Stop seeing teachers as miracle workers responsible for healing societal ills
I feel like collapsing at 3 p.m. every single day. I’m just finished with my last class, and then there’s just way too much to do. I have to call parents, grade papers, write IEPs, put in progress reports, document everything, and just do a ton of work I’ll never catch up on. It wasn’t that I was working for a long time, but the mental and emotional investment I put into my job as a special ed teacher is just exhausting.
There’s tired, and then there’s teacher tired.
I’ve worked plenty of jobs before, including more physically intensive jobs like supervising a gym or working as a picker at an Amazon warehouse. None of those jobs are as emotionally exhausting as teaching, where you feel like a zombie at the end of every single day, with a strong need to sleep or just sit on the couch, incapable of doing anything for hours. …
In a world populated by the domineering presence of media and technology, video games have become something that many of today’s youth have become indulged in within the 21st century. Even those who don’t play video games frequently at least have some ties and associations with the video gaming world and its community (myself included).
Recent statistics have reported that at least 64% of adults and 74% of under 18’s in the US play video games and statistics for the UK show this to be the case for 85% of under 35’s. …
This is the story I’ve been avoiding for months
I started writing this story more than a year ago. It sat in my drafts for a while, taunting me, as so many stories do. And then it got lost in the shuffle of COVID life.
I recently found it and was struck by the comparison between how my eating disorder manifested in 2019 and how it manifests today.
I gave myself a pass in 2020, ignoring my recovery. And now I’m paying the price.
THEN: December 2019
I just broke down in the gym locker room shower.
What extreme trauma has befallen me to elicit this reaction? I know you’re wondering.
Wait for…
“In popular culture, the stereotype of the broken, homeless Vietnam vet began to take hold.”
I will always remember a security guard at my high school, Dwayne, a Vietnam War veteran. Dwayne came to talk to a club we had honoring our servicemen and women about his Vietnam War experiences.
He gave his personal testimony about what it was like to see your friend shot and killed in front of you. First, he felt elated. At least it wasn’t him. Next, he felt frightened — he was going to do whatever it took to make sure the next person getting killed wasn’t him.
He also talked about getting spit on when he came back from Vietnam, and the first thing he did when he came home was take off his clothes. His whole life, he’d been coping with his experience in Vietnam, and although I won’t go as far as to label him with anything, he was still struggling up to that point. …
The fascinating consistency of the HSP trait across species
When I first read there was something called a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP), I immediately related, then thought, “Is this too good to be true?” Have I finally figured out the missing jigsaw piece for feeling different, out of sync, and generally misunderstood?
It’s worth reading about being an HSP if you don’t feel your other conditions — such as introversion, low self-esteem, or anxiety — fully explain life’s challenges. What’s more, you may be the lucky owner of a highly sensitive dog. Before you scoff, consider that evolutionary biologists have studied this in some depth.
The research is compelling and besides, you deserve praise for all the positive traits you and your dog can contribute to the world. …
The first time I posted an article about my depression, it was incredibly difficult — the idea that people would read this and scrutinise me and my words. That people could deny my experience or base their opinion of me on it. The same happened when I talked about my eating disorder. They’d think I was too fat to have been struggling so heavily; they’d think I was exaggerating about my pain. Talking about my self-harm equated to rendering myself unattractive, forevermore. Talking about my deep sadness felt like labelling myself as an overprivileged brat.
It was difficult each time I uploaded an article, despite the catharsis that my words brought me and the positive comments I received. It got easier, to the point that I would upload without doubt and grow more open in my pain. …
Dealing with the uncertainty of a general anxiety disorder
One night this October, I found myself wide awake at 1 AM. It was an all too familiar feeling, one that I had felt many nights before. I had awoken suddenly at 10 PM. The tears had started at 11 PM, and they had come on-and-off since then. I couldn’t catch my breath. I had taken the sleeping aids. I had tried all the breathing tips I had learned in therapy. Yet here I was at 1 AM, ready to scream because I just couldn’t keep everything inside anymore. …
They think they don’t know us
Harvey Bernard Milk (May 22, 1930 — November 27, 1978) was an American politician and the first openly gay elected official in the history of California, where he was elected to the San Francisco Board of Supervisors.
- Wikipedia
There is a scene in the film Milk when Harvey Milk, as portrayed by Sean Penn, forces a young man to call his parents and come out as gay. In this scene, we the audience bare witness to the young man’s worse nightmare come true. …
Acting early is everything when a mental health crisis is coming.
I am startled out of my thoughts by a loud rapping sound coming from my computer. I am on a Zoom meeting, and the speaker’s voice is very quiet. Earlier, I had to turn up my volume all the way up to make out their words. Now, the otherwise inoffensive sound of a Slack message notification is enough to make me jump out of my skin. I read it on the banner in the corner:
“Are you okay there? You don’t look okay.”
One of my colleagues on the call looks at me with concern as they type into Slack a follow-up…
Being honest about the darkest parts made the light that much brighter
My husband and I met at University. We were 19 and 22 with our entire lives revolving around fun and the future. Weekends at different bars, getting to know each other, and the possibility of everything in front of us. During the next eight years, we dated via distance, moved in together, and eventually got married. The world slowed down, the “honeymoon phase” ended. One day we woke up and we were both sitting in the present. The future wasn’t glaring at us anymore with that same promise.
This was okay, we just didn’t know it yet. …
