What I Did On My Summer Vacation

It's summer. You know, the time of year that teachers look forward to with anticipation and a slight giddiness. I would love to be on a beach somewhere, or in the mountains, or exploring the French countryside...or even accomplishing some of my summer projects from "the list". I'd rather be doing anything other than fighting anxiety and depression accompanied by chronic pain. But for the past 5 years or so, that's how I spend my summer vacation.

It's out there now. For all to see.

I have decided to go public about something that most people would prefer to keep hidden--whether they're the one afflicted, or the one hearing about it. But you know--hiding just isn't working for me anymore. The pain aspect is somehow easier to put out there, though I don't like to. But start talking about depression and anxiety, and yikes. It doesn't help that I have one of those double whammy lifestyles. "You're the preacher's wife. You probably need to keep those things to yourself." "Whatever you do, when you step into that classroom, leave your personal issues at home." And I've done just that-- to the best of my ability. I have suppressed feelings, swallowed anger, and cried in the bathroom. But you know what? That still leaves June, July, and part of August--minus workshops, meetings, Sundays, Wednesdays, VBS, and assorted and numerous other church activities--to contend with. The void. I have approximately 45 days every year to drop the mask. Scattered days in June, July, and August to slow down and process. Add a healthy dose of severe chronic pain to the mix, and let the battle within begin. It never goes well.

I have tried medication. But the side effects range from inconvenient to alarming. I have tried to relax, but I am overcome with guilt. I have adjusted my diet, cut caffeine, added supplements, pushed my water intake, experimented with everything from gluten free to you name it. I have prayed more, watched television less, read books, and started my lifetime exercise program for the hundredth time. I have been to the doctor, who sent me to the neurologist, who sent me back to the doctor, who sent me to a rheumatologist, who sent me to another neurologist, who sent me to the gynecologist, who suggested I dabble in Eastern medicine for a while. Unfortunately, insurance is not keen on Eastern modalities. While I wouldn't object to trying something new...money is an issue.

I don't know if it's age, or circumstance, or weakness, or (I've been told) lack of faith. I'm not sure what age has to do with it, other than certain seasons of life are just more difficult. Circumstance is huge in this case. As much as I wish I could say otherwise, I've not healed or recovered from several years of being a caregiver. Maybe you never do. Weakness? When people tell you forever that you're strong, you feel obligated to be. Whether you are or not. Faith? You can tell someone all day long to have faith. But it doesn't work that way. Oh the countless platitudes.

When we went from the hell of RSD with Conner, to a complicated form of epilepsy with Caleigh, RIGHT into stage 4 cancer with Russell--there was no stopping to catch your breath. Our oncologist sent us to a psychologist, because he was worried about the stress level in our lives. When I think back on that day, it was just that. One day, at one appointment, after one question, I let a single tear fall in front of the oncologist. He made an appointment for us, and after a fifteen minute meeting the psychologist said we were fine. And maybe we were at the time.

 So many people did so many things for us during the worst of the storm--and I am eternally grateful for every single act of kindness. But there are things that no one can do. Things that no one can see. No one, and I'm sorry but I don't care who you are, no one can prepare you or adjust you to the new normal. You can call it self pity, you can call it a lack of faith--I've heard it all. I think, and feel free to disagree with me, but I think that families in ministry are sometimes held to a different standard. Is there a font for sarcasm? I'm human. I'm tired of internalizing. And yes, I internalize. I'm an outspoken introvert. Things that seem small have a way of being magnified these days.

As an example, one of the things that is just so painful for me at the moment is the whole ordeal with my driver's license. Most know, but just in case--during the craziest of crazy times for us, my DL expired and I never saw the reminder that they send in the mail or had ANY idea that it was expired. About a year ago, I was cashing a check and the teller noticed. I was mortified--thought I would have to pay a fine, but more than that I was just so angry with myself for letting that happen. I had no idea what renewal would require. I am still trying to get the paperwork together to go and take the written test as well as the driving test. If you haven't tried calling the DMV lately, you have no idea. Just trying to finalize some things today, I called the DL office in Floresville 93 times trying to get through. That kind of time during the school year is hard to come by. During this past school year we just decided to operate with two vehicles. One going to the prison every day, and one going to Runge. It worked for us. I have endured everything from good natured teasing, which I'm fine with, to all out ridicule that this happened. I do not enjoy feeling out of control of the simplest things in life, nor do I enjoy being ridiculed. Or being told that I'm an inconvenience to my family. In all honesty, part of my anxiety is directly related to the issues we have on the roads in our county. I have attended three heart breaking funerals. And I know what the Bible says about anxiety. I promise I do. 

I'm going to stop here. While I'm okay publicizing my own issues, I'm going to respect my family's right to some semblance of privacy. If that's even possible. I just felt like today was a good day to announce to the world that I'm a real person, with real emotions, and real struggles.

The One Called "You Just Get Special Treatment Because Your Mom Is a Teacher"

I decided to become a classroom teacher in 2002ish...when Conner was in 1st grade and Caleigh was an adorable, albeit feisty, toddler. I had played with the idea, and talked myself out of it, multiple times. I was blessed to enjoy a couple of years at home when Caleigh was born, and I watched the children of two of my good friends to make ends meet. Truth is, when Conner started school, I found myself there more than I was at home. I had been told for years that I belonged in a classroom--so I ignored the voices in my head and enrolled in a post grad program through LeTourneau University. Somehow, through an unexpected move, Caleigh's terrible twos, and various other life curves...I graduated with a 4.0 just in time to apply for a teaching job in the summer of 2004. Being new to the area, not knowing TOO much about Karnes County--and not believing half of what I heard--I applied at every school in the county and then waited. For about a day. My first interview happened to also be my last. I started teaching 2nd grade in Runge in the Fall of 2004 with a happy heart and stars in my eyes.

My entire 10 year (public school) teaching career has been in Runge. The community has completely captured my heart. I've been asked to come and apply at other schools, but I just haven't been willing to leave. Caleigh has known no other school, Conner has been at RISD since 3rd grade. They love it. But every once in a while--okay, maybe more often than I care to admit--we are visited by enemy #1 of school teacher families. "You just get ____________(special treatment) because your mother/father is a teacher/principal/whatever at the school." Allow me to tell you what my children have received--all thanks to my job.

1. An exhausted, stressed, monetarily strapped parent. There are easier jobs, higher paying jobs, and jobs where I wouldn't spend an unbelievable amount of our own money on a regular basis.
2. A school day that lasts, often, from 7 a.m. to 5:30 or 6 p.m. Those are normal days. It gets worse.
3. Days upon days of time "hanging out" at school during the summer when they were little. I have carried my sleeping 3 year old into school at 9 o'clock at night and she took many a nap in my classroom library on a bean bag.
4. Thankfully it doesn't happen often, but they have even been targeted by a teacher BECAUSE I work there. Those people don't last long at our school, but it stinks when you are an easy target.
5. Excluded from a citizenship award because "You're always getting something." (That was not in Runge by the way, but during my student teaching. SERIOUSLY?)
6. Shooed away by Mom because she is frantically trying to get grades entered into the computer--when all my child wanted was to have story time before bed.  Yeah, I haven't forgiven myself for that one. I could still cry about it.

You get the idea. And yet...those cries of "Unfair!" persist. It might surprise you to know that I don't even have an access code to check my kids' grades. If I want a conference, I schedule it. Not that my doing so prevents people from stopping me in the hall to discuss things best left for a conference. I sincerely believe that Conner and Caleigh make good grades in large part because they have been read to since, well, since they were in utero. As often as possible, we still believe in the family dinner table. We have conversations. I try my dead level best to make sure that their assignments are up to date and complete. If they need tutorials...they go. If they are scheduled to take medication, I make sure they take it. If it's a school day and it is at ALL possible, they are present. If there are tryouts for something, GASP! they try out. Sometimes they make it, and sometimes they don't.

I don't know how else to explain that teachers' kids are just like any other kid...when they work hard they succeed, and when they slack off or quit trying, they don't. When I as a parent do what I am supposed to do, their success comes more easily. When I slack off or fail, it shows. So yes, I guess my kids are pretty successful. In spite of the fact that I am a teacher.