Why Teach

Preschool me. 1985.

Preschool me. 1985.

“You can be anything you want to be…”

We’ve all heard it. We may have uttered it to someone else at some point in time. It’s an incredibly overused clique. A phase we say in an effort to uphold the fairytale of the American Dream. It’s a well meaning thought, but at one point I stopped believing it.

I was around the age of 14 when I decided I no longer subscribed to the  “everything you want to be” promise. My grades in 9th & 10th grade were horrendous. As in, a 0.5 GPA horrendous. I was unfocused, unmotivated, and unlikely to graduate. Some of my teachers had given up on me, as did many other adults in my life. I could see it in the sideways glances they gave me every time I arrived late to class. I could read it on their faces, hear it in the tone they used when speaking to me. But there were a few, who continued to treat me as if I had potential. One of them, Mrs. Callahan, was my literature teacher during freshman year. I think she saw through my act. She might have had a hunch that, even though I feigned disinterest in class as we decoded verses of Romeo & Juliet, I went home at night and poured over the pages of that tragedy, rewriting passages that spoke to me in the lined pages of my spiral notebooks. Though I failed to turn in my assignments, I’m sure I did well on my tests. Maybe it was because of that that Mrs. Callahan treated me as if I had a chance, but I think there was probably more to it than test scores. She took time to check in with me, and to offer after school help, which I sometimes took her up on. I remember how her validation made me feel, during that tumultuous time in my youth. It made me feel respected, and worth the trouble.

Fast forward three years: I was a mother and a Senior in high school. I was on independent studies. My grades increased dramatically, as did my focus. I was a determined student who began expressing my desire to go to college, despite my circumstances. Still, very few took me seriously. But my home studies teacher did. Mr. Coombs worked patiently with me as I inched my way toward graduation. He advised me to enroll in Jr. College, then transfer to a University. He beamed in the audience as I received my high school diploma. And I took his advice. I went on to Sacramento City College and eventually transferred to a University.

My path into early childhood education (ECE) was not an intentional course when I first set out on it. I enrolled in a few child development classes so that I could become a better parent. My original plan was to take the pre-requisites needed for a nursing program. But I soon discovered that early childhood education was what interested me most. So I continued with it, and eventually applied for an early childhood program director permit with the California Commission on Teaching Credentialing. I pursed both an undergraduate and graduate degree in ECE. At age 26, I landed my first job in a school district, and have been teaching ever since. 

Lately, due to various factors including the uncertainty of funding for early childhood teacher salaries in my district, I have been considering pursuing a multiple subject (K-8) credential. Over the summer, I met with many of my past advisors to discuss my options. I was taken aback by some of the responses I received.

“Don’t waste your time on that. If you’re going to go back to school, get into another field.”

“With your level of expertise, I’d consider administration. You’re too bright to remain in the classroom.”

“Have you thought about teaching higher ed, or public policy? You should.”

I mulled over these responses for several weeks, wondering how we, as a society, got to this point. This place where teaching at the PreK-12 level is considered a second-class profession, something that is undesirable and unrewarding. I thought of the hundreds of students I’ve taught over the years, and the families who continue to return to my classrooms to visit and update me on their progress. I thought of Mrs. Callahan, and Mr. Coombs, and Mrs. Garcia, my 1st grade teacher who surprised me by attending my graduation party when I completed my M.A.

And though I’ve entertained the idea of teaching college students, pursuing a career in policy, or joining the ranks of administrators, I ultimately listened to my heart, and applied for a credentialing program. 

My loyalties do not lie with test developers, or administrators, or policy makers who have never stepped foot into a classroom. I’ve pledged to serve families, and the students they are raising. I’m ever so grateful for the educators in my life whose belief in my abilities fueled the drive to complete my goals. 

I can be anything I want to be. 

 I choose to be a teacher.

Opportunities, Chance Encounters, and A New Style

"And these children that you spit on as they try and change their worlds are immune to your consultations. They're quite aware of what they're going through..." -David Bowie

“And these children that you spit on as they try and change their worlds are immune to your consultations. They’re quite aware of what they’re going through…”
-David Bowie

When I walked into the salon, I noticed her first. A blue-eyed, curly haired brunette of a toddler, with round cheeks and the unsteady gait of a child who is first leaning to walk. She waddled past me, under grandma’s watchful eye, and I gave her a smile because that’s the right thing to do when one is acknowledged by a baby. The mood of the place was light-hearted as the stylist tied up my locks and draped a giant bib around my shoulders. We chatted a bit about the Academy Awards, and the comedic genius that is Ellen (even though- in all honesty- I didn’t watch any of the actual show, but I’m pretty good at playing off those sorts of things off given that my social media feed was full of the Oscar highlights pertinent to the conversation). Within a few minutes, my attention drifted to the young man who was seated directly behind me. His stylist laughed as she cut inches off his hair and joked that he’d no longer look like a recovering hippie. “Your mom has been trying to get you to do this for years!” she teased, “You’ll barely recognize yourself when I’m done with you!” I sideways glanced into the fun house of mirrors around me until I got a clear look at him. Cute kid. Probably a year or two older than my oldest son….maybe 18 or so? He flashed an endearing smile as  the finishing touches were put on his new shortly cropped style, and he reached for his phone. His teenage brother sauntered over and whistled…”You’re going to take a selfie?” he laughed. The kid in the chair threw his head back and grinned, “Nah, man, I’m not about that life. You’re going to take it for me. Then it’s technically not a selfie, it’s a portrait.” Something about the entire interaction made for a feel-good Monday night moment…the excitement of the stylist to reveal her finished work, the good-natured joking between siblings, the Parisian  jazz playing in the background accompanied by the happy squealing of the toddler  in the lobby area. I found myself smiling.

As the young man got up and dusted the excess hair off his flannel, the toddler turned and looked at him, confused. Her grandma swooped her up and walked her toward him, “You don’t recognize your clean-cut daddy?” she asked. I watched as he reached for his daughter, and caught a glimpse of concern on his face when she squirmed in grandma’s arms to turn away from him. “Baby, it’s me…It’s still me!” then, under his breath, “I knew this was going to happen…” His mom kissed him on his cheek and reassured, “She’ll get used to it by tomorrow. No worries, handsome.”

Just then, the man in the chair next to me leaned into my space & shook his head, “Scary, isn’t it? Just one of those accidents, that ends in, well…a kid having a kid.”

This happens to me quite often, by the way. Someone openly passes judgement on young parents in my presence. We are all aware of the viciousness of the mommy wars, but I honestly believe that harshest criticism voiced on topics such as the breast/bottle debate, co-sleeping, discipline, and parenting styles, is saved for the online forums where anonymity (or at the least the guise of it), allow people the luxury of making an ass of themselves without fear of face-to-face conflict. Not so when it comes to parenting teens. I’ve nursed 4 children to toddler-hood and can count on my hands the number of times anyone has had the audacity to approach me about my choice to breastfeed. (Actually, it’s one.)  In contrast, as a teen parent, I was often made to listen to the passive-aggressive criticisms of family acquaintances, school personnel, and random insignificant people who thought it their duty to inform me of the ways I damaged my life and that of my son. Anyhow, I don’t care to dwell on that, and in instances such as today in the salon, I’ve even learned to deliver curt comebacks informing the tongue-wagger that as a former young mommy, I do not participate in conversations that perpetuate the stigma surrounding teen parents.

Anyhow, the tenderness in which that young daddy reached for his daughter lingered with me this evening. The comment of the other salon patron did too, but it did not irritate or anger me in any way. The juxtaposition of the two events spoke to me. Left me brimming with motivation.

You see, I’m going to let you in on something I’ve been rather tight-lipped about for some time. But I believe that speaking about it openly is the first step toward it’s materialization. An opportunity to revive a young parent mentoring program has fallen into my lap. As of current, there is an absence of non-secular teen parent mentoring programs available to youth in Sacramento county. This program would fill that void. I was in attendance at one of the trainings provided by the non-profit group that would ultimately host this new endeavor, and  was still feeling hesitant about whether or not I’m ready to take on a project of such scale. At the end of the training, a young women approached me, as she’d heard that I was entertaining of the thought of taking over the teen parent portion of the program. She told me of how she’d given birth to her daughter at 18, went on to graduate from college, and is now set on a doctorate program. In addition, she wants to mentor young moms. I feel invested in this opportunity,  and it hasn’t even taken off yet.

I’m going to need a team of supporters. We’ll need mentors. We’ll need grants. And a clear program mission. But the young parents are out there. And chances are they are  looking for some sort of guidance, or community They may be in need resources. Or a helping hand, a listening ear, a friend.

If at least one family is positively impacted, would it not have been worth a shot?

On Your 17th Birthday

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Sunday, January 26th, 11:22pm

Oh hey there, Son!

Did I tell you I found my high school transcripts the other day? Well, If I didn’t, it’s because I was a little embarrassed.  And shocked, really, to see that I had a 0.50 at the end of sophomore year. Yep. You read that right. Nearly 3.2  grade points lower than your GPA was in 9th grade. One of the many reasons why I am so darn proud of you, you hard-working, motivated student, you. And, of course, you know the story…along came little you, and I was inspired to turn my slacker ways around and begin putting a little effort into my studies. Because I knew you were depending on me.

By the way, I want you to know, Elijah, I was not the only parent of yours who stepped up when you came to existence. Your dad did the same. Since day one, he worked for you. Even at the young age of 17, he diligently showed up for work at the restaurant down the street, so that he would be able to contribute to your needs. Not that that was a particularly easy task, as the job was tedious and boring at times and didn’t particularly pay well. But day in and day out, he worked-in that job and in many others….and continues to work to this day for your little sister, your step-mom, and of course, you. I read a quote the other day, in J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan…you may remember it: “There are many different kinds of bravery. There`s the bravery of thinking of others before one`s self. Now, your father has never brandished a sword nor fired a pistol, thank heavens. But he has made many sacrifices for his family, and put away many dreams.”  Putting aside one’s needs for the sake of another is no small feat. Yet your dad was able to put much aside in his efforts to be a good father to you. I want you to know that.

And so, you grew, and we grew, and suddenly I was in college, where I found out I was a pretty good student after-all. A 4.0 student to be exact, and I was getting rather confident. Except when it came to my math skills. I don’t know why, but I had a hang up with math. I thought I wasn’t cut out for it. So when it came time for me to take statistics to fulfill transfer requirements for the CSU system, I was a little freaked out. The first day of class, you were having a rough time saying good-bye to me as it was also your first day at the college’s preschool. Separation anxiety was in full effect. I lingered a little too long to comfort you, and was late getting to class. The instructor gave me the eye as I hurriedly seated myself while mumbling my excuse about having to drop my son off and I’m sorry it won’t happen again. But it was too late. I knew she wasn’t impressed. I was red in the face, and feeling quite intimidated as I flipped through the syllabus that day. “How in the world am I going to pass this course?” I wondered.

I vocalized my concerns to a gentleman I had befriended in another one of my classes…an older man by the name of Wayne. Wayne was smart and generous and well versed in the ways of the world. He listened to my concerns and offered to help tutor me, as he had taken the exact same course the semester before. But more importantly, he advised me not to doubt my ability to ace the class, if I so desired it. “But I’m not GOOD at math stuff!” I protested. “We’ll see, ” he responded. As it turns out, I didn’t need much tutoring…I took some of Wayne’s notes early on, and studied them furiously during class breaks and late in the evening long after you were asleep. And to my surprise. It all began to make sense. Not only did it make sense…I found that I loved it. Loved it. I began looking for statistics in everything I read. In the newspaper, in the magazine articles, and in the peer-reviewed research that was assigned reading in my other classes. I ate that stuff up. And I aced the class. I remember when the final scores were posted, and afterward we all stood in the hall comparing our standings…I had the second to highest grade in a class of 38 students. And I never had a complex about math again.

Statistics. I thought a lot about them back then…about who I was destined to be, and more importantly, what was in store for you. At the time, I was hyper-aware of what the statistics said you’d become, being that you were the son of teen parents. The cautionary tale went something like this: likely to be retained a grade, likely to drop out of school, highly likely to become incarcerated. That, my son, is what the statistics said.

But you’ve written your own story, haven’t you? I cannot take full credit for the young man you’ve become. You’ve been blessed with a community of people who have loved, encouraged, and supported you along the way. Your accomplishments are a reflection of all of them, and of your parents…but in the end, it all comes down to you. You’ve done this for yourself. And you’re not done yet.

For you, childhood is waning. You are doing amazingly well in all your courses. You are well read, thoughtful, and organized. You’re a dedicated baseball player, and a responsible sibling to your brothers and sisters. I’m so very proud of you.

And soon, you’ll be choosing majors, and schools, and careers…you’ll learn to juggle jobs and friendships, finances and hobbies…and there is much for you to learn.

But most importantly, I want you to remember that your success is not only for you.  As you climb the ranks, and make your way into adulthood, be ever-mindful of those around you who may need encouragement, or information, or support or advocacy. Life’s most humbling moments can often be witnessed in the little ways in which we help one another—in simple ways such as offering tutoring or notes, an encouraging word, a kind gesture, a friendship.

You, Elijah, were given the gift of a sharp mind, quick wit, and a compassionate heart. The three don’t always go hand in hand. And this is why I’m convinced that,

Someday…somewhere… someone may sit on their couch, late in the night, listening to the clock tick-tock away (as I’m doing now) and writing about the ways in which you impacted their life. You may never know the full scope of your actions. Or perhaps you will. But either way, it will have been worth it.

Rest now, little one. The world awaits you when you wake. And there is so much for you to do…

With Love,

Mom

P.S. Mr. Wayne Maytum, if you ever get around to reading this…thank you, sir, for believing in me. The image of your warm smile stays forever in my memory.

Service

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Somewhere between his requests for more coffee & his reminding me to check the air in my tires, my dad always manages to slip in a pearl of wisdom or two during our weekly breakfast date

This morning, he rustled his paper and cleared his throat the way he always does before launching into fatherly advice…and he began reading aloud from an article on one community’s upcoming day of service, in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King’s birthday. Halfway through he pauses,

“You remember what I always used to tell you girls as you were growing up? I’d say, ‘Do what you can, where you are, with what you have.”

yes dad. I remember.

“I’d tell you that because you three would sometimes get these ideas in your head that the world’s problems were just to massive to tackle. It’d overwhelm you. But if everyone were to focus on one small way in which they can impact their communities, we could all do more than we ever realized possible….Is there anymore coffee?”

yes dad.

As I  got up to refill his cup, I thought about the various times throughout my life that I saw my family LIVE this advice. Through volunteering. Through mentoring. Through service.

It’s infectious. It’s a way of life.

And it’s importance was brought home once again this week during my attendance at the CCRWF’s Women’s Policy Summit in which 70 young women from throughout California were given an introduction to policy & advocacy. One of the speakers said simply, “Mentoring should be like breathing. Not an option…each one, teach one.”

For several years now I’ve considered getting involved in a young parent mentoring program. The opportunity has just been presented to me, though it would require significant organization & leadership on my part (more than I had originally intended on taking on), and the need for dedicated volunteers to make it successful. It’ll also require funds.

I’m not sure what my next move will be, but in the meantime I’m researching grants and putting the word out for dedicated and willing volunteers.

It’ll take more than a vision. It’s going to take thorough planning, constant maintenance, and a clear purpose.

But if it gives even one young family a place of support,

non-judgement,

and hope….

Would it not be worth a shot?

Rules of Engagement

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2014 has begun, and many of us are prompted to reflect on the personal changes we’d like to make in the coming year. I’m hearing talk of fitness & organizational goals among other things, but I’ve spent a good deal of time thinking on my communication habits and how I can improve all daily interactions, especially at home.

The past couple of months, I’ve noticed a rash of relationship advice posts going viral. Interestingly enough, all of the most popular ones are written by men, and shared mostly by women. (Personally, I think that speaks to the infamous male/female communication gap highlighted by John Gray in his well-known book Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus). I can just visualize it: Ladies across the nation, clicking on links while juggling nursing babies, sinks full of dishes, a pressing work deadline or perhaps, all of the above. They are met with the eloquent musings of a thoughtful male, and quietly nod in agreement, hoping that their partner may read the words and change a few of his ways. Very feminine mystique-ish, don’t you think? Anyway, if you’ve somehow missed out on these little online gems, I’ll do you a favor and offer a brief synopsis of each:

1) Marriage Advice I Wish I Would Have Had (AKA: Divorced man’s marriage advice):  Basically, a list of 20 things guys can do to be the epic husband that every woman desires. Loving, light-hearted (but not lackadaisical), selfless, attentive to detail, romantic…you know, the kind of spouse that Bruno Mars would be if he lives up to everything he croons about in his songs. Hindsight gives a clarity that cannot be achieved when we are caught up in the eye of the storm, and apparently Mr. Rodgers now has 20/20 vision. I am really curious as to what his ex-wife’s take is on his widely shared, “How to Be the Best Husband Ever” post. But that’s another story, I’m sure. Moving on…

2) Marriage Isn’t For You (AKA: Guy gets schooled by his dad in Relationship 101): In short, a man expresses doubts regarding his upcoming marriage, and is given some strong advice from his father—advice that quickly became internet viral once it was published on his blog. This guy (Seth Adam Smith), basically concluded that marriage is not for YOU, but for the person you marry. “You don’t marry to make yourself happy, you marry to make someone else happy,” Smith recalls his dad telling him. “More than that, your marriage isn’t for yourself, you’re marrying for a family. Not just for the in-laws and all of that nonsense, but for your future children.” Um. I’m sorry. But I kinda think that marriage should be for you, in addition to all those other wonderful folks mentioned. Is that selfish? Never mind, don’t answer that. Next…

3) Brad Pitt’s Love Letter to Angelina (AKA: Fake love letter that has been circulating around the internet since 2009, but has suddenly resurfaced with Brad Pitt’s name attached to it): This one is truly silly. Full of grammatical errors and lacking any real substance, it’s claim to fame seems to be the closing line which states, “And then I realized one thing: the woman is the reflection of her man. If you love her to the point of madness, she will become it.” Oh my goodness, people. How gullible can we get here? Obviously this letter was not written by Brad. It’s been discredited  by Snopes and several other sources, but even then…obviously. Okay. Well, apparently not that obvious, because it was shared millions of times by people who presumably thought it was legit. sigh. I guess that madness/love talk really moves us, huh?

In light of all these wildly popular advice posts, I’ve decided to take a little ride on the relationship advice blog bandwagon. Not because I’ve had a wonderful track record in these matters…I haven’t. Or perhaps I have, depending on who you ask. In any case, I was in a long-term relationship for 14+ years. I’m now in a fairly new relationship, with someone who happens to be an excellent communicator—in addition to being open-minded & well read —yet even he steers clear of these viral columns. Why? Because, in the end, the advice they contain is quite arbitrary.

Our relationships are so wildly varied that it’s impossible to create a list of do’s & dont’s that applies to each and every one of us. This goes for marriages, friendships, and parenting roles. Naturally, there are societal norms that are agreed upon, and for good reason. Infidelity, BAD. Physical & mental abuse, BAD. Open communication, GOOD. Honesty, GOOD.  But aside from all the obvious, there are infinite grey areas that cannot possibly be generalized and remedied by any one help list or another. All of us have behaviors we will tolerate, situations in which we will compromise, and things that will prompt us to back off completely. Sometimes relationship issues will resolve themselves beautifully, other times they will fall to pieces despite our efforts to hold them together. I believe in commitment, in nuclear families, and in giving it all that you’ve got. That said, I also know that life endures should these things fail. Families carry on. Love may whither, but can be reforged and recognized in new ways in the wake of sadness & hurt.

Here are some of the relationship observations that I’ve made over the course of past years:

1) Do not ever assume you know what is going on inside someone else’s relationship/marriage. Chances are, unless you live with them, you don’t. And even if you DO live with them, you probably still don’t get the scope of it. How many times has a couple announced they are splitting, and the reaction has been, “But they seemed so happy together!” People have a way of masking their issues, even from those they know best. And the inner workings of a couples private relationship-especially the negative aspects- are not something they are likely to parade around at the neighborhood block party. Sometimes issues are hashed out for years, away from public sight, until it finally comes to a head which is usually when outsiders begin to catch wind of it.

2) When a loved one is going through a break-up, set aside your judgement and surround them with support. If you can’t put aside your judgement and personal feelings toward the split, tactfully say so, then step aside. Pretending to do otherwise can cause harm, even if you don’t intend it to. People naturally take sides when a break-up happens. Heck, look at the whole Team Aniston/Team Jolie fiasco that surfaced during Brad Pitt’s overly publicized divorce. We can’t help but to silently judge others on their decisions, even if we may not have the slightest idea what was behind the break-up in the first place. Relationships don’t just fail. There are typically a plethora of issues behind the decision to split. Most of the time, each person comes out of it with their own version of events. And who’s to say whose truth holds more validity? This is not the time to play jury. If you are a true friend, this is the time to be a listener. To be a supporter. A tear-wiper and a hand-holder. Regardless of the circumstances, breakups are an extremely trying time…add the burden of being subjected to other’s opinions and gossip, and it can truly take on the feel of a public trial. And no one wants to be subjected to that.

3) Men, treat your women as you would hope your daughter’s husband will treat her someday. Women, be the wife that you would want your son to marry. This one is a no-brainer. What our children witness in their homes in regards to parental relationships, is what they will go on to seek and mimic once they begin relationships of their own. Growing up, I watched my parents argue diplomatically, negotiate fairly, and forgive liberally. Though their union eventually ended based on other issues, these were the key lessons I took away from my childhood. Sadly, at the time of my divorce, I barely recognized myself, as I was not holding true to the manner in which I was raised. I intentionally used words to hurt, and I held grudges. In addition, I also found myself repeatedly tolerating behaviors that I never thought I’d put up with. We had become different people than those we had set out to be, and together, it made a poor example for our children.

4) Hindsight is 20/20 (But only if you allow it to be). If you are honest with yourself, you can learn valuable lessons from your past relationships, as painful as they may be. For a while there, I seriously thought I had done everything right. Well, almost everything. Little by little, I begin to slip off my high horse as I contemplated my role in the desolation of the marriage. It literally took sinking to the lowest of lows, and coming back up again, to realize just how flawed I had been. In my current relationship, I have been able to gain clarity on the harmful habits and shortcomings that are characteristic of some of my interactions. Now that I can see them for what they are, rather than hiding behind my own justifications, I have begun making a conscious, dedicated effort to correct myself. It’d have been easier to just blame it all on my past relationship, but that kind of outlook provides no room for growth.

I hope that, for you, 2014 brings closure where needed, growth when welcome, and peace in all areas of your life. If you are like me, you begin your days  contemplating ways to bring about a more positive world, for you, your loved ones and your children. But at the end of the day, serenity is bred and taught at home. If we can not find refuge in our relationships…then where?

Carry on with your public resolutions, those which focus on your health, your career aspirations, and your financial goals…but I urge you to silently make a pact to yourself, and use the coming year to improve on the interpersonal bonds you’ve been meaning to strengthen. Hold yourself to a higher standard. Communicate, reach out, connect, forgive. I think we’ll be surprised at how much improvement we can make in our own little lives, without ever having to read through another self-help link again.

How to Stop Stressing

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Some think that the end is just the end, but really it’s a start to a new beginning. Stress is a very common thing and boy does it have your mind going! And stressing over the little things is even worse. Stressing is waste of strength. I say don’t stress it, just use it to open a new door and when you start doing that you’ll see that you was stressing over was nothing. You can do anything or turn any situation around if you but your mind to it here’s a few tips to help you.

1) Try to think of whatever you’re stressing about as a positive.

2) Try to think of was to fix the problem or preventing it from happening again this way you know what to when or if this lil problem comes up again.

3) Write it out. Some people who stress tend to…

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Battle Scars

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Our interaction was brief, no more than 2 minutes in a typical Saturday scheduled with events and appointments during which my children and I managed to squeeze in a visit to our neighborhood park. And I can’t stop thinking about her… a comment about the heatwave, a genuine smile directed at my daughter, a polite “maybe we’ll see you here again…” as she worked to buckle her cranky toddler into his stroller. And as she turned to wave to me, I saw a dark bruise on the underside of her arm, the size of a large thumbprint. My eyes trailed to her forearm, where there were a series of faint, linear cuts. Self- inflicted? By now her son was in full-blown fit mode, back arched and hollering, and she shushed him with the promise of ice cream and a chance to play video games with dad when they arrived home. And she was gone. But her image lingers in my mind.

Every now and then, I catch a glimpse of it…the faint trace of scar about a half-inch long, on my left wrist right under my ring finger. I hardly think of it now. It serves no purpose but to remind me of a period of youthful hopelessness during which I was somehow convinced that my worth was tied to the boys I was dating. This one’s name was Bryan. He was tall and fair-skinned with hazel-eyes and an inviting grin. The trace of freckles sprinkled across his nose gave off an appearance of innocence, when in reality he was anything but. At 15, he was already on a path of self-destruction that included run-ins with the cops, voluntary homelessness, and sadly, methamphetamines. Like several of the other boys I had dated, he made a habit of exerting power through hurtful phrases and a heavy hand, and he could literally destroy  & re-build my confidence all in one day. But I adored him. Our time together was short…it began in early autumn and ended before the last leaf touched down on the cold winter pavement. Thankfully. But as always, my hindsight offers me a much clearer picture of a disaster averted, though at the time of our parting I was devastated. I remember there was another girl (isn’t that often the story?), and she happened to be a friend of mine. I consoled myself with Jack Daniels and my friend’s word that she would never pursue a relationship with him. And in my stupor, I found relief in hurting myself. Hence, the scar. The first, and last time I ever took comfort from the endorphin rush of self-harm. I was 14 years old.

These are not easy memories for me to recall, though it’s interesting for me to look back and see how, by the age of 15, I had silently vowed to myself that I could never put up with regular overt violence in my relationships…although up until fairly recently I did learn to tolerate (and engage in) bouts of covert conflict marked with verbal taunts and emotional stalemates. I know this is a common enough story that I’m willing to bet many of you reading this are nodding your heads, perhaps remembering a time that your broken heart lead you to depression, or self-medication, or injury. Or maybe it was none of these. Maybe your heart lead you to remain in a destructive relationship, and convinced you that a familiar suffering was better than the unfamiliar fate you’d endure if you somehow managed to walk away.

     We acquire many scars in the name of love; some are emotional, some are hidden & self-inflicted, others are visible to all. It takes an incredible amount of bravery to remove yourself from a situation that you have grown accustomed to. Or to admit that you are locked in a destructive pattern of interaction, either emotionally, physically, or verbally. The statistics on abusive relationships and related trauma in our country are sobering. Several studies have noted a co-occurance between dating/domestic violence and self-injury. And many sources estimate that 1 in 3 women have at one time been a victim of dating/domestic abuse. One in THREE. Which basically makes violence against women one of the most pervasive human rights crises in the world.

 If you are trying in vain to hide the battle scars of your hidden war, know that you are not alone. Know that voicing your struggle is the first step toward freeing yourself from it. Realize that, even if you feel completely isolated, there are people waiting in the wings who will support you are you take your first steps on different path.

 I regret not having said something to her. Not to pry or ask questions. But to offer friendship. A phone number. A bridge into our neighborhood network of strong, supportive women, many of whom have experienced similar misfortune at one point in their lives. If we happen to cross paths again, I will not hesitate to reach out…

Sister, you are stronger than the weight of his words. You are whole even in the absence of his presence. You, are a work of art to be admired and protected from defacement—be it from the hands of others, or your own.

Mother, love is not allowing your wings to be unwillingly clipped, even if you convince yourself it’s for the sake of your children. If you live in constant conflict, your little ones may benefit more from seeing you in flight than watching you wither in captivity. True, a nuclear family is worth is weight in gold…but a peaceful home is priceless.

Daughter, as I held you tenderly during your most vulnerable times, so should he respond to you with gentle touch and soothing words. Never expect less. Never settle.

And most importantly; Sons, with your hands, exhibit kindness. With your eyes, respect. With your tongue, honor. With your heart, love. And seek out a partner who will do the same.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/VAWG-Dialogue-Ending-Violence-against-Women-Girls/224212490996337
 http://www.loveisrespect.org/
http://www.weaveinc.org/domestic-violence-information
http://selfinjuryfoundation.org/self-injurers.html
 

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