we can do it

I have compared the experience of graduate school to that of having a child (you don't sleep, you tend to it 24/7, it brings you a great deal of pain and frustration, but also a sense of joy and accomplishment). But this is another apt comparison (though, I suppose, parenthood doesn't have a safety word, either). This graduate experience is quite torturous, and we have willingly submitted ourselves to it.

The hardest part this year is that, being the novice that I am, I'm always at the bottom, with very little to offer, while still evaluated. In addition to the usual classes, with their usual demands and assessments, I am suddenly in the role of the expert in many various domains. All of a sudden, I'm the one people turn to, but really, I'm a terrified toddler behind a mask of knowledge and readiness.

I mean, I know I was selected to be where I am for the important skills I do possess. I'm a statistics teacher, because I come from a family of mathematicians (huh, paying homage to ancestral talents? hello, collectivist upbringing) and probabilities don't scare me. I'm a high school counselor, because I know adolescence sure can suck and adults who you depend on for your life sure can suck, too. And I'd like to think I'm an empathetic listener. But as I go about the terrifying hours of my day, I'm constantly humbled by the truly amazing stories of all the fascinating people I get to meet. The clients, the students, the teachers, the supporters, you are what is right in the world. So I may at times not have a safety word, but my goggles of pessimism are starting to pick up on the bright specs of light and energy around me, so I guess it is worth it.

Thus, you know, this work, my life completely engulfed by and saturated in this work is quite exhilarating, actually. My mind is overextended between pondering the psyche, finding ways to research the psyche, and nurturing people's psyches in a therapeutic environment. And basically, (unlike my undergrad experience), I super love grad school.

running and running

Uff, so obviously the previous post was written in the middle of a sleep-deprived stress-filled night, and freakouts just happen in circumstances such as that. But I'm going to keep it up, because it kind of reminds me of what I'm like, what I think and feel, when I am uninhibited. I spend so much time during the day holding my shit together, both for myself and for other people, but the defenses, they have to come down eventually. Which is when you really see what is going on. And that is what therapy is all about.

Speaking of which, I've spent a few weeks now answering crisis calls on a hotline for some surrounding counties. I can't get into too much detail about it here for various confidentiality reasons, but let me just tell you, the 4-hr shift goes by in a blink of an eye. The stories we hear really normalize all these experiences we think are pretty crazy. Life is complex, and all sorts of things happen to all sorts of people. I know we are there to ground our callers, but sometimes it's the callers who ground me.

cats not kids

Tonight, during my short break from working on a long and drawn out assignment, I linked to a website through Frank Warren, and BAM. There it was, staring me in the face. Reminding me that it is all far from over.

This is all so heartbreaking, and clearly, I need to go back to therapy to deal with my parents' divorce over 15 years ago. Actually, it will be close to 20 years soon, but here I am, in tears over these kids' stories. There is no good situation or outcome, I know, but children, the innocent and loving children, they always get the short end of the stick. And this simply isn't fair.

The cards about missing dads struck not just a chord, but a full-fledged double-bass organ sonata in D-minor. In light of my recent attempts to rekindle the relationship with my own dad, it becomes clearer and clearer: I don't give a fuck if he sometimes is a bad person, we all are, but I didn't know him, didn't feel him in some of my most formative and troubling of years, and it's about time that changed. And goddammit, if given the chance, I would move to England in a heartbeat. A heartbeat.

 

Not that fathers are saintly figures, by any means. It takes two to tango, so to speak, but where does this leave the tango-less child? So, I urge you, if you are considering having children, please think seriously if there is any possibility at all in your mind that you may not be with your partner for (at least) the first 18 years of (each) child's life. If so, then please, ADOPT AN ANIMAL INSTEAD! Because this is the bottom line: by going through with it, you will hurt the other person, yes, but chances are, you will hurt the child even more. And hurt children grow into hurt adults who go through their hurt lives being hurt by you and at you. And no one really wants that kind of guilt on their conscience, do they? Think of it as your very own contribution to world peace.