I am Not my Body

I breathed in the salty air and stared out at the ocean.

I recently read in a book that when you stare at the horizon for a few minutes your brain starts to release endorphins. 

So maybe it had something to do with the endorphins.

But suddenly I was smiling.

And the thought was given to me clear as day: “I am not my body.”

In Mexico two weeks ago it all clicked with that thought.

Remember when I used to write about my journey to healthy? And how I… ahem… haven’t written about that in a while? Right. So here’s the story on that.

I am now going to write the words that I have dreaded writing for months: I gained some of the weight back. Quite a bit of it actually.

Yep. There’s the truth cyberspace and friends.

But it’s good. Really things are good.

From January 2012 to June 2012 I was focused on my body. So focused on it. But I was also struggling internally with some stuff that really needed fixing. Stuff that wouldn’t be fixed by diet and exercise.

Last June I started on a road of some necessary and major healing processes. I won’t get into the details with that, but I will say that it’s been the Lord’s healing of emotional and deep seeded wounds. It has been a painful and arduous road that I’m still on today. It’s included a lot of tears and some serious balance of surrendering and work. And also some true moments of gratitude and goodness. True healing is a brutal thing. It hurts so good.

In that time I let my obsession over getting physically healthy go. It’s not something I’m proud of. I’m not one of those people who believes that getting healthy only happens when everything else in life is in order because that’s just not reality.

But I can wholeheartedly tell you that I was handling all I could handle this year.

Not an excuse, but my reality.

I hate that I gained weight again. I hate that I made it this far with losing weight and then went the other way. I hate that I fit into some of the stereotypes of “fat girls”. I hate that I’m going to a wedding in a few weeks where I will see family members that I love and they will undoubtedly notice that I’m bigger. (We notice. We all notice. And we all worry.) I hate that I have not been caring for the physical body that God gave me.

I could get stuck in all those thoughts and sometimes I do.

Or I could be grateful for the incredible healing that the Lord has done in my life. I could be grateful for the woman and daughter that He’s molding me into. I could be thankful for redemption and restoration. And I could believe that today is a new day and I am ready and able to start caring for this body again.

I choose the latter.

I sometimes feel waves of shame. But mostly I’m just grateful believe it or not.

So as I sat on that beach chair I felt flooded with joy.

And then I just sat there smiling like a buffoon.

The waves came in and receded again and again.

And with them the reassurance of who I really am.

I am a daughter.

A daughter of the King.

Jesus lives in me.

I am a woman. A child. A sister. A teacher. A learner. A soul. A seeker. A friend. A living, beating passionate heartbeat. I am many things.

But I am not my body.

I have been blessed with this able and healthy being. It is the only earthly residence I have. And it is my responsibility to care for it.

I also understand that having a healthy relationship with my body is very important and it’s all connected.

I share this mostly with one hope in mind for others who struggle with eating/weight issues: That would would seek help. Real help. You have stuff to work through. Eating the right food and exercising won’t make you healthy until you get healthy on the inside. You are not your body. Your struggle is so much more than your body. And you deserve to be made whole again.

I don’t have it “together”.

I’m not starting over. I’m starting from here. Learning that this was never just a journey to healthy but also a journey to healing.

I am not my body but I will care for the one I have.

The Girl in the Backseat

She is 3 and feisty.

She lives on the Reservation.

And everything around her is loud.

Her family.

The yelling.

Her older sibling who always steals the attention away.

The poverty.

It’s all loud.

She makes herself heard.

She is not weak.

But there is a price that she pays. You can see if you look close enough.

There was a moment:

We drove through fields and past canyons.

Her brother finally fell asleep after screaming incessantly.

The car fell silent.

I turned and saw her playing quietly.

I’d never seen her do that before.

She didn’t ask for anything.

She used what she had around her and suddenly she had created a deer that was stopping by a stream for water.

It was a quick, sweet glimpse into her innocent heart.

And as I watched her I thought about how she should always be able to play this way.

How it’s her right as a girl to get to be a girl. To be nurtured. To be loved. To be still.

Safe. Quiet. Content.

This peaceful girl is not the one I’ve come to know.

This girl who dwells in the stillness. Who’s strength is apparent but different.

She should always be able to be this way.

What happens when little girls aren’t privileged enough to have the room to be little girls?

When they don’t have the room to be both loud and boisterous and also carry a silent strength?

What happens when there is not room?

How will she find her true voice over what she has to do to be heard at all?

Will the girl who plays quietly in the backseat be protected?

If I Were An Interviewer

I am currently gaining some valuable experience with interviewing. (I’m saying it’s valuable with the mentality that right now it actually doesn’t feel valuable at all. Because interviews that don’t result in a job just plain suck. But someday I will absolutely, undoubtedly see this “experience” as valuable.)

The interview process can be really crazy you guys.

Interviewing is like walking into your own surprise party/first date every time. Sometimes your sister is already drunk, sometimes the cake falls over, sometimes your date asks you awkward questions that make you cringe, and sometimes you have a good conversation with everyone at the party and it’s a great time.

Here’s what I would do if I were an interviewer:

Move #1: Ask the person in the set up email what their favorite coffee/tea/juice beverage is. And have it for them when they walk in the door. Because when people come to an interview they are nervous. (Rumor has it that there’s an actual statistic out there proving that far more people would rather be hit by a bus than be interviewed. I- ahem… can’t find that statistic, but you know- I mean it gets you thinking.) And these people are coming into your place of employment. Your court. Your second home. So I would want to be hospitable. Plus, don’t you think it would break the ice and relax them a little?

Move #2: My first question would be this: “Tell me something funny that has happened to you.” Why? Because I want to laugh. And I would want them to relax by laughing too. And humor says so much about a person. Then you bet I would tell them a funny story too. And then bingo bongo, we’ve bonded a bit. And we’ve become a little more human together. (That’s a lot of ands. And.)

Move #3: I would actually write down their responses to the questions I ask of them. Because otherwise an interview feels like a joke.

Move #4: I would tell them at the end of the interview if it’s for sure not going to work out. I would never tell them “We’ll talk about it and let you know either way if you’re still in the running” if I know they’re not in the running. Because the waiting can be excruciating, and it’s more work for the hiring authority later on anyway. So let’s just call it like it is.

Move # 5: I would tell people why they weren’t hired. Because Jimmy should know that he wasn’t hired because he came to the interview drunk. Of course Jimmy should already know this, but obviously he doesn’t, so I would tell him. Because Kara should know that she wasn’t hired because her blouse was cut way too low. Kara should know that although that tactic, probably used in her mind to lure the employers in, did little to impress this female hiring authority and it made Kara look like a joke in a professional interview. Because Lucy should know that she should have had a better response to a certain question. And Kevin should know that he doesn’t have enough experience for this position.

And we’d all live happily ever after.

Girl Rising

Go see this movie, Girl Rising:

I saw it a few weeks ago and as a teacher was completely blown away to learn that 66 million girls in the world do not attend school. Tailspin.

It’s playing in most cities right now.

Go. See. It.

“I am change.”

Why I Like Your Weird Kid

By the time you read this, I’ll have made it to the other side of the parent teacher conferences tunnel.

This was the first time I’ve sat with parents on my own and told them how I “see” their child.

I can’t fully explain why but it’s been a surreal week.

What every parent wants to hear at their child’s conference is this: He’s fine. Great actually. Top of the pack.

They not only want to hear that their child is “performing” impeccably. They really want to hear that their child fits in great, and says smart things, and behaves exactly as they should… all the time. And I can’t blame them.

Each conference was either filled with big sighs of relief or deep inhales of worry.

Mind you, I teach preschool. My students are 3 and 4 years old.

I wanted to hold the hand of one mother who, as a special education teacher herself, is now convinced that her son has a severe learning disability. He’s 3. And things aren’t “clicking” for him as they do for most children at this point. I told her this is totally fine. That I’ll try other methods. That I see how bright he is in so many ways. But all she could catch in that moment were the boxes that weren’t marked proficient. She put on a brave face but also told me things like “maybe I should just stop working so I can be with him full time.” She wasn’t kidding.

Exhale.

I’m not a parent.

I’m just a teacher, with a teacher’s perspective.

It has to be really scary to hear that your child does not fit into the “proficient” box. Everyone just wants their child to do well and not have to struggle conventionally. No one wants their child to have to suffer, or be the outcast. I get that.

But what I so badly wish I could tell each of these parents is this: What I love about your child is how weird they are. There are no perfect children and thank God for that because I would find my job totally boring. You don’t want your child to fit into a mold. Please believe that.

If all my students thought the same, and achieved in the same way, and acted the same way I would have a class full of children who are ill-equipped and robbed.

Of course I want them all to meet the standards and be successful. That’s a huge part of my job and the standards are there for a reason. But what I truly want is for them to be unique, confident individuals with a thirst for learning and compassionate living.

So let’s talk about your son who’s “behind”. He may have some catch up learning to do. Or maybe he will be diagnosed with a learning disability someday. But look at him singing Eric Church in the corner and asking me about how the machines on the play farm work. He’s a little different and he’s incredible. And he’s going to be more than fine.

Outside of the classroom I like weird people.

I don’t appreciate people fully until I’ve seen them be odd and awkward.

The people I respect the most are those who live passionately and love well and are weird and uncomfortable and vulnerable and a little sloppy.

That’s why I like the ways that your child is a bit of an oddball. I know it means they’ll be amazing.

Glory