I've been absolutely drowning in my own ruminations and feelings for several months now. Well, to be fair, I guess I'm not really ever NOT deep in those, but the last few months have been more suffocating than other just "swmmy thought" seasons of my life.
I'm pretty much a mess. An "I have no clue what I'm doing nor any idea which way is up" total disaster show of a human. There are moments I cannot make myself get out of the bed, and there are days when I feel like I could conquer the world. I am quite honestly all over the place: up and down, joyful, tragic, laughing, sobbing, crabby, anxious, fearful... all these neurons firing all over the place and all these bananas emotions swimming around in here are a tangled mess. It's not unlike Clark Griswold's "little knot" that needs to be untangled, really, living in this brain.
Disclaimer: I do not in any way intend to blame or make excuses. I am simply reflecting and being as honest with myself and you, my readers, as I know how to be.
I guess let's go back to November. Life is rolling right along, difficult, as it can be, the usual good days and not-so-good ones. Work, life, parenting, spousing, churching some- though not even close to enough. Finding my way, surviving, as anyone does. Doing my best, doing ok.
At the end of that month, my dad died. I'm not sure if words exist that can accurately be applied to what goes on in a person when he/ she experiences the death of someone they cherish, though word-assignment has been attempted many times over. I'm not an expert, but I can say that I'm sure the words change from person to person and vary based on the gut-wrenching stages experienced at any given moment on any given day. That whole thing - losing Dad, along with any hope of repair and restoration between him and me, or more chances, or apologies that were never spoken...? Those weeks unleashed a whole host of apparently dormant issues in my heart and in my soul; emotional characters in my narrrative that I thought had exited my story-stage. They hadn't. I guess they were just hanging out in the dressing room, waiting, donning their dark and weighted costumes, ready to run the show. Dad's passing brought an unexpected scene change; an understudy came in, mid-show, to play the role of Jenny. Something pleasant in me was yanked away when he died. Something good. When that thing, that certain and sure went away, it went somewhere far and foreign, and an exchange was made without my permission. I got kicked out of the play, and, heading toward the stage - toward my life and my roles in it - was this ill-equipped, dark shell, bearing doubt, anger, fear, grief, disappointment, and a whole lot of question marks. The understudy was forced into the role, and was pretty terrible at it.
I clung to Jesus, though admittedly barely at times, and none in some moments. I can embarrassingly remember - I think it was a day or two after Daddy had died, Aaron and I had just gotten home from Virginia. It was the first trip we had arrived home in which I knew I couldn't text Dad or talk to him ever again. The first time walking into our home, knowing Dad was gone. Struck heavily with knowing Nancy didn't have her person, that their house was loud with silence, screaming with spaces that used to be his, and smacked hard with the true and her "forever-this-is-my-reality." Thankfully, Bonham was with his daddy, so it was just Aaron and me. The dogs were at the sitter, if I'm remembering correctly. Logistical things - bringing stuff into the house, dinner, unpacking, laundry - had to happen, and I slogged through some of those movements. What I do remember clearly, though, as horrible as this is to admit, is the slow motion, dream-ish, thunderous barrage of innocuous questions from my husband about the life-things that are so necessary in the day-to-day. I remember unleashing upon Aaron the reaction to not him or to his questions, but to everything in the inside of me that had been pressurizing. I was on the phone with my mom (bio mama), and she probably heard pure evil coming out of my mouth; to think of it now, it's beyond humiliating. I can see myself behaving horribly, I can even remember think-shouting to myself "I don't care if I'm not supposed to say this stuff, I don't care if Jesus can't stand how I'm acting, I don't care if this is mean, I don't care if this isn't ok," feeling justified and absolutely valid in my emotional gunfire, like a whiny brat-child. I can't take it back, I can't offer excuses, and I can't say I won't snap again, but in hindsight, I'm grateful - more than I could describe - for time, healing, grace, and forgiveness, from God and from people I love.
We slog uncomfortably and foggily to January. After Dad died, layers upon layers of "self" were peeled back. To me, to my family, to my co-workers. I returned from a ridiculously lengthy absence at the school and job I loved to a scene in which I didn't belong, and a place I couldn't find a fit for myself. I requested a change in placement to TA rather than "teacher;" I thought that would decrease my stress level; I knew I had to dedicate brainspace to my own survival, to my own functioning, and to my family, and I definitely did not have a surplus in the area of neurological bandwidth.
I took off one weekend to the beach, alone, under the pretrenses of a cheer shoe delivery (to be clear, at the time, it was just a shoe delivery. Hindsight has provided the discovery and subsequent clarification that it was, in actuality, an escape). I walked on the freezing winter sand and watched dolphins just offshore. I hung out with Jesus, cleared my head, listened to loud not-Jesus music, ate food alone, and slept alone. I went to a hockey game with KJ the next morning - truly delivering her cheer shoes - got some Roo squishes and giggles, and returned home, marginally refreshed. A small recharge.
And the next day, TA it was.
I quickly realized that was not the fix. Not even close.
Bonham still needed his mom. Aaron still needed his wife. I still needed - well, I don't know what I needed - but I was more blurry and fuzzy than I can ever recall, and there was absolutely nothing in me that had anything to provide anyone else in any way whatsoever. I had nothing to offer anyone. At all. Work was terrible, but it wasn't really work that was awful, necessarily. Yeah, public school EC has pretty bad areas, as a system, and there are tons of places for improvement, but that wasn't the problem. School, the kids, my colleagues, the job, the requirements, though, all of that had remained exactly as it had, for years, even before I worked there. I was the one who had changed, and every part of me was in dire need of protection. Retreat, searching. For my physical and mental health, and for the conservation of my family. Call it selfishness, call it self-preservation... it's both, I guess.
The TA gig lasted 10 days, and I quit. I actually pulled a total douche move and for-real just quit. No notice. Just an email saying "I'm not coming back," and that was that.
It's terrible. It's not like a 16 year old immaturely not showing up for his/ her shift at a fast food joint. It's a 48 year old woman peacing out on a career. A. CAREER. This school that I genuinely at one time had felt drawn to, God-called to. It had been, truly, a school family with kids I love, and staff/ colleagues I adore; a place where my son has found his little tribe. Bullock is such an incredible educational institution, and I failed them miserably. I'm not sure that I'll ever forgive myself for leaving like that, dumping so much on an already heaped-upon EC staff, and not following through on promises made. It's strange. I'll forever carry the responsibility of what feels like a serious lack of integrity in walking out the way I did, probably, especially the optics of it all; somehow existing in that same space in my brain, though, is the fact that I don't regret it at all. Odd juxtaposition. Nonetheless, I'll never shake the not-so-honorable label "quitter," as shameful somehow as Hester's scarlett chestpiece, and I'm absolutely sorry for the irresponsibility of it.
I was pleased to find myself, however, around the same time as Dad's death and the quitting of the public school situation, in conversations with a few people I've had the fortune of knowing for quite some time. A couple I know and love who's opening a coffee shop downtown - the Heimbeckers - and Chef Gregg Hamm. Chef Hamm owns Cafe 121, which is just across the historic railroad tracks from the Heimbecker's java joint, for some wee perspective. Small town Mayberry-type. Train tracks, perfect place to upscale, Edison bulb, brew some beers, and baby-boutique, which is what our city seems to be embracing of late. It just so happened that I needed an out, and all three of these folks, these merchants, wanted me, for varying food purposes. School door closed, food service/ barista door open, what a perfect scenario, right? I sailed out of the arms of Lee County Schools and into the beckoning ones of life in a professional kitchen with someone I held in unbelievably high esteem, and the start of something fantastic with two godly and incredible people I adore. I would get to do all the things I love, focus on home life a little, and score some pretty edifying, uplifting validation along the way. It's funny which optics I let drive, and the ones I kick out of the vehicle.
It took me a couple of weeks to realize my mistake, about a month to say it out loud, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around the nuances, really. I'm also trying to bounce back; I'm still reeling from daddy's departure, crushed with mama-worry, uncertain about my part in my family, and suffocating from some fairly damning and soul-sapping self-talk.
Since my thoughts are all over the place, I'm sure my chronology is, too; though it's close. While balancing a few days a week with Chef Hamm, and trying to figure out my duties and assignments at Family Grounds, somehow I found myself in Andrew Ricabal's office at Lee Christian. As I'm typing this, I honestly can't even remember what day it was or how that even started. I think the conversation was born out of Aaron's concerns about income, since FG hadn't opened yet. Regardless, in his office I sat, tail slightly between my legs, yet oddly confident about a place for me there, even though I had left several months prior. **See above, re. "quitter" moniker. Let's see. Timeline: July, 2022- sure of God's calling to go back to public school. August, 2022. Began job back w/ Lee County Schools at BT Bullock. (in hindsight, I saw the signs, but chose to go with "but this feels," and "they like me! they really like me!" validating stuff. More optics in the driver's seat. Also August, 2022, small whisps of regret, doubt, fear began to creep in, little tiny peeps in my ear saying "keep up the act, keep up the act, you're doing fine, you'll be ok, they like you, keep making them think you've got this," all the while, not having it. September/ October, Dad is declining, as are my spirits and abilities to keep up with the workload at Bullock. Add in behavioral factors regarding Bonham, calls on the school walkie (that typical, not-on-site moms aren't privy to), hearing my son stressed and anguished (not the school's fault, to make that clear... he has horrific and sometimes almost debilitating anxiety) from just down the hall; a marriage strained under, well, marriage regulars... so by the time Daddy was in the hospital and we began to realize he wasn't coming home, I'm not sure how I was able to function at a minimum level. So back to the timeline, in an attempt to keep some order here:
Left Lee Christian. Went to Bullock. Struggle, regret. Bonham's anxiety increased. Dad died. Struggle and regret gave way to increasing self-doubt and anger, which then morphed into grief, paralysis, and bare minimum survival; I did not recognize myself. Left Bullock, started plans for helping out at Family Grounds and 121. Concurrently, I decided to try to rebrand and build my bakery under Chef Hamm's tutelage, while discussing re-employment back at Lee Christian in some capacity, in order to meet the financial needs of our family. Slogged through arm burns, space that didn't fit, and uncertainty. Second-guessing baking and chef-ing, I'm now pulled back toward focus on building the EC program at Lee Christian, and feeling like a wishy-washy crazy person. Now, today, in looking at this summation, I can see why my brain is shorting out, to some extent. What an absolute cluster.
All this backing and forthing, all this "flip-flopping," according to Andrew at Lee Christian, is ill-effective. Not nefarioius, of course, but uncertain and indecisive, and absolutely contributes to stress and tension in all areas of my life. It's got to stop.Where is the integrity in being so all-over-the-place?
I've got to get myself together. "Together," however, is going to look like myriad things for a while, and it won't look "together" to some, and even to myself, I'm sure. There's not an easy fix, there's not a pill, a planner, or an algorithm that will do the together-ing, and God has, as a matter of fact, said that we will suffer, just not alone (whew). I have to work on the balance between loving Him and loving others, and with all the moving pieces of life and humanity, that's hard. I have little clarity as to how to do it, really, but I know it's time, as they say, to poop or get off the pot.
So for today, I'll do the best I can to mom my kid and wife my husband, which may or may not be a success. I'll finish this blog, answer some emails, I'll do some laundry, throw some stuff into the crock pot, and clean the kitchen, maybe. There's a chance some laziness may happen, and there's an equal likelihood that steps will be taken from this end of the hall to the other, or out to the car to perhaps run some errands. In all this ambiguity (which, incidentally, is one more thing Andrew mentioned to me that he isn't a fan of, so it's definitely a word that seems to be repeating itself lately), readers who may still be with me, there is a ton of real here, and a great deal of growth happening, even in the bonkers. Optics, image, or "what the world sees" cannot be in charge, here, nor can what people think of me. Those'll change, feelings will, too, and I absolutely cannot live in any of the fluctuation that comes along with taking my eyes off of the One who remains steadfast when all this other stuff isn't.
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