The Bittersweet Flavor of the Holiday Season

Thanksgiving Eve. Growing up, this was one of my favorite times of the year. Holiday music (which I LOVE) is playing everywhere you go. Christmas Break was on the horizon (and so was my birthday!), and New York City during the holidays is always beautifully magical. And it all kicked off on Thanksgiving Eve. School was always easy--the last day before a four day weekend, plus the day before Thanksgiving means everyone was in a great mood. But, the best was coming home. Walking in the door, and seeing my grandmother in the kitchen, boiling potatoes, seasoning the turkey and the ham, preparing the mac and cheese and stuffing..it was heavenly. And, not just for the obviously gluttonous reason (I WAS the official taste tester, after all), but because I felt safe at home with my family. There was this warmth I felt from the security of being home Wednesday night with my immediate family all safe around me. Then, at age 14, we lost my grandfather right before the holidays that October. Looking back on it, the women in my life were so strong. As painful as it was to go on with the season that year, they never showed it. They stayed as put together as they could be for me and my brand new 6 month old baby cousin. It may not have been the best Holiday season, but I did feel warm and safe.

18 years later, and here I am now on another Thanksgiving Eve. In the past almost two decades, things have changed tremendously. I'm no longer on Granny's couch or at her kitchen table watching her prepare meals for Thursday's feast, I am now in my own apartment. Four years ago, I spent my very first holiday season without my mom, which has been the biggest impact on me by far. Most people reading this know me and about my struggles with my grief over the loss of my mom (for the uninformed, chronicled somewhat in this blog) and how I've been able to face this next phase of my life without my original BFF. Talking to some friends recently who have experienced a similar loss of a parent, as well as other timely movies and television shows brought up a swell of feelings for me this week. And it is this time of year that brings a bittersweet feeling that hangs over me the entire season.

Being a holiday season baby, this time of year has always been exciting. The countdown to Christmas has also paralleled the countdown to my birthday, and celebrating Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's with friends, family and food! But, in 2009, this time of year became to difficult to bear. That first year, I was so numb. I remember finding recipes for new foods to cook to keep my mind occupied and not focused on the big loss that weighed heavy on my heart. On one hand, it kept me busy, and I learned how to make some delicious new meals (and kept my ex very full), but on the other hand, when I wasn't cooking, the pain of my loss was debilitating. Sure, I spent Thanksgiving with the rest of my family, but that missing void in the room was painful, and I realized then that nothing could ever take that pain away. As time has gone by, I've begun to live in this current phase as best I can: by never forgetting or moving on, but carrying the pain with me as I find someway to continue on.

So on this Thanksgiving Eve, I take in both the good and the bad of the upcoming season: missing my mother tremendously, but being grateful for the 26 years that I did have her. Singing the cheesy happy birthday song to myself every year that she sang to me. Watching all those Christmas cartoons I used to watch with her and remembering how I laughed at her while she cried at them. Remembering all the years we spent putting up the tree in the living room and listening to her favorite CD, "Soul Christmas" while she danced around to the music. And reminiscing on all the good memories that I have. But I will also endure the harder moments, too. When I feel down about missing her, I will accept that and take it in. When the Christmas music and TV shows bring me to tears, I will embrace it. It is officially now all a part of my process, and things I will carry with me for the rest of my life. Because I have to be able to accept the Bittersweet Flavor of the Holiday Season.

The Battle Within...

I've been writing. A lot lately. In fact, in the past few months, I have drafted a few pieces, and I've been dying to publish something. This post right here was definitely one of my drafts. This is something I have been thinking about for a while, and has been speaking to me a lot, especially recently.

How do we know we are good people? What makes us "good" over other individuals that are labeled "bad"? How are the qualities that some people possess held in a higher regard than others? Can we really tell others or admit to ourselves when we are not being good people? These questions have been circling my brain for the past few months. You see, I always thought I was a good person inherently. I mean, sure, I'm a brat, I'm stubborn, I have a  bit of a mean streak, and as Beyoncé once put it, "I'm a train wreck in the morning and a bitch in the afternoon", but I've never imagined myself to have malicious intent. And, aren't we all made with our own flaws and cracks anyway? That's a part of what makes us perfectly imperfect I have always believed. But, lately, I've been questioning this notion. Perhaps some of the qualities we tell ourselves are good and self-sustaining are much more selfish and hurtful than we want to admit.

I've always been a firm believer in self-care. In fact, I've written about this before: If you can't take care of yourself, you'll be no good to anyone else in your life. But, where do we draw the line between self-care and selfishness? How much taking care of ourselves is too much, and when do we learn to let others in? What does too much even look like? I feel like this is a battle I have fought for many years now. Call it the curse of the only child I suppose, but I've spent a lot of time in my life learning to be content with doing things on my own. I've always deep down felt that was the way it was supposed to be for me. At times I felt like I was winning this battle, and at other times, my loneliness informed me that I was squarely on the losing side. Now that I'm older, and my life has shifted into thinking about having children and a family, I have learned that I haven't really shifted my mindset very much. Now I'm forced to ask myself, does that make me a bad person? Will I ever be able to be a good parent and a good wife if so much of what I believe about living this life is tied into taking care of myself first? Is there something actually wrong with wanting what we want for ourselves and making sure our happiness paramount? And, if so, how do I reconcile that?

It's interesting, because being in the profession I'm in, a lot of my job is tied into focusing on the needs of others. And, I willingly have done so for the better part of 8 years. No matter how tiring it may be at times, it is still what I love to do. In fact, as I have learned about myself, it's sometimes the only glue that holds me together when other things around me and in my life are falling apart. At times it seems like my only saving grace, my one redeeming quality: I may be a mess, but I'm gonna push mine to the side, roll up my sleeves, and get down and dirty and help YOU clean up yours.

I'm not sure if I'll ever get the answers,  if the questions don't have answers at all, or if I refuse to be honest enough with myself to admit that I do have the answers and I just don't want to act on it. In thinking about my own happiness, I'm not even sure I am able to come to terms with that looks like for me. We all have these grand ideas of what we would need in order for us to feel some level of content, but how sure are we truly that these things will affect our lives in anyway at all? And, to what lengths do we go to in an attempt to attain these things? Could someone on the outside looking in call our actions nefarious? Selfish or Self-centered? Or do our actions look the way we think they do: Justified.

At some point, these conflicting paths will have to cross for me, just like for everyone else. In my case however, I'm just concerned about the aftermath of the battle. Will I feel like I've conquered my worries about being a good person? Or will I step out of the rubble feeling more broken than before the fight began?

Happy Birthday Mommy.

50.
I can remember lying in that bed, in the room that I spent half of my life, in the same spot that she also spent half of her life thinking: "What am I going to be like when I turn 30? I'm not even going to feel 30. I barely feel my age as it is. I can't even imagine what my life is going to be like at 30. But one thing's for sure, mommy's gonna do something corny and goofy for my 30th. Then the following year, she'll turn 50. How crazy is it gonna be to see my mommy at 50? I can't wait so I can just marvel at how young she looks. She's gonna milk it for everything she can. LOL"


But then, right after that, the other thoughts come in. The doubts. The fear. The "What ifs?" "What if she's not here for my 30th?”; “What if she isn't here for her 50th?”; “What if all those stats I researched were actually true?” Try as I might, I could never get those stats out of my head: 3 percent of women who get cervical cancer get small cell cervical cancer, which is the most aggressive type of cervical cancer there is. Most patients have a 5 year mortality rate from diagnosis to death. “How many years will mommy have?” And then, after the tears and the prayers, the attempts to shake off all of those thoughts and remain positive kick in. “She's going to be here. Don't think about that. She'll be fine.” But she wasn’t. One week before her 47^th, 3 years before 50, she was gone.



As this date approached, I started to think about how I would feel about the day. July 10th, 2012. Once she passed, the very thought of her missing so many milestones weighed so heavily on my heart that it caused my grief to be colossal. Time hasn't healed that wound at all, it's just numbed it. In three short years I've gone from complete denial and shock to a sort of state of being. The big days come up and I'm subdued. But, on a random day of the year, the grief can still swallow me up like a tidal wave. I may not shed many tears today, but when I see a grown mother and daughter out together, they'll fall. Whenever I think of what my children will be like, they'll fall.


 Although my heart is always going to be broken and I'm always going to miss her, I can take some small solace in knowing that she's up there, celebrating her birthday, and being as happy as I know that she is. I know that she's up there, and she's bragging, and she's telling everyone she's 50, and how good she looks. And she’s talking about her crazy mom, and how she had to keep her here with us. She's talking about her handsome nephew who's going away to college next year and how proud of him she is. She’s going on and on about her adorable niece who is growing up so fast and reminds her so much of herself. And her baby sister, who she is so proud of and misses dearly. And of course, her loving husband, who I’m sure she watches over daily, while she waits patiently for the beautiful day they will be reunited again and this time, for all of eternity.



I don’t know what she’s thinking of me. I can only hope that in spite of my brattiness, my stubborn nature and my silly ways that I still make her proud. That I still make her feel like her sacrifices did not go unwarranted. I just hope that overall she’s proud of getting me to the point that she got me to. And seeing me through my high school, college and grad school graduations. Because I know I will cherish forever the fact that she was a part of every single one of those milestones. I hope that she’s proud of the work that I’ve done.



In our last conversation, she called me the love of her life. And, as I get three years into this loss, I realize that she is the love of mine. And they’ll never be a place in my heart that can replace that love. Not marriage or kids or anything. She’s always gonna be the first love of my life. She’s my best friend, and I’ll always miss her and I’ll always love her. And even though she’s not here with me, I know she’s with people she loves, and they’re all crowding around her telling her she doesn’t look a day over 25. And no amount of cancer, or chemo poison or radiation poison can hurt her now. And she’s beautiful, and she’s got that amazing smile, and her hair is long and healthy, and she feels like her old self, and she looks amazing. Happy Birthday mommy. I love you and I miss you.

Stick a Fork In It

The dictionary defines the phrase "Stick a Fork in It" to mean:

1) A State of Completion

2) To be done, finished, over

Yesterday, June 26th was the graduation of my New Heights high school seniors. My babies, my sour patch kids. Three years ago, while still in the first few months of my grief over the loss of my mother, my best friend in the world, I started a scary new venture and challenged myself to get up and go face this new world in Washington Heights with brand new students, coworkers and experiences. I was so apprehensive about meeting these kids, wondering if I would be able to engage them, if they would grow to like me enough to trust me, and if I could be the counselor they needed.

It was a tough start. It took a while getting used to the kids, the staff, the school culture and protocols, and all the rules and bureaucracy. But, halfway through my first year, I felt like I was starting to know what I was doing. I was excited to get up and face another day in the Heights. I felt like some passion had come back in my life. That June, I watched New Heights have their very first graduation, and I celebrated in the joy of seeing the seniors, my borrowed students for that year, be loved and supported by their teachers and staff who shared stories and anecdotes about how they watched these children grow. I loved that aspect of the process, and how it made the ceremony feel like a family event.

One year ago, after my second year that saw even MORE ups and downs personally and professionally, I was faced with the reality of my situation: I'm on my way out of this place. Though not necessarily by choice, it was obvious the writing was on the wall, and my time was becoming limited. Over this past summer, I threw my focus into researching what I thought was the most important part of this process: my kids. By now those unruly sophomores I had been given were about to be seniors, and I was also counseling a new group of sophomores, a smart, insightful colorful group of young adults who bonded with me during their first year as high schoolers. If this was going to be my swan song year, I figured I'd go out fighting for my kids till the end.

From the beginning of the year, it was clear I brought a knife to a gun fight. A cheap, plastic butter knife to a 12-gauge shot-gun fight. LOL It was rough. Meeting after meeting, scolding after scolding, tear by tear, I tried to hang in there as best I could. All while watching my students continue to grow. Most people who knew me well are very familiar with hearing me utter these words, "I just wanna see my babies graduate." It was all I wanted to end all this mess.

Well, someone from the other side must have heard those words as well, because on April 27th, that became the impossible-not only could I not speak for my students and be a part of their ceremony like I had wanted to for three years, I wouldn't even be allowed in the building. I wouldn't even be listed as someone who had worked with them and helped them reach that stage. Devastated isn't the word. Hell, I've written other blogs on that, so I won't even go back there. For the past two months, I had to sit back and watch them get ready for college, go to prom, get their yearbooks and go on their senior trips while being sidelined. As graduation approached, I knew I had to find a way to see them one last time.

It was a covert operation to say the least. LOL. The staff was specifically instructed to NOT let me in when they see me, even though my kids fought hard to scrounge me up a ticket. Because I was not allowed in, I knew would have to be smart about it. Crouching down around the front of the church where the ceremony was held and sneaking in through side doors and creeping around in 4 inch blue stilettos and huge dark shades was hilarious, but thanks to a few assists, I was able to sit in the balcony and see my babies on that stage! It was only an added bonus that my cheers for my kids AND blue dress and blazer were loud enough to be seen from the stage, so my babies AND my detractors knew I was there.

After the ceremony, I truly felt lighter. I mean, it will always bother me how I was treated, and that I missed so much of their end of the year celebrations and the chance to speak for the children I have truly grown to know and love for the past year. In some ways, their celebration was mine, as well. Just as they thanked me for being their counselor, I wanted to thank them, as well. For bringing me back to life and giving me hope. But, even though I wasn't able to do that they way I wanted, I still got to be there. To see my babies, to hug them, to love them, to laugh and cry and high five with them and send them off into the world. It also meant the world to me that I got to congratulate their parents in person. It was so overwhelming to hear so many of them (and even my coworkers) thank me for coming in spite of the circumstances and showing up for the kids when they needed me.

And just like that, I was done. When I got home last night, I didn't feel like I was defeated. I felt like I was finally uplifted. That I could finally breathe and I was ready to let it all go. Stacy, Leslie, Marilyn, Marisol, the board, the whole mess. I finally felt like I could wash my hands of that filthy, slimy, bed bug infested mess and focus on my future. Tomorrow, I go and pick up my stuff (!) and I walk out of that place for good. No turning back. Yeah, you can officially stick a fork in this. I'm done.

The Only Thing On my Mind...

I just want my stuff back. I’m supposed to be blogging right now, writing my feelings down, blocking everything out and releasing my thoughts. Truth is, there isn’t much left in here. Just the thought, “I want my stuff back.”

There’s a certain level of hurt and sadness that I have reached currently that leaves me feeling extremely numb. The last two months’ course of events have been excruciating and tough to deal with. Losing my job, not being able to see my kids, not going to my seniors’ prom and graduation, and not even being able to get my stuff back. What’s worse, no one seems to care. Sure, people sympathize and empathize and offer hugs, love, prayer support and drinks, which I all accept. But, this moral and ethical violation that I have experienced seems to be legal and legitimate. A group of professional adults sat in a room and in a matter of minutes decided on the best strategy to pierce my self-esteem and rip my heart out in the most petty and catty way the law would allow. How’s that for poetic? After countless conversations with lawyers, colleagues and other professionals, the consensus has been “Oh how horrible. I’m so sorry about this. You’ll find something better.” No shit I’ll find something better! I knew that administration was shady when I took the job. I didn’t expect this to be the perfect environment. I was expecting to be treated professionally and like an adult. I was expecting to not have to play favorites and kiss ass to do my job. I was expecting to just be able to do my job. I was not expecting this. I just want my stuff back.

This isn’t just about change. This isn’t just about job loss or the uncertainty of my future. Sure, some of that is in there, but this is about disrespect. I’ll readily admit that I do not do well with change, acceptance, and dealing with things out of my control. So dealing with this situation already is tough. But not being able to control how you are treated and what you can do about mistreatment is not only maddening, it’s hurtful. It allows something in your brain to think “If these people could get away with this, there’s no telling what other powerful people can/and will do to you”. Why even bother trying. It’s no use anyway. You’ll never get what is fair. No matter how big or small. And, in this case, I just want my stuff back.

This is the point in writing where you climax in your storytelling. Where you’ve hit rock bottom and now you climb out of it and soar above it to look down on your past and speak on the truths you learned from it. Sorry. You’ll get none of that from me today. Because the truth is, I believe in this point. Powerful people wield control. They may not be able to control your happiness, but they can play a part in the quantity of it. They may not be able to control your success, but they damn sure have the power to yank it away. They certainly don’t have power over your mind, but they can break you down so much that in the end, neither do you. As much as I know you’ll think this sounds crazy, but this hurt will always be with me. Not because I was fired, but because of the way I was treated. The way it made me feel to sit in those meetings and hear those hurtful untruths, or to be told that all my hard work would no longer be needed, and as a thank you for my service we will deny you the chance to say goodbye to your students, ban you from all student events and walk you out of the building like a common criminal without giving you the decency of the chance to collect your stuff. The feeling of that day can never be forgotten, which makes it all the more painful to bear the fact that now, two months later, jobless, stuff less and hopeless, I am no closer to feeling better at all. In fact, I feel so defeated that I’m even further away from the one thing I truly want the most.

I just want my stuff back.

Ramblings From my Heart....

Normally when I blog, I talk about things in a more vague, broad nature---life, love, relationships, etc. But, something spoke to my heart in a way that can't be blanketed, that must be expressed exactly in the way I feel about it.
I am really broken up about leaving my job. It really hurts me to my core to have to come to terms with leaving these children and this environment that I have grown to love. I was on an interview today, and when I was asked about myself and the work that I do, the interviewer noted how brightly I responded about the work being done with my kids and how much I enjoy working where I do and doing what I do. That's when it really hit me: I totally do not feel ready to go. When asked by others why I'm looking, I can come up with tons of PC reasons: I need a change; ready to move on; even location. Fact is none of that is true. I would stay another 3 years. For the salary they hired me on, too. But, it's not up to me. I have to leave because the administration doesn't like me. It's seems childish yet adult at the exact same time: you have to be able to play The Game sometimes. Instead of being valued as a qualified adult and asked to speak my mind, I am supposed to grin and bear it and fall in line with the more "liked" people. It absolutely feels like not only working in high school but being high school, where you get the highest praise and the most reward for following the popular crowd. You get the "in" but instead of being at parties and sitting at the cool lunch table, you get to have your opinion be valued and play a bigger role in the work being done for the students and the school.  While others are coddled and swathed in the cover of immunity, I am on the outside looking in at the chosen ones as they are allowed to blaze their own paths. It's painful to watch, but not for the humanistic primal reasons one might think (although they are there, too), but because it's so tough to stifle your passion for something you have wanted to do for so long. It's hard to have to smile through the pain of not being treated equal to others based on a difference in personality. It's hard to see others rewarded while you are continuously pushed further and further into a corner. How ironic is it that I have to sit in all these "team" meetings (Social Work, Intervention, Be the Change, High School, etc.) and yet I feel like the unwanted member of the squad. You tell me one athlete who feels supported and united with the team when their coach and GM are always doubting their performance and constantly threatening to cut them. I couldn't think of anyone who would feel welcomed in an environment like that. Real teams support each other, and work together for the greater good. It's even tougher when your passion for this work is so palpable, and everything you are attempting to do is not only to be successful as a professional, but be successful for the students.

This whole experience makes not only my work suffer, but my own personal worth takes a hit as well. How could I possibly be good at what I do if no one at my job thinks so? If the person hired to supervise me and the person who hired me sees these things, surely I must not be seeing what they do. I must suck! Having to confront that while still looking my students in the eye and teaching them life skills was enough to drive me to start sending out my resume. But, going through the experience of leaving my kids forces me to teach them one of the biggest life lessons of all: change is constant, and it doesn't have to be scary, easy, or bad. It can be a new beginning. Being forced to step out into a new path can actually be just what my spirit needed: a wake up call, a reminder to face another challenge to prove how strong I really am.

So, even though it brings me to tears to think about missing my babies' continued college acceptance letters, helping with their fundraising activities, planning and attending their senior trip and prom and seeing them all on that stage at graduation, I know the best lesson I can teach them is to not be bitter, not hold grudges, and don't be angry, but to be grateful for everything that brought us to that moment, and be proud of the work that was already done. Because when the tears dry and the pain of loss fades, the good memories live on. To my class of 2014, and to my class of 2012, my sour patch babies, I love you.

December

It's been such a long time since I put any thoughts down on my blog! And, not for lack of thoughts, but more like lack of time. Trying to balance so many plates at one time usually means one or two fall by the waste side. I hate resolutions, but I....resolve to put more of my thoughts on this blog to share.

This post could be about a lot of things-a recap of my year, a hope for the promise of next year, a love letter/thank you note to all that matter to me, but honestly, I wanna write something to the month of December.

This is my favorite month of the year. And not just because it's my birthday month. Although it's cold out and there's usually snow in NYC, the month of December gives me a warm feeling like no other. December 1st has always felt like a New Awakening for me, and I always feel like a little piece of who I am is so different 31 days later when the month ends. If a month can move that much progress in me, surely you can understand why New Years resolutions and things seem to be too much, lol.

As a city girl, the whole place is buzzing with people and noise and holiday music and beautiful lights. There are new delicious holiday treats and drinks (don't judge me) designed to fill you up and warm your heart. People are preparing to spend time with the people they love the most in the world, and laughter is shared and new memories are made all month long.

The past few Decembers haven't been some of my all time best, but even when I was at my saddest point, I couldn't resist listening to a little Christmas music, stopping to see decorations in different areas of the city, and even watching children take pictures with Santa Claus. It all brings back memories of sweet days gone by. This year was the best out of the last 3 Decembers, and I think that signals a change in myself. Not for the better. Just for the manageable.

People always say the past year was like a roller coaster but for me, it really was! I felt like I was on Kingda Ka out here in '11--I was up, then stable, then down, the low, then LOWER, then stable, then low again, and finally stable till I reached a manageable high for me. It wasn't easy, but at least towards the end I was able to enjoy the ride.

So, on this last day of my favorite month of the year, I look back on some of the things that gave me the perspective I plan on taking forward for the next 11 months of my rebirth--the highs and lows of my job, my successes with my students, the bonds I have made and cultivated with good new friends and kept with great old friends, the growth and learning process I am on regarding my romantic relationships, the dedication and resolve I have shown stepping out of my comfort zone a little more, the work that I have put in to add fitness to my life more often, and the maturity I have acquired on my way to celebrating my 30th birthday last week. I may not have had everyone with me that I wanted, but I enjoyed my day immensely still. All of these things helped me prepare for another year of whatever may come-good, bad or indifferent.

So, December, I bid you farewell, and await my stories on growth and maturity in the months to come.

Happy New Year!!!