This week was the first week of classes for the spring semester. I have two hybrid classes that meet Saturdays and online, and one class that meets entirely online. I will spend a total of 5 days on campus this semester, but those will be long (9a-4p) days of intense informational overloading. I will spend, on average, 20-35 hours per week on my computer working on school assignments or reading online information. That's in addition to about 10 hours a week of reading textbooks. Just in case you didn't think being a grad student was a full-time gig, heh. All of that's in addition to 15 hrs/wk of work for my job, and the countless, 'round-the-clock hours spent being a full-time Mom.
Yeah, I'm a busy gal when school's in full swing!
I was originally enrolled to begin classes the summer of 2010, but then I joined up with a local band and realized that one of the gigs on the band calendar directly conflicted with one of my mandatory Saturday classes, and I chose at the time to be in a band rather than be a student.
They say hindsight is 20-20, and now, looking back, I certainly wish I had chosen school over the band. I'd be finishing up this semester or next instead of just now getting to the meat of my Master's program. I'd have spared myself a lot of emotional pain and trauma if I'd gone the student route instead of the rock star route... But, then again, I'd have missed out on a lot of fun times and life-altering experiences. There's nothing quite like pouring your heart out to a roomful of strangers through song or having your name up on a casino marquis as the weekend's main attraction. If I had gone to school when I originally planned instead of trying my hand at the band business, I'd have never known what I was missing. I might have spent the rest of my life wondering... Now, I can say with certainty that I gave it a shot, and it wasn't for me.
Some people are suited for a life on the road, living paycheck to paycheck, feeding on the applause from the crowd and the free meal vouchers given as payment, but I'm much happier being rooted down, spending time with my family, and having a predictable day-to-day routine. I like that I wake up at the same time every day to put C on the bus, then I have each morning's routine, then I greet her bus again at noon. I like having due dates for school assignments, books to read on a predetermined schedule, and regular work to churn out for a paycheck. I LOVE sleeping in my own bed every night instead of shuffling from one hotel room to the next. One important thing to note, however, is that I didn't fully appreciate all of these things until I spent just over a year living an entirely different sort of life. I had to try out both to know without a doubt where I belong. I'm glad I can be so certain now.
This post is titled Perspective, but it's not just about perspective on my career path or the last year and a half. It's also about the perspective I'm given from my classes.
I'm studying to be an Early Childhood Special Educator. That means I'm being educated and trained on any number of disabilities and high-risk situations faced by children from birth through 8 years old. I'm also being educated on how children in this age range typically develop, when not affected by high-risk situations or disabilities. It's all very eye-opening, particularly in regards to my own life.
Having a child with disabilities and complex medical situations can be a real downer sometimes. It's easy to focus on how each day is more challenging or more expensive than it would have been if your child had been lucky enough to be born "typical." It's also easy to trick yourself into thinking you know all there is to know about life with disabilities.
One of the most important things I have learned from my graduate coursework is that I only know one tiny perspective. I know MY situation, but my situation differs greatly from that of every other parent out there, whether their child has any disabilities or medical challenges or not. I will never know what it's like to be the parent of a child with autism, no matter how much I study to better understand it. I will never know what it's like to be the parent of a toddler who is typically developing and going through the "terrible twos," because that wasn't my reality. I will never know what it's like to have a child with a life-threatening condition and live in constant fear that each moment could be the last. (Of course, I say I'll never know these things, but I plan on having one or two more children in the next few years, so maybe I'll get a glimpse into one of those other lives... You never know what life will bring!) I never thought I had all the answers to parenting or to parenting a child with special needs, but my classes are a constant reminder that I really don't even come close to knowing it all. They're a constant reminder that things could have been a lot better, they could have been a lot worse, or they could have just been completely different. My experiences, my challenges, my joys, and my overall perspectives... They're so tiny and isolated and unique. They are mine and mine alone, and they can't be compared to those of anyone else. It's so easy to close your mind to all the other lives around you, all the other ideas and perspectives... But I am fortunate to have regular and eye-opening reminders that my perspective is only one of millions. It's nice to be kept in check, forced to keep an open mind, and constantly challenged to try and see the world through another's eyes.
It's awfully nice to have perspective.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
People Love Drama
There's this person I knew, and he did a bad thing. He got in trouble for it, and he faces jail time for it, and that should be the end of it.
But it isn't.
There was a mention of it in the paper. Brief, but to the point. Suddenly, it was public news. Now, given the nature of the bad thing, I'm not at all surprised that it was considered newsworthy, as arrests for much more mundane things are posted as newsworthy material. But THAT should have been the end of it.
But it wasn't.
Upon discovering this particular news item, some unknown number of individuals took it upon themselves to spread the word of this bad thing and the ensuing arrest. They posted about it on this person's work-related facebook account, on craigslist, and I don't even know where else. They called him names. They ruined his reputation, and perhaps even his career.
To those people, even though they'll never see this post, I'd like to say: SHAME ON YOU. A person screwed up. A person has an illness. A person got in trouble. Let it be! Why add to their misery by attacking them on every possible front? I noticed that none of the public "dings" I saw were signed--what, you're man enough to call someone out for screwing up, but not man enough to stand behind the things you say about him?
Now, I have my own personal issues with the person who screwed up. I feel I have been wronged by him in the past, but, while I've wanted all traces of him removed from my life, I didn't want anything like this to happen to him. I didn't want his private matters to be made public, nor did I want to see his way of making a living threatened. His reputation was crucial for keeping him in work, and I don't know now if he's able to work at all. I don't know if anybody's standing by him as he struggles through his shame... And, no matter how much he may have hurt me in the past, I don't think anyone deserves to walk that path alone.
I had told myself that I had forgiven him for what he'd done to me, even while I'm still struggling in therapy to recover from it... But I guess I didn't know for sure whether I truly forgave him until I saw the remnants of what appears to have been a mighty internet blitz attack. If I didn't forgive him, I couldn't wish better for him than that. I couldn't hope the way I do that someone is by his side right now, helping him along. If I didn't forgive him, I'd be rejoicing in his public shame and suffering instead of hurting for him the way I do now.
What can I say? The public loves its drama... But I guess I don't. I really did wish better for him.
But it isn't.
There was a mention of it in the paper. Brief, but to the point. Suddenly, it was public news. Now, given the nature of the bad thing, I'm not at all surprised that it was considered newsworthy, as arrests for much more mundane things are posted as newsworthy material. But THAT should have been the end of it.
But it wasn't.
Upon discovering this particular news item, some unknown number of individuals took it upon themselves to spread the word of this bad thing and the ensuing arrest. They posted about it on this person's work-related facebook account, on craigslist, and I don't even know where else. They called him names. They ruined his reputation, and perhaps even his career.
To those people, even though they'll never see this post, I'd like to say: SHAME ON YOU. A person screwed up. A person has an illness. A person got in trouble. Let it be! Why add to their misery by attacking them on every possible front? I noticed that none of the public "dings" I saw were signed--what, you're man enough to call someone out for screwing up, but not man enough to stand behind the things you say about him?
Now, I have my own personal issues with the person who screwed up. I feel I have been wronged by him in the past, but, while I've wanted all traces of him removed from my life, I didn't want anything like this to happen to him. I didn't want his private matters to be made public, nor did I want to see his way of making a living threatened. His reputation was crucial for keeping him in work, and I don't know now if he's able to work at all. I don't know if anybody's standing by him as he struggles through his shame... And, no matter how much he may have hurt me in the past, I don't think anyone deserves to walk that path alone.
I had told myself that I had forgiven him for what he'd done to me, even while I'm still struggling in therapy to recover from it... But I guess I didn't know for sure whether I truly forgave him until I saw the remnants of what appears to have been a mighty internet blitz attack. If I didn't forgive him, I couldn't wish better for him than that. I couldn't hope the way I do that someone is by his side right now, helping him along. If I didn't forgive him, I'd be rejoicing in his public shame and suffering instead of hurting for him the way I do now.
What can I say? The public loves its drama... But I guess I don't. I really did wish better for him.
School Days
The spring semester is in full swing now. By which I mean my online class has met once, and neither of my Saturday/online hybrid classes have met yet. But they will, and soon! ;)
There's something very comforting to me about school. I've always felt at home in the classroom, at ease with my nose in a book, calm and collected while taking tests and writing papers. In a world of chaos and anxiety, school has always been a safe haven for me.
I was diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder while I was in my third year of undergrad. At the time, I couldn't fully comprehend the meaning of the diagnosis or the impacts it would have on my life. All I understood was that someone was telling me I was sick, that I'd always be sick, that there was no cure, that I'd have to rely on prescription pills for the rest of my life, and that I could barely get out of bed to go to the classes I so deeply valued. I knew there was a stigma about bipolar disorder; I myself had participated in mocking a dormmate's struggle with the disease. Oh, poetic justice! If only everyone who mocked others for their disabilities would then themselves be struck with the very same maladies, if only so they could learn some compassion and understanding!
Now that I am older and have been living with my diagnosis for several years, things like going to class are much easier. I am capable of doing the things that I want to be doing because I am properly medicated, and I can pay full attention in class and perform well on scholastic endeavors. I am greatly enjoying grad school, both because I am back in the comfort of the classroom, and because the subject matter--special education--is so dear to my heart.
When I go to class, I learn both how to educate future students and how to better care for my own daughter. I study techniques for assisting families of children with disabilities, and, in doing so, learn more about my own family dynamic and how I cope with the daily struggles of raising a child with disabilities. I see how many services my family needs, and I take pride and comfort in knowing I will soon be able to share those services with other families in our situation. It's very rewarding, on several levels.
School is a safe world. It's a world where your teachers' only job is to help you succeed, and your hard work and merit determine how you will be judged. Illness isn't a factor. The fact that you could barely manage a trip to the grocery store doesn't matter. All that matters is what happens inside the safety of that classroom. I realize, of course, that not everyone has a similar outlook on education. For some people, the classroom is the scariest place on earth... For me, however, it's an oasis. It's sacred. I am eternally grateful for the opportunities I have had to pursue my educational goals.
There's something very comforting to me about school. I've always felt at home in the classroom, at ease with my nose in a book, calm and collected while taking tests and writing papers. In a world of chaos and anxiety, school has always been a safe haven for me.
I was diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder while I was in my third year of undergrad. At the time, I couldn't fully comprehend the meaning of the diagnosis or the impacts it would have on my life. All I understood was that someone was telling me I was sick, that I'd always be sick, that there was no cure, that I'd have to rely on prescription pills for the rest of my life, and that I could barely get out of bed to go to the classes I so deeply valued. I knew there was a stigma about bipolar disorder; I myself had participated in mocking a dormmate's struggle with the disease. Oh, poetic justice! If only everyone who mocked others for their disabilities would then themselves be struck with the very same maladies, if only so they could learn some compassion and understanding!
Now that I am older and have been living with my diagnosis for several years, things like going to class are much easier. I am capable of doing the things that I want to be doing because I am properly medicated, and I can pay full attention in class and perform well on scholastic endeavors. I am greatly enjoying grad school, both because I am back in the comfort of the classroom, and because the subject matter--special education--is so dear to my heart.
When I go to class, I learn both how to educate future students and how to better care for my own daughter. I study techniques for assisting families of children with disabilities, and, in doing so, learn more about my own family dynamic and how I cope with the daily struggles of raising a child with disabilities. I see how many services my family needs, and I take pride and comfort in knowing I will soon be able to share those services with other families in our situation. It's very rewarding, on several levels.
School is a safe world. It's a world where your teachers' only job is to help you succeed, and your hard work and merit determine how you will be judged. Illness isn't a factor. The fact that you could barely manage a trip to the grocery store doesn't matter. All that matters is what happens inside the safety of that classroom. I realize, of course, that not everyone has a similar outlook on education. For some people, the classroom is the scariest place on earth... For me, however, it's an oasis. It's sacred. I am eternally grateful for the opportunities I have had to pursue my educational goals.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Loaner Chair
Yesterday, I got a call from C's PT saying that they had prepared a loaner wheelchair for us to use until the new custom chair comes in. It's the same model and was previously used by a little girl with a latex allergy, so everything on it is latex-free (yay!). A representative from MedTech had to come down and fit the chair with a new seat cushion, new lap belt, and a new chest harness, but now it's essentially the same thing as the chair we ordered. C rode home on the bus in her new (temporary) chair yesterday, and sources say that she loved being able to look out the window and watch everything go by. I also found out yesterday that our insurance has approved C's new chair and all the customizations, and it will be ready in the next 2-3 weeks, meaning we'll have it in time for our next flight to Austin next month! I'm super excited. The only thing we need now is to hire someone to build a wheelchair ramp so I don't have to lift C over the two steps up to our front door every day!
In other news, my PTSD has kicked into overdrive the past few days. Knowing that there's a pending court hearing to extend my Order of Protection for a full year has me thinking more and reliving more. It's uncomfortable, but I'm pushing through. My weekly therapy sessions help, as do my body's survival instincts, such as not being able to cry because it makes me feel more vulnerable. I'm afraid I may come off to hubby as a little bit of an ice queen right now because I can't seem to let my guard down, but he's very understanding and knowledgeable about PTSD, so he gets it. I don't know what I'd do without him.
I understand that several senators decided to oppose SOPA after yesterday's internet-wide protest of the pending legislation, including several of the original sponsors. I hope more follow suit, because internet censorship is not what the world needs. It's dangerous and flat-out wrong, and I am hoping for the best.
In other news, my PTSD has kicked into overdrive the past few days. Knowing that there's a pending court hearing to extend my Order of Protection for a full year has me thinking more and reliving more. It's uncomfortable, but I'm pushing through. My weekly therapy sessions help, as do my body's survival instincts, such as not being able to cry because it makes me feel more vulnerable. I'm afraid I may come off to hubby as a little bit of an ice queen right now because I can't seem to let my guard down, but he's very understanding and knowledgeable about PTSD, so he gets it. I don't know what I'd do without him.
I understand that several senators decided to oppose SOPA after yesterday's internet-wide protest of the pending legislation, including several of the original sponsors. I hope more follow suit, because internet censorship is not what the world needs. It's dangerous and flat-out wrong, and I am hoping for the best.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Stop SOPA and PIPA!
Today, I will not be participating in Twitter, blogging activities, or social networking sites in protest of SOPA and PIPA. Wikipedia has information about these destructive pieces of legislation if you're unfamiliar.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Going Home
My parents are great, and it's hard for me living half a country away from them. I hated not having my mom around during the pregnancy and not having my parents at the hospital the night C was born. I hated that, while I was singing with the band, they were only able to make a trip out to see me perform once. I hate being too far away for a weekend trip every now and again.
Fortunately for me, I have parents who are willing to fly C and me halfway across the country to visit when I tell them I'm homesick! :)
I have a day off of school in February and no Saturday class the weekend before, so I thought it would be nice to fly down to Austin for a week-long stay. Yes, I was just there for two weeks and got back exactly two weeks ago today... But I'm potentially flying in a friend for Spring Break, so this would be my only chance to visit between now and summer break, and frankly, I don't like being away from Mommy and Daddy for that long. So I'm going to visit!
Going home is always interesting. My mom borders on hoarding, so I never go home without a bag full of new things to bring back with me. There are only a few people in Austin that I feel compelled to see when I visit, and several others who I see every third or fourth visit, so there can be as much or as little socialization in a visit as I would like. My parents are always willing to babysit so I can have dinner out with friends, which is not a luxury we have here.
Then there's the comfort of sleeping in my old room, where I used to use AIM to chat with my then-friend-now-husband, where I daydreamed about the future, where the biggest problems I ever had to face were acne and getting grounded from the phone. Lying in bed in that room, staring at that oh-so-familiar ceiling, gazing out the windows onto my old street... It's like going back to a simpler time, long before I had to struggle with juggling medications, PTSD, or the trials of parenting a child with special needs. I feel somehow freer there, more at ease, like Mom and Dad will take care of anything that comes up, and I'm safe under their protective bubble of a roof.
I love going home, even if it's only for a week at a time, and even if it only happens a couple of times a year. I feel very fortunate that my life is blessed with the opportunity and the means to make the trip as often as I do. So yes, I've only been back for two weeks... But I'm happy that I have less than a month to wait before I'll be back there, in the safe haven of my parents' house, reconnecting with my innocence and youth.
Fortunately for me, I have parents who are willing to fly C and me halfway across the country to visit when I tell them I'm homesick! :)
I have a day off of school in February and no Saturday class the weekend before, so I thought it would be nice to fly down to Austin for a week-long stay. Yes, I was just there for two weeks and got back exactly two weeks ago today... But I'm potentially flying in a friend for Spring Break, so this would be my only chance to visit between now and summer break, and frankly, I don't like being away from Mommy and Daddy for that long. So I'm going to visit!
Going home is always interesting. My mom borders on hoarding, so I never go home without a bag full of new things to bring back with me. There are only a few people in Austin that I feel compelled to see when I visit, and several others who I see every third or fourth visit, so there can be as much or as little socialization in a visit as I would like. My parents are always willing to babysit so I can have dinner out with friends, which is not a luxury we have here.
Then there's the comfort of sleeping in my old room, where I used to use AIM to chat with my then-friend-now-husband, where I daydreamed about the future, where the biggest problems I ever had to face were acne and getting grounded from the phone. Lying in bed in that room, staring at that oh-so-familiar ceiling, gazing out the windows onto my old street... It's like going back to a simpler time, long before I had to struggle with juggling medications, PTSD, or the trials of parenting a child with special needs. I feel somehow freer there, more at ease, like Mom and Dad will take care of anything that comes up, and I'm safe under their protective bubble of a roof.
I love going home, even if it's only for a week at a time, and even if it only happens a couple of times a year. I feel very fortunate that my life is blessed with the opportunity and the means to make the trip as often as I do. So yes, I've only been back for two weeks... But I'm happy that I have less than a month to wait before I'll be back there, in the safe haven of my parents' house, reconnecting with my innocence and youth.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
So, I Have This Reader...
...who hates me. Like, HATES me. All-caps, bold, italicized, should really be about five font sizes larger for emphasis. This particular individual is, for whatever reason, following my blog and twitter posts, despite claiming he wants nothing to do with me. Which, of course, makes no sense. My blog and twitter posts don't go to his inbox, they don't appear on his front step, they're not on the news, and this is the first time I've even directly mentioned him. So why does he read?
My best guess? He's looking for ammunition. He wants to continue to wage war for me over events in the past. Or, perhaps, he's reading because he hopes to see that my life is falling apart or is somehow worse since he exited stage left.
Whatever his reasons for reading, I know he's not finding what he wants, because he's lashing out on me via the internet, posting personal and defamatory information about me and claiming he'll remove it if I "step up" and email him. Well, I'm not going to email him. I'm not going to badmouth him either and tell you all why we had a falling out or anything else about him. I'm not going to retaliate against his web-based harassment by posting personal information about him, or by making accusations cooked up in my imagination with no basis in fact.
I am not going to fight back.
This doesn't mean I'm weak, or that I'm giving in, or that he's won. It simply means I'm not going to put any effort into hatred. He hates me, and that's fine. I, on the other hand, have forgiven him for the wrongs he has committed against me. That doesn't mean I would risk them happening again by involving him in my life. It also doesn't mean I won't use my new pepper spray keychain, suggested by my therapist, if he ever tries to involve himself in my life again. I also will not be dropping the order of protection that I had taken out against him.
I will protect myself and my family, but I won't fight. Especially dirty.
Read all you like. If it makes you angry, then stop. I'm not going to be posting anything about you beyond this post, so there's really no reason for you to stick around. I won't fight with you anymore, ever again. I have forgiven you, and I have moved on. I suggest, for your sake, that you do the same.
My best guess? He's looking for ammunition. He wants to continue to wage war for me over events in the past. Or, perhaps, he's reading because he hopes to see that my life is falling apart or is somehow worse since he exited stage left.
Whatever his reasons for reading, I know he's not finding what he wants, because he's lashing out on me via the internet, posting personal and defamatory information about me and claiming he'll remove it if I "step up" and email him. Well, I'm not going to email him. I'm not going to badmouth him either and tell you all why we had a falling out or anything else about him. I'm not going to retaliate against his web-based harassment by posting personal information about him, or by making accusations cooked up in my imagination with no basis in fact.
I am not going to fight back.
This doesn't mean I'm weak, or that I'm giving in, or that he's won. It simply means I'm not going to put any effort into hatred. He hates me, and that's fine. I, on the other hand, have forgiven him for the wrongs he has committed against me. That doesn't mean I would risk them happening again by involving him in my life. It also doesn't mean I won't use my new pepper spray keychain, suggested by my therapist, if he ever tries to involve himself in my life again. I also will not be dropping the order of protection that I had taken out against him.
I will protect myself and my family, but I won't fight. Especially dirty.
Read all you like. If it makes you angry, then stop. I'm not going to be posting anything about you beyond this post, so there's really no reason for you to stick around. I won't fight with you anymore, ever again. I have forgiven you, and I have moved on. I suggest, for your sake, that you do the same.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)