, my "new" brother, and you, my dear readers, no longer mattered.  Because life has a funny sense of humor and thought, you know what that family needs right now?  They need a full blown case of lice.  Yep, long blonde hair, four kids, seven garbage bags full of stuffed animals--lice would be a really funny coincidence.  It will be great to watch that mom try to wash all those kids hair and comb it all out with little skinny lice combs multiple times a day.  Even better is watching that dad, who has never experienced lice, completely freak out and suggest shaving all the long beautiful blonde locks off of the kids (and maybe the mom).

So, that is what I have been doing for the past week and a half.  Lots of laundry, lots of combing of hair, sitting on the kitchen floor with flashlights picking through the girls hair.  So much fell through the cracks this week--school was a blur, I could barely count my hours.  And, there is such a feeling of embarrassment.  I mean, I know they caught it from somewhere, but the embarrassment is nearly unbearable.  I actually made my husband call the school, because I just couldn't do it.

I remember reading an open letter on the internet from a mom whose daughter contracted lice at school.  I could just feel her judgey, hateful words ripping through me.  I was judging myself. 

It took me a few days to realize, that woman has no room to speak.  Hell, I had no room to judge myself.  I did everything I could during the whole ordeal.  I sat there and picked through their hair like a freakin' monkey.  I rewashed sheets daily until there were no more bugs to be seen in anyone's head.  I bags a shitload of stuffed animals.  And, most importantly, I normalized the experience and kept my kids from feeling like the "buggies" in their hair were a poor reflection on them as people or on us as a family.  So that woman can go to hell.  Lice is not our fault.  My kids didn't do anything wrong to catch it--likely they just played closely with friends--showing good interpersonal skills.  We didn't do anything wrong--we called the school, we took that embarrassing step.  I didn't do anything wrong--I did everything right.

And this is a lesson I need to keep repeating in my mind as I wade through other difficult areas--such as new research endeavors, continuing to deal with my brother's death, school--I didn't do anything wrong.  I may not have control over much--as life so often likes to prove by throwing ridiculous things my way--but so far, I really haven't done too many "wrong" things with that which I have been thrown.  So I need to ease up on my judgements of myself.  I am the only one who knows where my faults lie and if I continue to fault myself for life's curveballs, then life's ironic twists are going to break me instead of providing me with a weird sense of comic relief.

What do you do to remind yourself to be easy on yourself?  How do you forgive yourself?  What is the most ridiculously silly thing life has sent you to teach you a lesson or provide ironic comic relief?

Flying with 4 kids=Faith in Humanity Restored

I sit here, at my work desk, utterly exhausted, with a sore neck, drooping eyelids, and a slight headache, yet, I feel like Supermom.

Yep, all four kiddos, no hubby :(

I....that's right, just I.  I flew with all four, yep, ALL 4, children in FOUR separate flights within the past week and a half.  And, I survived! (And did not resort to beating my children nor hiding under my seat!)  Not just survived, but was reminded of the kindness of strangers and in a setting where people have been primed to mistrust and maintain our distance of all places.  We went for my little sister's wedding, and a week of vacation with family leading up to it (more on those adventures to come when I have time to upload photos).  My Grammy was originally supposed to come; however, a health scare kept her grounded so I opted to go it alone as opposed to making someone fly with us.  The flights consisted of two flights down and two flights back--both with layovers in *groan* Atlanta!

I wasn't so worried about the girls behaviors.  We really do have pretty well-behaved kids.  I was more worried about keeping them entertained and moving quickly enough throughout the process.  I don't know if you plane riders have noticed, but the whole flight process is nothing but a lot of rushing to do a lot of waiting.  You have to rush through the check-in to wait in line at security, then rush through security and to your gate to wait around for boarding.  If you have kids you rush through boarding (we were first on everytime) to then wait for the plane to load and finally take off, then you rush through packing up to wait to deplane and rush to your next gate to wait to board and repeat.  This is NOT a kid friendly process.

This is what our trip looked like--I will highlight the kindness of strangers in purple:

Mom (that's me) rushes to counter at first airport for departure, flustered because of having to change tickets and fact they are in TWO different names and on TWO different cards so the check in kiosk is not an option.  Nice desk agent says, "Calm down Mom.  Take a breath, you have plenty of time and I will help you out." She then proceeds to nicely place all of the boarding passes in a very useable manner and to have a colleague carry the car seats to checkout.

Mom and crying/whining kids say goodbye to Daddy.  Nice random lady brings over a bag of cookies.  Crying is immediately replaced by happy cookie munching.

Mom, wearing baby (3 months), pushing youngest girl (18 months) in stroller, with a toddler (almost 3) on one side and a small child (4) on the other walks up to security line just to see IT HAS STEPS down.  CRAP.  Mom drags all children, still happily munching cookies/sleeping in carrier to nice TSA guy in charge of priority checkout lane, asks what to do and whether navigation down the stairs is necessary with stroller and children.  TSA guy says, "use the wheelchair ramp, no problem."

Mom, children, and stroller, as well as multiple bags go down ramp.  People giving encouraging smiles, not the dreaded scowls expected!

Family arrives at the bottom of the ramp only to realize the ramp ends where the security line begins, effectively cutting in front of at least 75 people.  Mom looks unsure as to the next step (I mean, do I really want to be THAT person?).  Nice TSA guy motions the group forward.  Mom looks at the three people next in line, each one smiles and the one closest says, "Go Ahead.  You need as much time as you can get to go through there" and makes extra space so young child does not have to let go of stroller to get through.

Mom gives boarding passes and ID--while toddler who wants to hold that specific hand begins to cry and grab at Mom's leg.  TSA agents help grab bags from children, fold stroller, place things on xray machine, and good naturedly remind Mom to remove her shoes.  They then calmly help children walk through metal detector and assist in corralling children while Mom has hands swiped (since she wore baby through).

Throughout this ordeal...probably lasting up to 15 minutes, the man behind the family not only waited for his turn without complaining but also helped mom remove a backpack that was caught in her hair.

As the family was waiting for the milk bottle to be checked and replacing backpacks on shoulders, the last cookie was devoured (leaving the toddler without) and crying (LOUD crying with no direction following or walking to be seen) ensued.  The very nice TSA agents quickly came to Mom's rescue with extra TSA badge stickers.  They also assisted in opening the stroller and repacking bags--possibly making the process take half the time it could have.  Finally, the TSA gentlemen with the extra stickers also rechecked the family's flight and gave them directions on where to go for their gate.

The family made their way to the gate and Mom picked out a spot with some open space in front of several open seats so children could play and move around before the flight.  Children colored, ate snacks out of backpacks, and played with stuffed animals while mom fed and rocked the baby.  There was surprisingly very little fighting and some sharing occurring.  Occasionally the three girls would say hi and wave to another individual sitting in the waiting area.  Every single one of them smiled and waved back.  Several carried on a conversation with the young child and the toddler. 

As the time grew closer for the flight, the youngest girl and the young child got a little rowdy.  The young child practically body slammed the littlest girl into the ground.  Mom placed the young child in timeout, casing her to begin to cry.  Not one person gave the mom a dirty look, in fact one kind gentleman came up to her and said, "you are mom of the year.  Really, you are doing a great job." 

Just as Mom began to feel a little overwhelmed, the ticket lady came up and gave her different boarding passes, saying, "I gave you the whole row so you could stretch out" and prompted the family to go ahead and line up because they were going to begin boarding.

Once on the plane, the youngest girl got scared and had to be carried by mom (who was still wearing baby).  The flight attendents helped the older girls get into their seats, strapped in, and their backpacks put away while Mom attempted to strap the youngest, flailing and screaming girl, into her harness.  At this point, the baby began to scream.  Mom was able to calm him upon sitting and feeding, while also showing the screaming youngest girl the "dog-dogs" in the SkyMall magazine.  By the time the flight was full, all four children were content, sucking on suckers or bottles.  NOT one individual made a comment about flying near kids. 

The flight was relatively simple and Mom found herself smiling as the flight attendents commented on the children's good behavior.  The children had limited whining and the baby slept the entire flight.  As the plane pulled up to the gate, every single one of the 9 people sitting near the family spent a few moments discussing just how well the children and baby traveled. 

The family waited until everyone else had gotten off the plane to deplane.  The flight attendents offered to carry a bag and one walked the family to the gate and checked for the connecting flight, asking if Mom wanted a motorized vehicle to pick them up and cart them to the connection.  Amazingly, the connecting flight was simply three gates down--SCORE!

Seem hectic and busy?  That was only three hours of our total travel time and only one flight out of four.  I am not going to make you read through the entire trips details but here are a few highlights:

In Atlanta, waiting for second flight to destination, Mom asked an older gentleman to watch bags so she could do a family bathroom break, accidentally waking him up.  Not only did he graciously agree to watch the bags, but he also heard the oldest girl, not even twenty minutes later, say she needed to potty.  He caught Mom's eye and nodded, allowing for the family to do yet another 20 minute long bathroom routine--involving the youngest girl crawling out of the stall while Mom was using the restroom and being picked up and entertained by a stranger, who called to Mom, "Don't worry, I've got her!"  --This trip is probably the only time I would ever be so damn grateful to strangers for picking up my children without my explicit permission! 

The flight attendents on all the flights were so helpful and encouraging.  In fact, one gentleman who gave the girls wings on the second flight also ended up responding to the youngest girl calling him "Daddy".  At first he kind of let it go, but by the end, when he was holding the oldest girls hand and carrying a bag for Mom he had given up and just said, "what is it honey?" each time she said "Daddy" and waved to him.  Another attendant walked the family all the way to it's connecting flight on the trip home, carrying a bag and helping the older girls get safely onto and settled into a bench on the train while a nice gentleman placed his foot in front of the stroller wheel to ensure it wouldn't move when the train started and stopped.  

And finally, just the sheer number of people willing to grab a bag or a child's hand, to offer assistance and an encouraging smile.  I was blown away by the level of encouragement and support I received.  I fully expected to hear a lot of groaning and see a lot of eye rolling.  I was not at all prepared to have multiple strangers on each leg of the trip stop me and tell me I was brave, that they respected me, that my children were well behaved and adorable.  I did not expect people offering to watch my bags, or even better, my children--particularly when my kids were melting down--all four of them--after being woken up from the last leg of our journey.  (But the flight attendents and a stranger on that last flight did just that, and with smiles and words of understanding on their lips!)  I didn't expect to see so many smiles and waves to the kids and so many individuals willing to engage them in small talk or indulge them with a wave back (20 times in some cases!).  I appreciated every smile, every subtle move to make things easier for us.  I appreciated the willingness to help and the understanding looks I received from so many people.

My faith in humanity was restored on this trip.  I am so much more optimistic about human nature.  I was blown away, and hope that maybe these little vignettes may help you see our world a little differently, a little more brightly, as well. 

Have you ever had a surprising experience that allowed you to check yourself on your thoughts of humanity?  Have you ever been pleasantly surprised by people's reactions to something or someone?  How long did that new faith last?  What did you do with it?  How did it change you?

For me, I just feel more confident in myself as a mother--particularly as a mother of so many young ones.  I feel seen and respected in a way that I never did before.  I always thought strangers were looking at me and thinking--"What was she thinking, having four kids that close together?  Why in the world would she attempt to bring them all to a store/park/college campus/airport/etc by herself? etc. etc. etc."  I feel less judged, less alone in society now.  I feel more supported and more encouraged.  And I can't even begin to describe how good that feels--to feel like I'm not an outcast from society--wondered at from afar, but instead a harried looking mom who people want to reach out to, help and encourage, and who some people may just respect.

 

Isn't it Ironic...don't you think?

Well, I have been somewhat MIA for the past nearly two months...because just as I was trying to decide whether to attack all the nasties in my back burner, life threw me another curveball.  I know, I know...I really shouldn't be surprised when considering my history with life's curveballs. 

I'm sure most of you have faced similar events where just as soon as you have figured out something that's been nagging your for awhile, make plans to tackle a big challenge, make a choice to let go of someone or something...life hits you, HARD, with something unpredictable, something that makes you change those choices, plans, or figuring.

That happened to me.  Tuesday, June 3rd.  Well, technically, June 2nd, 45 days early, I went into labor.  Granted, it took a full day to realize.  I didn't really have the time to stop and count those pesky (false, I thought) contractions when chasing and entertaining my girls.  It wasn't until they were all in bed that I had the chance to slow down enough to lay on my side, drink some juice and count contractions.  After an hour of regularly spaced, every 8-10 minutes, slightly discomforting contractions, I decided to take a bath just to make sure.  Then we went in to the hospital--around midnight.  Long story short, our son was on the way, nearly 6 weeks early. 

I wanted to simultaneously curse life, curl up and cry, and meet that sweet baby.  "This would happen to me" I thought to myself.  "Of course this would happen to me."  It's actually rather ironic, don't you think, that Tuesday was the day of my first counseling session to tackle the back burner, to face the fragility of life and my fear of it head on.  And here I was, once again, thrown into uncertainty and fear. 

And that was when I did what I seem to do best when faced with the enormity and unpredictability of life.  I let go.  Not in a "Jesus take the wheel kind of way", but in a realization that there was only so much I could control.  I did not know what would happen, how this baby would be upon birth but my worry would do nothing but stress me, him, and the whole labor process.  So, I let go.  I let go of my fears and I let go of my hopes and I just focused on the labor...the one small part that I had any ounce of control over...and kept myself calm, slept as much as I could, and shut out any thoughts that might disrupt the focus on that moment, that single process. 

I faltered in that focus the moment he was born as I waited to hear his cry.  Minutes have never lasted as long in my life as those few I've waited to hear my children cry.  There is so much love and hope, so many dreams for the future, wrapped up in that first cry, in that verification that you did, in fact, create a living, breathing human being.  Saxby Rhett Anthony was born Tuesday, June 3rd around 2:30 pm weighing almost 6 lbs and needing just a touch of oxygen from his nurses before making his first cry.

Saxby with his two oldest sisters
4 days after birth, first day out of NICU

                                                 I barely had a moment to revel in the awesomeness that is life before being reminded of it's fragility.  Saxby was good, needed some help breathing at first, but for a preemie he was doing great.  I, on the other hand, was struck with increasingly intense pain in my side.  The doctors struggled to determine the cause and I struggled with the pain, not really dampened by the epidural, for nearly five hours.  At that point my doctor gave me two options:  continue to manage the pain or an exploratory surgery.  I chose the surgery without hesitation.

That's right, me, the one who just spent the last blog discussing her fears of another C-section and her plans to avoid one at all costs, had just chose to be opened up with no guarantee it would be worth it.

The process was again unnerving, made more so by the fact my husband could not join me this time.  I was determined to stay awake, to control that small part of my fate, whatever it may be.  I wanted to know if I would ever hold my son, if I would ever see my daughters meet him.  I wanted to know if I would be leaving that hospital on my own.  I must have been scared, but all I remember now is a strong drive to know what was wrong, to know if I would be okay.  I heard the doctors and nurses discussing what they were seeing, I heard their surprise and worry upon finding a large clot on my right ovary and tube, heard the urgency in their voices as they worked to remove it without breaking it, heard their relief upon it being safely placed in a jar and their awe as it burst immediately after.  Most of all, I heard their joy upon saving my life, upon having made the right choice.

Isn't it ironic, don't you think, that had I stuck with the fear of the fragility of life, had I not let it go, I would have refused the surgery and likely would have died.  Had I not let it go, had I fought labor and tried to hold it off, Saxby and I both would have likely died.

Isn't it ironic, don't you think, that the fear of the fragility of life almost kept me from experiencing all the joys of life.  The need to control, to hold on, almost robbed me of the few things I am able to control and hold on to.  I can only control so much, I can only choose so much...in the end, in terms of my life...I am only middle management.  Something greater, whether it's a god, fate, or just life makes the big calls and I have to manage the consequences of those calls.  I have a large hand in what occurs but trying to control more than I have the right or ability to can lead to some really dangerous and negative consequences.

Isn't it ironic that you must let go of control in order to gain control?

the stuff on the back burner eventually boils over...

There is nothing like being reminded of just how fragile life is...over and over and over again...especially when I am trying to grow a little, arguably more fragile life, inside of me.

Those of you who know me, or who follow the blog regularly, know my brother died a month ago...well, technically, a month and a week.  To be honest, I don't think I have even really begun to cope with it.  I had to make it through finals week--aka the week to begin and complete LOTS of VERY long research papers and presentations.  So, I put all my focus into that.  See, I'm really good at that--choosing what I focus on...putting things on the back burner.  It is how I "cope".  It's also one of the main reasons I believe I am able to manage children and a doctoral program at the same time--I turn one or the other off in order to complete the opposite. 

BUT, it's not so great when stuff refuses to stay on the back burner.  And that is what I have been experiencing the past couple days.  My dad was rushed to the ER Friday night with truly terrifying symptoms (inability to sit up or move his arms, not aware of who he was or where he was, etc.).  He was not getting enough oxygen into his system and was placed on a ventilator.  It really did not look good.  In fact, I had a bag packed for when I would need to head to SC to support my mom and sister and I couldn't stop thinking, "I'm going to lose HALF of my family in less than 6 weeks.  My mom is going to lose HALF of her life in what is literally a blink of the eyes."  Luckily, that didn't happen.  They were finally able to identify what they believe to be the cause of everything and he is now off of the ventilator and the confusion has lifted.

But...my God, isn't life fragile.  Unpredictable.  Hits you like a train, keeps going, then suddenly skids to a stop, only to then flow nice and calmly for days, weeks, months, years.  I have to admit to personally being shaken to the core by the past few weeks.  I am TERRIFIED.  It's easy to tell yourself everything is going to be okay when to you get close to the whole birthing experience when everything truly feels okay.  BUT, right now, my world doesn't feel okay.  It doesn't feel safe.  I cringe when my phone beeps or rings.  Every new ache or pain is cause for alarm.  Every little tightening sends me into immediate fear that labor is starting 8 weeks too early.  Every little muscle cramp or discomfort sends me into fear that another blood clot has formed.  I was so sure I wanted a VBAC--that's right...NO MORE C-sections for this Mama--not after the horror that was Anneliese's birth day...but this consistent reminding of my mortality, of this baby's immense fragility, makes me want to run to the comfort of control.  Of knowing the exact risks of not taking the one in thousands of chances that something will rupture.

However, is that really how I want to make choices?  Out of fear.  Out of the need to feel control over something?  Is that really what this is about?  It's not really control, it's the illusion of control.  It's not really safety or being "okay", it's the ability to talk yourself into believing it.  It's keeping all that is scary and unpleasant in the world, in my life, on that back burner.  True, I do it so I can face the everyday with the most optimism and strength I can muster...but that doesn't mean it's not there, it doesn't mean it's not going to boil over. 

I guess the real question is:  Do I slam the lid back on and just keep adding to the back burner OR do I move it forward and try to do something with it?  Do I have the strength of do something with it?  The desire?  I'll let you know when I decide...but, it is a possibility.

What do you keep on the back burner?  Is there something back there that has been boiling over?  Something you should really do something about?  How do you brace yourself for it?  How do you manage your back burner?

... ...

...No words.    That's how I keep feeling, what I keep saying.  I have no words for what my life is at this moment--not a single feeling word in my entire counselor and teacher vocabulary can truly identify what I feel at this moment.  What I've felt since that phone call.

A phone call meant to inform me that my little brother, my only brother, was dead.  That word always looks wrong when I type it.  Sounds so final and ugly when I use it in a sentence to explain why I was gone for a week from class and work.  Your dog dies, a deer is on the side of the road, dead...but people...they "pass on" or "move on" or "go to a better place" or "get called home."  But, what if that person, like my brother, didn't really believe in a  higher power or in the idea of moving on?  What if dead really is just dead?  As ugly and final as it sounds, it's almost liberating to use the "truth" when talking to people, when labeling for myself what happened.  He is dead.  He is not coming back.  Maybe he did move on, find peace, and now looks down on me...but, I don't know that for a fact...and neither does anyone who tells me that is what is happening.  In fact, most of those people would say, on a different day, that an individual who believed, spiritually, what my brother believed or behaved in some of the ways in which he behaved would not deserve to "find peace" in their religious world.  This makes me angry.  But cynical and angry is not all that I feel.

I feel nostalgic.  I feel disconnected.  The Glenn I knew is so different from the Glenn so many people are discussing on Facebook.  So much more complicated.  So much more in pain.  So many more parts than many of these people ever know existed.  I guess that's how it is with siblings--you see them in all their glory and in all their shit.  You see them at their best, their worst, and can see past the mask they put on for so many others.  I miss the Glenn before life got complicated--the one who pretended he couldn't care less what others thought but felt rejection so deeply.  The one who wouldn't say I love you, but instead would call me "Fat Man", the one who even though he didn't say it, I could feel the love and pride bleeding through him for our little sister and I.  I wish I knew the Glenn everyone else who has met him in the past couple years knew--the protector, the bear hugger, the funny guy.  But, I saw the Glenn behind that mask, the one who hurt so deeply from what he experienced during war that he was plagued by nightmares and a need to run away.  I saw a Glenn who was lost, not sure what he needed or where to get it.  And that makes me feel like a horrible person, a terrible sister.

I feel selfish.  Maybe I could have reached out more to that hidden Glenn.  Maybe I wouldn't feel so incomplete if he didn't die before we completely reconciled.  Maybe I needed to just accept him for what he chose to show the world, instead of pushing for him to be "him."  Perhaps I would've gotten more "Fat Man's" if I just let him run.  But, then I wouldn't be his big sister, would I? 

I feel jipped.  I feel scared.  One of my children will never have the opportunity to meet him and the other three will likely not remember him as anything more than a photo on the mantle and stories of a couple family trips.  One thing that showed through his mask of late was his pride in being an uncle and his love for my girls, the twinkle in his eye when they would interact with him, and the sadness when that beard of his would make them a little nervous to go near him.  He once spent nearly an hour on the sidewalk outside of a restaurant in Charleston, SC holding and rocking my youngest.  I haven't seen him so content or proud in years...maybe never.  I thought we had years, decades.  I fully planned to do family trips and to have my kids watch his and our sister's future kids--because he would have them...just not for years.  I just knew it.  I feel so wrong.  All these feelings are compounded every time I watch my girls play, watch them hug each other.  Every time they fight or say mean things to one another.  I can't imagine the possibility of them losing one another, but I can't stop my mind from going there.  I can barely keep myself from reminding them to treat each other well and to never let a fight last over night between each other every single day.

Then, if possible, I feel nothing.  I have no motivation, no drive.  I stare at the computer for hours attempting to thank people for their concern and condolences or get a paper written for school.  I try to feel something besides mild annoyance that I can't grieve at the moment when going through the motions of parenthood or when Aaron tries to interact with me or support me.

I know this is a ridiculous stream of consciousness, but I've been struggling for nearly two weeks trying to find words.  Trying to say what is happening inside of me.  And this doesn't do it justice.  Doesn't do him justice.  Doesn't do US justice. 

I lost my brother.  My best childhood friend.  My protector and the thorn in my side.  He died way too early for no clear reason.  It's not fair.  It is the most awful thing I have ever had to experience, yet, I feel like I'm not experiencing it.  And I can't describe how it feels or what I'm thinking because I am feeling and thinking everything and nothing all at once.  There aren't words for this, because words come from prior experiences.  This experience is like nothing else.  I lost a part of me--a part I can't even remember living without.  I lost an integral building block of who and what I am.  I lost a part of my identity and can never rebuild it.  I, my children, lost days, weeks, months, years of interactions that would have contributed to who I am, they are.  That is a pain that is indescribable.

**I know many other people are experiencing similar pain and loss.  I do not want to take away for your pain, I was just trying to unpack mine.  I can't even begin to describe the additional layer of pain I feel for my parents, my sister, my Grammy....those who called Glenn friend, or brother in arms, those who had him in their lives on a daily basis.  My heart aches for all of you, for all of us.**

Out of chaos and exhaustion arises a sense of drive and fulfillment.

Well...I survived the time leading up to and into spring break as well as spring break and the professional conference.  What I haven't been able to do is recover.  I am EXHAUSTED!  It seems to be just one crazy time into another into another with no break time.  I should probably do my best to get used to this feeling as adding another baby and a 20 hour a week practicum (basically unpaid internship) to the mix isn't going to do much to increase my nap time or lessen my load.

In good/other news--I found the conference I attended to be well worth the time and cost.  It served as professional rejuvenation, in a sense.  I was starting to feel bogged down and as if I may be wasting my time...starting to question whether I could really make the change that I wanted post graduation or if it was all just wishful thinking.  This conference suggested multiple times that the type of change I want to have a hand in is not only exactly the type of change that needs to be occurring in the next couple years, but also that it is likely to be one of the main directions of my chosen profession.  I left the conference feeling validated and invigorated--ready to take on more research and wade through the mass of assignments I have due in the next month or so.  The push for actively advocating instead of pontificating on advocacy theory is precisely my long term goal.  This is what I am driven to do, to advocate for change in how difficult youth are viewed and treated in larger organizational/institutional settings--to push for more understanding, more focus on the importance of relationship in empathy and resiliency building.  Additionally, I felt heard.  I felt that my opinion, as inexperienced as it may be at a professional gathering, mattered and had worth and MEANT something.  It validated my belief that this is the career path for me, that my research interests (such as in my poster presentation on the importance of addressing attachment theory in practicum and internship training) align with some of those who are already in the field, that I am able to answer complex questions regarding my areas of interest and ADD to the conversation, not just take from it.  I am starting to feel a sense of belonging that I never quite felt in any of my prior professional/schooling experiences and it makes me that much more motivated and driven. 

As for the family side of things...I can't even put into words how amazing it was to watch my girls running around on a nearly empty beach in the late afternoon sunshine.  Each of them ran with pure elation and abandonment, gleefully screaming, as they chased birds, the water, and one another.  Pure joy is not something we see very often, but when we do, it is so contagious.  I literally could have sat there for hours soaking in their laughter, bright smiles, and little awkward running gaits.  I can't remember the last time I felt that kind of joy, of hope, of freedom from anything worrisome or dark.  I am so very grateful to have the opportunity to live vicariously through them, to be reminded of the wonder of nature, sand, sun, and the sea, to be filled with the feel of reckless abandon that comes with sprinting down the beach, laughing out loud, and kicking up sand and water, to be privy to the loving and breathless embraces and "this is the best time ever's" I would receive in between bird and wave chasing, and to witness the love and tenderness they showed one another as they wove between each other and carefully picked one another up if they happened to stumble.

Not often does an individual get a chance to be reminded of the importance of two of their major life roles in the same week--not like this.  I feel blessed to attempt to maintain this balance and to find joy and purpose in both ends.

Where have you found a sense of purpose?  of joy?  Do you believe the two often occur together or are they completely separate from one another for you?  Please feel free to share you thoughts or experiences--I want to learn from all of you!

Go, Go, Go and BREATHE--my midterm week and the promise of a break on the horizon

It is that time of year.  Those of you who have experienced any type of college education know what I am talking about...the week before spring break.  Also known as the week that all midterm projects, tests, papers, etc. are thrown into.  Those of you who have experienced parenthood know what I am talking about as well...the dreaded flu season.  Also known as the week that all of you children will wake in the middle of the night with projectile vomiting, exploding diapers, and/or any number of whiny aches and pains and a strong desire to do nothing more than cling to you side for at least 24, usually 72, hours straight.  AND in what is my traditional "luck of the draw"--if you want to call it luck--these two weeks seem to always...yes, i said ALWAYS fall either back to back or on top of one another.  It may be God's way of trying to prove to me that procrastination may not actually be the best way to cruise through my doctoral program...

Anyways, what this basically means for my family and I is that I, the student, is getting very little sleep and many, many hours in front of computer screens and a "Power Analysis Assignment" in the hope of at least completing the three main assignments due this midterm week, particularly since I, the mama, spent the majority of last week cuddling, consoling, holding hair, and changing bedsheets instead of getting a "head start".  Additionally, I am short on patience and time, and trying so very, very hard to not lose myself (or any of that precious time) daydreaming about several days in Charleston--one of my favorite places to be.  Of course, that also means I should somehow be packing a weeks worth of clothes and gear for myself and three small children--not to mention figuring out the logistics surrounding getting myself and the youngest, and just our clothes and gear, to Atlanta for a conference for the second half of the week.

So, for anyone interested here's my week schedule:

SUNDAY
spent nearly 7 hours working on research paper for policy class focused on the role of psychologists in national security.  The other hours were spent attempting church with girls and my husband (most of which I chased the youngest around the atrium and dealt with the resulting temper tantrums after barring her way into the men's restroom on several occasions) and dinner at my husbands parents.

MONDAY
took girls to daycare, spent the entire 8 hour work day completing the policy paper followed by 4 hour policy class.  Home by 10:30 pm.

TUESDAY
oldest through tantrums most of morning regarding the barrette I put in her hair--apparently on the wrong side, took girls to school, actually did some work for GA, attempted to outline concepts from social psychology class in which the final is to "integrate material from different sources and perhaps with different histories, theoretical sources, etc.  The idea is to see the overlap, mutual implications.  You are to do 3 of these with a maximum of 2 pages each.  Each will analyze 3 concepts.  Find three different concepts from different sources that are related."  Get frustrated with the open endedness of this exam and write the current blog post.  Go to class from 1-5, then assist in teaching Master's level course till 8.  Go home and attempt to finish outlining social psych concepts.

WEDNESDAY
take girls to school (tantrums likely to occur), write social psych midterm--will likely take me till at least three.  Begin to work on the 10 question power analysis assignment--this is second year of stats work and I'm over my head.  Go home spend time putting girls to bed...maybe talk to husband for a few moments...continue to work on stats.

THURSDAY
make breakfast for girls, take them to gym so I can have two additional hours to complete stats work, consider then taking them home and doing early naps to have additional time.  Go to class, turn in social psych final, pretend I read anything this week for next class, pick up poster for presentation at conference in Atlanta, slide finished stats under professors door and go to evening class.

FRIDAY
run around like a mad women, attempt to keep patience with girls, and pack for trip.  Travel all night.

SATURDAY
soak up the beautiful sun and warmth and hospitality that is Charleston.  Enjoy good food and a beautiful walk with my girls.  and BREATHE.

**Attempt to eat relatively regularly and healthily throughout the week--there is a baby growing inside of me, after all**

Luckily this isn't how most weeks look...at least not this hectic.  But, this is a reality and the likelihood this will occur as nicely as described is rather small...particularly with that flu bug continuing to hang around.  So, wish me luck, send a few extra moments my way, and I hope anyone facing either of these terrible weeks (or both) is able to find a way to successfully wade through and find the time and chance to breathe at the end.

How do you etch out a few moments in stressful weeks to stop and breathe?  How do you know you have pushed yourself too far--what is your breaking point where you think enough is enough, I need a breather?