Showing posts with label hard things. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hard things. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Not That Patient, Not That Strong--Not That True



- a post by Jeanna Mason Stay
Note: While this post is sort of about homeschooling and homebirth, mostly it’s about doing things that are important to you but hard. I’m not advocating my life decisions.

When I tell people I had my first child in a birth center, the other three at home, all unmedicated, people look at me like I’m insane or tell me it’s “too messy” (a myth, by the way). But I also get this a lot: “I’d love to do that, but my pain tolerance is too low. I’m just not that strong.

I am also currently homeschooling my children (if you have guessed by now that I am an introvert, you would be correct).* The most common response to that is “I couldn’t teach my kids. I’m just not that patient.”

In labor with #3. Trust me, I'm not feeling all that strong.
Well, my friends, I’m here to tell you a secret.** I’m not either. I am neither strong nor brave enough to birth without meds nor patient enough to homeschool. I’m just a regular person who decided to do certain things.

Here’s another secret, one of the main reasons I chose a birth center for my first child: I knew, with near certainty, that if I had easy access to an epidural, I would get it. And I had decided that I didn’t want to, so I placed an epidural out of my reach. (Why I chose homebirth afterward is another, unrelated story.) I knew I wasn’t brave enough without a little extra help, but to me this was important enough to find a way.*** Homeschooling happened in a similar way, except that with homeschooling we continue to have the ability to choose a different path in the future if ever we decide this plan really isn’t working for us.

Here’s what I think about sometimes: What kind of a world would we inhabit if we only did the things we were already good enough to do? What if at the beginning of the day, my eight-year-old said, “I’m not good enough at math to do that problem, so I won’t try it”? Or if my six-year-old said, “I can’t read because I’m not that smart”? Or if my favorite authors, who continually write difficult but amazing books, said, “I won’t write that book because I’m not a good enough writer”?

We become those things by doing them, not because we already magically are. We put ourselves in the position to try the hard things and become the big things. That’s how we grow. We constantly reach for something that is just a little bit beyond us (or—in the case of patience on a late Friday afternoon when my husband isn’t yet home from work—something that is very far beyond us), and we get closer to the qualities we seek.

That doesn’t mean we need to be striving for everything. It’s perfectly legitimate for you to say, “I don’t want to homeschool or do homebirth. That’s not right for me right now (or ever).” It’s fine to say, “I don’t want to learn piano/guitar/how to write a mystery novel or run a marathon/Ragnar/5k.” Or whatever. The point is, if there is something you want, something that you truly think is important, don’t let your lack of ability stop you. Do it, and by doing it, you will find that you can.

* Although, for the record, homeschooling isn’t exactly an introvert endeavor. And my introversion was not the deciding factor in these decisions, just the happy icing on the cave troll cake.

** Actually, it’s not much of a secret. My kids, my husband, my midwife—even my birth photographer friend—can all attest to my lack of patience and strength. Especially in hour 10 of labor or minute 10 of reading practice.
*** And no, I’m not judging you for feeling differently.

Saturday, December 19, 2015

Taking the Plunge

by Jewel Leann Williams

I wrote a little while ago about courage, and how I had something I knew I needed to write about, but was afraid to.

Well, I started it.

Right now, it's not really Saturday. I'm writing at 4:30 am on a Wednesday morning. It's the 10 year anniversary of one of the worst and longest--and yet proudest--nights of my life. I was one of the dispatchers working when an officer responding to a homicide was shot and paralyzed after a pursuit with the suspect. I won't go into details because that's not the point.

What this has to do with my writing is that this incident is one of the many--we'll call them wounds to my soul for lack of a better term--that I received during my career as a 9-1-1 operator and police dispatcher.

I retired in 2011--okay, I took one of those severance packages that my city was offering everyone to tighten the budget belt, I didn't formally retire. The plan was that if my grandiose writing plans didn't work out, I would come back in a few years. I never went back.

In the past couple of years, and more this past year, I've been having nightmares, I'm hypervigilant, I am very, very irritable, and my poor kids can't go out in the front yard or jump off of things without me fearing for their lives.  The realization that this wasn't just tiredness or getting too old to be chasing a two-year-old came when I was at lunch with my old boss, and we talked casually about me going back, or rather how I had decided I was not going back. Just the thought of returning had an effect on me. I had to get up and "refill my soda" to hide that I was sweating, my hands were shaking, and my heart was pounding through my blouse.

Later I started reading through all of my materials from when I was on the Critical Incident Stress Management team at my department.

It couldn't be.... but maybe it was?  Was I suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?

I toyed with the idea, and it explained a lot. It explained why I never saw my old friends from my work, even though I was very close with some of them. It explained a lot of my personality and mood changes. The inability to sleep, the nightmares, the irrational fears...

Something else happened a few months ago. A good friend who I'd worked with, was making some comments and posts on Facebook that led me to believe that she was also suffering PTSD symptoms. I asked her about it and we started a conversation about dispatchers and PTSD. We decided that we needed to do something to help.

I personally decided that this needed to be something I wrote about on my own website.

That's where we were when I wrote about courage. Why do I need to be brave?

Well, PTSD is a big deal.  Many people think that it's just for people "out there" in the field, the thick of the battle. For me to suggest that dispatchers, 9-1-1 operators, could suffer from it as well, is insulting to some. There is research to back it up, but that isn't going to change feelings.

It's also sort of "crazy talk"-- I'm not crazy. I'm not going to do anything drastic, I'm not suicidal, and I would definitely say that what I'm dealing with is mild compared to most sufferers. I've not been to a psychologist--yet--that takes courage and great medical insurance, a little more of both than what I have right now. So I'm not necessarily saying that I am suffering from PTSD, but something is going on. And in retrospect, I can see how it goes on for a LOT of the dispatchers I've worked with over the years, in one form or another.

I also was trained in methods to mitigate the effects of the years of trauma. A lot of dispatchers aren't, not by a long shot.

The reason it's important for me to speak out is because there are dispatchers out there who think if they even entertain the thought that they might need help, they will be cast out, deemed as a sissy or crazy, and lose the respect of their coworkers in the dispatch center and on the road.

I'm away from that now, and I can point out places where I could've sought help and it would have changed my trajectory a little. Maybe they can do some of those little things and help themselves. Maybe it will start a conversation. Maybe I can help someone.

So, I am going to talk about dispatchers and PTSD on my webpage. I'm going to tell some stories, and say some things, that might stab at some sore spots. I might lose friends, because of how close to home some things might hit.

It scares me, but I'm doing it. I'm doing it in honor of that cocky 22 year old who thought "I speak Spanish, I can do this 9-1-1 thing," and then fell in love with the profession and never looked back. Until I did.

Anyway, my first post is here: http://www.jewelleannwilliams.com/uncategorized/longest-nights/

Deep breaths.

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