Om Hreem Namaha

Seth was pushing it. He’d taken “fake it til you make it” to the max. Crashing, an arid jolt of pure Sedona air filled his being. He was zapped, but grateful. With the Mustang’s back-road grip reminding him of home, Seth’s tired ankle wrestled with the accelerator until he reached his apartment. That night, he dreamed of ways to break through. For too long, he’d played victim to circumstances-- both at his job at the office, and in his relationship with Mark. To say that the breakup took him by surprise would be an understatement. As a result of their uncoupling, Seth had a complete breakdown. He’d found it hard to even just be. Resolving to be an edgy, heartless vessel, he happily picked up his drinking habit right where he’d left it. Three months later, Seth couldn’t brag about getting clean, because he hadn’t given it any effort. One day, he'd simply stopped, and today, he was determined to start a new life in a new place. His first stop had been Seattle. He’d liked it at first, but the city’s dreary climate was enough to make him move on to the heat of the desert. He laid down, listened to a guided meditation, and took a nap. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Although he was jaded by love’s afterglow and shock, Seth craved companionship and affection. He’d gone months now without either. Feeling concurrently desperate for attention and worthy of a “real” partnership, he took a chance. True, Grindr is really for hookups, but if he was on the app-- he, someone who was open to receiving something more--, didn’t that mean other guys were, too? The first date was a success. Seth ended up going out with Mark several times after that night. Soon after, though, things fizzled. It happened again with a few other men, but at least Seth was trying. He wanted to fill the void he thought he’d developed once Jordan admitted “he’d fallen out of love” with him. This didn’t work. Still, even in the face of mounting bills and past-due rent (a consequence of a broken heart, Seth assured himself), the Casablanca inside him took over, and over, and over. Over. Three forgettable dates later, Seth realized that he needed more than a fresh romantic relationship. So he got help. His shy nature prevented him from being relatively transparent with the counselor for the first two months. Eventually, thought, he shifted and was open to receiving an abundance of wisdom and support. Therapy helped him realize that his “issue” wasn’t about having a boyfriend or not. It was deeper. Things weren’t perfect, but the Earth’s free-fall was beginning to slow down. For the first time in his thirty years of life, Seth tried an antidepressant. He was nervous that it would change his personality, but he promised to ride it out for a few months before deciding to wean off it or continue. That summer, Seth took up flow yoga. He’d abhorred unnecessary physical activity in the past, but this new practice quickly became like desert air to him. Yoga provided him with more than just a temporary high. The sense of clarity it gave him invigorated his spirit. He always looked forward to the conclusion of class, when he’d get to close his eyes and silently repeat his favorite mantra” Om hareem namaha. Laying on his mat in savasana, he pondered, Does it get any better than this?

November 19, 2016

“I’m so hungry! I just want something to eat … I’m thirsty. I need something to drink. Why can’t I have anything to eat or drink?” My dehydration prevented my tear ducts from generating moisture, so I dryly whined as I laid in the hospital bed. After a week, a surgeon mended my broken wrist and ankle (the seven ribs and liver laceration, they couldn’t do anything about; oh well), and I could finally eat and drink.

I wondered, When will I be better and my life return to normal?  What will my new job think? The EMTs had cut off my jeans and Pizzeria Uno shirt in the ambulance. I failed to realize the gravity of the situation: Not only wouldn’t I be working for a good six months; I wouldn’t be walking, nor hopping, either!

Nobody plans to get hit by a car-- never-mind a Ford F-150. Evidently, it happens more often than you’d think.

Shame clouded my brain. I felt terrible about what happened, mostly because it was my fault. If only I hadn’t argued with my mom as she drove me home from work at 10:00 that night. If only I hadn’t stormed out of her car to walk the rest of the way, especially feeling so hungry and thirsty that I couldn’t think straight. One moral of the story? Don’t jay-walk, people!

Sitting on the pavement, screaming for my mom, I felt the pain, but it wasn’t so bad. When my mom arrived at the scene and first respondents announced that I would be going to Rhode Island Hospital, I noticed that it hurt to breathe. Have I punctured a lung? I later learned about my ribs, which relieved me.

My family and friends supported me the entire way, from that first week in the hospital (they brought me Thanksgiving dinner, for Pete’s sake!) through rehab at another. I cried because I missed my cat, so one of my aunts brought me a black cat stuffed-animal to comfort me in his stead. Yes, I got tired of re-telling my story and explaining myself, but it felt good to be cared for, regardless.

The next five-and-a-half months were challenging because I’d lost my independence. Forced to stay at home most of the time, I relied on others for transportation and assistance with everyday tasks. Using a wheelchair at 26 didn’t make matters better. Eventually, I got used to it, and one snowy January night, I proudly sat in the wheelchair as my mom pushed and accompanied me to my birthday dinner.

My recovery was not all good, however. How crazy is it that writing about this experience makes me upset, even now? The memories are back and I feel precisely how I felt at that time. I feel stupid, shameful, and worthless. I know now that I am none of those things, but it’s hard to shake the emotions when they were so real. I went from being car-less for a short while (which I’d already developed quite a shitty feeling about) to being crippled for a half-year.

I coped with the shame and boredom in part by self-medicating with pot and Percocet, but I quickly weaned off the pain meds that I’d been prescribed. Then, at my friends’ big Superbowl party in February, I drank so much wine that when I got home, I laid on the floor, slurring my speech, unable to get up. My mom was convinced that I’d imbibed something more sinister.  Naturally, I felt like a humiliatingly useless mess who everyone talked about...

Nearly three years have gone by, and I still haven’t completely processed this experience. I’m grateful to be alive and back to “normal.” With the daily support of my loved ones, many medical pros, and the smiles of the Today show anchors, I escaped the negative place I’d been in before and throughout my recovery. I passed a college algebra class and exam during that time, and I was able to prepare for my new venture- obtaining an elementary teaching degree.

It’s corny, but I believe that “everything happens for a reason,” and that chapter of my life is no exception. The memories and impacts will never leave me. I’ve become much more responsible and caring with myself and others since that fateful night. I hope that my family and friends no longer think of me as their “crazy” friend/daughter/sister/niece/granddaughter/cousin.

But I completely understand if they do. ;)

YeahWrite Challenge (9/10/19)

Imagine a world like that.

A place with no student loans,

where extracurriculars

run rampant. A place where, in-

stead of stress, you can focus

on loving the one(s) you love.

Love is a four-letter-place

that it seems, oh--, more and more,

I'll never see on my way

toward becoming an "adult"

(I'm an emotional wreck).

Accepting this truth, I'm still

dying to reach my Mecca.

How much interest would it cost?

Without “Developing Self-Compassion First,” Students Cannot Flourish in a Writing Classroom

Duh! I mean, this is something that most, if not all, educators have been taught by their experienced 
and knowledgeable teaching professors-- but in my personal experience teaching “for real” (that is, as a fully certified professional), it is a statement that’s typically only glossed over by school administrators and districts. This is not right! Teachers are responsible for their own self-compassion, but their educational communities should guide them toward developing it.

As I learned in a course titled “Psychological Perspectives on Language and Teaching,” which I took in the summer of 2017 with Professor Holtzman at Rhode Island College, people cannot learn and work their best if their most basic needs are not met. One of the specific learning theories that we looked at in that class was Maslow’s “hierarchy of needs,” which is illustrated by a pyramid-shaped flow chart detailing what needs must be met in order for others to be met as well. At the top sits what he called “self- fulfillment needs,” which include “achieving one’s full potential, including creative activities.” The second most-basic level of the Maslow structure contains “safety needs,” which are defined as safety and security. The level after that is called “belongingness and love needs,” and it consists of intimate relationships and friends.

Suffice to say, according to Maslow, in order for students to thrive in school, they must feel an authentic sense of safety, love, and belongingness in the classroom. Of course, as teachers, we know that we are the ones responsible to actively foster an environment of all three elements. That concept connects to this week’s course readings because some of the authors explains that the way that teachers can develop a positive classroom culture (that’s what I am calling it in my seventh-grade English classroom this year) or “climate,” as Matthew R. Kay sometimes calls it in his Not Light, But Fire book, is by first starting with themselves. 

This point is clarified in “Grow Your Own: Developing Self-Compassion First,” which is a chapter in Angela Stockman and Ellen Feig Gray’s book titled Hacking School Culture: Designing Compassionate Classrooms. The authors state that even if administrators and districts adopt social-emotional learning policies and plans for their schools, their efficacy depends upon all teachers executing them with their respective cohorts. According to Stockman and Gray, the first thing that teachers must do to ensure that all students are comfortable and empowered enough to do their best work and learn the best is to practice self-care and self-compassion. “It’s impossible to create compassionate classrooms for our students if we aren’t cultivating compassion for ourselves,” they say (Gray and Stockman 16). Among the action items that they recommend educators complete are practicing gratitude, setting intentions, and having a playful spirit (Gray and Stockman 18-24). 

I agree with the aforementioned authors because a) their ideas make sense and b) another writer from this week’s readings, Linda Christensen, supports their theory. In the introduction to her book Teaching for Joy and Justice, she writes that, “Students will rise to the ‘challenge’ of a rigorous curriculum about important issues if that rigor reflects the real challenges in their lives” (Christensen 3). This is sort of common sense when you think about it, but to take it one step further, I think that we teachers should ask ourselves just how easily students could connect these “real challenges” to their curriculum if they were learning in a classroom where their personal lives were not prioritized (which Kay wrote about in his book) and mistakes were unacceptable. Basically, teachers and students simply cannot get to the place that Christensen describes without having self-compassionate teachers who foster a compassionate classroom culture for all learners.

The biggest questions that I have after reading and reflecting on these passages are about how we can support other teachers and ourselves to become more compassionate and take better care of ourselves. This month, the district that I work in is kicking off  a “mindfulness” professional development series, which I am signed up for, but are/can others? What else can we do to support each other working toward these goals?