Finding the bless in the mess.

It has been a HOT minute since I've written on this blog, which is odd considering writing is typically my life line. 

When I reflect on why I haven't spent much time writing on here, it's because I realize I've been a bit busy living and enjoying life...something I wasn't so good at in past years. 

If you've stuck around this blog for awhile, here's a look at what my year- end post for 2016 was like (click here). I always enjoying seeing what past Victoria has to say, because current Victoria can tell her that she was so wrong. 

If 2016 was about saying "yes" to new challenges and experiences, then 2017 was even more so a year of "yes!" I said in last year's blog post that my word for 2017 would be "confidence," and initially I thought "Well that didn't go so well," but in truth, I have become more confident in who I am as a person. 

I would say that 2017 has shown me that God's plan is always, always, always infinitely better than anything I could come up with on my own. 

Let's flashback to 17-year-old Victoria ringing in 2010 with best friends and what her plan was...
- Graduate high school with a first love
- Go to a small liberal arts college/university
- Marry her high school sweetheart
- Have said marriage at 22
- Become a psychologist
- Have her first baby at 25

The only thing on that list that went according to "plan" was the first item, and that unraveled in its own hot mess three years later. Instead of a small liberal arts school, I went to the University of Georgia (the finest institution in all the land I might add), broke up with that high school sweetheart, became a middle school teacher, was single at 22, and is unmarried at 25. I always felt this insane pressure to stick to the plan, and God threw every bit of it out the window and made it into something that glorified Him. Every set back, every breakdown, every "oh crap, now what?" moment was met with His goodness and His faithfulness and His "I have something better in mind." And I'm slowly learning to be OK with that.

In my years following college, also known as "adulting," I've realized that planning is slightly futile. I really do think God hears our plans and let's out a good chuckle. 

Now when people ask me about plans, I channel my inner Phoebe Buffay and I respond with "I don't even have a 'pl'," much less a plan. Sure, I have a mental picture of how I'd like things to go, but I really have no idea, and I'm *slowly* learning to be OK with that. 

Currently I'm in a state of transition. I'm about to move out of the only place I've ever lived in other than my mom's house and UGA Housing- cue all the feels. I'm moving in with some friends until I am established enough to get a place of my own. A blind date back in March turned in to something more (I won't get too cheesy or Brian might kill me ; ]). Teaching middle school is always insane. 

Change has always been a trigger, and right now change is abundant. Rather than freak out, I'm trying to ride the waves and find the bless in the mess. Because isn't that what life is about? Things are always messy, but finding the little blessings is what makes it all worth it. 

It took 3 years post-grad to have an established community, and I'm blessed to work with my best friends and "my people" out here. I still had an annual girls trip to Charleston with those 3 ladies I rang in 2010 with. 

2017 brought a new love, strong friendships, a trip to Charleston, Oktoberfest, a day trip to Chattanooga, a 36 hour trip to Disney World, a trip to Nashville, new students, free concerts, an SEC Championship (I would be remiss not to mention that), and endless laughs. 

I know that every new stage of life will bring its own challenges, but I pray I always remember to find the bless in the mess. 

Smile, God loves you!

"What, like [teaching] is hard?"

Fun fact- In 7th grade, for "I wish I was day," I was Elle Woods. Meeting Reese Witherspoon is on my bucket list. Some people say I need a better bucket list; I don't care. 

Summer break is coming to a close, and right now these last days of freedom feel like one loooooong Sunday evening. I get extremely anxious as summer ends, as I think most teachers do. Now that I have three years under my belt, I don't feel like a newbie anymore. I am at home in my classroom, I can make parent phone calls without feeling like I'm going to vomit (most of the time), and my skin has gotten *slightly* thicker. The anxious feelings I had going in to my first year of teaching are very different than the way I feel going in to this year. 

Going in to teaching for the first time, I felt a bit like Elle Woods. People told me it'd be hard, and student teaching proved that point. But I was going to conquer all of the tasks, grade assignments in less than 24 hours, attend every meeting with a smile, handle parent conferences with ease, and be the best dang teacher on the planet. 

What my first year of teaching really looked like: me crying. A lot. I cried on the first Friday of school because a student somehow managed to get a county pre-test out of my classroom. I cried because a student called me a bitch. I cried because a parent was upset with me. I cried when parents asked if I was really qualified for my job, after all, I "didn't look old enough to have a college degree," although they could check my student loan status and be sure of that one. I cried in front of my assistant principal. I cried out of frustration, anger, and disappointment. 

Despite all of that crying though, I learned a lot. 

I learned very quickly that the longest stretch of time is between Labor Day and Thanksgiving in the fall. The longest stretch of time in the spring is from MLK weekend to Spring Break. 

I learned August is the longest month where 12 hour days are common. May is the craziest month filled with almost daily happy hours. 

I learned that it isn't worth it to buy Ticonderoga pencils unless you're the only one using them. Those suckers aren't cheap and you will lose almost every.single.one. 

I learned I can distinguish a student's voice and call them out when I have to turn my back for a split second. I've been asked multiple times if I have cameras in my classroom. 

I learned that I would say things and use phrases I never thought were part of my vocabulary. "Stop licking your pencil." "Keeping paper in your pants is not an acceptable organization system." "No, farting in his eye will not cause pink eye." 
Y'all. I teach 8th grade, not elementary school. 

I learned that 8th graders are complicated and emotional beings that lash out and that I'm often an easy target. It's not as "uncool" to take out their anger/frustration/hurt on their teacher as it would be to cry in front of their peers. I can't tell you how many times a day I say "that wasn't about me. That wasn't about me" because it's the only way to cope. 

I learned that peeing is a luxury, especially during testing. Teachers complain about this because it's real. 

I learned that teachers do A LOT of paperwork. 

I learned how to un-jam a copy machine quickly and without kicking it. It's not uncommon for me to tell my students that their papers are messy because I got in a fight with the copy machine that morning. 

I learned how to say "no" and how to ask for help, and those are two of the most valuable things I learned in that first year of teaching. 

I learned that teaching IS, in fact, hard. That's the reason I'm anxious to go back each year. I know the stress. I know that long and sleepless nights are ahead of me. 

However, the most important thing I learned, is that the people you work with make or break your job. I work with awesome people. I work with my best friends. After all, nothing can forge a friendship faster than being in the trenches of teaching middle school students together. 

In three years of teaching, I've learned about grace. I've learned that if I give my students a warning that I'm having a bad day, they're often more understanding than if I simply lose my cool with no explanation. 

I've learned that eventually, everything WILL get done, even in May. 

I've learned that not everything needs to be graded, but if the students took time to complete it, I can take time to look at it. 

I've learned that there is an excuse for EVERYTHING. If an assignment is due online, I can count on about 15 excuses of "my wifi quit working," or "our power went out." The latter is my favorite considering I live in the same area my students do and surprisingly it didn't storm last night. 

I've learned that laughter is the best medicine. If a student says something funny and it won't completely derail your lesson, it's OK to laugh. I've had to excuse myself from my classroom to get myself together. It happens. We moved on. 
Laughter boosts any mood. I laugh at myself, my coworkers laugh at the ridiculousness that happens on a daily basis. 

I've learned that most problems teachers face during the day can be alleviated by a good vent session, chocolate, and maybe some wine. 

No, it isn't easy. Yes, it is hard, but I also couldn't imagine doing anything else with my life. Cheers to summer 2017, may all of the teachers out there enjoy their last few days of freedom and remember why we go back to this crazy profession every year. 

So long, 2016...

I cannot believe 2016 comes to a close tonight. I remember my grandpa saying that time flies more as you age, and I can agree with that. It feel like life is flying by, but this year, I can honestly say that I'm living it as it goes. 

Like everyone, I have regrets. One of the biggest things I regret is not experiencing enough in college. I'm not talking the typical "experimenting" some people do, because that's just not my style. I feel like freshman year I went and did things, but when sophomore year rolled around and I was in a long distance relationship I let so many opportunities pass by. Athens is an eclectic city full of music and culture and so many free opportunities to experience those things, and I always said "no." I could come up with any excuse- I had to study, I was working, I didn't feel well, etc.  I let excuses define me, instead of experiences. 

I've written on here multiple times about how my diagnosis in February of PTSD helped me find freedom, and I can't say it enough. I can't put into words how confusing, frustrating, and infuriating it is to feel like no one understands. When I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), I sometimes felt like I needed to make my anxiety fit into the boxes that describe GAD, rather than the other way around. It hurts to feel like a crazy person, and I did. I didn't understand why change made me lose it, or why I regressed so much when I was upset. I couldn't name my emotions; all I knew was that I felt like a young teenager whenever something big happened. I always felt out of place in my life, and that stinks. 

With the PTSD diagnosis I finally felt like my symptoms fit into those "boxes." I relived A LOT this year: being there when my dad died, finding my grandmother the morning she died, losing grandpa, and the other trials and tribulations that come with growing up. In reliving those things I was able to name emotions with the emotional knowledge & understanding of a 24 year old. Reliving these things meant feeling them, and God bless my friends & family for sticking by me. 

This year was about saying "yes." I said "yes" to running a half marathon with Jackie-- something I NEVER thought I would do in my lifetime (and truthfully didn't have much of a desire to do). This lead to me realizing I actually enjoy running, and it's something my sister and I can do/talk about together (and complain, whine, etc. : ]). I said "yes" to counseling again, which lead to that freedom of a new diagnosis. I said "yes" to new opportunities at work, which although some didn't work out the way I wanted, I still learned from. I said "yes" to mountain weekends, new scenarios with friends where I only knew 1 person. And finally, I said "yes" to Chicago with my best friends. There is SO much more between those highlights, but they're just the tip of the iceberg. 

It breaks my heart to go on social media and see so many people saying how horrible 2016 was and how much they can't wait for it to be over. In some ways, I think losing my dad and suffering that trauma at 6 helped me to realize at a young age that life will suck. It will throw you curveballs and leave you crying in a ball on the floor feeling like you're the size of an ant, but there's also so much good in this life. Terrible things happen every day, but there is comfort in the beauty of a "laughing until you cry" moment, or remembering someone who is gone, in finishing a good book, in sleeping in late. They may be small things, but they're what make this life worth living. They're the things that keep us going for one more day, even when it hurts. 

I'm not one for resolutions, but I do believe in goals. A year ago, God put the word "PERSIST" on my heart, and that became my word for the year. I had no idea how much that word would encompass all this year held for me. The word God has placed on my heart for 2017 is "CONFIDENCE," something I'm certainly lacking. I can, however, start 2017 with the confidence in knowing that I can get through whatever this crazy life throws at me. 

Smile, God love you!

Dear Governor Nathan Deal...

As an educator, I tell my students to do the right thing, and I try to model that for them. I encourage them to stand up for what they believe in, and make a difference. After attending NCTE last week, I crafted this letter to mail to Governor Deal (I also plan on tweaking it and sending it to my senators and state representative). I will be mailing the letters later this week.

Here we go...

Dear Governor Nathan Deal,

I'm sure you've heard this recurring theme in letters you've received, but I would be remiss if I did not take this opportunity. Your teachers are tired. I am aware that many of these letters are written off as just another griping and complaining teacher telling you that we work too hard, but, alas, we get summers off! How hard could it be?

I have several questions I'd like to ask you:

1. Can you think of a teacher who made an impact on your life? What was that impact? Chances are, the impact they made had more to do with their wit, their creativity, their passion, and a life lesson you learned than it had to do with the subject they taught or a test you took.
2. How much time have you spent in classrooms over the course of your administration? I'm not talking a walk-through of a school, or a meeting held in a school. When have you gotten on our students’ levels? Asked them what they like about school? What they wish they had more time for? Did you spend a day in a teacher’s shoes? Administrators?

Our schools contain our nation’s unwritten history, and that is a big responsibility to put on the shoulders of men and women who are overworked and underappreciated.

As an educator, within any given day I am teacher, mentor, colleague, nurse, counselor, actress, friend, and many times, foe. I am known for my high expectations, and my students (at times begrudgingly) rise to the challenge.

Recently you proposed Amendment 1 to the Georgia Constitution, that, although written in nice and flowery diction, failed. I've read several articles about your frustration with its failure. I'd like to clarify some things for you. Educators advocated against the amendment because of the questions I've asked above. Yes, you have an advisory board of teachers, but as with most surveys, they are in no way representative of the whole.

In addition, if you've never been an educator, you have no idea the frustrations of being told what and how to teach and the supreme stifling of creativity that results. This past weekend I spent 3 days with thousands of Language Arts educators from across the country at the National Coalition of Teachers of English (NCTE) convention. In one session we had middle school students from around the metro area sit down for roundtable discussions. The recurring theme of things the students wanted was to know their teachers cared. Many of them feel their teachers don’t care.

This breaks my heart, and it should break yours, too.

As I’m sure you know, in a publication from the Georgia DOE in December of 2015, they released the attrition data of teachers in the state. 44% of teachers leave the profession before they reach year five. I personally know of three phenomenal educators who left the field because they couldn’t take the pressure.

“If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” Well, Governor Deal, teachers aren’t in an uncomfortably warm kitchen; they are trying to shape young minds, but are trapped in an inferno of policy and data.

Teachers do care. We care so much that it hurts our very souls to see students fail. The clincher? Some teachers don’t have the time to show how much they care. Within fifty minutes of instruction, we are expected to have students read independently, craft written responses, participate in class discussions, and ensure they learn how to analyze poetry, non fiction texts, and classic pieces of literature. We are also expected to make learning hands-on and fun for the various types of learners in our classrooms. Our classes are bursting at the seams with 35 students: some with IEPs, some that are Gifted, some that are ELL, and don’t forget about our middle-of-the-road students who always seem to get lost in the shuffle. Are you tired from seeing all of this information again and again? Well, I assure you that your teachers are tired of saying the above repeatedly and being met with little to no response. We are also expected to create high quality assessments, analyze the data from the last assessments we gave, and provide effective feedback to all 140 of our students. It becomes difficult to cater to each student who needs you and to show them that you care when you hit the ground running the second they walk into the confines of your classroom.

Everywhere I turn I see people complaining about teachers. We are never enough. We’re too strict, too tough, and we ask too much of our students. The profession of teaching has lost its humanity.

Let me be clear, this is not our administrators’ fault. They are doing what’s expected of them, so please don’t shift the blame of failing schools from teachers to administrators. The blame should be placed on our policymakers and stakeholders.

Governor Deal, this is only my third year of teaching, and I refuse to become another statistic. I keep my head down and with confidence know I am doing good things within the walls of my classroom. I create a culture of openness, as do my peers. However, even after two and a half years, I am exhausted to the core of my being. I will continue to pour into my students and be a light to my colleagues. I will not stop fighting. I continually tell my students to do the right thing, and I would be a poor example if I did not follow my own advice and expectation.

I would love to know how you plan to make big changes throughout the rest of your time as governor of the state of Georgia. I would like to know how you plan to lighten teachers’ loads, decrease teacher attrition rates, and spend more time in our local schools. I would like to see this plan take into consideration the specific needs of our administrators, teachers, and students, but without another government takeover policy. What will you do to ensure our students become productive members of society and the workforce, and not just prepared for yet another standardized test?

Thank you for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you soon,

Ms. Victoria Rivard

Getting Comfortable with Being Uncomfortable as an Educator

This past weekend I had the privilege of attending the National Coalition of Teachers of English (NCTE) national convention here in Atlanta. After taking about 24 hours to digest everything I've seen, heard, learned, and discussed, I've come to one conclusion...

I am emotionally exhausted. 

The theme of this weekend was "Faces of Advocacy," and we watched this video. (It's nothing graphic, but it will leave you feeling a bit uncomfortable). We then had a discussion about bystanders vs. upstanders (hint- upstanders stand up). As I watched that video the second time through, I kept thinking about how much I'd like to go up to the projector and turn it off. It made me extraordinarily uncomfortable. With how high-speed our world is, just as quickly as I can turn something on, I can turn it off. As I sat at a table with educators discussing our reactions, another woman turned and said, "I'm so guilty of this with the news. I turn it off when stories are shown that make me sad or angry." I do this all of the time. Now, there are certain things I need to emotionally protect me from that can trigger me, but for the most part, I don't watch/listen because I don't want to know. 

Privilege is a word that's been circulating quite frequently lately. I could go right on ahead and provide a list of the types of adversities I've faced in my life, but in truth, I've led a blessed life. When we lost my dad, my mom's friends swooped in and took care of so many things, many of which I'm just learning about. Our neighbors fed us for months and took care of me after school. My mom, sisters, and I grew closer as a family. 

I've always had a roof over my head and food in my belly. I grew up in a house filled with books, with parents and grandparents who read constantly. I went to good schools. I got to dance in large part to the owners of the studio who helped make that happen. My parents made it possible to go on vacations. I joined Girl Scouts where I got to swim with manatees, go caving, learn about Savannah and Charleston history, and so much more. 

I was never denied this opportunities because of the color of my skin or the economic bracket will fell in to. We may not be wealthy, but my mom was always able to make things happen. 

I take this privilege with me into the classroom. I will say, for the most part, my students do have opportunities many do not. Our school receives the proper funding to go on field trips, and we are able to provide our students with the items necessary to be successful in school. My school is not located in a low economic area. I do, however, teach many students of color, and I teach a large population of young African American males. And every time I hear about something on the news I think, "How am I going to talk about this with my boys?" 

I was called racist 3 times last year, and it shook me to the core. In all 3 of these instances it was because I had to call home over a disciplinary issue. Jason Reynolds, an author/activist spoke this weekend about a teacher who made an impact on him. He said she was strict and that he called her a racist when she really wasn't. I often think, "if only these parents knew how many tears I shed over their boys. I see their sons on a daily basis, and in some ways, they're my boys, too." It takes me swallowing a big slice of humble pie and realizing that in calling me racist, some of these parents think they're protecting their sons. 

The truth is, I am a white, middle class female. Yes, there are ways in which I am not privileged simply because I am a female, but there are so many ways in which I am. I stay off of social media posts about race because I often think about what I can add to the discussion. I don't know that fear. I've never walked in those shoes. However, as a Language Arts teacher, I am in a position of privilege to have discussions with my students. We all will have to acknowledge the fact that I'm certainly not the end all be all, but just because I haven't lived these experiences doesn't mean that I can't be a facilitator of a discussion. 

By nature, I am a feeler. I very much feel other people's emotions and I bring them home with me. This adds even more to my ability to tune out the ugly in this world. I'm reading a book right now called Copper Son by Sharon Draper about a young girl who is torn from her village in Africa to become a slave in pre-revolutionary America. I have cringed. I have cried. This is someone's history, and it could very well be the history of many of the faces I see each morning. 

After this weekend, I feel so burdened for the world, especially for my kiddos. You see, we don't talk about it a whole lot, but teachers, we love fiercely. We would not survive in this profession if it weren't for the students in our classrooms. Sometimes that's all that gets us up in the morning. 

If I want to be an excellent educator, I cannot hide behind my privilege. I must talk about it, and talk about ways my students can change this world for the better. My classroom holds the unwritten history of America, and I cannot sit idly by and stay comfortable. 

I have to get comfortable with being uncomfortable. Whether that means reading articles, listening to the news, or having conversations. I must answer the call.  

Inside Out is actually my life

If you haven't seen Inside Out, in it a pre-teen named Riley's emotions are highlighted. Her emotions consist of Joy, Sadness, Anger, Fear, and Disgust. Although I think most people have a lot more emotions than these 5, I've realized that lately I feel like Riley. 

Not only do I feel like Inside Out, but occasionally I feel like the girl from Mean Girls who talks about wanting to go back to middle school and that she "just has a lot of feelings." Now, I work in a middle school, so I'd never like to go back to that point in time, but I do have a lot of feelings. 

Since starting therapy over 6 months ago, I've realized that I have A LOT of anger. Anger at God for taking my dad, anger at my dad for not taking better care of himself, anger at how mean kids could be, anger that my brain went into self-preservation mode for me to deal with 20 years later, and the list goes on. However, anger, fear, and sadness are all wrapped into one. In March I remember being miserable and frustrated and not being able to name my emotions. I quite literally felt like I lived on an emotional roller coaster. I could go from 0-60 in 1.2 seconds. 

My dad had a lot of anger, and my sisters and I have all inherited this trait in one way or another. I remember my elementary school counselor giving me coping mechanisms for this anger, including screaming into a pillow. I can remember doing this, ripping paper into pieces, and throwing rocks out of the garden beds (my grandma's idea of how to relieve negative energy). Over the years I'd stifle that anger, and then let it loose all at once, and typically on my family, occasionally on my friends. 

Underneath all of that anger was sadness. My therapist said that anger is an empowering emotion, but typically underneath the anger are vulnerable emotions that we try to protect ourselves from. 

They most vulnerable of all emotions is joy, which I have a very difficult time with. I love to laugh and have fun, but there is always this voice in the back of my mind telling me that deep down, I'm sad and angry and fearful. 

If I envision my anger and sadness and fear all that comes to mind is a cluster of gnarled tree roots that are so entwined it's nearly impossible to tell where one ends and another begins. These last 6 months have been spent trying to pry those emotions apart, and identify which one I'm truly feeling. Beginning to separate those emotions leaves room for joy. 

Because of this tangled web of gnarled roots I've kept myself from living and taking risks. I would intentionally stay in because it was safer. I would avoid social situations because they made me uncomfortable and I might experience that emotion called joy. I've been working on it, and making baby steps. 

My "homework" lately is to feel the emotions that I'm feeling, rather than stifle them. This really results in me being in a crabby mood and slightly frustrated. I'm crabby, and allowing myself to be crabby. I'm having to give myself grace enough to let me be crabby. Giving myself grace is a whole other can of worms for another day. My hope in all of this is that the most I process and feel, the less terrified I am to experience joy. I'm in my twenties- I'm not tied down to anyone or anything. I should find freedom in that, not fear, not anger, not sadness, but joy. 

Slowly but surely, I'll choose joy. 

PTSD and this day 18 years ago...

We lost my dad on this day 18 years ago. It's weird to think that I've gone 2/3 of my life without my dad in it. This year is different than it's been in past years because now I know what that day did to me, other than alter the course of my life forever (as it did my sisters and mom). 

This day, 18 years ago, is when PTSD started. I always thought of PTSD as something soldiers suffer from, or something people who are truly traumatized go through, never thinking that in my 6 year old brain hearing my father take his last breaths, seeing my mom give him CPR, and saying goodbye to his soulless body was traumatizing. 

I had few fears when I was little. I was shy, yes, but my family often tells the story of me running with full speed into a pool with no floaties on-- I knew someone would save me. 

I've spent the last 2/3 of my life thinking something was wrong with me. I always thought, "surely, if I can get through this next rough patch, things will be OK." They weren't. I thought knowing Jesus would be enough. It's helped, certainly, but it hasn't made my anxieties go away. My list of irrational fears grew exponentially. From fearing fish would eat my toes in the water, to thinking that if my mom didn't answer her phone it meant she was dead. If a normal person's anxiety level was a 2 on a 10 point scale, mine was a 15. 

I didn't know the memories I had of the day I lost my dad and significant memories following were flashbacks; I thought everyone had memories that way. I didn't know it wasn't "normal" to not only remember those things, but to relive them. If I think about the day my dad died, I am 6 again, sitting at the top of the stairs, taking in the chaos around me. I am living through that day again. 

Fear and anxiety controlled my life- from new social and life experiences to everything in between. 

I've told my mom countless times while having a meltdown that I was crazy. I would regress to acting like a very young adult during times of change, as if I didn't know how to express how I was feeling or what I was thinking. 

When change happens I go into meltdown mode. When I feel I'm losing control I go into meltdown mode. Meltdown mode is not healthy; it's like a 6 year old throwing a tempter tantrum. I've had countless meltdowns in my life that go beyond the ugly crying stage. I never knew that change was a "trigger," I always just thought I "didn't handle change well." 

I was given ways to cope with worry and anxiety. They'd help for a few months, and then the downward spiral would begin again, and the whole process would start all over.

Until February of this year. 

I decided to go back to therapy *again* because I felt insane and I knew something wasn't right. Finally  someone listened to me. This new therapist heard me recount my past and asked if anyone had mentioned PTSD. After talking through the diagnosis and how my symptoms lined up, I felt freedom. 

These 7 months have been an extremely difficult road to walk down, but I know I'm on the healthy path. The most difficult day was reliving the day my dad died-- the day it all started. When I often think of this day I go into "preservation" mode. I don't let myself flash back. I go numb so I don't have to feel. Well, she wouldn't let me do that. She made me feel. It was like ripping off the world's strongest, toughest band aid. It hurt. The days following hurt. It stirred up so much in my mind that the dreams of my dad were so vivid that I couldn't sleep. It brought out pain, anger, frustration, and all of these emotions that I wouldn't let myself truly feel for 17+ years. 

I notice the difference in myself. My friends and family have said they notice the difference, too. It's weird to have people say they're proud of you for doing work on yourself mentally. It's even more weird to feel proud of yourself. 

In past years as I'd prepare for this day I'd feel like a Floridian preparing their house for a hurricane. Board up the windows, secure the surroundings. That way I wouldn't have to let myself feel whatever it was my brain was stirring up. And a hurricane wouldn't just come- it would be a hurricane and tsunami mixed together. 

This year is different, though. This year it's more I'm laying at the water's edge letting the waves come occasionally.  I'm letting myself ride the waves of emotion. If I have a flashback (as I've had all day), I let myself be sad for a moment, I feel what I'm feeling, and I keep going. 

This year, I'm not just going to survive in this life. I want to thrive in this life.