There are so many arguments out there about what's wrong with the educational system today. It's kids' faults, it's parents' faults, it's teachers' faults, it's politicians' faults, etc. We don't test enough. We test too little. There isn't enough math/science/reading. There isn't enough arts education. I think that truths can be found with many of these arguments, but there's one thing that seems more and more left by the wayside. There's too much focus on academics.
Now, don't get me wrong. I appreciate that in the present, it is essential to prepare students with the knowledge and skills necessary to be successful college students. It's getting harder and harder to get any job without a college degree. In among this, too, has been born a competition. Which kids are the most college ready? Which of them can complete college the fastest? And the burden has been placed on students to be all academics all the time and to be perfect at this. But I ask, at what cost?
At what cost? The question first occurred to me when I was taking Comparative Education in college. We each had to choose a country to research and present on regarding its educational system, and I chose Japan. My reason? Recently, everyone has lauded the educational systems of countries like Japan and China where students test so highly (given, their weakest students aren't tested, but I'll save that rant for another day). But by that point in my college career I had heard enough horror stories of what students in those countries experienced to find myself continually asking the question: "At what cost?" A number of years later, I don't remember the specifics of the educational system anymore (perhaps because, due to the current events portion of the project, my later research turned to merely trying to keep up with the events of the earthquake and tsunami that had hit the country days before the project was due), but I do remember thinking that it was one that would have likely pushed an overachieving perfectionist student like myself over the edge.
At the end of the project I held on to the positivity I found in the fact that in the United States we valued more than core academics. We value the whole child. Sure, there have been pushes to make K-12 education more rigorous, but there were enough people with level heads to keep the system from jumping off the deep end. These days, I'm not so sure.
My first year of teaching I was in a school that still got it. Recognizing that not all students identified with the academic side of school, there was a continual focus on helping students find their place any combination of academics, athletics, arts, and activities. And the school recognized the priority of balancing all of these. Academics are important, yes, but so other the other aspects of students' lives. High school is a time where they can still explore their interests and try different things. I learned the hard way that sometimes by the time you get to college, you're already to behind and inexperienced to have a real shot at trying something new. But more importantly, one of the core ideals of my personal educational philosophy is education of the whole child. Education is about more than reading, writing, and arithmetic (or any STEM field). It's about helping kids to become well-rounded people. It's about teaching them to be physically healthy. It's about teaching them to be emotionally healthy. And it's about teaching them to be socially healthy. And part of that is letting them be kids.
There was a time when my ideal of whole child education was only challenged by the frequency in which arts programs were being cut in schools across the nation. These days, it reaches deeper.
The school I'm at right now focuses on only academics. Yes, there are other opportunities for students, but the institution itself seems to only care about academics. The recognition of non-academic events and achievements happens, but is usually buried or talked about as if going through the motions. I feel like a member of an educational institution, but not of a community. And while I finally feel settled in enough to be comfortable, it's almost a daily occurrence that I am reminded that my own educational philosophy doesn't mesh with the school's.
I will say again, that a focus on academics isn't necessarily a bad thing. But there has to be balance, and I'm not seeing it right now. There's great pressure from the school, parents, and even the students' themselves to take on more and more difficult courses so that they are more well-prepared for college or so that they can have as many college credits as possible before they've even graduated from high school. I have had countless students drop some or all of their extracurricular activities this year just to try to keep up with their academics. Others were never even aloud to participate in activities in the first place. I see my high school freshmen and sophomores getting less sleep than I did as a college student because of their difficult course load. It's become almost a weekly tradition to have at least one lunch conversation with my colleagues about how many students are being pushed to do too much too fast in mathematics courses when they don't have the maturity and/or study skills to take on that kind of challenge. Heck, as a teacher, I feel guilty every time I take time out of class to have non-math related discussions with my students because I know how much content I have to cram in to a short period of time.
And it's not just my school. Conversations I had with teachers across the district when I was in a variety show reflected some of the same occurrences, and those teachers didn't always feel great about it either. My colleagues who have kids talk about the amount of homework their children do every night, and it's comparable to what we see with our own students. And tonight I read a news article about a Kindergarten program being canceled to allow more time for the students to learning to be able to be "college and career ready." And somehow this was the final straw.
I'm not saying that academics aren't important. And I'm not saying that being college and career ready aren't important. I'm just saying that there needs to be balance. It's no wonder that we're developing into a nation of workaholics who don't know when to take time for themselves and their families because that's what we're training kids to do from such an early age. They've got the majority of their lives to work. And I'm not saying that they shouldn't do any work at all. But there has to be balance. And it's not always about time management skills or laziness. Sometimes
it's about trying to much, and being pressured to carry that load or
more.
Can't we just let them be kids? Can't we let them have time to play? Can't we let them explore new things? Can't we let them have the time to spend with their families? Their friends? Can't we let them have some time to relax? Or at least to get the recommended amount of sleep each night?
I get it. Part of growing up is learning. So we can teach them academics, critical thinking, study skills, organizational skills, and whatever other college and workforce life skills they need. We spend decades of our lives working. We get only 18 years to be
carefree, or relatively carefree, kids. It's not that long, and once
it's gone, it's gone. And when we have our stressed-out, overworked days, don't we tend to wish we could return to the days when we were younger? So can't we also remember to just let them be kids. Because they've still got some of that time left, and when it's gone, it's gone, and there's no going back.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Faith, Depression, and Anxiety
Growing up, my faith was super important to me. Though many might say that my faith and involvement in church could be credited to my parents, I felt ownership of my faith from a very young age. It was always something deep and meaningful to me, though exactly what "deep" and "meaningful" meant continually evolved as I got older. All in all, outside of the time I spent at AWANA at a close friend's church, I felt like I had an abnormally strong faith in comparison to my peers. I mean, I was the preschooler who on car rides to anywhere would ask my parents to "tell me about Moses," the middle schooler who worked my faith into every school project possible, and the high schooler who carried my Bible around in my backpack and took it out whenever I was having a bad day.
But as I reached the end of high school and moved on to college and young adulthood, I became more and more like my peers. It started out as a time thing. So over-involved in other aspects of my life, especially academically, time with God fell to the wayside. And when I tried to build time for Christian community back into my life, I found that it was uninviting. The different groups on campus were often highly exclusive, where people only really reached out to the people who were involved in most every aspect of campus ministry. In the meantime, the church I grew up in was experiencing a culmination of turmoil that had been building up for several years, and going to church at home became a high-anxiety, sometimes high-anger experience. And while there was a church I loved near my college where some family friends attended, I had no transportation to get there for my first three years of college. And by the time I had the transportation, I had other barriers to deal with.
During my fourth year of college, for whatever reason, Sundays became my worst mental health day of the week. I got to this point where I would practically wake up in tears and not be able to stop crying for almost the entire day. And there was no way I was leaving my dorm room where other people might see me for anything more than to go to the bathroom down the hall. Which usually meant no church. And somewhere in the midst of all this, my faith became a painful thing. While I never doubted that God was there for me and loved me, I had a greater tendency to fall apart when I reached out to Him. Even having a good-intentioned friend or family member tell me that they were praying for me was enough to send my straight to tears and into a day of depression. And when many times in the last few years I've struggled to stay barely functional, opening myself up to falling apart for even a moment meant risking the loss of my functionality for a day or more, and I quite frankly couldn't afford that. So my faith fell by the wayside not because I didn't want it or didn't have time for it but because I was at least functional without it.
Last fall/winter (I don't remember which), I listened to a sermon where the pastor who declared in their sermon that people who didn't want to go to church didn't understand what church was all about, that these people hadn't heard and/or understood the message of hope that church brings. I walked out of church royally ticked off that day at the broad generalization. I know the message of hope. I felt that hope for the majority of my life. But one day I woke up, and I couldn't feel that hope anymore. And when people around me who struggle with depression and/or anxiety still find hope in their faith, when people across the internet with depression and/or anxiety still find hope in their faith, when my counselor refers to other patients (as a generalization) who are able to find hope in their faith in an attempt to offer me a place of positivity in my life, and I for reasons I cannot understand find no hope, no comfort, only pain in my faith, I feel more alone than ever. I felt flawed. And that sermon made me feel even worse because it was a finger pointing at me saying "there's something wrong with you!" which, by the way, didn't make me want to re-strengthen my faith nor go back to attending church even occasionally.
There were times when I could make it through. Outside of the anxiety-inducing chaos of set-up and take-down, I was able to reconnect with my faith when helping to lead a handful of youth retreats. And I somehow managed to lead a youth group for almost a year at the church where I grew up. And I was starting to feel like I might be ready to find a new faith community closer to where I lived. But situations that led me to feel rejected in both of those settings became the straws that broke this camel's back, and I am still rather gun-shy about faith communities in general. It wasn't necessarily even situations that would have affected a normal person so deeply, but to someone with social anxiety who already has massive trust issues, the situations were the final driving force that led me to have no desire to be part of a Christian community.
Between the pain of my faith and the fear of other believers, I avoided church almost completely, and half the time that I made it there, I wouldn't manage to stay more than 5 minutes without retreating to the bathroom to have a panic attack for the entirety of worship. It took worshiping with a bunch of Lynx fans and a couple of my favorite Lynx players at Faith and Family night after one of the Lynx games last summer to realize how much I missed worship - not the going-through-the-motions worship that Sunday mornings at my home church usually felt like but a group of people worshiping with their hearts and souls and focusing on nothing else. It was the most authentic worship I'd experienced in a long time. And I realized that I missed that type of worship.
So suddenly I fell into the group of many of my peers: the ones who believe wholeheartedly but want nothing to do with the Church. Who describe themselves as spiritual, not religious. Of whom it is said "They love Jesus, but not the Church." I had spent most of my life not understanding that viewpoint, but suddenly I found myself right in the midst of it. But not for all of the same reasons. While it was my disgust at the corruption that happens behind closed doors at churches that led me to decide that I didn't want to work at a church, it wasn't this that drove me away. And it wasn't the holier-than-thou snobs that made me feel unwelcome. It was feeling rejected by people who were supposed to be my friends, who I had claimed as family, who became the final push out the door. But it was also more than that.
After having three weeks straight of feeling generally happy for the first time since I don't even know when, I decided to finally check out a new church on Sunday. I realized when I got there that it's the first time I've ever gone to a completely new church completely by myself, and that alone was a big step for me. And after months of trying to convince myself to show up, I finally made it on Sunday. And it was fantastic. And I'm excited to go back. This could be the fit I've been looking for which, at least from what I've seen so far, is the church that's Lutheran in theology but non-denominational (or similar) in worship that I've been searching for for years. And I experienced worship that was authentic and relevant, what I've been looking for, rather than ritualistic and tied to tradition for tradition's sake, what I've been trying to get away from for a number of years. But I cried almost the entire time I was there.
And I suddenly realized why all things faith-related have become so painful. Because it requires opening up. And when you have depression and anxiety (especially social anxiety), you close yourself off from everything and everyone because it's the only way you know how to function anymore. It's taken the last few days of reflection to realize how closed off I've been. Outside of some blog posts and Facebook statuses, I've frequently avoided other people as a general rule. I've ignored phone calls and texts and Facebook messages/wall posts from nearly everyone but my parents (whom I still shut out when they're saying or doing things that only make me feel worse). I eat lunch with other teachers but avoid talking at all costs. I've come to avoid conversing with students when I can. I've even avoided emotional movies and TV shows for fear of opening myself to the emotions those might bring and not being able to turn the emotions off. Because more often than not lately I've felt anxious or depressed, and the realization that moments of happiness have been so fleeting over the past year leaves me even further depressed as if long-term happiness was no longer a possibility for me. So I closed myself off from people and emotion because it was the only way I could get through the day.
But having faith means fully opening up to God. Prayer, worship, reading the Bible, being in community with other Christians, all of these things require you to open yourself fully. It's a risky business when you're feeling pretty good about your life. It becomes riskier when your life feels like a load of crap. I've closed myself off so fully that opening up even a little bit means releasing those emotions that I've been bottling up inside for months, some even for years. It's like a shaken can of pop that you've avoided opening that proceeds to explode even when you just barely open it. And once opened, it doesn't stop until it's done exploding.
I haven't really been ready for that. I still don't know that I'm quite ready for that. But identifying it helps. And the fact that I've been a relatively happy person for about 3 weeks straight also helps. And having a place that I can go to worship and be surrounded by other believers but not be smothered by the concerns of people who know me well and know of all of my struggles is also a comfort. I can go and focus on God and me and be reminded that there are others there when I'm ready for them, but that doesn't have to be right now. And I know that being a Christ-follower isn't just about God and me but should include others as well, but that's not where I am right now. Right now I need the renewal on a God-and-me level before I can include others in that. Even Jesus left the crowds, sometimes even his disciples, in order to refresh and regroup sometimes. I try to keep reminding myself of that and not feel guilty for taking care of me right now. (Growing up in the Church has not helped my self-care skills, but I'll save that rant for some other time)
I've been thinking about writing a post like this for quite some time, now. I've felt this deep need to just explain to the world that, while I know my faith is supposed to make life feel better and that other people's faith usually works that way, in recent years even acknowledging my faith has been more painful than the pain of life, so I've shut it away. But at least I'm starting to figure out why it's so painful. So maybe I can start finding a way through the pain and find the hope again.
But as I reached the end of high school and moved on to college and young adulthood, I became more and more like my peers. It started out as a time thing. So over-involved in other aspects of my life, especially academically, time with God fell to the wayside. And when I tried to build time for Christian community back into my life, I found that it was uninviting. The different groups on campus were often highly exclusive, where people only really reached out to the people who were involved in most every aspect of campus ministry. In the meantime, the church I grew up in was experiencing a culmination of turmoil that had been building up for several years, and going to church at home became a high-anxiety, sometimes high-anger experience. And while there was a church I loved near my college where some family friends attended, I had no transportation to get there for my first three years of college. And by the time I had the transportation, I had other barriers to deal with.
During my fourth year of college, for whatever reason, Sundays became my worst mental health day of the week. I got to this point where I would practically wake up in tears and not be able to stop crying for almost the entire day. And there was no way I was leaving my dorm room where other people might see me for anything more than to go to the bathroom down the hall. Which usually meant no church. And somewhere in the midst of all this, my faith became a painful thing. While I never doubted that God was there for me and loved me, I had a greater tendency to fall apart when I reached out to Him. Even having a good-intentioned friend or family member tell me that they were praying for me was enough to send my straight to tears and into a day of depression. And when many times in the last few years I've struggled to stay barely functional, opening myself up to falling apart for even a moment meant risking the loss of my functionality for a day or more, and I quite frankly couldn't afford that. So my faith fell by the wayside not because I didn't want it or didn't have time for it but because I was at least functional without it.
Last fall/winter (I don't remember which), I listened to a sermon where the pastor who declared in their sermon that people who didn't want to go to church didn't understand what church was all about, that these people hadn't heard and/or understood the message of hope that church brings. I walked out of church royally ticked off that day at the broad generalization. I know the message of hope. I felt that hope for the majority of my life. But one day I woke up, and I couldn't feel that hope anymore. And when people around me who struggle with depression and/or anxiety still find hope in their faith, when people across the internet with depression and/or anxiety still find hope in their faith, when my counselor refers to other patients (as a generalization) who are able to find hope in their faith in an attempt to offer me a place of positivity in my life, and I for reasons I cannot understand find no hope, no comfort, only pain in my faith, I feel more alone than ever. I felt flawed. And that sermon made me feel even worse because it was a finger pointing at me saying "there's something wrong with you!" which, by the way, didn't make me want to re-strengthen my faith nor go back to attending church even occasionally.
There were times when I could make it through. Outside of the anxiety-inducing chaos of set-up and take-down, I was able to reconnect with my faith when helping to lead a handful of youth retreats. And I somehow managed to lead a youth group for almost a year at the church where I grew up. And I was starting to feel like I might be ready to find a new faith community closer to where I lived. But situations that led me to feel rejected in both of those settings became the straws that broke this camel's back, and I am still rather gun-shy about faith communities in general. It wasn't necessarily even situations that would have affected a normal person so deeply, but to someone with social anxiety who already has massive trust issues, the situations were the final driving force that led me to have no desire to be part of a Christian community.
Between the pain of my faith and the fear of other believers, I avoided church almost completely, and half the time that I made it there, I wouldn't manage to stay more than 5 minutes without retreating to the bathroom to have a panic attack for the entirety of worship. It took worshiping with a bunch of Lynx fans and a couple of my favorite Lynx players at Faith and Family night after one of the Lynx games last summer to realize how much I missed worship - not the going-through-the-motions worship that Sunday mornings at my home church usually felt like but a group of people worshiping with their hearts and souls and focusing on nothing else. It was the most authentic worship I'd experienced in a long time. And I realized that I missed that type of worship.
So suddenly I fell into the group of many of my peers: the ones who believe wholeheartedly but want nothing to do with the Church. Who describe themselves as spiritual, not religious. Of whom it is said "They love Jesus, but not the Church." I had spent most of my life not understanding that viewpoint, but suddenly I found myself right in the midst of it. But not for all of the same reasons. While it was my disgust at the corruption that happens behind closed doors at churches that led me to decide that I didn't want to work at a church, it wasn't this that drove me away. And it wasn't the holier-than-thou snobs that made me feel unwelcome. It was feeling rejected by people who were supposed to be my friends, who I had claimed as family, who became the final push out the door. But it was also more than that.
After having three weeks straight of feeling generally happy for the first time since I don't even know when, I decided to finally check out a new church on Sunday. I realized when I got there that it's the first time I've ever gone to a completely new church completely by myself, and that alone was a big step for me. And after months of trying to convince myself to show up, I finally made it on Sunday. And it was fantastic. And I'm excited to go back. This could be the fit I've been looking for which, at least from what I've seen so far, is the church that's Lutheran in theology but non-denominational (or similar) in worship that I've been searching for for years. And I experienced worship that was authentic and relevant, what I've been looking for, rather than ritualistic and tied to tradition for tradition's sake, what I've been trying to get away from for a number of years. But I cried almost the entire time I was there.
And I suddenly realized why all things faith-related have become so painful. Because it requires opening up. And when you have depression and anxiety (especially social anxiety), you close yourself off from everything and everyone because it's the only way you know how to function anymore. It's taken the last few days of reflection to realize how closed off I've been. Outside of some blog posts and Facebook statuses, I've frequently avoided other people as a general rule. I've ignored phone calls and texts and Facebook messages/wall posts from nearly everyone but my parents (whom I still shut out when they're saying or doing things that only make me feel worse). I eat lunch with other teachers but avoid talking at all costs. I've come to avoid conversing with students when I can. I've even avoided emotional movies and TV shows for fear of opening myself to the emotions those might bring and not being able to turn the emotions off. Because more often than not lately I've felt anxious or depressed, and the realization that moments of happiness have been so fleeting over the past year leaves me even further depressed as if long-term happiness was no longer a possibility for me. So I closed myself off from people and emotion because it was the only way I could get through the day.
But having faith means fully opening up to God. Prayer, worship, reading the Bible, being in community with other Christians, all of these things require you to open yourself fully. It's a risky business when you're feeling pretty good about your life. It becomes riskier when your life feels like a load of crap. I've closed myself off so fully that opening up even a little bit means releasing those emotions that I've been bottling up inside for months, some even for years. It's like a shaken can of pop that you've avoided opening that proceeds to explode even when you just barely open it. And once opened, it doesn't stop until it's done exploding.
I haven't really been ready for that. I still don't know that I'm quite ready for that. But identifying it helps. And the fact that I've been a relatively happy person for about 3 weeks straight also helps. And having a place that I can go to worship and be surrounded by other believers but not be smothered by the concerns of people who know me well and know of all of my struggles is also a comfort. I can go and focus on God and me and be reminded that there are others there when I'm ready for them, but that doesn't have to be right now. And I know that being a Christ-follower isn't just about God and me but should include others as well, but that's not where I am right now. Right now I need the renewal on a God-and-me level before I can include others in that. Even Jesus left the crowds, sometimes even his disciples, in order to refresh and regroup sometimes. I try to keep reminding myself of that and not feel guilty for taking care of me right now. (Growing up in the Church has not helped my self-care skills, but I'll save that rant for some other time)
I've been thinking about writing a post like this for quite some time, now. I've felt this deep need to just explain to the world that, while I know my faith is supposed to make life feel better and that other people's faith usually works that way, in recent years even acknowledging my faith has been more painful than the pain of life, so I've shut it away. But at least I'm starting to figure out why it's so painful. So maybe I can start finding a way through the pain and find the hope again.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Renewal
Anyone who's read my blog in the last year or so knows that it's been a really rough journey. After spending a year at a school I loved, though teaching was often stressful (which I'm told generally happens during your first year), and after being told for that entire year that they hoped there would be a place for me after my one-year temporary position contract, I lost out on two open positions to out-of-district teachers with over a decade of experience and didn't even get an interview for another long-term-sub position that I was encouraged to apply for. My summer was one filled with the stress of trying to find a new job, and, after accepting a position with only two weeks before new teacher workshops started, trying to move to the opposite corner of the metro I live in and get ready to teach courses covering material I hadn't looked at since I was a high school student myself. I tried to embrace the new place as much as family and friends were embracing it for me, but it never felt quite right.
The fall was supposed to be a chance at starting over in a happier place. I had a job that had a better chance of being long-term, which eased a lot of stress. And come the end of summer, for the first time for over a year I felt a deep need to reconnect with God, if only just through worship. But nothing ever really came to fruition. The more time I spent in the new school, the more I felt out-of-place. And an unexpected rejection from one of the few faith communities I still felt connected to sent me back to the "faith is painful" stage that I'd been in for most of the preceding year. I kind of held it together through the end of December, and after a brief period where it felt like I was climbing out of the pit of despair, I learned that I had much further to fall, and everything felt like it fell apart.
My parents kept telling me that all I had to do was make it to Spring Break, and then I could spend my entire week-and-a-half off catching up and working ahead so that I wouldn't feel so overwhelmed (which by the way, made me feel so overwhelmed that I could barely function well enough to halfway catch up over break). The day I went back to school, I was surviving on barely a half hour of sleep and trying to figure out how I was going to deal with the upcoming two weeks of rehearsals for Chalkboard Capers (which I will henceforth refer to as "Chalkboard" as everyone in the show does), a district-wide teacher variety show that raises scholarship money for graduating seniors in the district. I almost decided to quit Chalkboard that day, which was the day of our first rehearsal, but some sort of nagging thing within me told me not to. It's the best choice I've made for myself in over a year.
Being a part of Chalkboard was like a new start for me. For the first time, I felt connected to and proud of being a teacher in my district. I got to spend time with a bunch of teachers from around the district that I'd never met before but who welcomed me with open arms and who made continual efforts to include me as I was the token high school teacher (in the choir at least; there was one from the other high school who did skits and an additional handful who were in the band, but they don't count because the band doesn't associate with anyone in the show except for themselves - seriously college all over again). Being surrounded by mostly elementary school teachers and a handful of middle school teachers, I was reminded what it's like to be around teachers who aren't afraid to be a little goofy sometimes. I do love my high school colleagues, but they're very stuffy, formal people a lot of the time who tend to avoid stepping out of their comfort zones. The people at Chalkboard were different. And for the first time in many years, I got to participate in a choir (more of a showchoir, really) that was relaxed, fun, and, while striving to put on a good performance was not focused on perfection and professionalism. It was a fresh breath of air. Yes, for two weeks I was exhausted and fell incredibly behind on grading and posting student resources online, but I haven't felt this good in ages. And I mostly don't care that I'm as behind as I am. Other than a couple of very high-stress days, I've felt fairly happy for almost three weeks. And I don't see an incoming downhill like I experienced at the end of January. We have under two months left in the school year, and I'm actually starting to feel like they'll fly by.
I can't say for sure what hit my reset button. Chalkboard was certainly a part of it, and Chalkboard is where I've sent most of my credit when talking to colleagues, partially as an attempt to get more of them involved next year because, seriously, these people are missing out. (As a sidenote, my positive Chalkboard experience might just be enough to keep me in my current district). A focus on March Madness probably helped me a bit too; I always seem to be happier when I'm emerged in following women's basketball. It could even be the improving weather and the increasing daylight (PS - if I start getting super depressed and anxious come winter next year, someone remind me to talk to my doctor about Seasonal Affective Disorder; I've blamed it on circumstance up to this point, but I'll definitely be watching to see if the pattern repeats next year). Whatever it is, I'm feeling better, and it's exciting and freeing.
And it's allowing me to live my life differently. I can handle challenges differently. It's been a very stressful week for my family as my dad's work life has been turned upside down when he learned Monday that his company sold off the portion of the business that he's worked in the whole time he's been there, laying off everyone in his department except him and selling off all the accounts that he works on. Still having a job is a good thing, but it's also been weird to think of losing all the people he works with, including his customers. And I definitely went through a small grieving process myself, but I feel like I'm going to be okay. Then yesterday I ended my week by having to spent my last-hour prep dealing with an unexpected behavioral issue that a student proceeded to blow completely out of proportion in the last twenty minutes of my last class of a week. It was incredibly annoying, but by the end, instead of feeling anxious and depressed, I felt like things were going to be okay. And, after Chalkboard reminded me that it's okay to do something just for myself sometimes (and my decision to participate had nothing to do with the benefit it provides to anyone else but everything to do with the fact that I thought it would be super fun), I'm trying to take time for myself. I've promised myself that any school day that I get home before 4pm, I'll go for a run (which unfortunately didn't manage to happen this week). I've put sleep ahead of getting things done for school (most nights). I'm planning on doing a full grocery shop for the first time in about three months later today. (As a note: I love grocery shopping. I always get to buy what I want and I don't feel guilty about spending the money because food is necessary to, you know, live). And I'm committing to finding a church to start worshiping at, starting tomorrow.
And I'm actually excited to go to church tomorrow. There's one I've been thinking about checking out since last fall, and I'm planning to actually make it there tomorrow. And, while last fall I had just been looking to find a place to worship, I'm now looking at this church as a place where I could potentially get involved. Maybe not quite yet as I'm still a little nervous about opening up to people, which you're pretty much required to do if you want to be a part of a faith community. But the thought of a future is there. For a while I've thought of this particular church, which is your a multi-campus mega-church, as a place to worship in anonymity until I feel comfortable to be part of a community at which point I figured I'd find a smaller place, the more I've read on their website through the morning, the more I feel like it's a place where the focus fits my own faith focus. Growing up in a smaller church, I've spent time with many people, some of whom I love dearly, who turn their nose up at larger churches as places where people show up to go through the motions of attending church but aren't really involved in their faith. Maybe I've let those opinions get to me as I've thought about finding a new church home. But then I remember that the church I attended through college (and that I wish I could still attend) is a relatively large church, and I absolutely love it there. So I'm excited to try out this new church, and, while I know that I can't judge it just by reading its website, I think it might be a place where I could settle in. And it might be a place that actually challenges me in my faith, which is a scary yet exciting prospect.
So the point of this post, I guess, is that after a really rough year, I'm doing better. A lot better. As in actually feeling like I might manage to be happy for an extended period of time. And I'm actually excited for where life is going to take me, because for the first time in a long time, I think it might actually be good.
The fall was supposed to be a chance at starting over in a happier place. I had a job that had a better chance of being long-term, which eased a lot of stress. And come the end of summer, for the first time for over a year I felt a deep need to reconnect with God, if only just through worship. But nothing ever really came to fruition. The more time I spent in the new school, the more I felt out-of-place. And an unexpected rejection from one of the few faith communities I still felt connected to sent me back to the "faith is painful" stage that I'd been in for most of the preceding year. I kind of held it together through the end of December, and after a brief period where it felt like I was climbing out of the pit of despair, I learned that I had much further to fall, and everything felt like it fell apart.
My parents kept telling me that all I had to do was make it to Spring Break, and then I could spend my entire week-and-a-half off catching up and working ahead so that I wouldn't feel so overwhelmed (which by the way, made me feel so overwhelmed that I could barely function well enough to halfway catch up over break). The day I went back to school, I was surviving on barely a half hour of sleep and trying to figure out how I was going to deal with the upcoming two weeks of rehearsals for Chalkboard Capers (which I will henceforth refer to as "Chalkboard" as everyone in the show does), a district-wide teacher variety show that raises scholarship money for graduating seniors in the district. I almost decided to quit Chalkboard that day, which was the day of our first rehearsal, but some sort of nagging thing within me told me not to. It's the best choice I've made for myself in over a year.
Being a part of Chalkboard was like a new start for me. For the first time, I felt connected to and proud of being a teacher in my district. I got to spend time with a bunch of teachers from around the district that I'd never met before but who welcomed me with open arms and who made continual efforts to include me as I was the token high school teacher (in the choir at least; there was one from the other high school who did skits and an additional handful who were in the band, but they don't count because the band doesn't associate with anyone in the show except for themselves - seriously college all over again). Being surrounded by mostly elementary school teachers and a handful of middle school teachers, I was reminded what it's like to be around teachers who aren't afraid to be a little goofy sometimes. I do love my high school colleagues, but they're very stuffy, formal people a lot of the time who tend to avoid stepping out of their comfort zones. The people at Chalkboard were different. And for the first time in many years, I got to participate in a choir (more of a showchoir, really) that was relaxed, fun, and, while striving to put on a good performance was not focused on perfection and professionalism. It was a fresh breath of air. Yes, for two weeks I was exhausted and fell incredibly behind on grading and posting student resources online, but I haven't felt this good in ages. And I mostly don't care that I'm as behind as I am. Other than a couple of very high-stress days, I've felt fairly happy for almost three weeks. And I don't see an incoming downhill like I experienced at the end of January. We have under two months left in the school year, and I'm actually starting to feel like they'll fly by.
I can't say for sure what hit my reset button. Chalkboard was certainly a part of it, and Chalkboard is where I've sent most of my credit when talking to colleagues, partially as an attempt to get more of them involved next year because, seriously, these people are missing out. (As a sidenote, my positive Chalkboard experience might just be enough to keep me in my current district). A focus on March Madness probably helped me a bit too; I always seem to be happier when I'm emerged in following women's basketball. It could even be the improving weather and the increasing daylight (PS - if I start getting super depressed and anxious come winter next year, someone remind me to talk to my doctor about Seasonal Affective Disorder; I've blamed it on circumstance up to this point, but I'll definitely be watching to see if the pattern repeats next year). Whatever it is, I'm feeling better, and it's exciting and freeing.
And it's allowing me to live my life differently. I can handle challenges differently. It's been a very stressful week for my family as my dad's work life has been turned upside down when he learned Monday that his company sold off the portion of the business that he's worked in the whole time he's been there, laying off everyone in his department except him and selling off all the accounts that he works on. Still having a job is a good thing, but it's also been weird to think of losing all the people he works with, including his customers. And I definitely went through a small grieving process myself, but I feel like I'm going to be okay. Then yesterday I ended my week by having to spent my last-hour prep dealing with an unexpected behavioral issue that a student proceeded to blow completely out of proportion in the last twenty minutes of my last class of a week. It was incredibly annoying, but by the end, instead of feeling anxious and depressed, I felt like things were going to be okay. And, after Chalkboard reminded me that it's okay to do something just for myself sometimes (and my decision to participate had nothing to do with the benefit it provides to anyone else but everything to do with the fact that I thought it would be super fun), I'm trying to take time for myself. I've promised myself that any school day that I get home before 4pm, I'll go for a run (which unfortunately didn't manage to happen this week). I've put sleep ahead of getting things done for school (most nights). I'm planning on doing a full grocery shop for the first time in about three months later today. (As a note: I love grocery shopping. I always get to buy what I want and I don't feel guilty about spending the money because food is necessary to, you know, live). And I'm committing to finding a church to start worshiping at, starting tomorrow.
And I'm actually excited to go to church tomorrow. There's one I've been thinking about checking out since last fall, and I'm planning to actually make it there tomorrow. And, while last fall I had just been looking to find a place to worship, I'm now looking at this church as a place where I could potentially get involved. Maybe not quite yet as I'm still a little nervous about opening up to people, which you're pretty much required to do if you want to be a part of a faith community. But the thought of a future is there. For a while I've thought of this particular church, which is your a multi-campus mega-church, as a place to worship in anonymity until I feel comfortable to be part of a community at which point I figured I'd find a smaller place, the more I've read on their website through the morning, the more I feel like it's a place where the focus fits my own faith focus. Growing up in a smaller church, I've spent time with many people, some of whom I love dearly, who turn their nose up at larger churches as places where people show up to go through the motions of attending church but aren't really involved in their faith. Maybe I've let those opinions get to me as I've thought about finding a new church home. But then I remember that the church I attended through college (and that I wish I could still attend) is a relatively large church, and I absolutely love it there. So I'm excited to try out this new church, and, while I know that I can't judge it just by reading its website, I think it might be a place where I could settle in. And it might be a place that actually challenges me in my faith, which is a scary yet exciting prospect.
So the point of this post, I guess, is that after a really rough year, I'm doing better. A lot better. As in actually feeling like I might manage to be happy for an extended period of time. And I'm actually excited for where life is going to take me, because for the first time in a long time, I think it might actually be good.
Becoming Elsa
I know the world is probably about to the point where a vast number of people are entirely tired of hearing about Disney's Frozen. It's been all over the internet since the movie's release Thanksgiving weekend, "Let it Go" has been covered dozens of times, and young children seem to be watching parts or all of it every moment they get the chance since the movie came out on DVD. And I've pushed the hype as much as many. After seeing the movie once, I sent a close friend a long list of reasons that she should want to go see it. I saw the movie 5 times in theaters (3 times in 2D at a cheap theater near me, 2 times in 3D at pricier establishments). I got the soundtrack only days after first seeing the movie and have listened to it nearly nonstop since, eventually also getting a hold of the piano/vocal music book as well. But all of the hype surrounding the movie regarding how progressive it is, how feminist it is, how amazing the music is, etc. - all of these things play only a minor part in why I love this movie so much.
I love Frozen because of how it parallels my own life - because of how Elsa's journey parallels my own life. While the rest of the world is obsessing over Anna and her loveable quirkiness, awkwardness, and imperfection, I find that there is only one other fictional character in existence that I identify with as much as I identify with Elsa. And it's because both Elsa and the other character parallel my experiences with mental illness.
The first time I saw Frozen, I'd had a rough day, almost didn't even want to go, and spent the first part of the movie just kind of experiencing it and trying to escape from all the emotions that were welling up inside. Then I heard "Let it Go" and basically bawled through the whole song because this character was able to accomplish something that I'd been striving for for a long time and never able to grasp. In the days that followed that first viewing, I reflected on the story I had just seen and realized how much it paralleled mental illness. Not that Disney necessarily intended to do that, but I saw so many of the parallels. I started digging online and found that I wasn't the only person who felt that way, discovering dozens of blog posts where people related to Elsa because of their depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, autism, etc.
Do you want to gain some understanding of what it feels like to have a panic attack? Watch the scene where Elsa loses control of her powers at the end of the coronation ball through when she runs away into the mountains (the portion of the movie that accompanies the portion of the score entitled "Sorcery" - I know too many things...) When a situation gets uncomfortable, I can usually feel the panic attack coming on, and my first instinct is to try to escape whatever the situation is, especially if I'm surrounded by people, even more so when the people around me don't know about my anxiety. When my escape is blocked, the panic attack comes anyway but now in front of everyone else, most of whom don't understand what's going on. Unlike some people with anxiety, I don't fear having panic attacks or not being able to stop them; I had some tension-related breathing issues in high school and use the same relaxation techniques to work myself out of a panic attack that I did back then. But with my social anxiety, I fear having a panic attack with other people around to see it; I even avoid having panic attacks in front of my parents, whom I trust more than even my closest of friends. So starting to have a panic attack in front of other people, especially ones who don't understand what's going on, is a completely mortifying experience for me. All I can think about it getting out as soon as I can. And when people don't understand what's going on, they tend to overreact. Some people bombard me with questions that satisfy their needs but not mine. Some people expect me to be able to just shut it off. Some people look at me awkwardly like I'm a crazy person. I even once had someone ask if they should call an ambulance. And when people overreact, it makes me feel even worse and makes me want to escape more. And the more that I try to escape and fail, the worse it gets. All I can think about is getting away where no one can judge me for what just happened and where my problems won't bother anyone else because if I've learned one thing about people in the last 5 years of my life it's that they don't want you around when you can't at least fake being happy 100% of the time.
The first times I watched Frozen, I was so jealous of Elsa up on her mountain. The opportunity to escape and be completely free of the expectations of others. Is it lonely sometimes? Sure. But it sure as heck beats trying to hide your deepest secret from people or deal with their reactions after they find out. If it weren't for the necessity of making a living, I would probably already be a hermit. As much as I enjoy the presence of others, 90% of the time it's not worth the pain that comes with it.
Soon after watching Frozen, I decided that I was going to embrace "Let it Go" as my anthem for the year. I focused on accepting myself as someone who is less than perfect but tries to do their best. My therapist praised me for this as it's what she'd been encouraging me to do for almost a year where, after hearing about all that my job as a teacher requires, she as a former teacher declared the expectations unrealistic. And the three weeks that the feeling lasted, I felt more amazing than I had in a long time. But it didn't last.
One blog post I read soon after seeing Frozen criticized Elsa's "Let it Go" as a declaration of "screw it all" that left a mess that she really should have paid for. And in a way, I think she kind of did have to answer for her actions when she was captured and brought back to Arendelle to "bring back summer." At the time I was offended and enraged at the post because of how closely I identified with Elsa; understanding at some level the motivations behind her actions, I fiercely defended her (but entirely in my head because getting into internet comment wars is a fruitless waste of time). Except, let's be serious, there are some aspects of the blog post that are kind of right, as I was about to learn the hard way.
In my three weeks of "Let it Go" I pushed myself to do the best I could without sacrificing my personal wellness. And it got me into some seriously sticky situations at work, dealing with which sent me into the worst bout of anxiety I have ever experienced in my life. For about a month I was having multiple panic attacks nearly every day, and, on schooldays, often multiple panic attacks before even making it to school in the morning. There were days when I could barely hold it together teaching, when I would cry or have a panic attack at my desk in the corner during passing time. Certainly days when I probably should have called in sick but knew that if I didn't come one day, it'd be even harder to show up the next. I couldn't focus enough in the evening without having anxiety about not getting everything done, which meant that everything took longer so that everything didn't get done, and it became a vicious circle. And I missed out on other things that I didn't want to miss out on, like dinner celebrating the birthday of one of my closest friends, but I felt like it was better to isolate myself. And, not unlike Elsa, I had people telling me "This is your mess. Fix it. Now." And the only response running through my head was, "Dude, if there were just a switch that I could flip and fix it and be able to function like a normal person, don't you think I would have done that already?" I don't know how to not see other people as threatening presences who will turn on me, think less of me, or hate me for being anything less than perfect. Even when it's a stranger. Even when it's something tiny like not knowing where to find something in a store. If I knew how to do that, my life would be much easier than it is. But I'm trying to get there.
It's a process that I'm working through, that, after spending most of college in more of a "crisis management" mode with my on-campus counselor, I'd actually been working on going through for almost a year with my current counselor at the point that everything exploded. And, outside of the fact that I now feel comfortable going to see a movie by myself, I feel like I've lost all of the accomplishments that I had made. I'm back to having panic attacks every time that I see a parent email show up in my inbox or on nights that I have conferences. I'm convinced that if I make a mistake or can't be as much of a super-teacher as my coworkers, they'll hate me and think I'm dumb and unworthy to be a teacher (which I had just started getting past after my rough end-of-the-year experience last year). And, as I mentioned before, it's not even back to square one but has gone backward further than that - I've never had so many panic attacks in a day before or had panic attacks so many days in a row before. It's defeating. I can't even work to make the improvements I'm being asked to make because I'm so busy just trying to get back to being functional and feeling like a person. Even through Spring Break I couldn't relax because the whole time I felt guilty for not doing all of the school stuff that I should have been doing to both catch up and get ahead.
Right now I'm Elsa trapped in a white-out blizzard of my own accidental creation striving to find a way out. And, while unlike Elsa I do have some supportive people in my life, I haven't found my Anna figure who can not only accept me for who I am and defend me to other people but who can help me learn to control my anxieties and who has the power to help everyone around me to see past my weaknesses. Not that I can't do it on my own, but mental illness is so much easier to cope with when you have someone who can both support you and help advocate for you when advocating for yourself isn't enough.
Now, while Elsa certainly isn't perfect, I will still defend her to the end because, at least on some level, I understand why she does what she does. And at least her motivations involve protecting the people around her because she's afraid that her power will hurt them. My motivations are based entirely on wanting to protect myself and how other people see me no matter how it affects other people. Where some of her critics judge her as a selfish person who does whatever the heck she wants no matter who it hurts, I see someone who's spent her whole life giving up what she really wants in an attempt to save the people around her from something inside herself that she thinks is dangerous. If she's selfish, than I must be an awful person because when my anxiety gets out of control, I isolate myself for my own sake without caring who it hurts because I spend most of my life trying to live up to other people's expectations of how I should act and sometimes it takes being selfish to turn back into a functional human being. I've been known to sit in one of my church's only two women's bathroom stalls for 20-30 minutes on a Sunday morning not caring about the massive line than I'm causing because I'm trying to calm myself out of a panic attack (or out of having a new one every time I consider leaving the bathroom stall). Others of Elsa's critics criticize the transformation of her appearance during "Let it Go" as anti-feminist and a bad image for little girls where I see someone who discards the style that she's expected to wear (it was her coronation outfit after all) in favor of something that suits the person she feels like she is and that's more comfortable. I do the same thing every day after school when I discard my teacher clothes (which I absolutely hate) and throw on something more casual. In the warmer months, this usually means throwing on a cami and short shorts; at least Elsa still looked classy whereas I'm fairly certain my outfit probably looks pretty trashy.
I say "becoming" Elsa because, as mentioned earlier, I identify with and relate to so many of her struggles, but I'm still waiting on the happy ending. Not that life is all about a "happily-ever-after," which I'm well aware is totally unrealistic. Mental illness is an everyday battle that never goes away. But I'm told that it can be controlled and coped with well enough to live life like a relatively normal person. I'm not there yet. I'm in the worst of the storm. But there's hope.
I love Frozen because of how it parallels my own life - because of how Elsa's journey parallels my own life. While the rest of the world is obsessing over Anna and her loveable quirkiness, awkwardness, and imperfection, I find that there is only one other fictional character in existence that I identify with as much as I identify with Elsa. And it's because both Elsa and the other character parallel my experiences with mental illness.
The first time I saw Frozen, I'd had a rough day, almost didn't even want to go, and spent the first part of the movie just kind of experiencing it and trying to escape from all the emotions that were welling up inside. Then I heard "Let it Go" and basically bawled through the whole song because this character was able to accomplish something that I'd been striving for for a long time and never able to grasp. In the days that followed that first viewing, I reflected on the story I had just seen and realized how much it paralleled mental illness. Not that Disney necessarily intended to do that, but I saw so many of the parallels. I started digging online and found that I wasn't the only person who felt that way, discovering dozens of blog posts where people related to Elsa because of their depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, autism, etc.
Do you want to gain some understanding of what it feels like to have a panic attack? Watch the scene where Elsa loses control of her powers at the end of the coronation ball through when she runs away into the mountains (the portion of the movie that accompanies the portion of the score entitled "Sorcery" - I know too many things...) When a situation gets uncomfortable, I can usually feel the panic attack coming on, and my first instinct is to try to escape whatever the situation is, especially if I'm surrounded by people, even more so when the people around me don't know about my anxiety. When my escape is blocked, the panic attack comes anyway but now in front of everyone else, most of whom don't understand what's going on. Unlike some people with anxiety, I don't fear having panic attacks or not being able to stop them; I had some tension-related breathing issues in high school and use the same relaxation techniques to work myself out of a panic attack that I did back then. But with my social anxiety, I fear having a panic attack with other people around to see it; I even avoid having panic attacks in front of my parents, whom I trust more than even my closest of friends. So starting to have a panic attack in front of other people, especially ones who don't understand what's going on, is a completely mortifying experience for me. All I can think about it getting out as soon as I can. And when people don't understand what's going on, they tend to overreact. Some people bombard me with questions that satisfy their needs but not mine. Some people expect me to be able to just shut it off. Some people look at me awkwardly like I'm a crazy person. I even once had someone ask if they should call an ambulance. And when people overreact, it makes me feel even worse and makes me want to escape more. And the more that I try to escape and fail, the worse it gets. All I can think about is getting away where no one can judge me for what just happened and where my problems won't bother anyone else because if I've learned one thing about people in the last 5 years of my life it's that they don't want you around when you can't at least fake being happy 100% of the time.
The first times I watched Frozen, I was so jealous of Elsa up on her mountain. The opportunity to escape and be completely free of the expectations of others. Is it lonely sometimes? Sure. But it sure as heck beats trying to hide your deepest secret from people or deal with their reactions after they find out. If it weren't for the necessity of making a living, I would probably already be a hermit. As much as I enjoy the presence of others, 90% of the time it's not worth the pain that comes with it.
Soon after watching Frozen, I decided that I was going to embrace "Let it Go" as my anthem for the year. I focused on accepting myself as someone who is less than perfect but tries to do their best. My therapist praised me for this as it's what she'd been encouraging me to do for almost a year where, after hearing about all that my job as a teacher requires, she as a former teacher declared the expectations unrealistic. And the three weeks that the feeling lasted, I felt more amazing than I had in a long time. But it didn't last.
One blog post I read soon after seeing Frozen criticized Elsa's "Let it Go" as a declaration of "screw it all" that left a mess that she really should have paid for. And in a way, I think she kind of did have to answer for her actions when she was captured and brought back to Arendelle to "bring back summer." At the time I was offended and enraged at the post because of how closely I identified with Elsa; understanding at some level the motivations behind her actions, I fiercely defended her (but entirely in my head because getting into internet comment wars is a fruitless waste of time). Except, let's be serious, there are some aspects of the blog post that are kind of right, as I was about to learn the hard way.
In my three weeks of "Let it Go" I pushed myself to do the best I could without sacrificing my personal wellness. And it got me into some seriously sticky situations at work, dealing with which sent me into the worst bout of anxiety I have ever experienced in my life. For about a month I was having multiple panic attacks nearly every day, and, on schooldays, often multiple panic attacks before even making it to school in the morning. There were days when I could barely hold it together teaching, when I would cry or have a panic attack at my desk in the corner during passing time. Certainly days when I probably should have called in sick but knew that if I didn't come one day, it'd be even harder to show up the next. I couldn't focus enough in the evening without having anxiety about not getting everything done, which meant that everything took longer so that everything didn't get done, and it became a vicious circle. And I missed out on other things that I didn't want to miss out on, like dinner celebrating the birthday of one of my closest friends, but I felt like it was better to isolate myself. And, not unlike Elsa, I had people telling me "This is your mess. Fix it. Now." And the only response running through my head was, "Dude, if there were just a switch that I could flip and fix it and be able to function like a normal person, don't you think I would have done that already?" I don't know how to not see other people as threatening presences who will turn on me, think less of me, or hate me for being anything less than perfect. Even when it's a stranger. Even when it's something tiny like not knowing where to find something in a store. If I knew how to do that, my life would be much easier than it is. But I'm trying to get there.
It's a process that I'm working through, that, after spending most of college in more of a "crisis management" mode with my on-campus counselor, I'd actually been working on going through for almost a year with my current counselor at the point that everything exploded. And, outside of the fact that I now feel comfortable going to see a movie by myself, I feel like I've lost all of the accomplishments that I had made. I'm back to having panic attacks every time that I see a parent email show up in my inbox or on nights that I have conferences. I'm convinced that if I make a mistake or can't be as much of a super-teacher as my coworkers, they'll hate me and think I'm dumb and unworthy to be a teacher (which I had just started getting past after my rough end-of-the-year experience last year). And, as I mentioned before, it's not even back to square one but has gone backward further than that - I've never had so many panic attacks in a day before or had panic attacks so many days in a row before. It's defeating. I can't even work to make the improvements I'm being asked to make because I'm so busy just trying to get back to being functional and feeling like a person. Even through Spring Break I couldn't relax because the whole time I felt guilty for not doing all of the school stuff that I should have been doing to both catch up and get ahead.
Right now I'm Elsa trapped in a white-out blizzard of my own accidental creation striving to find a way out. And, while unlike Elsa I do have some supportive people in my life, I haven't found my Anna figure who can not only accept me for who I am and defend me to other people but who can help me learn to control my anxieties and who has the power to help everyone around me to see past my weaknesses. Not that I can't do it on my own, but mental illness is so much easier to cope with when you have someone who can both support you and help advocate for you when advocating for yourself isn't enough.
Now, while Elsa certainly isn't perfect, I will still defend her to the end because, at least on some level, I understand why she does what she does. And at least her motivations involve protecting the people around her because she's afraid that her power will hurt them. My motivations are based entirely on wanting to protect myself and how other people see me no matter how it affects other people. Where some of her critics judge her as a selfish person who does whatever the heck she wants no matter who it hurts, I see someone who's spent her whole life giving up what she really wants in an attempt to save the people around her from something inside herself that she thinks is dangerous. If she's selfish, than I must be an awful person because when my anxiety gets out of control, I isolate myself for my own sake without caring who it hurts because I spend most of my life trying to live up to other people's expectations of how I should act and sometimes it takes being selfish to turn back into a functional human being. I've been known to sit in one of my church's only two women's bathroom stalls for 20-30 minutes on a Sunday morning not caring about the massive line than I'm causing because I'm trying to calm myself out of a panic attack (or out of having a new one every time I consider leaving the bathroom stall). Others of Elsa's critics criticize the transformation of her appearance during "Let it Go" as anti-feminist and a bad image for little girls where I see someone who discards the style that she's expected to wear (it was her coronation outfit after all) in favor of something that suits the person she feels like she is and that's more comfortable. I do the same thing every day after school when I discard my teacher clothes (which I absolutely hate) and throw on something more casual. In the warmer months, this usually means throwing on a cami and short shorts; at least Elsa still looked classy whereas I'm fairly certain my outfit probably looks pretty trashy.
I say "becoming" Elsa because, as mentioned earlier, I identify with and relate to so many of her struggles, but I'm still waiting on the happy ending. Not that life is all about a "happily-ever-after," which I'm well aware is totally unrealistic. Mental illness is an everyday battle that never goes away. But I'm told that it can be controlled and coped with well enough to live life like a relatively normal person. I'm not there yet. I'm in the worst of the storm. But there's hope.
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