Listening to:
“Impossible” → Lyla Foy
“Stay Alive” → Jose Gonzalez
Several months ago, I had an “I am Woman, hear me roar!” moment. I finally landed a “big girl” job (which to me, personally means that I was finally out of the Customer Service/Sales circuit and into something within my future career field – English Education). I was hired at an organization as a Support Specialist, which I was initially told is essentially a Teaching Assistant for kids with disabilities and behavioral issues.
I. WAS. ECSTATIC. I was so proud of myself, which is a rare feeling for me. I felt like I was worth something, and other people noticed. I felt accomplished.
After a couple months I began mainly working in the Adult Program, mostly in building and mostly with people with Autism, but also a few community clients with Depression and PTSD. I quickly began to realize this was not the job that was initially described to me.
One client is Non-Verbal and can get instantly upset seemingly out of nowhere. I have been screamed at and slapped in the face several times. It is sometimes hard to remember she is upset and can’t communicate what she wants or needs, which surely causes more frustration, and that the lashing out is not personal, even though it stings physically and emotionally.
Another client has anger issues and in order to work with him one on one, you have to be CPI trained (trained to put him in holds, not if, but when he becomes violent).
Another client, a community person, is homeless and jobless and it is my job to essentially be his life coach and keep him moving forward and on track. Which is very difficult when he wants to drink himself to death.
Several other clients, over the age of 18, some with Autism or MS or both, are quite cognitive and verbal, but cannot toilet themselves. Which is….well….yeah…
And yet another, a young girl entering her Senior year in High School suffering from ADD, PTSD and Anxiety, so naïve, so vulnerable, so sweet.
All I ever wanted to do when applying for and accepting this position, was to teach someone something. To make a difference in at least one person’s life. To be a constant. A mentor. To help shape a life and see it grow and succeed. To learn something myself.
There have been ups and downs, progress and backtracking for all. But after one particular week of several slaps in the face from one, another receiving death threats and needing to be reported for possible suicide watch, another soiling herself at the park and then having to get into my car, and yet another, needing me to report to Child Protective Services for possible in home abuse, I began to go into mental breakdown mode. Was this the rough and tough real world my parents always told me about but I never believed existed?
I felt lost. Like I was a failure. I felt heartbroken for not being able to help and save everyone. I let them all down, I let my supervisor and fellow employees down, and I let myself down.
The stress continued to build and after weeks of debilitating anxiety attacks, severe depression, feeling as if I can't do a thing right and I am not helping anyone, today that changed.
Upon leaving I had a client (the homeless, jobless, “drink himself to death” client) tell me I "have been a Godsend" and that he "wouldn't have been able to go on had I not been there to help the way I have."
Never miss an opportunity to tell someone how you appreciate them. Even the tiniest of compliments can pull someone back to a happy reality. And even if you feel like you aren’t making a difference, if you truly care, then you are.
Do good. Be good. Spread the love.
And that folks, is my lesson of the day.
:)
Listening to: “Cool Kids” → Echosmith
Thinking about: The Big Lebowski
If only I knew what my element was, I’d like to be in it. Herein lies the daunting task that many of us face daily: fitting in.
What makes it most difficult is that at any given moment we can be playing a multitude of roles which we need to fit into.
Take me for example: daughter, sister, student, not just any student but a “non-traditional” student as I am older and returning to school, employee, support specialist, friend, girlfriend, to my boyfriend’s friends I am the new girlfriend of their guy friend who is also the ex-boyfriend to a girl they are still friends with (yeah that one is messy…), tenant, neighbor, stranger at the store or gas station or library or wherever….
My point is, I am one who wants to please everyone, and I want everyone to like me, all while being true to myself. But, WHO THE HECK AM I??!!?? I think it’s easy these days when “acting out our roles” to lose ourselves in them and the people surrounding them. You want to stand out and have people see and appreciate you for who you are, and yet you want to fit into their lives and have a sense of commonality. Conundrum!
How do you do both? Is it even humanly possible?
Well, it is and it isn’t, but more importantly, I have learned it doesn’t completely need to be.
I most likely will never “fit in” with the cool kids I attend college with and I don’t want to (at 28, I am 6-10 years older than most of them….ugh). But being the loner in the corner doesn’t go well when you have group projects. They don’t need to know how old I am, nor do we need to hang out on Thirsty Thursday. But I can still be my quirky, sweet self and have classroom friends.
I am my boyfriend’s girlfriend and he does love me completely for who I am. Which is a wonderful thing. And while it is important for family and friends of a significant other to like you and vice versa, just as in every aspect of life, not everyone will. Especially if they are still friends with his “super awesome and nice” ex girlfriend…(HEY!!! GUESS WHAT??!?!? I’M SUPER AWESOME AND NICE!). This one is a bit tough…I have learned on a couple first impression expeditions that maybe my quirky side might just have a bit to much quirk to it for some people (especially when mixed with alcohol…). So, you can and should be yourself, but maaaaaybe tone it down a bit the first couple of times until you really get to know a person, understanding their possible loyalties to both your significant other and their ex. All in all, if the two of you love each other, truly make each other happy, and are undeniably good for each other, most everyone will come around. And if they don’t, it’s a battle that’s just not worth fighting.
When it comes to work (and neighbors and strangers and every other person on the list), this one is much the same, with an extra dose of common sense. Be respectful. Be professional. Don’t swear. Using proper English is always a plus. Unless you have this person’s job, then throw it all out the window and let yourself loose! Wooooo!
Conclusion? Don’t lose yourself, embrace yourself. Don’t compromise your beliefs, desires, or feelings for someone else, but do be aware and respectful of the situation. There have been plenty of times I have spent the entire day holding in a temporary and sudden onset of turrets, letting it all out upon entering my tiny, thin-walled apartment (sorry neighbors…).
WE, my friends, ARE cool kids. And don’t you forget it!
Find you, find your element, and GET IN IT!
When I think of my grandmother I still see her as she was years ago: true red lipstick, short black hair with perfect waves of curls pinned back, clip-on costume earrings, and black pumps. So classic.
She is 91 years old now and no color other than natural has been on her lips in years. Her curls have turned gray, earrings are only worn on very special occasions, and pumps have been replaced by flats for nearly a decade. But to me, she is still beautiful. She is timeless.
A few days ago (Wednesday) my father called me to inform me that she had fallen and broke her leg…as many elderly do. She was to have surgery the next day. As she lives a few hours away, and I am nearly overwhelmed with work and school, I wouldn’t be making a trip. The outcome of the situation was overall positive.
Last year, around the holidays, over a period of a month or so, she suffered 4 strokes. 4! Many people don’t even survive one but this woman is unlike any other. She had been living on her own, but in order to be released after the 4th stroke the Doctor stated she had to live in either Assisted Living or a Nursing Home. So, we as a family spent the next 3 weekends in a row finding a new home for her, packing, cleaning, moving and unpacking her life. Those 2 months were terrible. As a child growing up in a single parent home, it was my grandparents who raised me much of the time while my father worked overtime each week and returned to school. The thought of losing the woman who raised me, my true mother figure, was devastating. I understand reality and the worst part about life is that it always ends in death. Yet I think nothing can truly prepare you. Well we made it through that and soon she returned to her quirky, perfect self.
So her surgery and initial recovery went as well as possible, and we were informed she would have to stay in the rehab section of a nursing home for at least a month, with the possibility the nursing home could become a permanent residence, but still, a near-full recovery was expected. So I went on with my next day and a half as usual, finally sleeping again and the anxiety attacks subsided.
Until the other evening (Friday), my father calls as I am driving home from work and says, “Grandma’s checking out”. WHAT. THE. HELL??!? With all the pain and weakness and remembrance of her health issues over the past year, she was somewhere in between acceptance and giving up. So she had called my father to say goodbye, and he told me to call her.
So I instantly did. While still driving. Which I don’t remember, and DO NOT recommend (seriously, while crying and saying your supposed last words to a loved one, pull over.). We had a 15 minute conversation which I will never forget and will mostly keep sacred to myself. But it was the most heartbreakingly beautiful conversation I could ever ask for. Being told she loved me, she was proud of me, was lucky to have had me…it almost took the pain away for a moment. Not many people get the opportunity to have that moment with a dying loved one. A treasure more priceless than any physical object or any experience. I had flashbacks of her putting on her red lipstick and chunky earrings. Flashbacks of her making macaroni and cheese. Flashbacks of her playing “Go Fish” with me. We said “I love you” for the 50th time that conversation, and then “Goodbye” for the seemingly last time. Cue hyperventilation and more sobbing. While still driving home. Cue a night with zero sleep and a never-ending anxiety attack. Cue nausea. Cue returning to prayer since…I don’t know when. Cue a piece of my heart dying, and wishing that it could be my heart instead of hers.
The next morning my father called and she had made it through the night and was considered stable. Move forward one more day and she is finally starting to eat and sit up. She is asking for visitors and hasn’t talked about death in awhile. Move forward one more day and she is determined to get better and make it through this. To go to rehab and return to her assisted living afterwards. This beautifully strong woman seems to have pulled through again. But this time, we really do realize we won’t get many, if any, more opportunities like this.
You may not get the chance to say “goodbye” or “I love you” to or hear it from someone who is dying, and you someday will be the one falling asleep. So, so cliché yet so true, say it whenever possible. And if it is truly meant and shown, there is no such thing as saying it too much. Give as much love as you can to those you love. You truly do not know when the last moment is.
