Whenever one ponders about their worth, I hear it talked about as if it exists floating somewhere above us. Drifting along in the same group of clouds that envelop our fantasies, hopes, and dreams. These aspects of ourselves are seemingly intangible and translucent. Something that comes and goes at rather inconvenient times. Life always has a way of challenging the security of our worth.
Whenever I explore someone’s experience of their worth, I find it’s typically in the hands of someone or something else rather than the person sitting in front of me. It could be grasped within the dynamics of a relationship, the productivity of a job or school performance, the reactions of others and our interpretations of other’s experiences of us. What if the cloud we place our worth in were to be reframed into the steadiness of a rooted tree? I recognize that comes across as awful corny but bear with me. Worth is not supposed to be derived from other people, places, or things. Worth does not originate from materialistic ideations or relational dynamics. Rather, our worth is uniquely and undoubtedly our own since the moment we develop conscious thought. Our worth is grounded in the power of our voices, and the choices we are privy to whenever we are faced with crossroads in the way we can respond to an experience. Just because this idea of self-value is not something that has a designated color or graspable shape does not mean it is any less accessible. Our worth is rooted within us. Deep in our bones, cozy within our souls. You are worthy because of your experiences, resilience, imperfections, quirks, and the addition of someone utterly one-of-a-kind in this World. Recognizing our worth and our accountability for it can be intimidating at times. Perhaps that’s why we are so eager to hand over the responsibility of it to someone else. But here’s the thing. Our worth is so rooted within us because we are undeniably human. We are messy, imperfect, and deeply feeling souls whom have individualized perceptions of the same universe we all inhabit. Our worth would falter if we were perfect, uniform, and untouched by the unpredictability of how life rolls. Worthiness is inherent simply because we can do and have done hard things. It’s OK to make mistakes, my friends. It’s brave to have days or weeks or months where you feel deeply and vulnerably human. It’s welcome to cry and express your perceptions of the world around us. Making it through the hard days highlight how inherently and unshakably worthy we really, and always are.
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I think we can all agree that this week has brought a hefty amount of fatigue.
COVID fatigue, compassion fatigue, mental and emotional exhaustion, gulley’s of grief, celebration hangovers, you name it. It seems as if Americans have been holding their breath since November, or perhaps even longer. We could cut the tension in the air with a butter knife. Layers upon layers of intensity brought to us by conflicting perspectives, aching inequalities, deeply run injustices, and unfairness none of us seemingly feel we have much control over. And then there was Bernie. Wednesday invited a peculiarity that was the feather that tickled the collective deep sigh right out of us. The world was delighted with an image of a political figure slumped begrudgingly into a cold fold-up chair. He donned a dark grey winter jacket, and brown-patterned mittens that proudly displayed the love that was put into creating them. One leg perched across the other, a disposable light blue mask stretched unsymmetrically, but properly across his furrowed face. Each one of us instantly resonated with the humanness Bernie Sanders quietly embraced. And halleluiah for that! The quiet tension that seeped from America’s bones has suddenly erupted into laughter. This genuinely human-felt image has captured the delight of many as they cut and paste it into every scenario that embraces the human in us. A chilly Bernie playfully represents the teacher about to retire but still has recess duty, the bored parents at their child’s soccer game, the cranky soul perched impatiently at the oven waiting for the cookies to finish baking, the list goes on. The laughter that is echoing is a welcomed and much over-due chuckle. So, thank you, Bernie Sanders. For the joyful reminder of the thing we all have in common. We are, and will forever be, human. Thinking about a word that could accurately describe the past few weeks, I continue to circulate back to “muddy”. I feel as if everyone who enters the therapy room are trying to navigate slippery slopes and quicksand-like mucky spots within their lives without the satisfaction of good galoshes. The world is muddled by high tensions, tickled from approaching significant historical transitions of power smudged by intimidating threats. The one-year anniversary of the COVID-19 pandemic looms in the murky background, a heaviness no one is able to fully overlook.
In the realm of Autism, the tension that poisons the air is creating a very uncomfortable, dread-like sensation. One some of my client’s awake to and restlessly drift asleep into. I think we can all resonate with the inescapable muddy feelings that taint the spaces we presently exist in. Yuck. What can we do with all of this metaphorical mud that sticks to our souls like glue? I find myself looking for the glimmers. The sparkles that exist in spots if I pause long enough to squint. If anyone knows me, pausing is not my strong suit. I’m a full-steam ahead kind of gal, ploughing ahead toward the next adventure, the next tantalizing goal or destination. Perhaps that’s the mud we are getting stuck in. Going full-steam ahead toward anything right now is a mentality that will face a slew of obstacles, largely out of our control. This pursuit of hustle has a high chance of dishing out enough burnout to trap even the most zealous of humans in soul-sucking muck. This enveloping muddy mess that’s a product of the largely uncontrollable factors that surrounds us begs for a thoughtful reframe. Slow down, breathe deeply, and look for the moments that glimmer. They may be brief or faint. They mostly go unnoticed due to how untrained we’ve become at paying attention to them. Nevertheless, these sparks have yet to be engulfed by the murkiness of the world’s dishevelment. Nor do I think they have the capability of disappearing entirely. Everyone has their own nuances of glimmers, and they are related largely to ways we all find our happy. Glimmers can mimic a subtle smile from a child who was committed to their grumpiness a few moments before. The gratification of a crispy apple or a wonderfully ripened avocado that serves as the “just right” addition to your Wednesday lunch. Perhaps these shimmers could be the first step outside and the warmth that washes over you as the sunshine embraces you in its hug. These sparks could be the goofy grin your dog shows off as they convince you they need a bite of your meal. I’m thankful for the glimmers that fill this tired therapist’s soul. I grasp onto them tightly, mindfully noting their existence so I can melt into the memories of them on especially murky days. Closing my eyes and sinking into these memories now, I feel the corners of my mouth uptick. My mind takes me to the color that fill a client’s cheeks from relief as they take their first deep breath in days. The widening of one’s eyes as they recognize the sensation of sitting in a space with another whom sees them in their entirety. The heart-felt giggle from a youngster who finally beat Ms. Kat in Candyland. The warmth and vitality from a hot chocolate that was so kindly gifted from a sincere clinical director on a random Tuesday when my feet were especially dragging. The three squeezes from the hand of my husband, his gentle reminder of his steady love. This is your friendly reminder that your glimmers are there within the mud that colors our perspectives and experiences. I encourage you to be mindful of these sparks, and when they happen, hold onto them tightly. For these shimmers are our galoshes that will carry us through this especially muddy time. Perhaps our happy is like a piece of chocolate or a good book. While savoring the chocolate or indulging in the storyline, we reflect on the raw joy that happiness embodies. However, the longer the stent of this joy perpetuates, the more uncomfortable we become because we know all good things come to an end. All emotions, including happiness, have a beginning, middle, and end. This is a process we do not get much say in, as this is as indicative of being human as our fingers and toes. The belief here is that this process makes many of us squirm with discomfort, desperate to lean on back-up sources that are 100% reliable to generate the joy. To restock the chocolate.
I hate to say, but we cannot enjoy this chocolate all of the time. If we did, we would not know joy even if it slapped us in the face! We embrace our happy because we have experienced otherwise. There is a purpose to the “veggies” of the emotional wheel as these cultivate resilience, internal motivation, and grit. We cannot outrun the gambit of the human experience that will undoubtedly encounter sadness, resentment, jealousy, anger, or hurt. Nor are we supposed to. I wish there was a way to rewrite our relationship with discomfort. From early on, we hate for our children to know the face of discomfort. We soothe their cries and kiss their booboos. However, this sort of nurturing mentality has evolved into an entity that smothers our youth’s beliefs they can do (and survive) hard things. Suddenly, we are letting the argument of “I am not going to follow through with a task because I do not enjoy it” become valid and normalized. The message that lies beneath this mentality is “I cannot embrace the emotion of happiness while partaking in something I do not like.” This ends up biting us in the butt, folks. We can do hard things and still dig deep into our happy. This is a vital skill necessary for a satisfying and fulfilling life. Why? Because life is hard. The saying “money can’t buy happiness” rings deeply true. Buying that thing, or having this relationship with my family, or marrying that man does not guarantee a one-way ticket to paradise. Life is composed of our “pursuit” of our happy, and the fulfillment arises from the obstacles that YOU did not let dictate your responsibilities to yourself. We are not entitled or owed our happiness. We have to do hard things in life. We have to clean our rooms, pay our bills, go to the dentist, and confront our skeletons. Just because we have to experience and face difficulties does not rob us of our capabilities to find our happy. So, how do I find my happy? My happy is woven into the air I breathe when I first step outside. The delicate aroma that tickles my senses as the sun hits my face without the obstruction of windows. My happy is sparked by the creatures within my world, their songs and stories delighting my soul. My happy swells at the sight of other’s smiles, the deep satisfied breath that follows as one soul connects with another. My joy lives within myself and the memories I hold close as I continue to survive the many obstacles life throws my way, my quiet confidence that hums within my heart as I embrace each and everyday with a recognition of my choices. Sure, I falter and stumble, however my happy evolves because of my choice to stand back up. Go find your happy, my friends. Find the happy that is unarguably and passionately yours. Your joy does not deserve to be at the mercy of your partner, your parents, your children, nor your boss. Take back your joy from the hands or places it’s given it to, for this happy wants to come home to you. Know you can do hard things, and that your propensity for happy won’t depart from you without permission from your own self. While it could be different for every clinician, I have discovered I can rely on the kickoff of a new year to be uniquely hectic. Despite the chaotic schedule, I observed an exchange that halted me in my tracks a few days ago. A parent was expressing a task they wanted their child to complete. The child’s response mimicked something like “But I don’t enjoy doing that task! I’m not supposed to like it, I’m a kid after all!”
As the conflict carried on, my mind began to follow a tangential question. When did happiness become so misconstrued? It seems that many of us have replaced the notion of the “pursuit” of happiness with the “entitlement” to happiness. The threshold for discomfort is unequivocally low for many as I experience those viewing happiness through a very polarized lens. Either life is sunshine and rainbows, stock full of satisfaction granted from having life go the direction one craves, or it’s a black hole of despair, void of that “one thing” , that “one person”, or that “one opportunity”. Genuinely, how do you find your happy? This is one of my favorite processing questions. The perplexed expression that clouds a client’s face is predictable as they sit with the odd finesse of the question. I choose my words carefully here, as so many of us hyper-focus on “what makes us happy”. Yikes. Here’s the roadblock. A person is responsible for their own happiness. Our happiness cannot and will not rely on others. Regardless of one’s age and stage of life, we are the ones that get the final say to our own emotions. Sure, it is the actions and behaviors of others that contribute to the environment we exist in, however our emotional well-being is not inherently THE other person’s fault. So, why do we continually dole out the responsibility of our happy to everyone and everything but ourselves? Through the quiet moments brought on by nationwide shutdowns, I began to notice that adventure is just as much in your own space as it is “out there”. That there’s beauty within the nooks and crannies of our ordinary. We become accustomed to overlooking the present because the past and the future are so fluid. Goodness knows fluidity intimidates us humans. Fluidity is paired with fragility and God forbid any part of us appears breakable.
Sometimes, breaking is necessary if we ever want to grow. The molds we build up around ourselves in a desperate attempt to allude discomfort end up hurting us in the end. We are not meant to be trapped by clichés, routines, or expectations. That’s just our culture hiding its face against growth and vulnerability. This year has bluntly and harshly illustrated how uncomfortable our fellow humans are made by growth and all that comes with it. To help grapple with the concept of having to take an honest look at ourselves, I’ve witnessed many dive down rabbit holes in frantic attempts to hide from our truth. These rabbit holes can take many shapes that have included substance abuse, risky behaviors, small mole hills that quickly grew into unhelpful mountains, and hell-bent opinions that drove wrenches into relationships. My encouragements? Take your experiences from 2020 and sit with them genuinely. Fight the urge to break eye contact, no matter how intimidating these experiences may have been. Honor the beautifully courageous person you fought hard to be as you stumbled through the array of obstacles life hurdled toward you. Reframe the self-talk you beat yourself down with when you broke from the pressure, the deliriously unreachable expectations, and the grief of having little control. For, this breaking was viciously important. It was important because you broke from the mold that no longer serves you as we go along life post 2020. The mold that was created by other’s quick judgements; and our anguished attempts in preventing them. Because here’s the thing. We cannot outrun the judgements of others. They swirl all around us, just as pollen floats in the wind. Part of being human is creating quick assumptions about the world around us. It’s as natural as the changing of seasons. Just because someone has an opinion that is different than mine does not negate me from my truth. So, Happy New Year’s my friends. Please sit with your experiences honestly and show your past self some empathy. You made it through an incredibly heartbreaking and exhausting year. This is a very admirable accomplishment! Next, create a mental note of your takeaways and the growth you inspire to embrace moving forward. For that is the most honorable and resilient thing a person can do. -- I had the delightful experience of engaging in a conversation regarding feedback for this blog with a lovely individual recently. I say delightful because this human expressed a warm genuineness that left me feeling good-humored and energized. A piece of feedback included the addition of adding tid-bits to the blog, as I have been hyper-focused on the tangents.
So, without further ado… Movie Metaphors: Part 1 My husband and I enjoyed the quirky new movie, Love and Monsters, one chilly evening. While this is not any sort of movie promotion, I highly recommend you delight yourself by watching it, for it illustrates a few human nuances we try so dutifully to ignore. Without giving the storyline away, there was a clairvoyant theme highlighting the magic that compassion embodies that can nurture others propensity for courage. I am a firm believer we all have courage within us. However, this courage can be dampened by the quick judgements based on outside perceptions or our own battles with impatience. The more this raw courage is faced with assumptions from ourselves or our environments, the more this light is dimmed. You see, our worlds cannot grow without looking in the eyes of our monsters, for this is when we bear witness to our own courage and make our own choices of how we want to embrace it. The takeaway? Whenever you experience your courage falter, sit with the discomfort and genuinely explore what fuels this unconfident narrative. Is it the quick judgements from others? Or is it the battle with impatience within yourself? Perhaps one of the most consistent themes in the therapy room revolves around the topic of humanity. This is a widely explored topic that does not discriminate. I’ve had my fair share of five-year olds whom I sit with on the floor with toys scattered about. Their brows are furrowed with concentration as they express their obstacles with humanness, a deep desire to “get it just right” and to “be perfect”. The desperation for “right” is expressed and modeled from the very beginning of their lives.
Then we have children whom are so preoccupied by the craving to fit within a dreamt-about model status which includes stellar grades, impeccable wardrobes and complexions, favorable friendships, and dreamy partners. Anything that steers away from this is incredibly distressing and all-consuming. The feeling of inferiority clouds their vision and pressurizes self-talk and everyday experiences. Their worlds scream “Try harder!” around every corner. Fast forward to young adulthood. Those who have meandered their way into their twenties are faced with a whole different slew of pesky humanisms. Post- high school endeavors, such as college degrees, relationships, and careers, turn into a giant race heading toward a tantalizing, rumored finish line. This race quickly evolves into a marathon as young adulthood morphs into full-fledged maturity. As the race gets longer, the pressure to be anything or anyone but human continues to bear down. Good Grief. I sometimes daydream about the ability to travel back in time to the moment our culture adopted the idea that embracing our humanisms was frowned upon. Was that moment in the Victorian era when women thought they were not “feminine enough” without a corset? Or does this tendency to outrun our imperfections go all the way back to the cavemen and women? Was there a feeling of inferiority and negative self-talk if someone’s cave painting was more profound than someone else’s? It’s quite mind-boggling to think about the existence of self-talk throughout time and I wish there was a history book that followed the evolution of it. When did it become a normalcy for humans to punish themselves for being… well human. Since when did anything good ever result from hate? It would be like a dog chasing its tail and flopping down from frustration of not being able to catch it. It would then bow it’s head in the corner, perseverating on the fact it cannot bend like a fish. We would take one look at this sorry pup and think it was being absurd! “Of course you cannot bend like a fish!” we would exclaim. “You’re a dog and you’re wonderful just the way you are! I would not be able to scratch your ears or snuggle with you if you were a fish,” we could coo as we consoled the distraught creature. Just as this dog is in fact a dog, you and I are in fact humans. We cannot swim like a fish or run like a dog. We simply are not supposed to. You see, being human is supposed to be complicated and messy. We have oversized brains that literally keep our young from being self-sufficient for a very long time compared to any other living and breathing thing. These wild, complex brains can conjure thoughts far more colorful and vibrant than any other life form on this Earth. The downside to this is, sometimes the color can be so profound, it can distract us from what’s really important. Perfection and Normal do not humanly exist! Read that again. Marinate in it. These are dreamt about “destinations” our culture has decided to do its darnedest to make palpable out of our imaginations! It would be like willing Santa Clause and the Tooth Fairy into existence with the notion “If I invest in this idea hard enough, they will become tangible”. Sorry folks, that’s not how this world works. We are human. We are unique, and similar to a zebra, no one is an exact replica of the other. We have distinctions, birthmarks, nuances, and complexions that will forever be meant for us only. We have strengths and weaknesses. Opinions and preferences. We have the propensity to make mistakes, largely because they are the fundamental steps to learning and growth. For the love of all things good, stop kicking yourself for being exactly how you’re supposed to be. We are supposed to be messy. We are supposed to be complex and have opinions that differ from others. We are meant to have big feelings and experiences that are uniquely our own. As tantalizing as it might be to “turn off your feelings” or run toward the idea that perfect and normal are attainable, all you are doing is outrunning your truth. The truth that we are all imperfectly humans that deserve compassion for being so. Would you go to that dog sulking in the corner, beating itself up for not bending like a fish and say to it “You’re a sorry excuse for a dog. Work harder, I know if you keep trying and keep punishing yourself, you’ll bend like that fish. No pets until you do!”? Of course not! Please, stop punishing yourself for not bending in the ways we are not meant to bend. Show compassion for the mistakes you and others stumble through. Honor the messiness that growth is intended to be. Don’t sulk in that corner. Because remember Nothing good has ever come from hate. I had a birthday yesterday. I know birthdays can be viewed in different lens, but I’ve always found the beauty in them. Yes, we are one year older and lines around our eyes are perhaps more prominent as youthfulness gradually evolves into looks of wisdom. Joints ache more, and we don’t necessarily “bounce” after a tumble.
Birthdays can add flavor to a mundane work week. They can sprinkle joy into your world through birthday wishes, an excuse for cake, and an occasional sense of celebration. These senses of celebration are what fuel my passion for a good reason to celebrate the ones we cherish. As many of our worlds, my life has experienced a series of growing pains during this past year. Absolutely, there were some major opportunities for rejoicing. I fulfilled my dream of becoming a fully licensed clinician and my success in the private practice world skyrocketed. I became busier than I ever imagined, and my connections to my coworkers bloomed into wonderfully rewarding friendships. I married my best friend in the middle of a pandemic. I don’t know about you, but pandemics were not included in the list of things a bride-to-be needed to fret over. Postponing our date from May to August was one of the most tumultuous decisions I’ve had to make. That journey could have wreaked havoc on our relationship, and I can remember the crossroads we stumbled upon while the world was legitimately turned on its head. This is when I began to recognize my choice. Even in the depths of fragility and despair. I could choose to be angry, sullen, and hyper-focused on the date we had put our money on (literally), or I could choose to reframe my mind and choose what I focused on. Growing pains are not only in our legs, folks. My relationship with my now husband blossomed this year in ways I cherish after I realized my choices sitting perplexed at these metaphorical crossroads. The date nor the pandemic nor the obstacles did not define our story nor our love. We embraced the fragility of plan-making and went along with our pandemic-friendly dance lessons. We learned exactly what it meant to love fiercely and flexibly. Being 27 was challenging in ways no one had warned me about. Friendships can deteriorate no matter how hard you protest. Loneliness can sprout no matter how thick-skinned you may claim to be. The people you once held so close to your heart can fade out of recognition due to pettiness, resentment, or trepidation to have adult conversations. What the hell is that about? I have learned that growing pains are woven into the complexity of relationships. No matter the type of relationship, these pesky pains are there, and they will occur eventually. Whether it be a mother-daughter relationship that faces the transition from parent-to-child to parent-to-adult child. Or perhaps a friendship from both being single to someone who gets married. The types of growing pains go on and on. As a marriage and family therapist, you’d think that I’d already be aware of these complexities. Maybe it was a matter of “it’ll never happen to me”. Perhaps my innocence clouded my reality of what was to come. Whatever the case may be, I faced the truth head on. Some relationships cannot grow past the pains. This drives my stubborn, empathetic heart NUTS. Because I still miss them. I still love those that chose to succumb to the growing pains. My anger toward them is only there to mask the raw vulnerability I experience with the pain of this heartbreak. Life is messy. I want to highlight that LIFE is messy. Sometimes we can become stuck in the unhelpful thought patterns of “ I’m the mess. I’m unlovable. I’m too much or not enough.” Trust me, been there. Done that. And it’s SO unhelpful and untrue! We are humans, no matter how much time we spend trying to convince ourselves that we're not. We are feeling beings in a world chalk-full of unpredictability. This year has done a great job of showing us that. Turning on ourselves and subjecting ourselves to ridicule because of something falling apart outside of our control is like yelling at the dog for you getting a math problem wrong. I am writing this to myself as much as I am writing this to you. We have a choice in the ways we want to respond to the unpredictability and obstacles that surround us. We always have this choice. The choice to mourn or celebrate a birthday. The choice to react or respond in clashing perspectives of reality. The choice to roll with the punches of unpredictability or to swing at the air in anger until you're out of breath. I recognized this choice in my romantic relationship and vowed to continue to do so in August. I recognize my choice with dissolved friendships, no matter how much this transition stings right now. Instead of perseverating on the pain, I can show myself compassion for my grief, while encouraging myself to look for the beauty in new, ever evolving friendships. I am worth that. You are worth that. What choices have you made lately? The closer we get to the dawn of a new year, the more prevalent mental health is on everyone’s minds. This facet of health has been catching fire for a number of years, however 2020 seems to have been the most recent kryptonite. In one way or another, everyone’s mental well-being has been tickled this year. The game of Jumanji has left its mark on millions upon millions.
I want to pay mind to the mental health of our children. It’s easy to write off their hardships in the noise of our own obstacles by dismissing their experiences due to the lack of bills they are responsible for or the increased time for play. However, this is something I want to challenge. Perhaps, they’ve experienced a completely different version of the hell we’ve all been journeying through. Let me paint you a picture. Imagine the world of a present-day fifth grader in February of 2020. You’re king or queen of the school, the eldest in the building. Deposits for the end of the year fifth grade field trip are due next week, and you get butterflies in your tummy thinking about the middle school tours that are scheduled for April. It’s Tuesday, and early release is tomorrow. You’re excited because Wednesdays are the days Mom picks you up from school to grab a snack from the gas station before your regular tennis competitions. Life is safe. Life is predictable. You’re confident in your abilities to be an A/B honor roll student and climb up the tennis ladder to the “teens” group VERY soon. Fast forward to April. Your world looks and feels VERY different. The joy you felt at the start of spring break has quickly devolved into confusion as you listen to Mom curse under her breath trying to set up your online school platform. You’re distracted because Mom and Dad have been bickering more lately, and Mom started crying again watching the news that morning. You’re confused by what’s going on outside of your house. While it looks peaceful outside your window, as it’s a nice Spring day and the sun is begging for you to come out and play with your friends, you keep hearing the news cackle anxiously about “death tolls” and the “killer virus”. Your frustration is building as each boring, lonely day passes. You’re so disappointed because Mom told you yesterday the fifth grade field trip you’ve been daydreaming about since 3rd grade has been cancelled, and the middle school tours had been wiped off the calendar. If only you could meet with your teacher before school for them to help you with math in that special way that makes sense, or feel the sun on your cheeks as you focus on your backhand on the tennis courts with your best friend. It’s September, and you’re so sick of the stomachache that haunts you every morning before school. Because you never got to do the middle school tour, the butterflies turned into knots in your tummy and the sense of dread consumed you. You nervously walk into the new, foreign middle school building with a mask that keeps moving up into your eyes. You look around and everyone is covered up and muddled by the same obnoxious masks. Your heart is racing because Mom and Dad repeatedly told you not to touch your face or eyes or other people and something about washing your hands all the time but you so wish you could adjust your mask without touching your face. You finally find your first class and you’re so exhausted by your stress you’re quivering. The classroom looks lonely as every desk is wrapped in a plastic shield. You were already having trouble hearing people because of the masks and now you have to sit in bubbles. This pattern goes on for 7 class periods. By the time you get home you’re so unexhausted by the novelty, fear, stress, and unpredictability you want to dissolve into tears. Mom chipperly asks you to set the table for dinner, which sets you off because why can’t she understand that you jut can’t do one more thing without screaming “SOMEBODY PLEASE HEAR ME”. Our children have been exposed to novel hardships that us adults cannot resonate with. Sure, we can empathize, however we will never truly understand their experiences or traumas this year has delivered. Their mental health has been challenged and jeopardized. Kiddos are having difficulty adjusting back into brick-and-mortar school environments. Anxiety that has plagued us adults for months has left some of our children just as crippled. The sense of dread that is reported is consuming and exhausting. Hopelessness for the return to normalcy and predictability is thick in the air. Loneliness that has been a second-hand result of social distancing stings. Spontaneous quarantines only fuel the feeling of being out of control. It is so hard to be a child right now. So, please hear me when I write this. Debunk the myths about mental health. They are not “too young”. You will not “give them ideas”. Because here’s the thing. Our children were exposed to mature content far too early for anyone’s’ comfort levels prior to 2020. The content that we were exposed to in high school is floating around middle school now, and sometimes even late elementary. I say this from firsthand experience. Our children will fill in their own blanks regardless of the source. What is going to be vital to their resilience and their mental wellness are facts and knowledge. Open and honest conversations about having anxiety vs an anxiety disorder, depression, distress and eustress, and adjustment will create the most powerful and secure knowledge base we can gift our kiddos. Knowledge is power here, folks. Mental health does not have to be painted in a light that is dark and scary. Mental health needs to be painted in the same bright and inviting light as physical health is. So, please do not try and “shield” your children away from the mental health conversation. Debunk the myths and aid in the filling in of their own blanks. Better you than the “peanut gallery”. |
Katherine Scott,
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