Resignation vs Sacrifice

I would rather you disappear, into the bedroom, into your cavern, into your safe place than be around us whilst complaining about every little noise, sound, action or energy.

Your negativity, your huffing and deep breathing every time the kids are too active for your liking.

Thank you for joining us for dinner but, now that your moment to share the same space with us is done, now that your anxieties are rocketing again, now that you realize you can’t handle being around us for longer than 30 minutes, you can go.

Take your wine, walk up the stairs, shut the door and hide away. 

I understand. 

Suppertime can be stressful.

The mess.

The noises.

The smells.

The questions & stories from the kids.

All exhausting for you, I’m sure. 

But what about me?

The mess of the kitchen after supper. Having to contend with the kids, their stories, their fights, their lunches, their bedtime ‘routines’ (which never seem to work out the way I hope).

While you lay there, in your darkened space, alone, watching your paranormal conspiracies, under your weighted blanket, while I contend with our family, having dealt with them all day, I don’t complain out loud. Sure, I bitch about it internally, gritting my teeth, smiling, nodding, saying ‘yes, dear?’ in a patient, calm tone, but I don’t tell you my frustrations. 

Why not? 

Simply, it’ll only make you feel worse about how you’ve acted through the day. 

If I said, “could you put away the 5 loads of laundry I’ve washed & folded? Or, could you please help clean the kitchen after eating the supper I made? Or, "could you empty the dishwasher, please?" or “I need to go lie down for a couple hours, since I’ve been up with the kids since 700” it only makes things worse for you. It makes you feel guilty. 

Then you turn it on me. 

“If you’re feeling that way, tell me…” but when I do, you don’t like hearing it. 

“When you tell me everything you’ve done today (or all weekend) with the kids, it makes me feel bad...I wish I could’ve gone with you / done that with you, etc”. Like, somehow, it’s my fault for not being even more of a dick by forcing you to engage with the outside world. 

Want more? 

February, alone, you shut down 22 out of 29 days. That gave me seven days (none consecutive) with you, the real you...yet those were the days you needed time to recover...taking time to regain your strength, your energy...away from us.

March is starting off the same way. 

I don’t talk to you often, when you’re in those moods, for the simple reason that I don’t have time to deal or handle your chaos within. I’m too busy handling the chaos external. The kids, their needs, their schedules, things that need to get done, places we need to go, things that need to happen.

Opportunities to think of myself, to satisfy my own needs, independent of the family, to remove myself from the chaos, occurs on the rarest of days. 

I’m too busy trying to maintain control of the world around me to worry about myself.

I have schedules written on the whiteboard, calendars in my phone, lists on pieces of paper and on my phone....not lists of things I would like to do but things that NEED to get done for the sake of our family. 

I’m torn between two words these days: Sacrifice vs Resignation. 

Am I sacrificing my life, my time, my energy for the sake of others, to ensure their happiness, their opportunity to thrive and live happily?

Or…

Have I resigned myself to the reality that everything I do is for the sake of others and that little time will be given to me so I might as well accept it now, move on, and make the best of my situation?

I don't have an answer.

My wife won’t go to the grocery store.

Laundry isn’t fun. 

Making supper? She’d rather stay at work until the food's ready.

Cleaning the kitchen? No chance...again, the smells, the mess, the gross food...

So it’s left to me. 

I do it because you can't, won't or don't.

In A Few Good Men, Jack Nicholson railed that he has "neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the very blanket of freedom I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just say ‘thank you’ and went on your way.”  

On days when she’s in the darkness, something often happens: when she surfaces, she trumps my word. I say to the kids, “No, you can’t have cheesies before supper” but, as happened today, in front of the kids, said “Oh, they can have some...supper won’t be ready for a little while.” then proceeded to leave the room to watch another show on her phone...leaving me to be the asshole. 

What she didn’t recognize or care to know is that the kids had just finished a big ass bowl of popcorn while watching the Angry Birds Movie. That was their treat. Cheesies, popcorn and a movie...all so I could empty the dishwasher, load it, get supper ready, make their lunches for school tomorrow, do some laundry and call my mom. 

And now, she’s gone again.

Disappeared.

Poof!

Leaving me to handle the cleanup, the dishes, the showers, the bedtime ritual, putting away their laundry (with their help, I must say)...

I wish I had some magical powers to make her PMDD go away. But I can’t.

I cannot control it, I cannot control her.

I trust her. Or tell myself to trust her.

I trust she’s making the best decisions for herself, that she’s not just using her disorder as an escape from family time, work, chores or commitments.

I have to trust that she’s being true to me. But it’s hard.

Her moods are worsening and, to talk to her about it afterwards just ‘brings up the bad feelings’ and makes her feel worse...meaning she doesn’t want to talk about it at all. Leaving me to blindly walk through every day wondering which incarnation of my wife will appear when I wake…

With every passing day, I’m becoming more and more conscious of my posture, my breathing, my tone, my volume. I’m more aware of how I present myself because, honestly, I’m aging at a rate that worries me. I see it in my face. There’s no light, no smile, no happy lines. I’m looking haggard, tired, down. 

Handling everything on a daily basis is exhausting. It takes its toll. I remind myself to take a deep breath before speaking when I’m feeling overwhelmed. Breathe in through the nose, hold for four, exhale through the mouth...then talk. Music is on in the house. Constantly. I need it. Music keeps me centered and focused. It really does soothe the savage beast within. But, seriously, I feel it’s not enough. There’s still something missing. 

We don’t talk much anymore. She falls asleep on the couch. Date nights? That’s funny. (e.g., I expressed my ‘heightened state of arousal’ on a daily basis for 7 days in a row...nothing came from it…’there was no joy in Mudville, mighty Casey struck out’. She said, ‘well, just keep trying…’ - but it’s become a chore...just another thing I need to think about doing after doing everything else.) And, for the record, we had date night once in February. Superbowl Weekend. That's how I remember.

I feel the tension in my shoulders, in my jaw, in my lower back. I see the tension in my face, in my writing, in my thoughts and dreams. But I cannot worry about myself. I’m too busy worrying about everyone else. It's become a habit. I don't allow myself to think of my needs because, in my mind, it's selfish.

I’ve resigned myself to the reality that I’m sacrificing myself for others. And I don’t know how I feel about it...then again, I don’t have much time to think about it...so...

Sinking into Quicksand.

I feel myself slipping.
About to fall into that dark place.
But I can’t.
I’ve got too much to do.
Too many things need to get done...so I do them.

That’s my defense against the darkness: do things for everyone else - from laundry to groceries to making meals & baking delicious delicacies. Doing so much for others so I don’t have to think about or deal with myself. If my attention is elsewhere, I don't have to look inward.

It’s how I protect myself.

I know it’s not healthy.
I know I sabotage myself.
I know my self talk needs (more than) a little work.

But my wife reminds me she’s got her own shit to deal with. I can’t really share my sadness with my kids. Daddy has to make their lunches and get their bags ready for school & make supper & get their clothes out. I need to get up with them in the morning to make their breakfasts & ensure their ready for the day. I make the cookies they want for snacks.

It's a routine: Boys wake me up. I tell them to get dressed. I go make coffee. They come downstairs. I give them breakfast. I sip my coffee. While they eat, I check that their bags are in order, get myself dressed & make sure Mommy's out of bed. When all that's done, I head to my school. I make my list of things to do after school - grocery lists, laundry, is it pizza day tomorrow? civvies day? are they going on trips? play dates? anything special going on? all of this...and I haven't even gotten to work yet. When I DO get into the classroom, I switch off home stuff...and figure out what I need to do at school...yet another set of lists.

I keep most of my thoughts, feelings, frustrations, stresses, tensions tucked inside. Mommy's mental health is all over the place so I've given up trying to pick the 'perfect moment' to tell her what's on my mind or what's going on or what I'm thinking or feeling. I tuck it down, deep inside, burying it, praying it'll disappear or wash away. Often, letting her know how I'm feeling, especially after she's endured another trip to the dark side, brings her down, makes her feel bad, makes things worse.

I write. Or, at least, I try. More often than not, my writing gets pushed to the side until everything else is done. But, by then, I’m too exhausted to think about another person’s needs or experiences, let alone write about it justly. There's a story in my head. One that needs to be told. The characters, talking to me, interrupting my list making on the way to school, have a lot to say. I want to tell their story...but, honestly, by giving them attention, am I spreading myself even thinner? Somehow, no. So I will tell their story. In bits and pieces, Over time. Little by little...

But that's my resolution: make time for me, take time to write. Tell my story...and tell their along the way. Stay tuned.

Take Time for YOU!

Something is bugging me.

There's a question circulating among teachers lately:


What do you do to care for yourself outside the classroom?

There are educators writing, on Twitter, in academic journals, on Facebook, etc,  "I read pedagogical studies" or "I create fantastic new lesson plans" or  "I share my wonderful classroom with the world on Instagram or Pinterest" or "I curate portfolios for my kiddos" or "I plan all summer for my classroom" or...

Great. Good for you. You're a teacher.

But what do you do that's NOT associated with teaching?

All those ideas means you've never left the classroom.

You're immersing yourself in education to the point of consuming your every moment. You're bringing your students home with you. They're a part of you and who you are. This is not healthy.

While it's important to give your all whilst teaching, it's equally important to do things that are important, necessary, and special to you...independent of the classroom. You can always bring in your experiences beyond the classroom into your teaching, but doing everything FOR your classroom can be a dangerous threat to your mindset.

Write. Bake. Crochet. Paint. Dance. Take a course in falconry. Go rock climbing. Exercise. Binge watch Netflix. Hike. Pick apples. Read something that takes you away from the everyday. Watch a baseball game. Play trivia. Board Game night. Train to be a sommelier.

Whatever your passion, do it.
Whatever you do for you, never feel guilty for doing it!
Take care of you..

External of the classroom.
Beyond the walls of the school.
Outside the realm of education.

Do something for you.

The other day, I mentioned to a colleague that I ran into a couple of my students at the movie theatre on the weekend. She replied, "On the weekends, I sometimes hope to run into one of my kiddies so I can tell their parents how wonderful their children are!" I laughed. She got upset...I thought she was joking...she wasn't.

If you're hoping to see your students on your day off, you've lost sight of who you are and what's important to you beyond the classroom.

For the educators out there finding it difficult to think of something they do to care for themselves...that says something about you...and it's something, perhaps, to take time to consider.

Try something new...you may not like the first few things you try....but try something...without the thought of "how can I use this in my classroom" or "I could try this with my students".

One of the most important lessons I learned, in my first year of teaching, was that teaching is a job. When I take all my work (marking, lessons, planning) home, then I'm bringing the stresses and challenges and all 27 children into my home. I don't want them in my house! I need time to focus on my family and their needs and what needs to be done beyond the classroom.

My fear is that teachers, when immersing themselves in only their classroom and job, become too consumed and, sadly, burn out faster than expected. My vision of teaching is, simply, a slov burning candle.

First year of teaching? A wealth of ideas in your head, wanting, hoping to accomplish them all.

End of the first year? You realize you couldn't do everything you wanted to do. You get frustrated, feel you let your students down, feel you failed or you're not doing something right. You take the summer to figure out what went wrong, perhaps overplanning, perhaps getting sucked into the vortex of planning for next year every day of your holiday.

Second year? You come in prepared for action, ready to accomplish your list of amazing things you've planned...

End of second year? Once more, you didn't do everything you wanted...and, once again, you spend a lot of time reflecting on your choices.

I went through this. I experienced it. After my first year, I escaped to Europe, backpacking through England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales on my own for 8 weeks. I needed to replenish my empty vessel. I needed my time. So I took it.

The reality is this: YOU CAN'T DO EVERYTHING. Take your time. Spread out your amazing lessons. If you're overwhelming yourself, think how overwhelmed your students might feel.

My simple request, to all teachers, wherever you are, whatever you teach, however experienced, take time for you. Make time for you. It may just save your life.

Farewell 2019.

It's a new year.
2019 is over. At last.

While I'm not entirely pessimistic about 2019, I'm not entirely positive about it, either. Things happened that made me question my life, reflect on my choices, doubt my future and worry about the tiniest little things. I thought things I never imagined contemplating. I feared the thoughts in my head.

However, out of the darkness came a wealth of introspection.

From the dearth of questions came deep insights into who I was, what I was thinking and why those thoughts were in my head...basically, what makes me 'me'. My thought process through the latter part of the year took me to interesting places that I'd left behind years ago. Things from my past (and I'm talking 20-30 years ago), once buried, clawed their way to the surface and, given my headspace, were open to analysis, observed objectively...but they weren't the 'happy' memories.

Betrayal.
Bullying..
Infidelity.
Family Illness.
To name a few...

All of them happened when I was younger. All of them happened in 2019.

Yet something powerful occurred: An appreciation. An acceptance of experience as a means of growth. From the negative came positives.

Out of the darkness came light.

Writing became an importance in my life once more. Looking objectively at my relationships and friendships became a priority. Taking time to try and understand the motivations of others was necessary. And a realization of my own anxieties and triggers was key. Recognizing a need for 'me time' and identifying my stresses was mandatory. Until this past July, I'd not stopped and thought about me in, easily, 10 years. Spending my days worrying about everyone else, making sure the lives of others were good, became a fixation. My kids. My wife. The students I teach. They held priority over me.

I'd never taken the time to look inward. I've looked at myself superficially but rarely did I allow time to assess my needs objectively, intensely and honestly.

Sometimes, events occur in life that force you to stop.

During the first week of July, I stopped. I had to. There were too many thoughts bouncing around my head, too much negativity and too many questions to process, to continue or move forward.

Sitting on the dock, on a very hot morning, staring out at the calm lake, I contemplated life. And death. Coffee in hand (which, for the first time, I could  not stomach), I resolved to change my mindset. Or, at least, try to see things differently. To ask for help when I need it. To stand up for what I know to be true or right or just. To commit to change.

Listening to Phish, for some reason, was my source of inspiration. It was my comfort, my solace. The songs, "More", "Light", "Everything's Right" and "Set Your Soul Free" seemed to speak to me. There, on a hot summer morn, I listened to lyrics like, "I'm vibrating with love and light, in a world gone mad, there must be something more than this" and "the light is growing brighter now" and "obstacles are stepping stones that guide us to our goals" or "focus on the past, that's what will last" or "focus on today, you'll find a way, happiness is how you're rooted in the now"...I resolved to chose positivity over negative, the light over the dark. I could've listened to depressing, dark, angry music but I didn't. I sought a resolution to the problem and made the decision to deal with it...and move forward.

At the cottage, I couldn't talk to anyone. Not my wife. Not our friends. Not my kids. No one. All I had was myself...choices would need to be my own, for me, by me. And yet, despite the hurtful choices made by those surrounding me, I felt selfish for thinking of myself. The one who hurt the most was thinking of those who caused the hurt.

So, I turned to the virtual world of Twitter. I expressed my thoughts (or tried). I shared my anxiety, put my fears into words. I asked questions. I sought advice...and I was welcomed. My feelings were validated. My hurt confirmed. My words heard. For that, I am eternally grateful. Strangers responding to someone with only 86 followers meant the world to me. It saved me.

At the suggestion and encouragement of a couple new acquaintances, I picked up my journal. I hadn't written in it for ages. Sure, I carried it places, 'just in case', but rarely wrote anything with substance. That day, I wrote. I wrote and wrote and wrote some more. The floodgates opened. So many words and feelings and thoughts and fears and questions and doubts and hurts were released. My past became my present. The ideas and innermost emotions poured onto the page...a stream of consciousness that purged the demons within.

And for that I am grateful. It hurt. It was hard. But it was necessary. And I'm thankful for the experience, for out of it, I changed.

One more thing I'm thankful for, out of this whole experience, are the novels I've started writing. One, a dark and demonic book...a paranormal romance? a 'relationship with the devils' sort of thing. The other, which I find most inspiring and hopeful for, is a heroic quest about a biophilic heroine named Hyra who deserts her Realm, seeking the Essence - a force that's beckoned her from the age of 4. When a series of events leads to an opportunity to realize her calling, sacrifices are made. Her stubborn, passionate, intrinsic relationship with Nature leads her towards experiences and knowledge never considered. It's like "The Dark Tower" - except not in the desert, no guns, and a female protagonist...and there's magic...or powers beyond human.

I love my main character, Hyra. She's a part of me. She 'talks' to me as I'm driving. She shares her stories with me as I rest or while sleeping. The novel came in a dream - maps, backstory, a history of the Four Realms, the Essence, the hag, her experiences - the good, the bad, and the ugly. It all appeared in a vision that could not be ignored. A 2020 goal is to finish it. At least, complete the first book. The complexity is growing, leading me to believe it will be one of a few.

Looking towards 2020, my resolutions are clear in my mind and heart. Time for a focus on me.

How? Write 10,000 words per month. This could be my blogs or one of the two the novels I've started. However I choose, writing is a focal point for me this year. Whether or not I publish anything is irrelevant. I, simply, must make some room in my head for new thoughts by putting into type (or ink) the words bouncing around my head.

Another goal is a tattoo. A tree. An image I've seen in my mind for years that's become a sketch. A maple tree. Bare. Roots leading towards my elbow, some wrapped around a ring (think 'coffee ring'). Branches leading towards my fingers, bursting from the ring. Textured, gnarled trunk. Symbolically, I'm always reaching for others but, too often, forget the strength of my roots, my inner strength. That, no matter the weather, obstacles or challenges, a tree may bend but remains strong, firmly planted, continuing to reach for new heights.

My last goal? Calm. Do what I must to remain calm. Whether it's baking as my therapy, or experimenting with new recipes or exploring meditation or an exercise routine, I need to find a peace of mind, doing something that centres me. An opportunity to channel my energies into something positive. As the bakers on the many baking shows I watch for inspiration, "Out of the mess comes something (hopefully) wonderful."

Here's to 2020. May peace of mind and heart be yours.

"As the twig is bent, the tree inclines." (Virgil)