This blogging experience to this point has been a very positive one.  It has been fun sharing stories or things I think about, and the encouragement I’ve received from friends has been very kind. But yesterday was a different story.  I usually stay clear of anything even vaguely political because people tend to get so angry, and quite frankly, there’s enough anger in the world right now and I’m not very good at handling it, especially if it’s directed at me.  But I do have some thoughts about current events and so I thought I would step into a scary world for me and actually share those thoughts.  And what happened was a very respectful but very disconcerting conversation with a great friend.  As with many of the things I share in the blog, some are just questions I have about life – things maybe for us to think about, and not espousing one side or the other.  But apparently I touched a hot button yesterday and the response has set me back a bit.

I have many old tapes in my head that I’ve been trying to erase for a long time and the good thing is that it does seem that the period of time between “episodes” gets longer and longer.  But what happened last night triggered something again.  A frustration that I wasn’t being heard, that my words were being misconstrued, that I was being judged just for asking questions.  Then the tapes started – I shouldn’t have written what I was thinking, I’m stupid, no one really likes you anyway, you’re obviously not a good writer at all.  This is not a pity party, or fishing for compliments, I’m just trying to describe what is a physical/emotional reaction that comes up from way deep inside, from a little kid who was afraid to say things she really thought out of fear of being yelled at, being called stupid or a failure, having things thrown at her and worse.  I want so badly to not be afraid of saying what I think, but sometimes it’s still out of my control.

I need my friend to know that I’m not blaming him and it’s something I’m working on.  And I’m SO fortunate that I have met people in my life who have helped me work through some of this, so grateful to have married into the family I did who helped me learn how to be a better person.  But imagine someone brought up in this same type of atmosphere (or much worse) who maybe wasn’t so lucky.  Someone who had to look outside of biological family to find “family”.  For instance, how many times have we read about young people turning to gangs to feel like they are part of a family?  People yearn to be a part of something that gives them meaning and if they don’t have a solid foundation at home to lean on, and no guidance as to what is right or wrong, they stand the chance of joining something that can spew hatred or violence.

I see this in children and it breaks my heart.  I think I naturally tend to love on those most difficult kids because I see a kindred spirit.  I remember having some marvelous teachers who made me feel special, like I could do great things.  The ones who made me believe in myself.  I really think one of the reasons I stay in education despite some of the craziness that’s happening, is because there are kids who need someone who “gets it”.  The teacher who hugs them when they feel like they’ve messed up yet again and nobody loves them anymore, not even themselves.  The kid who lashes out and doesn’t understand why, and yet somebody is willing to listen to them and hear their story.  I’m not perfect by any means, and sometimes the behavior from these kids is frustrating, but what price will we pay if we allow these kids to continue to feel like nobody cares?  The need to belong is so strong, and people will turn to anything that makes them feel a part of something bigger than themselves.  My job then is to show them the positive rather than the negative way to feel that way.

For instance, I have this little guy who walked into my room for the first time yesterday.  His head was down and he kind of mumbled to himself as he walked in.  What I heard broke my heart again – “I won’t be good at music.  I can’t sing”.  Now, who tells a five year old they can’t sing?  Who beats down a five year old to point where they enter a room with their eyes to the floor because they already know they’re not good enough?  It’s not that the child wasn’t dressed well and wasn’t well fed, but you could already tell that tapes were being created.  So as I see it, it’s my job to help erase or get rid of those tapes for these kids.

I know there are those of you reading this who have a hard time understanding it  because you were fortunate to have been brought up in a wonderful, tight-knit loving home.  Count your blessings. I know some of you may believe that the past is in the past and people should just get over it. I know my husband had a hard time understanding this for many years.  I’m here to tell you it’s not that easy. But I also know that there are a lot of you whose tapes still pop up once in a while and try to beat you up again.  And I’m here to say I’m available for a shoulder, a hug and a listening ear and we’ll see if we can’t help erase those tapes together.