Bobbing and weaving
When life's pendulum is picking up velocity you've go to learn to bob and weave. Yes, get ready to box. Keep those fists up, ready to fight. Be light footed, don't stop moving. If you stop then you will get knocked down. Trying to pick yourself back up when you've had the crap beat out of you by a 900 pound wrecking ball is hard. Whatever it takes, just keep going, don't stop. At least that is what I told myself.
It isn't sustainable. It wasn't sustainable. I tried to sustain an unimaginable pace. I plotted, planned and strategized my way around the wrecking ball many times. But you can't always foresee what is coming when you're at a constant offensive. As Charlie approached a year and a half old we began what would be our second round of genetic testing. Before it would all be said and done we would complete seven rounds, including whole xenome sequencing, or gene mapping.
In addition to the ongoing challenges we were facing with weight gain and feeding, I was in the midst of a professional challenge. As you can probably tell, I'm a 110% kind of gal. I was being divided into pieces. I was awake "working" 16 hours a day. I taught two different classes, Spanish and social studies. I was on every committee and walking the path toward a future as a school administrator. I vibrated with anxious energy to anyone that came near me. The ongoing joke was "summertime Nancy" or "school year Nancy." In all honesty, Nancy was nowhere to be found. She was being pulverized into dust from being knocked down by life's wrecking ball.
It felt as though we did everything they asked, we completed every exercise. I carried over every recommendation. I listened intently and took notes at every meeting. I prepared every lesson. I worked and worked and worked. It just wasn't ever going to be enough. I was spread so thin, evaporating into a shadow of my vibrant former self.
It was in May 2017 I asked for a professional leave of absence. I loved my job, my students, my passion for teaching will never diminish. There were going to be massive scheduling changes made, I was going to be re-pacing standards for many years. I wanted to be a part of the change. I wanted to write tests and develop curriculum. Yet, my yearning to see Charlie sit, crawl, and eat gnawed like only a mother's guilt can.
Little did I know that stepping away would be the best decision I could have made, for myself, my colleagues, my family. In July 2017 my mother would contract septicemia from a knee replacement. She would have 3 more strokes by September 2017. The concentric circles radiated violently from the epicenter. Again, I tried bobbing and weaving my way through months of rehabilitation and recovery before mom would finally make it home. The pace was unsustainable, driving to and from Chicago multiple times a week to make Charlie's appointments, and provide weekend respite for dad.
Time has passed. My perspective has changed. Our lives have gotten quieter, sadly in part because some of those we love are no longer with us. No longer do I wish to fight continually. Don't get me wrong, I am a scrappy fighter. These days, I am trying to ebb and flow. To be less reactionary, more grounded in the power of perspective. We aren't in "ground zero." No longer are facing a failure to thrive. We don't need to be on the offensive, bobbing and weaving, fists up.
It's hard, to take in the good news. To feel the relief of normal appointments, normal doctor visits. It's hard to be still after super scheduling a thousand appointments. Sometimes it is work learning to just go with the flow.
It isn't sustainable. It wasn't sustainable. I tried to sustain an unimaginable pace. I plotted, planned and strategized my way around the wrecking ball many times. But you can't always foresee what is coming when you're at a constant offensive. As Charlie approached a year and a half old we began what would be our second round of genetic testing. Before it would all be said and done we would complete seven rounds, including whole xenome sequencing, or gene mapping.In addition to the ongoing challenges we were facing with weight gain and feeding, I was in the midst of a professional challenge. As you can probably tell, I'm a 110% kind of gal. I was being divided into pieces. I was awake "working" 16 hours a day. I taught two different classes, Spanish and social studies. I was on every committee and walking the path toward a future as a school administrator. I vibrated with anxious energy to anyone that came near me. The ongoing joke was "summertime Nancy" or "school year Nancy." In all honesty, Nancy was nowhere to be found. She was being pulverized into dust from being knocked down by life's wrecking ball.
It felt as though we did everything they asked, we completed every exercise. I carried over every recommendation. I listened intently and took notes at every meeting. I prepared every lesson. I worked and worked and worked. It just wasn't ever going to be enough. I was spread so thin, evaporating into a shadow of my vibrant former self.
It was in May 2017 I asked for a professional leave of absence. I loved my job, my students, my passion for teaching will never diminish. There were going to be massive scheduling changes made, I was going to be re-pacing standards for many years. I wanted to be a part of the change. I wanted to write tests and develop curriculum. Yet, my yearning to see Charlie sit, crawl, and eat gnawed like only a mother's guilt can.
Little did I know that stepping away would be the best decision I could have made, for myself, my colleagues, my family. In July 2017 my mother would contract septicemia from a knee replacement. She would have 3 more strokes by September 2017. The concentric circles radiated violently from the epicenter. Again, I tried bobbing and weaving my way through months of rehabilitation and recovery before mom would finally make it home. The pace was unsustainable, driving to and from Chicago multiple times a week to make Charlie's appointments, and provide weekend respite for dad.
Time has passed. My perspective has changed. Our lives have gotten quieter, sadly in part because some of those we love are no longer with us. No longer do I wish to fight continually. Don't get me wrong, I am a scrappy fighter. These days, I am trying to ebb and flow. To be less reactionary, more grounded in the power of perspective. We aren't in "ground zero." No longer are facing a failure to thrive. We don't need to be on the offensive, bobbing and weaving, fists up. It's hard, to take in the good news. To feel the relief of normal appointments, normal doctor visits. It's hard to be still after super scheduling a thousand appointments. Sometimes it is work learning to just go with the flow.
Comments
Post a Comment