Recently, I have been feverishly reading, watching, and listening to anything by and with the writer/researcher, Brene Brown. If you are not familiar with her, or her work, a simple Youtube search into vulnerability or shame will lead you to her TEDtalks or appearances on Oprah. She famously dedicated ten years of research to the mechanics of shame, and subsequently, vulnerability.
Her works have led me to a few discoveries of my own. For one thing, I envied her opportunity and interest to study shame. I know, weird, right? But, as someone living with autoimmune diseases that affect every area of my life, and valid experiences in shame as a teenager, (don’t we all have those??) I would rather study empathy than shame. Empathy is a mindful state of being, one where you must certainly be vulnerable. I often reflect on how the illnesses have made me more empathetic, and want to share my experiences with others.
Lately, though, I have been letting my experiences, emotions, and thoughts pile up inside that ‘shadow self,’- what some Shamans call our ‘closet.’ You know, that place in the back of your mind that neatly conceals all the regrets, shame, and heartache that we either choose not to deal with, or have the ability to do so. In this space, as Brown says, I am not engaging, not ‘daring greatly.’ It is often said that writers are forever straddling between wanting to be seen and wanting to stay hidden. This describes me perfectly.
Perhaps it feels easier to hide. That way, you can still try, still succeed or fail, without the shame, embarrassment, or anger you might feel having tried AND let yourself be seen doing so.
For me, I think, trying and the fear and/or shame of potentially failing in front of others was an early learned condition, one that I had not even been aware of, until college. For once, I was surrounded by others that shared the same passion for not only teaching, but changing the landscape of Early Childhood Development. We felt the passion and concern our current childcare system from our amazing professor, Beth. We wanted to not only influence and educate, but learn and grow as the best versions of ourselves. Well, not all of us. In the beginning, I thought it would be adequate to just be a younger version of Beth. I wasn’t aware, or even believed that I would be ‘enough’ to make any sort of difference.
For me, it was a lazy choice to enroll in Early Childhood Development. My only interest upon leaving high school was two-fold: getting far enough away from those that I let drive me to feeling shameful about every aspect of my life, and attending classes for and about dance. Unfortunately, (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) my family’s funds and my dad’s control of my decisions only let me go as far as the local community college. I think both of my parents feared an alcohol-fueled, boy- crazy me, let loose on a college dormitory. I would surmise that is a fair point, however, I was itching to leave the small town mentality, and my parent’s control behind. My dad proposed (*demanded*) that I take introductory courses at the community college, then shift to the local university. Fair enough.
I reluctantly signed up for the intro courses, as well as some others, to fill my requirements with my dad. I only signed up for an Early Childhood course because it had been my mom’s interest, and where she obtained her degree years earlier. I actually had no real interest. I was pleased that the only person in any of my courses that knew me was my sister. So, finally, here was a place where I could feel comfortable to make mistakes, delve into what I had real interests in, and express myself in a way I had been conditioned to be afraid of for so long.
I still wasn’t so comfortable being seen, another conditioned response. My new blonde locks forced that feeling to the forefront. It’s comical, now that I reflect on it, that a new hair color changed my perception of myself so much. But, it did. The way I felt about it, my hair, make-up and fashion choices were a carefully crafted suit of armor that I could hide behind, however confident they made me seem. In any case, it was my first course in Early Childhood Development, and all those that followed, that allowed me to feel more comfortable being seen and being myself, however she manifested.
I will never forget that first course with Beth. It was actually a second year ECE course, but it was the only course that coincided with my sister’s Criminal Justice courses. In the first few minutes, I developed a chest-pounding panic that could be compared to those nightmares of being both unprepared AND half-naked in class. I wasn’t, thankfully, but I was out of my depth. Clearly, this was an advanced ECE course, and one that brought out more fears that I was prepared for that day. I suddenly thought of dropping the course, because how could I ever be what this professor deemed as a ‘good’ educator. She spoke of traits such as ‘authoritative,‘ ‘mindful’, and ‘flexible’, none of which I could then identify with. I was raised under ridged-authoritarian and passive parents, and surmised that I would be that way, as well. So shaken by this thought, I shared it with Beth, the ECE professor, after class.
“Hi, um, this is my first course in ECE. You taught my mom, Lynn, a few years ago…” I stammered.
“Yes, of course! How is she? What can I do for you?” she politely asked, while a small group of students surrounded her.
“Um, well, I don’t know if you remember anything she shared about my dad, but he is and raised us in a very authoritarian environment, and, well, I don’t think I can be an authoritative educator. And, I just don’t want to screw any of the kids up…” I held my breath, fear of the unknown swelling up inside. She was surely going to encourage me to drop the course, I thought. Instead, she shifted all her focus on me, mindful of my needs and feelings as a student (Just as an effective educator should be), and kindly smiled.
“I see that you care, and I'm glad that you do. Apply yourself to the ECE courses, you will learn how to be an authoritative and effective teacher,” she said. Possibly sensing my panic, she added, “Just try it for a few weeks, and then, if you feel it is not something you will be able to do, drop the course. But, I think you will be just fine.”
She was right. In the coming weeks and months, I slowly crept out of my shell, and my comfort zone as a faceless, hidden student. I found that I took to the ECE courses like I once took to dance class. At first, scared and excited, and generally just happy to be there. Then, eager to learn new lessons, eager to expand my thought process. Eventually still, eager to express and share my thoughts, to share what I learned with the entire ECE class. I was no longer comfortable hiding in the background. I quickly became as familiar and friendly to Beth as her graduate students, both for my participation and enthusiasm in class. So much so, that when the health complications forced me to miss classes, she told me how much I was needed and missed.
“How are you feeling today?” she asked when I returned. “Class was so quiet on Thursday, without you,” she sighed, “I wished you were there!”
No teacher had ever said that to me, I thought. I had been seen. I had been appreciated. I had been valued. I can never fully express my heartfelt gratitude to Beth for that; for making me feel as if I was special. I mattered. Up to that point, that was a feeling caused only by a certain few in my life. (My first crush and my second dance teacher, are the first that come to mind.) But, it was a state of being that let me soar above and away from the inadequate, shame- filled thoughts of my past. Misplaced, misguided, wrongfully acquired shame, but shame nonetheless. It allowed me to be more comfortable being truly seen. I developed a thirst for learning, one of the key traits of an effective educator. Actually, in that first year, I wasn’t entirely sure I could be anything other that a close replica of Beth in a ECE setting, and I frequently said as much in our detailed exams. But she would always write in, ?? The best teacher you can be is Y-O-U!!
‘Like hell,’ I thought. But, like most things, she was completely right!
It was in my second year of ECE courses, when we started to focus on our individual skills and fields of interest, that I began accepting my strengths and feeling more confident in the lessons I had learned. So, of course it was her that led me to studying and working within the Special Education field. I can’t recall her exact words on the matter, just that she said it took a certain qualities to work with children with special needs, qualities she said I possessed. Again, a moment when she saw me for who I was. Though I cannot recall the conversation that took place, I can recall the pride I felt.
Before those moments in ECE, I had wrestled with feelings of not being good enough: Not good enough for that guy(s), that group of friends (or ‘frienemies,’ as the case was), that class, that outfit, that bathing suit, and often, my family. But, here, in a class I ’accidentally’ fell into, I finally felt the freedom of being good enough for something.
And that was good enough for me.
-This post is dedicated to two of my favorite teachers, Beth Hoden and Aunt Elizabeth. I know you expected a lot out of me. I hope I always rise to your expectations as a empathetic person, writer, and storyteller. I will carry your lessons as I grow. xo
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