I was paid a professional compliment last week, in regards to the work I accomplished at a former campus of mine. I was referred to as "a machine", meant in the most positive way; I got the work done, day in and day out. I managed a program, built relationships, created a safe space for everyone in my learning community within our library walls.
I ran with that image in discussion later, turning myself into a Transformer with library scanners for hands. I couldn't stop laughing about the moniker: Christine the Machine. It fits; I do plow through my days--gleefully, I might add--taking care of library business in the same way I took care of classroom duties. I think most educators do the same.
Still chuckling about it at home, an unbidden memory popped up.
In middle school, I experienced suicidal thoughts.
Serious thoughts about taking my own life. I don't remember the exact circumstances. I do remember journaling about it. I remember feeling isolated, an outsider, not even on the fringes of any of the cliques that exist in those tumultuous in-between years. I was called "Mrs. Einstein", "curve-breaker", "four-eyes" in the pejorative, and they were all true--I was smart, I did set the curves, I did wear glasses--so the barbs stuck, worked their way in to my heart.
I remember writing one line in particular. "It's as if they think I'm a robot without feelings."
I never acted on those thoughts. My parents had no clue about that episode until years later, when they found my journals while cleaning out the garage. They were shocked, and saddened, until I told them that they were the reason I never made plans to end my life; I knew it would hurt them to the core, and they weren't any part of the reason for my depression. I knew they loved and cared for me, and that kept me alive.
I wish I could go back and hug my thirteen year old self, and show her how far that robot has come. She's transformed into a machine, working hard to create the same safe spaces her family provided for her, just when she needed it.
I've been listening to Glennon Doyle lately and thinking more about the labels we give to people we do not understand. I've been labeled task-master. Is this a bad thing? I hope you continue to let the machine label roll off your back, but in reality, you are much more than that. You are an amazing woman not only with feelings, but passion. Our young students are so vulnerable. Looking back on our own evolution can lead to empathy. Thanks for posting this painful memory.
ReplyDeleteOh, the machine label was completely complimentary, Margaret, didn't bother me in the least. And thank you for the compliments, too. As for task-master--sounds like goal-accomplisher, to me! What a strength to have!
DeleteThank you for sharing such a vulnerable and personal piece. Your writing reminds me of the power of words spoken and how we all need to choose what we say carefully. One never knows the pain a lane can inflict. Thank you again
ReplyDeleteI think one of the follies of youth is not having the filter in place yet, both in the giving and receiving of words. Creates a case for social-emotional learning in schools, doesn't it?
DeleteOh. Oh those memories that come unbidden, that sneak into our thoughts just at the moment we're unprepared for their arrival. My heart goes out to you. And like you, I wish I could go back to my teenage self, one who suffered the same kinds of bullying, that same teenage self who pondered the dark path you also considered, who never told anyone those thoughts, and show her some love and light. Perhaps the next best thing is to show that compassion to the young ones in our lives now.
ReplyDeleteThank you for the reminder. <3
I was surprised that memory popped up, Lainie, four decades old that it is. Knowing what we know, embracing it in order to recognize it in others and be that support--I think you are absolutely right about that.
DeleteWow, Chris. What an interesting juxtaposition. I'm reminded of "Eleven" by Sandra Cisneros and how she says she's still a little kid inside herself and we wear our years like the layers of an onion. 13 year old Chris is still there. You just paid her a visit with this post and she's hugging you tight. Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteIt's amazing the connections the mind and heart make, Alice. I hadn't thought about that memory in years, and why such a negative experience was prompted by a positive one, I may never know. And now I have another book to add to my reading pile; thanks!
DeleteDear Chris... you had me laughing at the image of "Christine the Machine" with library-scanner hands, and then you stopped me cold with your heartrending confession. This week I happened to stop and chat with a group of fifth graders working with another teacher, and when I asked how they were all doing, two said "depressed." It is a thought I can't imagine having at ten or eleven - and when I was fourteen, one of my teachers told my parents that I was depressed. I didn't know it. I just knew I was extremely sad. Their reaction: irritation. Snap out of it. I only got better when I got tired of feeling that way - and I haven't returned to that depth since. Young people experience so much, and so much more deeply, than we know or see or remember even from own past at their ages. This past year, they have endured so much, especially. Your post is a call to see and sense...to intervene, if need be...and also to celebrate the overcoming. To fling open the doors of possibility - that image of you hugging your young self could very well be in a book for young people with your story. I am so moved by your courage, my friend - and, as always, by your absolute honesty. And I am grateful for you more than words can say - in so many ways.
ReplyDeleteIt's odd sometimes what the brain decides to juxtapose, Fran. I really was being paid a compliment, so why did the negative memory pop up? I am so sorry your parents didn't understand the depth of your sadness and respond in a more caring way; perhaps it was because they were uncomfortable dealing with that emotion in their own lives. I returned to that level once more, without even realizing it, after my son's birth. Not so much postpartum depression, I think; more of a delayed reaction to my mother's death, or maybe just that acceptance stage of grief that pulled me under. Thankfully my husband recognized it and called it out, prompting me to do something about it. I think that owning those periods of sadness just makes us better humans, more able to show empathy to others experiencing the same, as you are doing with your students right now. I appreciate your presence in my circle as well!
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