Vulnerability: finding our communities of healing

The topic of vulnerability has been on my mind and heart in recent weeks and months, as it seems to be popping up everywhere around me lately.  (A message, God?)  My friend from college, Trinity, who writes a wonderful, heart-wrenchingly open, inspiring blog, has been recently discussing how to start a vulnerability revolution.  We've all been dealt very different lots in life, but all of us are broken in some way.  We are human beings, imperfect by nature.  And most of us work so hard to hide our imperfections and our struggles, rather than letting our brokenness be revealed.

Which is kind of a catastrophe for all of us.  Because real beauty can be found in brokenness.

In a church we have been visiting for the past several months, the pastor spoke a few weeks back on vulnerability.  He said to love at all, is to be vulnerable; to be broken.  The pastor said that for most of us, one of our greatest fears is the fear of being vulnerable...

He said, if only we had the courage to show up and let ourselves be seen, that maybe we would develop communities of healing instead of communities that fight in fear.  

Communities of healing.  To really heal, we must first have the courage to allow ourselves to be broken.

Brene Brown, in her TED talk on the Power of Vulnerability, also talks about the importance of letting ourselves be seen.  (If you have never seen this, I beg you to watch.  She has done some life-changing research in this area, and presents some of it here).

As the topic surrounds me, I have been inspired to cultivate my own thoughts more deeply and meditate on this concept of vulnerability, reflecting on my own experiences.... and I think I've come to four theoretical points that are applicable, at least for me.

1) You have to believe that your feelings are valid and worthy of sharing. 

Brene Brown says that "people who have a strong sense of love and belonging, BELIEVE that they are worthy of love and belonging."  And, "The one thing that keeps us out of connection is our fear that we are not worthy of connection."  

Somewhere along the line during my childhood/adolescence/growing up, I developed the perception that there was little time, space for, or validity to, my feelings.  I started to focus instead on the feelings of others, and deemed them more important than my own.  I remember occasionally having these ridiculous outbursts of emotion, when I couldn't contain my feelings any longer in a particular situation.  I lacked a healthy way of expressing them, and didn't have much guidance in navigating the great sea of feelings that were washing over me.  I still struggle sometimes with the notion that my feelings are not as valid or worthy or important as those of others.  Or that I can contain/manage them on my own.  Or that if I open myself a little, the flood gates will come crashing down and that no one will want to deal with that.  These things often keep me from sharing my more difficult emotions, and as a result, from experiencing real vulnerability and intimacy/connection.  All things that I should probably address in therapy.  Which means, I should probably start going to therapy.  

2)  Being vulnerable is hard. And so is figuring out just how vulnerable we're supposed to be.

Most of us run like wild hyenas at the thought of being vulnerable with someone else.  The thought of being exposed.  Of not being in control.  Of ourselves and our emotions.  It can be terrifying.  Many of us fill our lives with all kinds of things that distract us or help us to avoid our feelings:  working too much; drinking too much; prescription pills and other drugs; eating too much or eating too little;  extremely busy schedules with activities/events/so many things to do, etc.  But we all have problems and pain... and we need to allow ourselves, somehow, to be present with this instead of denying or running or distracting or pushing the pain away.  That being said, I'm not sure that living in a CONSTANT state of vulnerability is supposed to be maintained.  I believe that there are times to be wide open and to feel what we feel, and there are times to power through and to keep moving (with acceptance, not denial).   Both of these things take courage - in different ways.  Finding the right balance is hard.  I think that remaining in a state of constant vulnerability could be debilitating for some people.  And remaining in a state of constant stoicism is not healthy, either.  It is necessary to admit our feelings, to acknowledge them... to accept them, in order to resolve them.  And it is necessary to move on from them.  To move forward, somehow, out of our pain.  Different people will accomplish this in different ways, and in different times.  And some of us need to go back and deal with unresolved pain, or it can unconsciously affect how we live our lives. 

3) There is a real fear of overburdening others (who have their own sets of problems and pain).

My best friends and I call this phase of life that we are in the "dirty thirties."  Huge shifts in identity taking place (which always involves loss), and many difficult situations that we couldn't have imagined when we were in our (much more carefree) twenties.  The stress of raising young children, the huge weight of expanding responsibilities, the devastation of unexpected traumas, painful losses through divorce and death and infertility, facing the mortality of our parents as they age and suffer illness, medical problems, financial concerns, career struggles, etc.  Tough stuff... and everyone is going through something.  Or multiple things.  So I worry a lot about sharing my heart with those who are already hurting, as I don't want to give them more burden.  More weight.  This is another thing that keeps me from being vulnerable with people who I care about.

4) Not everyone or every place is meant to be a safe space.   

We have to know and understand which people and which situations are going to be supportive and healthy for us to open ourselves to.   Otherwise, if we let our guard down and someone (whether intentional or unintentional) doesn't handle it well, it can be very damaging.  We may close off and have a very hard time opening up again.  For some of us, ever.  So it is important to know ourselves, and to know which people and places are "safe spaces" for our hearts.  For being vulnerable/practicing vulnerability.  For some, it's a therapist.  For some, it's a pastor/priest/rabbi/religious person.  For some, it's a close friend or family member or partner.  For some people, it's not a person, but a place or a community - like church, or yoga, or AA, or performing on a stage, or writing. And for some, it's a spiritual/religious figure - like God - that they feel comfortable letting themselves be completely vulnerable with.   For me, two safe spaces that immediately come to mind are my husband (who I allow to see some, but not all), and when I'm alone, on my knees before God.  

For these four reasons and probably others, I often struggle with allowing myself to be truly vulnerable. I had a conversation with one of my best friends recently, who told me that sometimes she is not sure how to love me, or care for me well.  It took a lot of courage for her to share these feelings, and it really had an impact on me.  I'm so grateful for her.  We had a wonderful conversation about vulnerability and how we both struggle with it.  And how sometimes it's the hardest thing in the world to say, "Hey, I'm not really okay.  I'm hurting." Or "I'm struggling. And I need help."  Even to our best friends.  Such simple words, yet so complex to get around our own brains and pride and fears to get them out.

I am realizing that writing is helping me to be more openly expressive with my feelings.  It is giving me  the space and liberty to explore different parts of my life and topics that are important to me.  I am finding it to be a helpful medium, to practice being more candid, more real, and more free discussing some of the things that I wrestle with or that lay on my heart.  And, it is still terrifying.

I have felt more vulnerable in the past year of writing in this blog, than I have in a long time.  This blog is helping me to pursue vulnerability;  to learn about the crooked path that leads me to myself, and to work through some things in the process.  

Why do that in a public forum, rather than a personal journal?  You might ask.

Because... I am trying to have the courage to show up, and to let myself be seen.  And because I am hoping, that in doing so, I might connect with others in some way and contribute to a community of healing.

A community of brokenness, and of beautifully broken people.

A community of honesty.

A community of hope.  

All things considered, this post is both a meditation on the topic of vulnerability, and an exercise in vulnerability for me (as most of them are).  One year later, I am so grateful for this writing/blogging journey.  This chipping down and stripping away, little by little, of the things that I have built up around myself in order to avoid being vulnerable.  And I want to say thank you to those who take the time to read these words.   Thank you for supporting me with your presence, and participating in my community.

   

Living with our 2 year-old/Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

A child is a curly, dimpled, lunatic. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Today was a hard day.  At this current moment, I stay home with my daughter two days per week (and I work the other three days).  I cherish my time with her always, and typically we have a good time together.  Of course there are always challenges, but the ebb and flow is usually quite manageable.  But the last 4 months or so, things have been getting much more interesting (aka, tantrum central).  This morning began with a fight to brush teeth, a fight to change a diaper, a fight to get dressed, and then a fight to eat breakfast.  And that was just the beginning.  I was so hopeful for a good day, as yesterday's report from the grandparents was that Hazel was very pleasant all day.  She ate well, she took a 3 hour-nap, and was overall in a happy mood.  No reported difficulty or wild tantrum-like behavior.  

She apparently saves all of her Mr. Hyde-ness for me and our days at home together.   Which is my preference, but still.  Phew.

The day before yesterday, Easter Sunday, began with perhaps one of the biggest tantrums to date (of course, on a day when we have somewhere to be - church - with the whole family).  And sometimes it's the smallest things that trigger the tantrum.  Like cutting a bagel to the appropriate size for a two-year old to eat.  "BACK ON!!!  BACK ON!!!!"  She screamed.  (Which means, put the bagel parts back together.  Seal it back up with imaginary glue so I can hold the giant bagel and drop it on the floor several times).  From that point on, it just went downhill.  The screaming, the crying, the refusing to eat anything else.  Then the refusing to let us change her diaper.  Refusing to get dressed for church.  And so on.  We try to distract her with other things and then do what needs to be done.  Sometimes this works.  Sometimes it doesn't, and things evolve into a full-on tantrum and then us physically forcing her to change her diaper/get dressed/brush teeth, what have you.  It's not pretty.

Fighting and forcing are not words that previously existed in my vocabulary before parenthood.   At all.  I do not love doing it.  (This is an understatement).  It is exhausting.  Both physically and emotionally.  

Most of today involved fighting and forcing.  But then, there were these moments of loveliness smooshed in between the struggle.  Dr. Jekyll came back and made a few appearances.  We went out to lunch, and when we walked in the door Hazel said "Hi!" very sweetly to the hostesses.  They beamed at her, and Hazel followed enthusiastically to our table.     She even ordered her own meal.  The server came over and Hazel said confidentially and seriously, "Grilled cheese, please."  It was hilarious and adorable.  So grown up.  2 going on 12.

And then after lunch, she proceeded to run wildly through a busy parking lot, refusing to hold my hand.  And when I told her, sternly, that she needed to hold my hand or I would carry her, she just wriggled away and ran off.  I swooped her up and carried her to the car, screaming.   A tantrum ensued, and I had to physically lay on top of her to get her into her car seat and buckled up.  It took quite some time, and is no easy task for a lady who is 7 months pregnant (this is another understatement).   I kept looking around, wondering if someone might be trying to call Child Protective Services.   I was prepared to defend myself.  "I promise she is my child!  I'm not hurting her!  She is a toddler!"  That should explain it.

2 going on 12, going on 2.

We get home, and things don't get much better.  Nap time: fight.  Dinnertime: fight.  And according to the book on discipline that I am currently reading, it is important for parents to not get emotional.  To stay neutral and firm.  So I do that.  But I tell you, not reacting to an emotional child emotionally, is HARD.  I completely understand now why moms or dads who stay home with young children are so eager for happy hour to arrive.  "Is it five o'clock yet???  How about four?!?"  Because their nerves are frayed completely and need a little something to relax.  Even on a good day, I love a glass of wine.  I unfortunately (currently) cannot partake in happy hour as a coping tool on these hard days.  Or for a while to come, because I plan on breastfeeding this baby, too.  Maybe I should rethink that, with a 2 year-old to take care of at the same time... nah.  I jest.  But life without wine these days can be brutal.

There is no happy ending to this post, or way to tie up the message with a pretty bow.  Sometimes, parenting young kids is just hard.  The day ended with forcing a screaming child into bed.  And then crying in my hot shower.  I know this is a temporary phase, and things will get better.  I know all parents must go through it.  I know every child is different, each child's temperament is different, and each age group is different.  And these challenging behaviors are developmentally normal. (Terrible twos, anyone?) And I'm trying not to feel like a failure as a mom because we had a rough day.  Discipline is tough for me, and sometimes being consistent is the hardest thing to do when I'm worn down on all sides.  But I know it's what we have to do; what we have to strive for.  We sometimes have to fight and force and do the difficult dance.  Pick our battles?  Absolutely.  Assessing and negotiating what we must be firm on and what we can let slide, is a demanding, constant facet of parenting.  And some days, I am better at it than others.  

It's just the way it goes.  And I still have so much to learn.  So much.  For now, I'm doing my best.

All things considered, knowing that we are not alone in the universal world of parenting, makes days like these a bit easier to swallow.    

So here's to all the moms and dads, crying in the shower, doing the dance, and fighting to raise the best tiny humans that you can.

I'm with you.

30 reasons why my husband is a lovely human

This post is not meant to be overly sappy or to make anyone gag while reading.  (If you must, you must.  I apologize in advance).  It is a pure, heart-felt sentiment that I'd like to express, because I know deep down that I don't say thank you enough to this man that I married.  I know that in the day to day routines, comings and goings, ups and downs, and all that we experience, I don't express my appreciation enough. My appreciation for the person he is, and all that he does for me/Hazel/others in our life together. In general, we often spend too much time thinking about all the things we wish were different about the people we love, instead of focusing on the beautiful things that make them who they are.  It is human nature, to sometimes take the people we care about for granted.

So, I'd like to take some time and publicly outline a few of the reasons why I love and appreciate this man so. 

1)  He is incredibly patient when he needs to be (except for in traffic or at stoplights).
2)  He has a knack for details - very observant in his surroundings, which is good because I am NOT at all good at this.  He is the yin to my yang. 
3)  He is a wealth of knowledge about television and the entertainment industry.  Can't remember the name of that actor that was in 500 Days of Summer or your favorite TV show?  Ask Mike - he always knows.
4)  He has beautiful, strong hands.
5)  He always smells amazing.
6)  He is sensitive to others, and cares deeply when people are hurting.
7)  He is a peacemaker and a mediator.
8)  He is gentle, sweet, and so loving with our daughter.  And he was the best birth coach I could have ever imagined.
9)  He gives me endless back massages, foot massages, etc when I request them (and yes, I request them a lot).
10)  He scrubs our showers and toilets.
11)  HE SCRUBS OUR SHOWERS AND TOILETS.  Like, way more often than I do. 
12)  his soft hair, the sound of his voice
13)  He is incredibly responsive when I need him.
14)  He is one of the most genuine people I've ever known.
15)  He loves his family very much.
16)  He is a funny man - an entertainer - loves to make people laugh.
17)  He has a creative mind.
18)  He does the laundry.
19)  He loves music more than most things - there is always a song running through his head.
20)  his hazel-colored eyes, which slope downward at the outer corners and are framed by long, gorgeous eyelashes (okay, I kind of also hate him for this) 
21)  He feeds the cat, takes out the trash, does the dishes, changes the cat litter, and vacuums.  He generally cleans more than I do.  And I love him for that.
22)  He is silly and weird sometimes, like me.
23)  He is smart.
24)  He grounds me in a way no one else can.  I am a dreamer, he is a realist.  Again, the yin to my yang.
25)  He loves to dance (more than he will admit).
26)  He loves to tell stories (those of you who know him, know this well).
27)  He is endlessly responsible.
28)  He is endlessly loyal.
29)  He is generous.

and last but not least,

30)  He is the person that I feel the most comfortable with in this world. The person that I feel comfortable letting my guard down with, and letting the ugly, painful, raw, dark parts of me seep out from time to time.  He is my safe space.  He is my home.  He is love.

All things considered, I realize that I'm a very lucky lady.  I don't deserve him, but somehow he is here.  Life and marriage is not ever perfect... but I am so grateful to be on the journey with this man.  This partner.

This lovely human. 

p.s.  Did I mention that he scrubs our showers and toilets?  Amazing.

The way you do the things you do - Part 2

Dearest Hazel,

You are 2 years old.  Well, more specifically, 2 years and almost 1 month.  I am going to try and capture, here in this space, some details about the Hazel of today so that both you and I can return here to remember you just as you are in this phase.  During this era of you.  Because it is all so fleeting, and as much as I'd like to, I cannot freeze time.  Perhaps when you read this, our scientists will have figured out how to do that.  But for now, all we have is the beautiful, full, present moment.   

Today we had your 2 year check up at the doctor's office.  You are very healthy, in the 45th percentile for weight and extremely tall in the 97th percentile for height!  You still have anxiety at the doctor's office; you cried when we pulled up, as you knew where we were.  You clung to me, wanting me to "rock you"... but this time at the doctor, things were different.  Although there were moments of struggle, there were many moments of bravery, which I hadn't seen like this before.  You seemed to understand that this was something we had to do, although difficult for you.  You were comforted by toys, books, and by the song we've sung to you every day since before you were born.  Although wary of him, you looked the doctor in the eyes when he asked you questions.  You cried, held me tight, and didn't move your arm when the nurse quickly gave you your shot.

I am very proud of you and your bravery. 

Your language development has taken off, and you now talk almost constantly.   You speak in full sentences - not all the time, but when you do it is a delightful shock!  You say things like, "Daddy, get the water please?" and "Maddy, come here!"  and "Good job, Mommy."  You make cute comments after eating food you like (fruit and bread, primarily), such as "Mmm - delicious."  Makes me laugh every time.

You can say and sing your ABCs; you can count from 1 to 15 in English and from 1 to 10 in Spanish (which amazes the pants off me); and every day you want to take off your diaper and sit on the potty and sing the potty song (but you still haven't gone IN the potty yet... in your own time).  You love to sing songs and lately, to do something called the "silly dance."  For the silly dance, your Daddy and I must be standing up (not ever sitting, or kneeling, or anything but standing), clapping our hands, and singing any upbeat song while you turn, kick your legs, twist and swing your arms while we keep you from running into doors, corners or any sharp edges of furniture.  It's pretty awesome.  

I am very proud of your smarts and your expressive nature. 

Today, after we got home from the doctor, your favorite play gym/music class, and lunch, we sat on the couch together and watched Mickey Mouse.  With you cradled under my arm,  you watched with wonder as you always do, and I dozed off into a light sleep.  It was comfortable and sweet, in the aftermath of our morning.  I couldn't help falling asleep (no offense, Mickey) ... your little sister is taking much of my energy these days, and sometimes being physically present with you is all I can accomplish.  I am afraid that this is only the beginning of this new divide in my energy, as all parents with more than one child can likely attest.  I think about this, about how your life is going to change so much in just four short months.  I think about how you will feel, and I'm sure you will feel so many things.  Things that you're not developmentally able to verbalize.  I think about how you will feel about your baby sister, and I know it will be a complex thing.  If how you care for your stuffed animal friends is any indication (hugging, kissing, rocking, feeding),  I am so excited to see how you will grow to love and care for your baby sister, too.
  
Last week, we were at your favorite play gym when a little girl about your age climbed to the top of a pyramid of mats in the corner.  She stood there for a moment, not moving and quietly looking down at the few people below her.  Her father was sitting outside the play area, reading a book.  You stood at the bottom of the pyramid, watching the girl intently, assessing her need.  Then, most gently and sincerely, you said, "Help you?  Help you down?"  You repeated yourself, and the little girl didn't respond.  My heart broke and soared at the same time.  

I am so very, very proud of your precious heart. 

You are two years old, and these are a few glimpses of you today.  I am trying so very hard, to be present with you as I know I will long for you at this age when you are older, and miss these days when they are gone.  You teach me about love and about my own strengths and limitations every day.  You reveal more about your character as you continue to grow and develop...and you delight and inspire me with both the breadth of what you can do and the depth of who you are.

I am so proud and so blessed, and so honored to be your mom.  

All things considered, you are Hazel.  You are beautifully, wonderfully you.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.   

Glamor shots of parenthood - a true love story

It is midnight, and on your way to bed you decide to check in on your two-year old sleeping girl.  You open the door, and immediately something is off.  Something strikes you and you know in an instant that it's going to be a long night.  All indicators point to one thing... your senses are heightened, your adrenaline starts pumping, and you get ready.  The moment is here.  It's go time.  It could be nothing else.

Diarrhea.

The smell wafts over and offends your nose like your nose did something offensive first.  The nurse at the pediatrician's office predicted it.  "We've been seeing a lot of this.  3 days of fever and vomiting, then the diarrhea starts.  It could last for up to 5 days..."  You chuckle at that last part.  5 DAYS?!?!  No one can have diarrhea for 5 days, you think.  Especially not after the 24 hour constant bout of fun with it you've just encountered yourself.  That would be crazy.  She must be mistaken or joking.  Both of which would be highly unprofessional.  (Yes, she must be super unprofessional.)

You've already been through the 3 days of fever and cleaning up vomit, most of which ended up on you.  So you and your husband enter the room stealthily like ninjas in the night, to get to work with cleaning, sanitizing, and laundering again (clothing, sheets, stuffed animals - poor, poor Minnie Mouse - there is just no coming back from that).  You do all this before you wake the child and get to work cleaning, sanitizing, and laundering her.  But this time it's a new and equally horrible villain.  You start to picture vomit and diarrhea going head to head in a battle of vileness, wondering how that would go down.  FOCUS.  Lots of work still left to do.

After all is cleaned and scrubbed and your husband has Lysol-ed the @$)% out of everything you own, AGAIN, you hold your sweet sick girl, and wish you could make it all go away.  You try and get her to drink some fluids to prevent possible dehydration, and she eats a few cheerios.  The poor little love's tummy.  So empty, and so unhappy.  Your heart breaks to see her so weak and so miserable.  So you squeeze her a little tighter, rock her so gently, and pray that she feels better soon. 

Then you set your alarm for 4am so you can get up and check her room for the possible return attack of the terrible diarrhea monster.  (5 DAYS?!?)  So you can repeat the whole process over again.

And you would, in a heartbeat... because that is true love.  A parent's love.  (And also, you really like those sheets).  

It is a glamorous life.  All things considered, you wouldn't trade it for anything.  

The Christmas Gift

It was Friday, December 21st, and I had a long day ahead of me at work.  I had 6 home visits and a 10 hour work day scheduled, and all I wanted to do was be on vacation.  To begin the holiday celebrations with my family and to get my Christmas shopping done.  I was also giving myself pep talks, as I had been so darn tired lately from the pregnancy, that I wasn't sure how I would get through the busy day.  I had clients to see, presents to deliver, so many things to get done, before I was away from work for a week.

As I was leaving the office for one of my afternoon home visits, I was loading my car with gifts for one of my families and noticed a man walking towards me.  As he got close, he said, "Excuse me, ma'am?"  Of course, I'm thinking, what is this guy selling/pushing?  And how quickly and gently can I get away?  I looked up from my things and said, "Yes?"  With warmth in his voice, he said "This is for you.  Merry Christmas."  He handed me an unmarked unsealed white envelope, and then walked away.  Inside was a $50 dollar bill.  I stood there, shocked, touched, and feeling ashamed that I had made such an initial assumption about his character and purpose. I finally looked up, and saw him smiling at me and waving, before he ducked into his car and drove away.  I waved back, and mouthed a still stunned "Thank you."  Ironically, he really did resemble Santa Claus.  White beard and everything.  And overalls.  I was surprised his car didn't turn into a sleigh and vanish into the air, leaving a trail of magical dust behind him.

My initial feeling, once I got over the surprise/stunned feeling, was one of guilt.  My thoughts raced, thinking, "But I don't really NEED this money.  I don't deserve this.  There are so so many people who need this... I don't need this.  I have to pay it forward immediately.  When should I do it?  Should I stand on the corner, or outside of the CVS and give it to someone who looks needy?"  I then felt another shudder of guilt thinking, that maybe he picked my social services office to wait outside of, because he knew that clients in need came there for food and other emergency help.  "Maybe he meant to give it to someone who comes to the office for services!  Oh no- he's given it to the wrong person.  How do I remedy this situation?"

I went in and out of thinking about the gift, as I traveled through the rest of my day.  It struck me, that I did not really receive the gift well.  I was initially so stunned and felt so unworthy, that I did a poor job of showing my appreciation for this man's kind and beautiful gift.  It felt so strange to be on the receiving end of such a gift, especially as I was so wrapped up in getting to see my clients and delivering gifts to them.  This was a role reversal that I was not prepared for in that moment.  "But I am the helper!  I'm the one who gives... I give to those who are in need... I......"

The more these thoughts circled, I began to break down and cry.  And it became blatantly obvious to me, that something was really wrong with this picture.  That this man gave of his heart, a courageous anonymous gift, that was not qualified by socioeconomic status, merit, need, or worth, and I did not know how to receive it. 

I often don't know how to receive.  This has become more and more apparent to me the older I get, and the busier I get pouring myself into the many aspects of my life and trying to balance it all.  

This man's gift, for me, was not about the $50.  His gift was so much more valuable than this.  It was a lesson that I'll never forget. 

Because it exposed a character flaw within myself... one that I'm trying to learn more about and to work on.  It's about vulnerability.  Because as much as I'd like to believe that I'm strong and centered; that I'm the one who helps;  that I don't need help from others; that others always need the help way more than me; these things are just not true.  They are myths.  Things that I've believed for a long time.  And I'm not sure why I started believing them in the first place.   

I'm working on it.

After years and years of pouring myself and my heart so passionately into the things I do and the people I care about, I'm finding myself in a different state of self-preservation.  So different.  Sometimes it hurts, because it's so different.  I'm pulling back, as my life gets more complex with more responsibilities, more care-taking to do than ever, and less energy to do it with.  And I'm trying to figure out who I am, in this new place.  And what my priorities are.  And what I really need, and how to balance what I need with the needs of others.  And what is important for me to do to replenish and re-fill my cup when it is empty.  And how to ask for help when I need it.   Because I will most certainly need it.  And I need to start with admitting that I need it. 

I'm worthy of a receiving a beautiful, anonymous gift.  We all are.  Just as it is important to know how to give, it is important to know how to receive. 

Perhaps he was Santa.  Perhaps he was a manifestation of Jesus, reminding me that I need to learn how to accept a gift that I did nothing to earn.  Perhaps he was just a generous soul who gave me the energy to keep on giving that day.  To feel selected.  And, to ultimately feel blessed.   

All things considered, I'm still not sure what to do with the $50.  It should be something great.  Suggestions welcome. 

 

The "undeserving" poor

Thanks to modern day social media (and of course, general media), we have all been exposed/bombarded in the last several months with political jargon, thoughts, rhetoric, and opinions.  I try to stay out out of the drama of it all, but it's difficult to do these days.  So much passion.  So much misinformation.  So many people who don't even come close to knowing all the facts, but sure do argue like they do.  And there have been a few comments made by folks in recent Facebook battles that I have seen (and maybe even participated in) that I just cannot shake.  I cannot be silent about it.  I have mulled it over in my head over and over again.  And I thought I would take a few moments to share some thoughts on it all.

I'm talking about comments from people who state that "able-bodied people should get off their a** and get a job."  Or "I'm tired of lazy people getting free handouts."   Etc etc etc.

In light of an intense political climate, the gloves (and the decency?) have come off.  In case it wasn't clear, these people are referencing those individuals/families who live in poverty and utilize government supports/subsidies for differing lengths of time, so that their families can eat or have a roof over their heads.  

It is one thing to oppose government subsidies, or big government, or social programs.  It is quite another thing to make sweeping, degrading, offensive, and hurtful comments about vulnerable populations. Those people, whose lives you likely know nothing about.  

I am a clinical social worker, and I work with homeless families.  I get to know the people in our transitional housing program on a personal level.  We do thorough assessments, and we help them to address the issues that lead to homelessness.  We try to help them find a way out.  And I'd like to share a little bit about what I have seen and what I have learned about them and the lives that they lead.

First of all, poverty is crippling.  For those of you who are uninformed on the devastating, lasting effects of poverty on families and societies, read up:  A Framework for Understanding Poverty.  The cyclical nature of poverty is daunting.  Each time I get to know a new head of household in my housing program, I (unfortunately) am no longer shocked about the atrocities that they have experienced in their own childhoods, growing up in impoverished homes and neighborhoods... about the injustices that their own parents experienced and so on.  (Well I am still shocked, but the connection is no longer surprising). 

Poverty has a lasting impact on health and development.  Children who are undernourished have trouble focusing and learning in school.  They may suffer developmental delays, cognitive impairments, or intellectual disabilities.  Children in poverty statistically are exposed to higher levels of stress, which also has negative impacts on their development.  Frequent moves and changes in stability affect the overall health and wellness of children in poverty.  They miss school more often.  When they are in school, they might act out their stress through negative behaviors, sometimes getting them removed from the classroom or even expelled.  They get less exposure to education.  They feel inadequate.  Many of them drop out of school. They continue to suffer.  

These children grow up to become the adults that I work with in my housing program.   

Some of these people have grown up in homes where they have watched their parent (s) be beaten by a boyfriend or spouse.  They have watched their parents strung out on drugs and/or alcohol, and suffered awful amounts of neglect.  They themselves, have been physically, sexually, or mentally abused, by parents or other family members.  They have watched their own mothers live in prostitution, so that she could afford rent and have a place for her children to sleep.  They have watched people/family members/friends get shot or stabbed in gang or drug-related violence. They themselves, have been mistreated by a boyfriend or husband, and became homeless as a result of fleeing domestic violence for their own safety and the safety of their children. 

People who grow up in poverty and who live in poverty, are exposed to various kinds/types/levels of trauma.

The effects of trauma are disabling - in mental health, intellectually, cognitively, etc.  These disabilities all impact the kinds of work people can do, or are capable of doing.  Someone who appears "able-bodied" may be suffering in a multitude of other ways. 

Many of the adults that I work with in these families, have full-time jobs.  Some of them have more than one job.  Making minimum wage (somewhere between $7.25 - $10 per hour).  They work harder than most people I know on this earth.   And they still cannot afford to support their families, pay market-rate rent, or put enough food on tables.

Some of them work immensely hard to get a job, but to no avail because of previous criminal histories.  A huge barrier to becoming self-sufficient.  Because of broken childhoods manifested in attention-seeking behaviors.  

Some of the adults I work with struggle to further their education - which is the key to getting better jobs, increasing their incomes, and getting out of poverty - because of a mental health disability.  Or an intellectual disability.  Or because their self-esteem is so bottom-of-the-barrel low, that they just don't believe that they can or that they are worth it. 

These are the people who I know, who I work with, who I support, in accessing public benefits so that their children don't go hungry.   They work, every day, to survive. 

And let me explain a misconception about "welfare checks."  TANF, or Temporary Assistance for Needy Families, is a temporary financial support to families who make way below the federal poverty limits.  These families do not get "free handouts."  They are required to participate in something called the VIEW program, are assigned a case manager, and are required to have a 35 per-hour week schedule.  They must either be attending school, job training program classes, volunteering, job-searching/applying for jobs, or working part-time to meet the 35 hour per-week requirement.  All for $323 - $380 per month, depending on family size. If they don't meet the requirements, they won't get the check. 

This is in Northern VA, where the average fair market-rate rent for a two-bedroom apartment is $1,400.

I have witnessed some people who are able to break the cycle, and pull themselves out, piece by piece, ever so slowly.  So many barriers, and so much to overcome.  But some do it.   And I never cease to be amazed by these people and all that they accomplish.

All of my clients inspire me.  In different ways.  And almost all of them - if it were so simple- would choose to be self-sufficient.  To experience the satisfaction (that middle/upper class people often take for granted) of providing for themselves.  The luxury of having a different, less traumatic life. 

All things considered, I don't expect anyone to change their political views, or how they feel about the government's role in society.  However, I do expect people to show more compassion, more decency, and more sensitivity when talking or thinking about those who are underprivileged in our nation.

Because not until you've sat with them face to face... until you've heard their stories, felt their heartbreak, seen the pain behind their eyes and witnessed their struggle, will you understand anything about their lives or why they need to access public support.

And I thank God the support is there for those who need it.  Every day.

There will always be poor people in the land. Therefore I command you to be openhanded toward your brothers and toward the poor and needy in your land ~ Deuteronomy 15:11

...You are to help your brothers until the LORD gives them rest, as he has done for you... 
 Joshua 1: 14-15