Battling Back

This spring we moved
Back to the community where we teach

So the commute would be less

So the family time could increase 

So the girls could attend their home schools

So the girls could live among their peers

So the girls would have consistency 

So the girls could plant roots.

And the move went well

The house is home

The Foothills soothe my soul

The commute is five minutes for me

And ten for Janelle

But it means a new school for Sadie and Bella

And new friends

And new teachers

And new routines

And they aren’t at “Auntie’s” school anymore

And I moved schools too.

Literally to the middle school right next door

To Sadie and Bella

And where one or more of the girls will attend for the next 10 years

But it means a new staff for me

And a new neighborhood for me

And a new parent community for me

And a new subject for me

And more grading

And more classes to prep for

And less prep time to do it in 

And extra stress of proving myself as a respectable and effective teacher in a new area

I knew I needed to make some of “those” calls
Phone calls to parents with some on-going concerns I’ve had
Calls to try to have some hard discussions 
But to keep it positive and connected
The calls I hate to make
But the calls that can bring the support lines together and help

Voicemail
Voicemail
Voicemail
Call back

Things start off fine
I think
Positive
I think
But then it went ugly
And mean
And fast

It was "that mom"
"That mom" who “listens” as I share my concerns
But then moves in for the attack
"That mom" who tells me it’s all me not him/her
"That mom" who tells me I am mean
"That mom" who tells me I am a rude 
"That mom" who tells me all I am doing wrong as a teacher 
"That mom" who tells me I don’t understand how to work with middle schoolers
"That mom" who tells me she’s friends with all the other moms and they all talk about how bad I am
"That mom" who said more but my brain was firing off in a million directions trying to process where this all went so horribly wrong

And I listen
Stunned
To the rudest parent attack in my 19 years of teaching 
And I am basically speechless 
And I don’t know how to respond
Because I won’t accept her comments
Because I don’t believe her comments
Because I won’t own her comments
But I tell her I will consider her comments
(As if they will ever leave my rolling self-talk cycle)
But I tell her I will reflect upon her criticisms 
(As if I’ll ever be able to think of anything else for the upcoming hours, days, weeks)
And I hang up
And my stomach hurts
And my heart hurts
And my eyes well up

Trying to decide what to do next
No desire to call anyone
That’s for sure

I should be getting my girls
But I am frozen
I am hurt
Hurt

But I open an email
It’s a short email from a mom
It simply says “thank you.”
All I did was send out a weekly email
With basic information
But she took the time to say thank you.

Another “thank you” from another mom
And this one adds that her son loves my class
That he loves me as his teacher. 

And I sigh
Deep breaths
Inhale
Exhale
My heart is still racing from the verbal attack

I've always been told "not to take things personally"
But when I put my heart and soul into something
Personal is what it is to me.

So I decided to write "these moms" back
Thanking
"These moms"
For raising amazing kids
Thanking 
“These moms” 
For sharing their kids with me as a teacher 
Thanking 
“These moms” 
For taking time to reach out to me with simple emails of appreciation. 

And then I decide 
I’m going to battle back
Not with more words to “that mom”
It’s not worth it.
She made it clear her mind was made up.

But I wasn’t going to let her label me in my new school
But I wasn’t going to roll over and let her win tonight
Or take my weekend from me

So I sat down
And I wrote to 
“These moms”
And
“These dads”
About
“These kids”

And I wrote
And I wrote
And I wrote

And I began to appreciate deeply
And I began to feel simple joy
And I began to win over the attack

I wrote emails to all
“These families”

I sent out over 120 emails before I left school for the weekend 
Little notes
Short notes
Just quick notes of appreciation

Most of my students 
“These kids”
Are really awesome
And kind-hearted 
And polite
And I love learning with them 
And as a parent, I would want to know that from my child’s teacher
And as a teacher, I needed to do that for myself tonight
To reach out
To make those connections
To express my appreciation and joy of teaching 
“These kids”

And I battled back
Battled back with positivity 
Battled back with kindness
Battled back with simple joy
Battled back with appreciation

And I am better for it.
And I hope it makes a difference for one of
“Those moms”
“Those dads”
“Those kids”
"Those families"

Trauma Sucks

I cried today.
Wish it would have been
Louder
Longer
Deeper
Fuller
But I was at school
In a staff meeting

Yeah
Bad timing.

I don’t get to pick when I cry.
Wish I did.
Wish I could.
Wish I could release more.

So why today?

Well
The simple answer?
It’s been building.
I had a little tear up session a few weeks ago over school stress
But it wasn’t the real deal.

But
The real answer?
Today was trauma-informed teaching training
Part 2

Trauma-informed teaching training
Trauma-informed
Trauma

Part 1 was just before school started
So my brain was on overload
My brain filtered it
My brain took it in and said
I know that
I live that
I got that

But today
For some reason today
I know the reason
The trauma-informed training
Set
Me
Off.

I felt it coming.
I tried to stifle it.
It wasn’t the place.
It wasn’t the time.

All the trainer did was start a review
A review of trauma
A review of what I know
A review of what I’ve seen in my classrooms for years
A review of years of training I've had
A review of what I live with
Wake up with
Eat next to
Sleep next to
Drive home
Disciple
Laugh with
Cry with
Call my daughters
Every
Single
Day.
A review of my reality
My hard reality lately
And it's been hard
Really hard
Lately.

And did you know that being a momma of kids with trauma
Often leads to secondary trauma in the mommas?
Trauma mommas
Mommas of kids with trauma?
Or mommas with trauma themselves?
A?
B?
All of the above.
See my hand waving wildly in the back?
See my finger pointing back at myself?

I am a trauma momma.
I know it.
And I suck at it.
Every day.
I'm working on it.
But I'm in an ugly place with my own secondary trauma right now
Let's be honest...I have been for almost a year now.

So
The tears came today
As the teaching came today
Not because it was new
Not because it was different
Not because I didn't know it
But because I am tired
Because I am used up
Because I am failing
Because I am losing
Because I am struggling
Because I am guilty

Those tears today
Slow
Controllable drips
At first
Then fast flowing
Couldn’t wipe away fast enough tears
On to crocodile tears
Find an escape to the nearest bathroom
Sobbing
Gasping
Wanting
Needing
Desiring
To scream
To yell
To punch
But
Embarrassed
At a new school
No one really knows me
Or my story
I don’t even know
If
I
Know
My
Story
Fully

We need this training in schools.
We need it as educators.
I learn more every time.
And I am passionate about helping my trauma kids
My school trauma kids
And my own trauma kids

But I couldn't separate the trauma teacher brain
From the trauma momma brain today
And my trauma momma heart was
Heavy today was
Weary today was
Guilt-ridden today.
How can I know all of this as a teacher
How can I practice all of this with students
How can I understand the truths of trauma
But then fail so badly at home?

Partly I know it's because
I teach kids who have
Faced
Lived
Experience
Sit-in
Go home to
Trauma
Every
Single
Day.
I teach them
I love them
I try to be there for them.
But at the end of the day,
I turn my back away from them
And their trauma
And it's on a shelf
Of sorts
Until the next day
Until the next encounter.

But then I come home.
But when I close my eyes.
But when I think about anything.
It's always about my trauma babies.
My FabFive.

Two whom have years of
Unknown
And known
Trauma.
Trauma
That I don't understand
That I don't get
That I don't know
That I can't fix
That I can't change
That I can't figure out

Three whom have nine months
In-utero trauma
Of unknown
And known
Stress
Abuse
Neglect
Trauma

My trauma babies.
My Five.
I teach them.
My FabFive.
I love them.
I try to be there for them.
But I fail so badly.
Over and over again.

Their trauma has
Triggered
Kicked in
Set off
Caused me
Trauma.

I've always been a person of
Big emotions
Big feelings
Big reactions
Lots of words
Lots of thoughts
Lots of processing
And some days
Some weeks
Some months
And apparently some seasons of life
Like toddlerhood
Like tweens
It's extra hard
And my big emotions
My big feelings
My big reactions
My words
My thoughts
My processing
Aren't any better
Or under much more control
Than my trauma babies.

And when I don't take the time to process
I haven't blogged in three years!
And when I don't take the time to care for myself
Insert eye roll!
And when I don't take the time to breathe
Literally don't think before I react
My trauma rears it's own head
At the trauma of my own babies
It's a vicious cycle.
And there are times when we move around here like a well-oiled machine
And there are times when we run around here like something is on fire.
And there are times when I can't find the firehose

Don't get me wrong.
My girls are generally happy.
Generally sweet.
Generally loving.
Generally giving.
Generally amazingly amazing.

But there is always underlying trauma.

And parts of me thinks
It's been long enough now
You've been with me long enough now
You don't need to have this trauma anymore
It's time to move on

I want to think that this should have passed
I want to think that my love should have fixed this
I want to think that my consistency should have resolved this
And then I laugh
And then I cry
Because that's I know that's not how trauma works
Not how trauma operates
Reality is
I know better.
Trauma doesn't go away.
Trauma lasts a lifetime.

You can learn overcoming tricks
You can practice overcoming skills
You can counsel
You can pray
You can.
It will help.
You will grow.
You will overcome.

But
Trauma sucks.
Trauma is always there.
Somewhere.
Deep down
Ready to rise up
It sucks.
Sucks the life out of you.
Sucks the joy out of you.
Sucks the rationalization out of you,
Sucks the regulated brain out of you.
And so does
Secondary trauma.

I wouldn't mind some more cry time
Some more scream into a pillow time
A magic
Trauma-be-gone pill

But for now
I'll process
I'll blog
I'll ask for prayer
I'll seek counsel
I'll cry when I can
I'll hide when I need to.
And I'll bite off a fingernail or two in the processing process as well.