Living with…

It feels completely bizarre for me to fill in the above blank with “chronic illness” or “mental illness” when I think about myself. We have these images in our heads of what it means to be chronically ill, to struggle with mental illness, to have a disability. For a long time, I told myself, “it’s not that bad. I can still (work/parent/whatever).”

Until I realized that those were all myths and stereotypes and stigma. And by not taking these labels onto myself, I was perpetuating these myths. It’s a realization that I have had to make again and again. I’m not stupid. It’s not that I don’t get it. I have intellectually understood for ages. But sometimes it takes a doctor’s appointment on a Saturday night to remind you that this is real life. This is what you’re living with. And those layers of cultural conditioning can be strong and deep. We have to peel them back, piece by piece, until we find who we are underneath it all.

This is me.

I struggle with anxiety. I have OCD. I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder about whether my house is falling down. I re-play conversations, over and over and over. I can’t get to sleep. I fix and re-fix and fix the rearview mirror again and again, because bad things will happen. I get rid of everything in my house that I possibly can because I will internally combust if not. I will not pick up the phone, even if I see the caller ID. I just can’t. Phone calls take like 8 spoons for me.

I lived through trauma, domestic violence and abuse. I intimately understand the way that abusive relationships can be insidious and difficult to leave. I know that a mom can love her kids to death, can be amazing at mom-jobs, and still have a hard time walking out of that situation. I understand loving your father to pieces, yet also being afraid. I know what it means for the bottom to drop out.

I can be weird about sensory things. Showers are painful. I can’t wear shirts that touch my neck. I hate shoes. I never wear socks. I sit cross-legged in the car so that there is pressure on all of my legs. I have become so overstimulated in a store that I have left my full cart in the middle of the aisle and walked right out.

I have autoimmune & allergy issues, with the biggest being my thyroid. And some sleep issues that we haven’t quite figured out. So sometimes I hit a wall. I struggle to stay awake for even six hours a day. I spend my school breaks sleeping as much as anything else, and I feel incompetent, weak, and lazy. We watch television more, we play iPads more, we do all the thing that the mommy wars will ridicule us for doing.

But I’m also a really great parent. I am responsive and respectful. I listen to my kids’ needs, whether spoken or not. I maintain high structure but I support and accommodate my kids so that they can be successful within that structure. I choose connection over compliance. We make time to watch movies, to play video games, to go to the park, to travel, to swim, to do what they need and love. I am giving them a gorgeous childhood, filled with laughter.

I’m a fantastic teacher. I bring work home. I show up early and stay late. I am completely present with my students and teaching in a way that brings out everything that is best in me. I collect data and use it to drive my instruction, while also staying playful and true to developmentally appropriate practice. I connect with families. Learning how to be the best teacher I can possibly be for them is the top of my list.

I do yoga when I can. I go to the pool when my energy allows. I read books, mountains and mountains of books. I read the news. I stay active on various Facebook communities, trying to give back what they have given to me. I blog. And I try very hard to be a good partner and a good friend, always learning.

All of this can be true. I can be a great parent, a great teacher, and have an anxiety disorder. I can need to rest more than the average person and still be raising amazing kids who grow each day. I can be someone that goes above and beyond, that always has another project to do, and be someone who is a little bit of a mess sometimes.

It’s true of all of us. We are all both/and. We are strong and limited. We are brilliant and afraid. The doses may vary in each person but none of us are all-anything-all-the-time. When we give ourselves permission to be ourselves, messiness and all, to stop hiding — we lead the way for our friends, our family, our children. They see that “both/and” applies to them too — that mental illness or disability are part of who we are, maybe big parts, maybe parts that drive the way we see everything else, but they are parts of the whole beautiful, messy, amazing person that defies any and all stereotypes.

Stand as yourself, and stand tall. Be a parent with mental illness. Be a doctor with anxiety. Be a teacher with chronic fatigue. Be a friend who can’t always get out of the house. Be a customer who taps their toes and flaps their hands and rocks in place. Be a salesperson who cannot shake hands. Be a wife who struggles with attention differences. Be a grandfather who has panic attacks. Be you. All of you.

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