Can I? A letter to my past and future self, from my present self.

Our story may not seem particularly difficult. But I think that is why it needs to be said. And I'd like to preface this by saying that a lot of torturous things in life seem to feel this way, but I'm using this current torture in my life to try and explain how I think a lot of things must feel. 



We've tried to have a baby for what I consider to be a while. And it just hasn't happened. Waiting and trying to have a baby has taught me something about pain. It is painful to want something and to try to have that and to never get that. But it is made more painful by the waiting to feel part. 

The discussion around difficulties in life often falls to comparison. "At least you haven't had (insert horrible things that happened to someone else) yet." That and the telling of various heartbreaking stories about other people who have it much worse than you do. And it's something that has been ingrained in me, considering the sentence I used to start this letter. 

So that first month or that twenty-second month, when you really want a baby and there is nothing on the ultrasound or the cancer is still there or you still haven't been able to forgive them or you still haven't forgiven yourself you don't know how to feel. 

When can I feel sad? When is it okay to weep? When can I throw things across the room in an attempt to channel my rage in some direction? When is that deep, unrelenting ache in my chest valid? 6 months? A year? Five years? That's what you ask yourself day after day, month after month and year after year. 

But that isn't fair. Sadness is sadness, whether you've been sad for a month or for years. Emptiness is still emptiness. And aches are always achy. You shouldn't have to tell yourself that it's not your turn to be sad yet. You shouldn't have to pretend that you're fine with feeling like something is tearing up your insides into little tiny pieces. Just because someone hasn't felt pain like you have or another has, doesn't mean that what's happening to them doesn't hurt. If someone hasn't felt the 10 year pain yet, it doesn't mean they're not allowed to feel the 6 month pain. 

Maybe instead of saying, "just wait till you get to where I am or where this other person is, then you'll know real pain," we should say, "you know, I remember that part, and it felt really terrible and I'm so sorry you have to experience that...it's awful."

Pain, anguish, sadness, tears, and torture don't have start dates and "only allowed if experienced X amount of time"-type conditions. 

It has been some time that we've wanted a baby of our own. As I write this I'm counting down the hours to take our next pregnancy test. I'm hopeful that there will be a little baby growing in there this time. But if there's not, my pain is still pain, regardless of how long I've felt it. 

Just because someone doesn't hurt as long as you hurt, doesn't mean they don't hurt. I now understand what it feels like to be told, even unintentionally, that my pain isn't that bad.  I'm sorry to those of you who confided your hurt with me and I told you that it could be worse. No one should be told to hush and then be forced to wait and wonder when it's acceptable to feel out loud the despair they've been feeling inside for much, much longer. And I'm tired of waiting and wondering if it's okay to feel.

Un-planning

I think it starts around the time you become incredibly self-aware. All you see is you and your problems and you also think you can see how everyone else can see you.

And with that self-awareness comes your awareness of everyone else around you. You compare and barter with yourself deciding what pieces of other people you want to pick up and what pieces you want to leave behind.

Eventually, you get to an age where you start saying things to yourself, mostly in your head, but sometimes out loud about how "you would do it."

It may not seem like you're planning, but you are. You subconsciously start to plan your life. How you'll "do" college, how you'll "do" relationships and friendships. You make mental notes of things you will definitely buy when "that time" comes. How you'll decorate or build when you have "your home." Everyone does this, for a certain amount of time in their lives. I'm sure some people do it until the day they die.

But when your plans are rejected by something you don't control or can't adjust, your mind starts to shift.

All of those times you would have automatically said to yourself "When I..." and filled in the blank with your subconscious plans, instead of filling in the blank you stop yourself. Because what you thought would never be your reality, is currently your reality. The possibility doors close one at a time and as those doors close the light that once lit your perceived future progressively dims.

Strawberry Days

Maybe it's because strawberries are our favorite fruit. Maybe it's because you can't beat that mountain view. And maybe it's because it's on our "where we fell in love" list. Or maybe we're too lazy to find a new rodeo.
Whatever it is, we haven't missed Strawberry days since we've been together and now we'll be missing it for the next three years. But I'm sure there are other rodeos out there that we will grow to love--maybe. Here's to our last Rodeo, in Utah at least.

Smoothie Pants

This is a story I tell my students in order to encourage them and make them feel better about all of the terrible things that happen to you when you're a teenager. And all the terrible things that still happen to you when you're an adult, despite your efforts to prevent them.

And it goes like this.

Generally on a school morning, I zombie myself to the bathroom to get ready while Tyler hits snooze several times. Then as I dress by the light of my phone flashlight, Tyler zombies out of bed and goes upstairs to make my breakfast and lunch. I know what you're thinking--that is so sweet of him. And the worst of me, because how lazy am I that I can't make my own meals? The answer is v lazy. It is v sweet of him, but it's also because if he didn't I would legitimately waste away slowly and be shriveled into nothing by graduation.

Generally, lunch is one of three: oatmeal, PB&J, granola bar.
Breakfast is also one of three: toast, cereal, smoothie.

On this particular morning, Tyler made me PB&J for lunch and a smoothie for breakfast. He was especially tired so I sent him back to bed with a kiss and a spank.

I sat at the table drinking my smoothie. I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to grab chapstick (it's a necessity and an addiction). I promptly stood up from the table and as I sidestepped out of the bench my pants caught the tablecloth and began to rip it from it's resting place on the table. I foresaw the disaster with my psychic-like abilities and froze in just enough time so that the smoothie glass didn't move.

"That was close, self," I told myself as I made a mental note not to do that again.

Student Sense

Maybe students have something of a sixth sense.

I had recently sent in my resignation and was feeling pretty sad about it. I love the students part of my job. Anything that has to do with them is what I enjoy. Mostly. Sometimes I hate that they ignore me, or don't turn in assignments, or don't come to cla--okay, that's enough. They are what makes my job worthwhile and enjoyable.

That is why I was feeling sad about leaving. I thought of all the students that I had cared about for so long and all the ones I would miss in the coming years by not being here teaching, and it made me sad.

Now, to their sixth sense. I think they can sense when I'm feeling sad, even from far away. Within a week of handing in my resignation the following went down:

One former student emailed me from across the world and reminded me that I did do something good last year and I had made a small difference in their life.

Another former senior randomly came to visit me after school one day. To say hi and catch up. Awwwww. My heart.

And then I ran into a few of my former seniors at the grocery store (mostly embarrassing) and we hugged and chatted about life recently and the haps.

And then two more seniors came to see me after school one day. At this point I stopped wondering and called Dateline to pitch my student-phenomena theory and the episode they could do on it. They did not return my call.

You see. They must know. They could sense that I didn't want to go and that I felt sad and they came to my rescue! Even though they didn't know they were rescuing me. They reminded me that I had been doing good things the last few years. It wasn't a waste and it was worth all the crap that came with it.

So to those of you who came to my sadness rescue in person and email and spirit, thank you. Thank you for reminding me that it was worth it. You made the last years worth it.