College Memories

"Failure. Anyone working toward meaningful change will taste it often. When that happens, the frustration we feel turns inward, and suffocates. Self-loathing and a toxic sludge of shame can follow.

If frustration is the fuel for the engine of change, then grace is coolant that keeps the thing from exploding. When we fail on the path to New, extending grace to ourselves is vital. It is only with grace that we can stand back up and keep walking, smiling and laughing at how we fell."  -"Science" Mike McHargue

Commencement May 2002

I have an uneasy relationship to my alma mater.  I am a college graduate, which makes me proud, but I don't use my degree, which makes me feel bad.  I am an alumni, but not one who is able to make generous financial contributions.  And because I don't have a "job", I don't really need to network or make connections through mixers and alumni events.  But I still read the magazine that comes in the mail and check the emails.  It's how I got this lovely computer that I am typing on.  With that positive experience in the recent past, I decided to accept an invitation to bring my family up to Kent for the annual "Tray Fest" aka sledding down the hilly Front Campus.  This sounded fun.  And since I didn't do social activities when I was actually a student, it would give me the opportunity to create memories with my kids.

But the yucky feelings began as we loaded up the car with gloves and sleds and extra clothes.  I got on the familiar road that I traveled so many times alone, this time with my whole family.  And I felt a sense of dread.  It has been almost 13 years since I graduated, and at least 10 since I've been on the campus.  College was easily the worst few years of my life.  It was a time when I was the least healthy version of myself, when I was chasing all the wrong things and dissatisfied with what resulted.  I lost myself in the crush of brick buildings and well-dressed girls and heavy books and emptiness inside.

Apple Hall girls

Why was my reticence so linked to this place?  I mean, it's not the location that caused my depression or deprived me of friendship.  It's not like anyone actively sought to destroy my happiness and peace of mind.  It was merely the setting, the backdrop of my misery.  I ran through the usual list of regrets, all the things I should have done differently.

Upon arriving, there was a jarring sense of worlds colliding: thirty-something me with kids in tow revisiting where young adult me used to walk.  My irresponsible and immature past overshadowed by the people who depend on me everyday.  And, inexplicably, a fear that no one would talk to me or even say something mean.

Daredevils January 2015

Then my kids worked their magic.  They eagerly climbed aboard their sleds and shrieked and laughed and hollered as they rocketed down a very slippery and very steep hill.  We took turns riding down with them and helping them mount their plastic chariots.  People talked to us, mostly to comment how much fun was being had and how determined and brave the boys were. (They really are. Wow. So proud of these kids.)  By the time our fingers and toes and noses were red and stiff with cold, I was enjoying myself.  I was filled with a sense of nostalgia, remembering the classes I took in the buildings around us.  I found myself wondering if the boys would come back here someday as young men.  I pointed out the places I used to go as we drove around the campus.  I showed them the library and the parking lot that I was only lucky enough to use about four times, as it filled quickly each morning.  We passed the massive gym, "the Rec", and they begged to go inside.  Chris told them they would have to grow older and become students for that to happen.  It didn't fill me with fear for their tender hearts.  I think these kids are going to be okay.  Sure, they will struggle and fail at times, but their struggles and failures will be their own; they won't be mine.

We drove home with french fries and laughter, and I felt my memories reset.  Yes, I could have done things differently...but I know that now, only because of the pain I experienced to learn about myself. Is it fun to be lonely?  NO.  But it helps point me in the direction of healthy relationships.  Is it exciting to feel your mind sink into despair and lose sight of the future?  NO.  But I am grateful for each day since then that has dawned and the life that continues to grow and evolve out of that desperate place.  Is it pleasant to grasp at the pieces of yourself as they disappear and realize that you are left with nothing?  NO.  But sometimes we need to empty ourselves for better thoughts and ideas to take root and grow.  My years in college were miserable, but my college didn't make me miserable.  I was suffering the pains of growing and becoming something new.  And you guys, I love who I have become.  I am so glad to be the woman sledding down the hill with her wonderful boys and laughing with her husband.  I love the friends who surround me and encourage me and redeem all the hurt from toxic relationships in the past.  I'm glad for the distance from who I used to be, and the promise of who I am becoming.

Future student? January 2015

Let me end with a quote from Mikey, who is very eager to plan his future and experience EVERYTHING:  "When my teeth fall out, I get big, and I grow tall, then I can go to the gym and be student at college."

On Living in the Light

I love the light.  I like good things.  I follow Facebook pages that share stories about Encouragers and Survivors and Overcomers.  I like funny people.  I like to laugh.  The first thing I noticed about my husband was his sense of humor.  I focus on the positive.  I promote happy stuff.  This is who I am; this is my preference.  I love the light.

But this is reality:  my life can be difficult.  My oldest son has a developmental disorder known as "autism", which is a scary diagnosis to receive while your three year old is clinging to you for dear life.  I make decisions daily which affect his life and his future, even though I only have knowledge of the past and the present.  Should we try this new therapy?  Which school is right for him?  Should I push him, or is now a time when he just needs his space?  Does he understand me?  Do I understand him?  I have lived through days and weeks and months and years of darkness.  I have cried out of frustration, I have cried because I felt inadequate, I have cried because sometimes it is just so hard.

Here's the thing though, that brings me comfort:  light and dark are not equal, opposing forces.  There are more hours of sunlight than dark every day.  When light shines in the dark, the darkness can't overcome it (Hey, that's in the Bible!).  Darkness only comes when there is no light.  The sun sets, the switch gets turned off, the bulb burns out--that's when darkness comes.  So then, we don't have to stay in the dark!  We just have to turn the light back on!

When I've been in the dark, I know how hard it is to find the switch.  And that's where you come in.  Yes, YOU!!  Would you mind turning the light back on please? (As my boys say, "Light please!") You can see it, can't you?

When you bring me coffee on a random weekday and stay to chat.

When you offer to watch my kids.

When you invite us over for dinner.

When you post an encouraging message on Facebook, or drop that card in the mail.

When you call and ask how I'm really doing.

When you wash my dishes.

When you hug my kids.

When you hug me.

When you say, "We can do hard things."

When you say, "You're doing a good job."

When you say, "I love you."

You are turning on my light.  You are beating the dark back in its cage.  You are throwing me a life preserver.

I am so grateful for the people who help me live in the light.  I don't know who I would be without each of you.  And here's the most important part: this is a dark world, and we need more LIGHT.  We need to take our light out into the streets and SHINE.  We need to give and share the light like there's no tomorrow because there might not be.

When you are overwhelmed in the dark, you won't always be able to find the switch.  So ASK.  Scream it at the top of your lungs: I can't see!  Someone turn the light on!  And if you are the one hearing the call, RUN to help.

** I wrote this in response to the recent murder of London McCabe, by all accounts a little boy much like my sweet James.  Please do not pity those living with disabilities or their families.  It is a joy and an honor to be the mother of my autistic son.  It is hard, but every day I am thankful that my son is alive, challenges and all.  Please extend a helping hand and open your eyes to the worth and value of every human life.**