tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41297221759119792822024-03-18T00:42:50.064-07:00Searching for our silver lining"We are the silver lining in any and every dark cloud we could ever find. There is no need to go looking for the light when you bring it with you."
-Tyler Knott GregsonCristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.comBlogger734125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-2601764321737727372022-11-14T20:24:00.001-08:002022-11-14T20:24:04.526-08:00Surviving the layoffs<p> The meeting started in silence. Leadership was navigating speakers and mics with multiple people on Zoom in the same conference room, which still is an issue even for the most tech savvy. Within moments, the CEOs face was front and center on my screen. The look they the camera was one of intense sadness, steeling themselves for what was about to be said and how it would change everything.</p><p>I’m sensitive to layoffs and terminations. Both Grey and I have been on the receiving of these decisions, suffering the fallout with subsequent job hunting, sigma, and (in the case of terminations) shame inflicted by former employers. I could write a novel on bad managers and unethical practices I’ve experienced from those who have managed me. So when the email came about a sudden company wide meeting with less than 24 hours notice, I steeled myself to be once again job hunting in a recession.</p><p>And make no mistake, we are firmly in a recession.</p><p>Instead, I find myself tonight on the other side still employed, though still deeply traumatized. Despite instruction otherwise, I spent the day finishing some projects and distracting myself for checking things off my to-do list. Interspersed with this was breaks to sob uncontrollably, remembering full well the tremor that comes in dwindling savings, piling bills, and housing insecurity. Flashbacks about navigating unemployment and qualifying for food stamps haunting my thoughts.</p><p>Survivors guilt is something I’m use to. I still remember that last round of IVF where all odds pointed to failure, and yet somehow we came out the other side. Of feeling displaced and guilty with the randomness and, in some case, blatant unfairness. I called my manager immediately after the company meeting and together we cried as I thanked her for all she’s done for me over the last 8 months. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye and there’s so much work left for us to do together. We both found ourselves with messages that we were “safe” moments later, yet both shaken and untrusting that we truly were.</p><p>Life in Silicon Valley is drastically changing. The tech sector is slashing jobs as VC funding has dried up. It’s only a matter of time before the exodus begins. One silver lining is the support people are giving one another as they find themselves hunting. The sigma of finding yourself unemployed being challenged as people offer connections, recommendations, and general support.</p><p>Tonight I find myself experiencing the same emotions I’ve lived through, though this time on the inside looking out. It sucks knowing what being an outsider is like and I sorely wish it wasn’t a reality for so many. I’m also keenly aware that I need to absorb all of this while preparing for another day. There’s still so much to do. Processing the pain of having to say goodbye to colleagues I care about while making plans for the transition that is already happening. </p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-36003773472765238332022-01-12T16:20:00.005-08:002022-01-12T16:20:43.659-08:00Despite; Because<p>Where to begin. </p><p>I could blame the pandemic, but the truth is the pandemic ripped off the veil. </p><p>I could blame the political system, but the truth is we were already going down that path. Politicians have just added gasoline and a lot of tinder to the fires.</p><p>I could blame work stress and all that's come with shifting into high-gear due to my position (never once did I believe my skill-set would be in HIGH demand), but the truth is the balance has never really existed. It was always unbalanced as a way to survive.</p><p>Daisy's passing ripped away those final excuses. The truth is Jaxson's passing started it and her long decline made it clear it was time to confront it all.</p><p>So let's begin with that realization that all the myths I told myself (and saw so many others telling themselves) have all come to the forefront and are being busted before my eyes.</p><p>Gone is the myth that anything is possible if you just try hard enough. Especially having met too many who are blind to their privilege, that myth is forever broken.</p><p>Dashed is the myth that people those most capable are put into positions of power. Too often, those who have no business leading others are placed there as it is assumed leadership is a natural skill. We desperately need to start training managers and those overseeing others on the importance of leading with empathy and curiosity (and unapologetically terminate those who demonstrate they can't)</p><p>Edited is the definition of "kindness." Too many confuse politeness with kindness, yet so different are these concepts.</p><p>Dead is personal branding. People show you their true selves through their actions and interactions. Those that rely on branding are the ones doing the most damage control.</p><p>Despite all the crazy and darkness from the past 2 years, I've learned so much about humanity and the importance of living unapologetically. Because of the crazy and the darkness, the deaths, the loss, the pain, the hopelessness, I'm begun to embrace living well and finding the good.</p><p>Despite what I was told, my limits and my failures, I've begun pushing through the fear of rejection to define the life I want. Because of my limits and my failures, I'm finding the road to make that happen.</p><p>And despite the greatest of losses and heartaches, with so many losses under my belt, I still have the courage to try, as I learned I am stronger and more resilient than I imagined myself to be because of those losses and heartaches.</p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-20987125377088920592022-01-11T10:49:00.007-08:002022-01-11T13:06:24.083-08:00Sweet child o' mine<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> </i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiaXpoO3nLlGklanj6lyc1U3_bXw8KsqDc-po4lFkZTeGUcEjGxkpLbfwFxn_5eJ5hP5nnN9d_tMfwW6Cr0-kLyiVV-uTQn_q-PlJx3RZ9q_fS7qTH8YhnIJKYj6NPJgvz1bCUDzxa5CZkH-Ts7zHLrLCIrbiE77xng9KZhEfGx6XOBRF5yUWml35FJEg=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiaXpoO3nLlGklanj6lyc1U3_bXw8KsqDc-po4lFkZTeGUcEjGxkpLbfwFxn_5eJ5hP5nnN9d_tMfwW6Cr0-kLyiVV-uTQn_q-PlJx3RZ9q_fS7qTH8YhnIJKYj6NPJgvz1bCUDzxa5CZkH-Ts7zHLrLCIrbiE77xng9KZhEfGx6XOBRF5yUWml35FJEg=s320" width="320" /></a></i></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span><p></p><p><span><i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #292929; font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: -0.003em; text-size-adjust: auto;">S<span style="font-family: inherit;">top all the clocks, cut off the telephone,</span></span></i></span></p><p class="hm hn du ho b hp hq hr hs ht hu hv hw hx hy hz ia ib ic id ie if ig ih ii ij dn bg" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="ff54" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: inherit; color: #292929; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 28px; margin: 1.56em 0px -0.46em; text-size-adjust: auto; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Silence the pianos and with muffled drum<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.</i></span></p><p class="hm hn du ho b hp hq hr hs ht hu hv hw hx hy hz ia ib ic id ie if ig ih ii ij dn bg" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="a651" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: inherit; color: #292929; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 28px; margin: 1.56em 0px -0.46em; text-size-adjust: auto; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’.<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.</i></span></p><p class="hm hn du ho b hp hq hr hs ht hu hv hw hx hy hz ia ib ic id ie if ig ih ii ij dn bg" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="5578" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: inherit; color: #292929; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 28px; margin: 1.56em 0px -0.46em; text-size-adjust: auto; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><mark class="pw px jr" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: currentcolor; cursor: pointer;">He was my North, my South, my East, and West,<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />My working week and my Sunday rest,<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;</mark><br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.</i></span></p><p class="hm hn du ho b hp hq hr hs ht hu hv hw hx hy hz ia ib ic id ie if ig ih ii ij dn bg" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="6765" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: inherit; color: #292929; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 28px; margin: 1.56em 0px -0.46em; text-size-adjust: auto; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />For nothing now can ever come to any good.</i></span></p><p class="hm hn du ho b hp hq hr hs ht hu hv hw hx hy hz ia ib ic id ie if ig ih ii ij dn bg" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="6765" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: inherit; color: #292929; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 28px; margin: 1.56em 0px -0.46em; text-size-adjust: auto; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>~ "Funeral Blues" by <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/w-h-auden" target="_blank">W.H. Auden</a></i></span></p><p class="hm hn du ho b hp hq hr hs ht hu hv hw hx hy hz ia ib ic id ie if ig ih ii ij dn bg" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="6765" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: inherit; color: #292929; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 28px; margin: 1.56em 0px -0.46em; text-size-adjust: auto; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You passed on a Monday afternoon. Grey held you in his arms close to his heart as they gave the medication that would help end your pain. As I watched you limp around earlier in the day, I knew you were telling us it was time. I knew you were ready to see Jaxson again.</span></p><p class="hm hn du ho b hp hq hr hs ht hu hv hw hx hy hz ia ib ic id ie if ig ih ii ij dn bg" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="6765" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: inherit; color: #292929; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 28px; margin: 1.56em 0px -0.46em; text-size-adjust: auto; word-break: break-word;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQ1TonbJuLuW3Cdr3fIO_8ojaInhksI5vJtfYX3toL3w9lJJuR5SYEEcyJvTonX3r8gM5hROXpndhDAuVFI5pYUzmGvpRfmNCtYqZxl8Fg1zOfh2osTFJ2Ox7AXF3IzKX-BLRgbSMIJF5t1JIg2YP6SQFuQUQ5KscGLZ5Vt1-PSn8o5igp59m_ywscIw=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQ1TonbJuLuW3Cdr3fIO_8ojaInhksI5vJtfYX3toL3w9lJJuR5SYEEcyJvTonX3r8gM5hROXpndhDAuVFI5pYUzmGvpRfmNCtYqZxl8Fg1zOfh2osTFJ2Ox7AXF3IzKX-BLRgbSMIJF5t1JIg2YP6SQFuQUQ5KscGLZ5Vt1-PSn8o5igp59m_ywscIw=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="letter-spacing: -0.003em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div><span style="letter-spacing: -0.003em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div></span></span><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.003em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But with your passing came the loss of my foundation. You and Jaxson were constants during almost two decades of chaos, loss, and change. You both were the sources of unconditional love; the reminder that there is good in this world despite what others may claim.</span></span></p><p></p><p class="hm hn du ho b hp hq hr hs ht hu hv hw hx hy hz ia ib ic id ie if ig ih ii ij dn bg" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="6765" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: inherit; color: #292929; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 28px; margin: 1.56em 0px -0.46em; text-size-adjust: auto; word-break: break-word;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8W1wHwa7ETe3KmaBngn4wJAElNicMQu1myRDmciI4ew0e4ey6KNqR56tItS7VadiGTAQ--VEe0TweO6H0sSx3DskWJ_Fii7yJkQFOjSDmoIzmCRFJN6Fm8NzPHxNNg2XT7rVm6UbocxF6W99PP6Kg-Xu_C2FN7subk-THXBQ33qiLFXEjREG3ZlsPXw=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8W1wHwa7ETe3KmaBngn4wJAElNicMQu1myRDmciI4ew0e4ey6KNqR56tItS7VadiGTAQ--VEe0TweO6H0sSx3DskWJ_Fii7yJkQFOjSDmoIzmCRFJN6Fm8NzPHxNNg2XT7rVm6UbocxF6W99PP6Kg-Xu_C2FN7subk-THXBQ33qiLFXEjREG3ZlsPXw=s320" width="240" /></span></a></div><p></p><p class="hm hn du ho b hp hq hr hs ht hu hv hw hx hy hz ia ib ic id ie if ig ih ii ij dn bg" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="6765" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: inherit; color: #292929; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 28px; margin: 1.56em 0px -0.46em; text-size-adjust: auto; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I never thanked you for loving me when I felt so unlovable. For teaching me what love truly is. You, Miss Daisy, showed me what it meant to be a lady. Elegant, graceful, and beautiful, but tough as nails and refusing to take any shit off of anyone, regardless of their protests and explanations. Your love of adventure meant I'd often find you in the highest and most inconvenient of places, but you refused to apologize for your love of fences and roofs. All dogs be damned if they were bothered.</span></p><p class="hm hn du ho b hp hq hr hs ht hu hv hw hx hy hz ia ib ic id ie if ig ih ii ij dn bg" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="6765" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: inherit; color: #292929; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 28px; margin: 1.56em 0px -0.46em; text-size-adjust: auto; word-break: break-word;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWEWxkr9e4p5Ih_sIXGKFAyHa7ql0dVJzN41_FJKVf51hN7Yb6Q__lm1DonjN6rp-TcmPA4PJ8ZsgL8I9jEd-JpVn1h63s8cNDa0VfLyxDDYuI-yRnmzCYeoARWuagqEn46gmlm5Y2rKvTB5oNlSPo_g5ET67ZQPG05dMQ6y6zy0wr1kz-o1O5r2eKxw=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWEWxkr9e4p5Ih_sIXGKFAyHa7ql0dVJzN41_FJKVf51hN7Yb6Q__lm1DonjN6rp-TcmPA4PJ8ZsgL8I9jEd-JpVn1h63s8cNDa0VfLyxDDYuI-yRnmzCYeoARWuagqEn46gmlm5Y2rKvTB5oNlSPo_g5ET67ZQPG05dMQ6y6zy0wr1kz-o1O5r2eKxw=s320" width="240" /></span></a></div><p></p><p class="hm hn du ho b hp hq hr hs ht hu hv hw hx hy hz ia ib ic id ie if ig ih ii ij dn bg" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="6765" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: inherit; color: #292929; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 28px; margin: 1.56em 0px -0.46em; text-size-adjust: auto; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I knew after losing Jax that you were mourning the loss of your life companion. Watching you grieve was heartbreaking, as you began to slow down and stay inside. Though you clearly loved Grey, Maddy, Teddy, and me, you were also telling us that you were saying goodbye.</span></p><p class="hm hn du ho b hp hq hr hs ht hu hv hw hx hy hz ia ib ic id ie if ig ih ii ij dn bg" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="6765" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: inherit; color: #292929; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 28px; margin: 1.56em 0px -0.46em; text-size-adjust: auto; word-break: break-word;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOp0SHQkMDynNJeVRpe5SdOBElM4Qt6Mz_0aI4Duho4i4UhVGEz7SjpxxteoNRDixH47xSHRHrynYkthPcWB0teK0CbGmUjOIBmWhKaBb-mpXeaWmB8hoyeiseUh-wH8wxEKyujEGHpUi37kPBCTFakoIpYUBcsGEk_32Bcpe5g023MQZDfuIztzJ5hw=s4032" style="letter-spacing: -0.003em; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOp0SHQkMDynNJeVRpe5SdOBElM4Qt6Mz_0aI4Duho4i4UhVGEz7SjpxxteoNRDixH47xSHRHrynYkthPcWB0teK0CbGmUjOIBmWhKaBb-mpXeaWmB8hoyeiseUh-wH8wxEKyujEGHpUi37kPBCTFakoIpYUBcsGEk_32Bcpe5g023MQZDfuIztzJ5hw=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Life is so different without you here. Grey and I feel so unmoored as we can't sense you around us. I know with all my being that you and Jax are reunited, crossing Rainbow Bridge as he was waiting for you. But the loss of you renews the loss of him and combines into a loss so deep that it makes it hard to breathe. You were both the angels we desperately needed and now you are gone. I'm struggling to find my footing now that you're not there to walk beside me.</span></p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I love you so much, Daisy. You will forever be my beautiful peanut butter cup and sweet girl. I promise to embrace all the lessons you taught me, making sure your wisdom and grace live on. I promise to continue living the way you taught me, despite (and maybe because) of the heartbreak. Thank you for making me part of your family. Thank you for loving me and walking beside me. I will miss you until we meet again.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0PyecG4Tt2k" width="320" youtube-src-id="0PyecG4Tt2k"></iframe></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-63947442060248048622021-09-13T22:40:00.002-07:002021-09-13T22:40:25.679-07:00Breakthrough<p>It started with a headache. Following the hottest day of the year (which <a href="https://www.thecrimson.com/article/2021/8/15/Philip-kreycik-obit/" target="_blank">claimed someone else's life</a>), we assumed Teddy had heat exhaustion as he complained of a headache and only wanted to sleep. A fever of 100 degrees F made us wonder, scheduling an appointment for COVID testing to be on the safe side. </p><p>The phone call 2 days later that summer camp was closed due to a COVID case peaked our fears. Both kids testing positive made me angry. But it was my positive test, having been fully vaccinated, that left us all in shock. A breakthrough infection wasn't something anyone had planned for.</p><p>Over the past few months, I've watched a nation go from celebrating the end of a pandemic to return to lockdown. All the while I've been insanely frustrated as I've been well aware of a huge population that is unable to vaccinate, making them a breeding ground of virus and rapid evolution. Despite this reality, so many have been blind to this risk. And now, we are living with the consequences that many who have chosen to ignore the risks are living as they fill the hospitals.</p><p>I wish I could tell you I've been shocked by the developments.</p><p>Instead, I've been doing what many in my profession do and have been looking at the data. For anyone who has an interest in COVID, I strongly suggest stalking <a href="https://twitter.com/trvrb?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor" target="_blank">Trevor Bedford</a>. Especially because of <a href="https://www.biorxiv.org/content/10.1101/2021.09.11.459844v1">this paper</a>. Cause yeah people, this virus is evolving at a scary rate. Meaning the window for eradication is gone. Meaning we have to figure out a way to live with it.</p><p>In light of this new breakthrough realization following a breakthrough diagnosis, the past few months have been about healing and thinking critically about infections and how they impact the body. It took experiencing Mono-levels of fatigue that I remembered I had been diagnosed with Mononucleosis about a year prior to my infertility diagnosis. That connection alone most would discount, but then there was the HELLP syndrome and me finally landing pregnant on my final round of IVF only after we suppressed my immune system. Never mind the diagnosis of pelvic inflammatory disease from my copper IUD (and narrow avoidance of surgery with removal of that IUD). And now being a breakthrough case for COVID.</p><p>If that wasn't enough, there's recent data about the link between the <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/health/2021/09/09/pregnant-covid-mississippi/" target="_blank">increased chance of</a> <a href="https://www.the-scientist.com/news-opinion/doctors-investigate-several-stillbirths-among-moms-with-covid-19-68703" target="_blank">stillbirths with COVID diagnosis</a>. All the while knowing that infertility isn't something anyone is looking into (so much for the disinformation that vaccination causes infertility).</p><p>All of this has been crystalizing into a new breakthrough. The realization that not only are we all going to be spending the rest of our lives (and frankly generations to come) with this virus but also that witnessing what happens when others become fed-up with hoping others will take action to resolve a pandemic solely on the assumption it's the moral thing to do. </p><p>Change is hard. Watching others being forced to change, with their lives and freedoms restricted, no matter how right that is, is brutal. It reminds me of hearing the stories of the women whose reproductive plans were completely destroyed, of failed treatments and the losses. Of the complete loss of control over something that many have no control over despite what they desperately want to believe.</p><p>It's taken me two months to get back to a point where I feel normal. And I firmly believe that the only reason I'm doing as well as I am is because I was vaccinated. In the aftermath of being a breakthrough case, I see a world that is recovering, though there will be a lot of trauma in that recovery process. Just as there's recovery in the aftermath in any pivoting experience that forces us all to change who we are. </p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-77475512181802590392021-06-29T09:21:00.003-07:002021-06-30T10:27:57.993-07:00Countering "Dumb"In 2012, I was given a rare opportunity to teach Developmental Biology at one of the regional schools. The course was offered to me at the last minute, with many logistical issues: incorrectly listed in the course catalog, offered in a lab room instead of a traditional classroom, meaning even water wasn't allowed, and start time at 8:30 am, which was hard for many commuter students. It was a challenge to fill the minimum seating requirements so that it could actually be run. But a massive benefit of all that issues was it allowed for me to incorporate a <a href="https://www.cultofpedagogy.com/tag/flipped-classroom/" target="_blank">flipped classroom model</a>, making it more discovery-based and having students actually read primary literature.<br />
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I walked away from this course with a few different things. The first being that if you actually give students the tools to dissect primary scientific literature, teaching them how to understand what they are looking at and determine what the questions are, they can have some profound insights. </div>
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But the second, and arguably most important, thing was how these students blossomed under the flipped classroom. Many of these students were first-generation, some were older and most had gone the community college route before transferring to this institution. Though they were science majors, many of them confessed that they had always felt dumb on some level because either they hadn't gone the traditional route, some concepts didn't take root as quickly, or they didn't have the aspirations of those they thought would go on to do amazing things. Yet the students demonstrated they were far from dumb. The issue they faced was one of accessibility, allowing them the tools needed to overcome different challenges and hurdles to understanding the material. </div><div><br /></div><div>What should have been a disaster of a course given the initial set up turned into one of the highest-rated courses that quarter (much to the shock of the administration). The lessons I learned have been carried forward. An added perk was I had so much fun, which laid the groundwork for breaking the mold that effective learning only happens when it's painful and repetitive.</div><div><br /></div>
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Conversations about intelligence are something I face on a daily basis. From meetings with colleagues to discussions with my learners to interactions with Maddy and Teddy as well their classmates and their classmates' parents, the conversations may seem benign but there's always an underlying level of anxiety about how you measure up compared to those around you.</div><div><br /></div><div>This has come to a head recently with reopening and discussions about how to incorporate lessons learned from the pandemic to future trainings. There are many who clearly are uncomfortable with the evidence that shows how we traditionally teach and train at the post-secondary and industry level is not effective (and actually an insane drain on the system). While there is push to reform the K-12 system (thoughts on that another time), the reality is that higher education needs a complete overhaul to even meet its mission. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yet, the pushback is profound, as those in positions of privilege argue to the pain about how all of this is untrue and unfair. The fear of being exposed for being outdated is having an impact on even being able to move forward. Needless to say, I'm currently being attacked and demeaned for building something that works. </div><div><br /></div><div>One of the most mind-boggling assumptions/excuses I encounter is the idea that intelligence is fixed: you succeed in life because you are both smart and used your intelligence to worked hard to get where you are. While working at an Ivy League institution, this mindset was pushed, with classes covering the genetics of intelligence to bolster this idea that the students were special due to something that was a birthright. The problem with this messaging is that it is well known that intelligence is complex. It's insanely difficult to measure intelligence, with a lot of backlash about IQ testing and <a href="http://www.sciencemag.org/news/2011/04/what-does-iq-really-measure" target="_blank">what it actually measures</a>. Additionally, there are increasing bodies of evidence that success in life actually requires a well-roundedness not only in traditional measures of intelligence but also <a href="http://www.sciencemag.org/news/2011/04/what-does-iq-really-measure" target="_blank">emotional intelligence</a>. And finally, we now have evidence that <a href="https://www.technologyreview.com/2018/03/01/144958/if-youre-so-smart-why-arent-you-rich-turns-out-its-just-chance/" target="_blank">becoming financially successful has no link with intelligence</a>, meaning those who come from families with financial security initially acquired that security via luck and then used their privilege to try to ensure subsequent generations would also be stable, even t<a href="https://www.nasdaq.com/articles/generational-wealth%3A-why-do-70-of-families-lose-their-wealth-in-the-2nd-generation-2018-10" target="_blank">hough often this is unsuccessfu</a>l. (Hence the Chinese proverb "wealth only last three generations.")</div><div><br /></div><div>This past year of lockdown combined with the Black Lives Matter movement and all the suppression that is currently happening has spotlighted that "dumb" is something that's not inherited or fixed. Many educators and thought leaders are exploring <a href="https://www.brainpickings.org/2014/01/29/carol-dweck-mindset/" target="_blank">Growth Mindset</a>, revealing that almost everyone has the ability to master different difficult concepts. It's just a matter of changing the approaches and even the language that's used to encourage and praise, building a toolkit for learners to be successful. But I also argue that an additional component is access, looking at the environment and allowing equal access to resources instead of restricting them to a select few.</div><div><br /></div><div>All of this brings me to my current conundrum, as this messaging scares those in positions of power. I spend a lot of time fighting with people who are now facing their privilege, fighting to silence it, all the while failing to deliver because they won’t humble themselves to adapt. This mindset is currently source of so much stress in my life and the insanity I’m witnessing, combined with being threatened by those who have previously been unaware of how systems have benefitted them, makes me want to quit. And yet, one thing that has become apparent is that as much as those who previously benefitted would like to return to the previous normal, the world is greatly changed. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, despite the fact I'm spitting mad and fear losing my job, I continue to push for change: Challenging this idea that "dumb" and "poor" are not moral failings, but that "rich" and "privileged" maybe are.</div>
Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-75928354345711088072021-06-28T13:49:00.000-07:002021-06-28T13:49:04.253-07:00#MicroblogMondays: Grumpy<p><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? </em><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/" style="color: #cc0000; padding: 0px;">Read the inaugural post</a> which explains the idea and how you can participate too.</em></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>A Grumpy Poem</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>I wrote a grumpy poem</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>And this is how it goes</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>GROUCH!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>GRRRR!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>HURMPH!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>SQUINT!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>SCRUNCH!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>STOMP!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>SLAM!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>That is how my grumps go</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>From my head down to my toes!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>~By Daniel, age 5, link <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.poemsearcher.com%2Ftopic%2Fadventure&psig=AOvVaw0RYlv8uYfWgUlH6DVphB4f&ust=1624999315737000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAoQjRxqFwoTCIjslqyYu_ECFQAAAAAdAAAAABAD" target="_blank">here</a></i></p><p><br /></p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-36661095974648741132021-06-23T20:12:00.005-07:002021-06-23T22:24:50.685-07:00Haunted<p>One of Jaxson's hallmarks was the unique way he would wake Grey and me up early every morning. As a young cat, this was him finding the spot in the hallway where the acoustics were perfect to echo his meows throughout the condo (and on some days, throughout the building). In Boston, he turned his attention to shades, rattling them just right. But the house in California brought sliding glassdoor blinds into his repertoire, adding a distinctive 'clacking' sound as he would pass his tail along them, with the only relief from the madness being to open the door and release him into the pre-dawn to explore.</p><p>Daisy, though enjoying the outdoors, was not a dawn kitty. While Jaxson loved the mist and the cool air, she was content to lay in her bed, saving her exploits for later in the day or evening.</p><p>All that changed after Jaxson died, with Daisy taking up his morning routine, driving both Grey and me a bit insane.</p><p>This change isn't the only thing I've noticed since Jaxson passed. I catch glimpses of a black and white form in the garden most days, lingering in the areas that I regularly tend. Cupboard doors for cabinets he used to explore have been left ajar. And despite my neighbors complaining of rats, we haven't had a single one (note that Daisy is not a mouser). </p><p>Ghosts have been on my mind as of late, particularly with stories about <a href="https://www.cnn.com/2021/06/20/health/supernatural-encounters-pandemic-loved-ones-blake/index.html" target="_blank">people being visited by loved ones who died from COVID</a>. For some, the experience is terrifying, but hearing about others describe the peace they feel with those contacts, allowing them closure, has been heart-warming and reaffirming in my long-held belief that those we love never truly leave us.</p><p>I don't know how long the haunting will continue. A part of me hopes it will be for a long while, even though the sightings and strange occurrences are happening less. For now, all I can do is treasure the signs, hoping that this ghost can sense how deeply he is loved and missed.</p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-64433989957089910912021-06-22T10:16:00.001-07:002021-06-22T10:16:15.544-07:00#MicroblogMondays: And life goes on<p> <em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? </em><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/" style="color: #cc0000; padding: 0px;">Read the inaugural post</a> which explains the idea and how you can participate too.</em></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2YFS_k6n3CKsD0dG29tAyoBPs605_D4OUyDc_wX4shWZ3GD1EhwXDAsHc9u-8C3pKvbB2k1Gt7FbQXEx7bl0WQQno6WbUP1uOieDNkEkNyw-KCgLO0JNwNkJPEyAa2qVvOEzsCNDiouU/s2048/IMG_4100.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2YFS_k6n3CKsD0dG29tAyoBPs605_D4OUyDc_wX4shWZ3GD1EhwXDAsHc9u-8C3pKvbB2k1Gt7FbQXEx7bl0WQQno6WbUP1uOieDNkEkNyw-KCgLO0JNwNkJPEyAa2qVvOEzsCNDiouU/w400-h300/IMG_4100.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br /></em><p></p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-37025902419954374982021-06-17T12:02:00.001-07:002021-06-17T12:02:10.978-07:00Daisy<p>She sleeps in his spots. Gathering the objects that were his close by her. For a week after he passed, she slept for most of the day, refusing to be comforted or cuddled. Even now, she sleeps more than she previously did, though she smiles when in the areas that smell of him. Her grief is visible but very unique to anything I've ever witnessed.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwoX8ik212R3YmU43pAbi5E_KxiPFJMKdn_SjdLeAe7y1tULOUQjBATXeVmfmDDOgubZJjhjaX9r9BiDzgK6OwWLGUtc5z-72pa-SQsGPxe9vOOT07Q53PIp_mXEEtL0Ct6eLuwMyM6jM/s2048/IMG_4089.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwoX8ik212R3YmU43pAbi5E_KxiPFJMKdn_SjdLeAe7y1tULOUQjBATXeVmfmDDOgubZJjhjaX9r9BiDzgK6OwWLGUtc5z-72pa-SQsGPxe9vOOT07Q53PIp_mXEEtL0Ct6eLuwMyM6jM/w400-h300/IMG_4089.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I don't talk often about Daisy on her own. Jaxson was a larger-than-life individual who easily drew attention. But that doesn't mean that Daisy is in any way a shrinking violet, which was evident when you saw the two of them together. There's was one of the longest relationships I know of, with a bond that still runs very deep. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-rlJG-UWncWHhdSRqDevCxtcEWsIsycHRhNk_RmWQeiLCjA1SqSnhVYr4fxeZynCiuhXzcjKTuCDkJxNh1sGTbIaM6XLiToY69HIBa4gBu9LBnLCKpIq75meOCafJC55N4DWaz5OIi66/s2048/IMG_3580.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-rlJG-UWncWHhdSRqDevCxtcEWsIsycHRhNk_RmWQeiLCjA1SqSnhVYr4fxeZynCiuhXzcjKTuCDkJxNh1sGTbIaM6XLiToY69HIBa4gBu9LBnLCKpIq75meOCafJC55N4DWaz5OIi66/w400-h300/IMG_3580.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>The foundation of that bond came from their introduction. Jaxson came into our lives shortly after Grey and I were engaged and he was our only cat for about 6 months following the loss of my first cat. As I watched him in the evenings, bored out of his mind, I knew a companion was needed, but Jaxson also didn't do well with other animals. Intent on controlling his territory, I knew it would take someone who wouldn't put up with his BS.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGPHDW5_FSiP1_qstOZvBm7b-Sbh-3PkaavScbjYuBjUn7src5__Ez8wSprYHl17aXMPdGRmbaSmvqmExfMA_oC6JOrqWaNqtwa7GridC79TVmEkkRhrRErClLR12BGcm9hDhtW9iR5i97/s2048/IMG_3367.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGPHDW5_FSiP1_qstOZvBm7b-Sbh-3PkaavScbjYuBjUn7src5__Ez8wSprYHl17aXMPdGRmbaSmvqmExfMA_oC6JOrqWaNqtwa7GridC79TVmEkkRhrRErClLR12BGcm9hDhtW9iR5i97/w400-h300/IMG_3367.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>We found Daisy the day after we returned from our honeymoon. The trip to the shelter was spent playing with kittens and meeting many cats, but it was Daisy (named Apricot at the time) who caught Grey's attention. The next day of formalizing her adoption, which should have been the simple part, was an adventure. We arrived at the shelter to him a guy bellowing at the animal control officer about how he wanted his dog Boomer back. The officer was clearly pissed (frankly, I'm amazed she didn't stick him in a cage), and when she got to us, turned her frustration onto me. After navigating the madness in the front, which was freaking everyone in the shelter out, and packing up this tiny cat, we found ourselves on driving home. It was then that Grey commented on Daisy's size and said "we may have to bring her back if Jaxson hurts her."</p><p>Those words would haunt us for the next week, given how stupid we were with introducing Daisy to Jaxson. Instead of giving her her own space to acclimate, we immediately let her explore the entire apartment, with Jaxson hot on her heels, growling the whole way. We were woken at 2 am to witness our stupidity with us witnessing Daisy beating the snot out of Jaxson. She had turned into a hellcat and could literally toss him across the room, which shocked all three of us. This continued for a few days, despite separating her from him, with the final straw being finding him cowering in the corner of the kitchen with a scratch across his nose while she was actively hunting for him.</p><p>The vet immediately diagnosed her with PTSD and prescribed Valium. For three days, Daisy laid on the couch in a semi-conscious state. And that's when things changed as Jaxson took that time to lay beside her, grooming her and making nice. When we stopped the meds, she returned the affection. From that day forward, they were inseparable, with her kicking his butt if he ever crossed the line or was too much of a jerk.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-IImcahkMLCOqhwiPlF9-MS6-B0m-E6eydieQFtLddLTFxQR89wFZA9hRDDKwVdYDDn_LFGcgr5Fl3DIRcIEzu7e7tSEokbOSNxhN8jD1AtPuTo8PYrNITbRGNwFql_d_Rxq2gU6CeKzM/s2048/IMG_3385.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-IImcahkMLCOqhwiPlF9-MS6-B0m-E6eydieQFtLddLTFxQR89wFZA9hRDDKwVdYDDn_LFGcgr5Fl3DIRcIEzu7e7tSEokbOSNxhN8jD1AtPuTo8PYrNITbRGNwFql_d_Rxq2gU6CeKzM/s320/IMG_3385.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Over the past week, I've spent a lot of time thinking about that beginning as I've watched Daisy mourn losing Jaxson. They were together for 17 years, which is longer than most human relationships. But if you think about it more, realizing that both cats turned 18 years old this year, which translates to 88 years old when comparing to humans, and remember that they were around 20 years old in human years when they first met, then one realizes their relationship is much, much older. I'm effectively watching a feisty elderly woman mourn the loss of her life partner. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There's really no grand lesson with watching Daisy process her loss. Love is love, as simple as can be. But maybe that's what is grand and profound. Two animals spent a life together, loving and caring for one another, building a life while the humans carted them around the country and threw so much craziness their way. Instead of tolerating it, they added to it, making it clear that they were part of our family. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now there's a hole. And as I try to navigate my grief, I look to Daisy who is unapologetic in hers. A tiny brown cat who is still just as feisty, but honoring the loss of a life that was while continuing her journey.</div><div><br /></div>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-17913580338843426932021-06-16T09:23:00.003-07:002021-06-16T09:23:41.747-07:00Raising orchids<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The first time I encountered death was when I was 14 years old. My great-grandmother was dying and, per midwestern tradition, my father's family gathered as she spent her last days in ICU and then for the funeral. I remember her lying in the sterile ICU room, hooked up to monitors and having ice chips passed over her lips while she moaned in unconsciousness. I remember the open casket, with her small body dressed to perfection for that final rest. But most importantly, I have no memory of any adult helping me or any other child process what we were witnessing and how to handle the emotions. Instead, I watched my grandmother, who had a complicated relationship with her mother, actively suppressing all the emotions that came with death. I witnessed the others actively engaging in avoidant behavior, issuing platitudes, and enforcing social rules so as not to bring these "negative" emotions to the surface. And once the casket closed, there was an unspoken understanding that none of what was witnessed would be mentioned again. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Death has been at the forefront of my mind this year. Starting with <a href="https://searchingforoursilverlining.blogspot.com/2021/03/microblogmondays-for-pretty-lady.html" target="_blank">Scruffy passing</a>, then <a href="https://searchingforoursilverlining.blogspot.com/2021/04/their-grief.html" target="_blank">one of Maddy and Teddy's teachers dying</a>, and then a coworker's teenage daughter committing suicide, I've been reflecting on how I was taught to process death and how poorly that served me as I encounter loss in my adult life. The idea that death is anything other than awful, scary and to be feared is something Western culture struggles with. With is massively unhealthy, particularly with how it influences the grieving processes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So when I learned that Jaxson was actively dying and we had only a few days left, I made a plan to do something that has shocked many. Sitting down with Maddy and Teddy while holding Jaxson, we explained to the kids that Jaxson was dying and that we were going to be taking him to the vet to help him pass. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then I gave both kids the choice of coming with us to the vet to be part of the process. Emphasizing for them that this was their decision and there was no judgment either way. Without hesitation, both said they wanted to be with Jaxson as he passed from this world, holding his paw while they said goodbye.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With the pandemic, the topic of <a href="https://www.usatoday.com/story/life/allthemoms/2019/03/05/is-your-kid-dandelion-orchid-science-helps-sensitive-kids-thrive/3068000002/" target="_blank">dandelion children vs. orchid children</a> has gotten a lot of attention. <a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/articles/201901/why-some-children-are-orchids-and-others-are-dandelions" target="_blank">Thomas Boyce's work</a> on understanding how genetics and environment impact resilience (and the links with mental illness) has been fascinating, but with this past year in lock-down, has become required reading for all given how so many have struggled. For Grey and me, knowing we are raising orchid children, who are more sensitive to disruption and chaos, has been critical to ensuring that both Maddy and Teddy emerged from this pandemic relatively unscathed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Though seemingly unconventional, addressing the needs of our orchid children has resulted in them thriving in an environment that should have burned them out. Maddy not only met all her IEP goals this year but was exited from her IEP. Though 504 plans are in place for both kids, their teachers have commented on how they may not need these plans in the future (though I'm fighting to keep these in place for now). The tools and support strategies developed for them have resulted in two relatively gritty individuals who have a far healthy sense of the world than either of their parents (and arguably many members of their family, both living and deceased). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJFNDtV7ih7imalC9WmOzyWDHvsMN-SDwvNAMEKeCBOn2G9K8pwUDJaZxuIz5YUI2XGre7SLEIY4pdxdiruEufytyzVgZEyk4XehZWvzAuSDh69G7m-P1kBEOca6l0rzIIRKmdmYqMd4Qy/s2048/IMG_4087.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJFNDtV7ih7imalC9WmOzyWDHvsMN-SDwvNAMEKeCBOn2G9K8pwUDJaZxuIz5YUI2XGre7SLEIY4pdxdiruEufytyzVgZEyk4XehZWvzAuSDh69G7m-P1kBEOca6l0rzIIRKmdmYqMd4Qy/w400-h300/IMG_4087.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br />With Jaxson's death and mourning his passing, Maddy and Teddy have been very involved with the process. They were in the room before he was euthanized and saw his body after he passed, allowing them to see that death could be peaceful as well as final. In the days following his death, they've both talked about him, expressing their sadness, created art of him and for him, talked openly about being sad, and made a point of spending time with Daisy as she has been grieving. We've cried together, talked about souls and beliefs about the afterlife, and begun a discussion about living well. <p></p><p>What's been shocking has been others' responses to what they are observing, with both kids mourning well when so many have been afraid of what their response would be. I've encountered anger from others with this shock, as beliefs are being challenged (and in one case repressed grieving has surfaced), but generally, the observations have been openings to conversations. There's been a lot of good that from this experience, despite a terrible loss.</p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-29278652173244218372021-06-14T09:42:00.002-07:002021-06-14T09:42:46.330-07:00#MicroblogMondays: Missing him<p> <em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? </em><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/" style="color: #cc0000; padding: 0px;">Read the inaugural post</a> which explains the idea and how you can participate too.</em></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVFxT967cqL2A5dKjCMSagTGHMQKO7sjhnRcT_UyUslGfbMAuQIFUySP2wBGYiUkgRUMmCPlkUjaYSfe-PsKTNoutdJYp03JCatMuPb1CmkGqXyhKxr_WsFlEw_mvWfchv6YYXRJbgofe/s2048/IMG_4089.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVFxT967cqL2A5dKjCMSagTGHMQKO7sjhnRcT_UyUslGfbMAuQIFUySP2wBGYiUkgRUMmCPlkUjaYSfe-PsKTNoutdJYp03JCatMuPb1CmkGqXyhKxr_WsFlEw_mvWfchv6YYXRJbgofe/w400-h300/IMG_4089.jpeg" width="400" /></a></em></div><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br /></em><p></p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-41534249315745216912021-06-09T13:32:00.006-07:002021-06-23T21:56:57.835-07:00Beloved<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGiyWZkbukEyrNbspnIXrhNi6ShO6_5HEI385G2FQWkxW2jMMIBvxvWrp9kw3uoJnJLRtBStVtSqlhTbc-rdDRlaVzPbmushgieLHt_WuVZj89-TqwBuKuN0omlLDThRFmG_OijpEGZ88r/s2048/IMG_3616.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGiyWZkbukEyrNbspnIXrhNi6ShO6_5HEI385G2FQWkxW2jMMIBvxvWrp9kw3uoJnJLRtBStVtSqlhTbc-rdDRlaVzPbmushgieLHt_WuVZj89-TqwBuKuN0omlLDThRFmG_OijpEGZ88r/w400-h300/IMG_3616.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>You died on a Tuesday afternoon. And we are making plans for the garden where your ashes will be spread. The house feels so empty without you. The energy is so different without you here and my body aches with the knowledge it won't feel your softness pressed against it. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZIt-WHAy3GKxEsSf-Q_SuTIGgCKu1SWqun77PONF5lFcQH1sc33ho1Dv_Ginf7zMkCTETG63p7vFlatacq7tcx57V-zHVwlyIV9hR8dLpuQ3w6onXj4BokyO1cN3I03X54rxjJGCXmxhi/s2048/63116830050__E70B0E84-9AB4-493F-A312-88873C432E1C.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZIt-WHAy3GKxEsSf-Q_SuTIGgCKu1SWqun77PONF5lFcQH1sc33ho1Dv_Ginf7zMkCTETG63p7vFlatacq7tcx57V-zHVwlyIV9hR8dLpuQ3w6onXj4BokyO1cN3I03X54rxjJGCXmxhi/w300-h400/63116830050__E70B0E84-9AB4-493F-A312-88873C432E1C.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmctDDgH1AvNADRsvwLdZhnBDEIyh9WU4d7ggvbCDNP6XDDMBM4VxeCQXe7fo450OAMqtjG8fHf6h9qiApLwJo5CRIg8oYvi9MSJH9qrP0RbEcP37FKD6VkbzzOVvgicy76yrOFoA2GS37/s2048/63963612587__08AE69C9-42E7-47E7-9153-994FFEFBC236.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmctDDgH1AvNADRsvwLdZhnBDEIyh9WU4d7ggvbCDNP6XDDMBM4VxeCQXe7fo450OAMqtjG8fHf6h9qiApLwJo5CRIg8oYvi9MSJH9qrP0RbEcP37FKD6VkbzzOVvgicy76yrOFoA2GS37/w400-h300/63963612587__08AE69C9-42E7-47E7-9153-994FFEFBC236.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Almost 18 years ago, you can into my life. No more than 3 lbs and missing fur on your nose after a day spent in a cage, watching all your siblings be adopted while you were left behind. My heart ached from the recent loss of one of my other cats and I didn't think I was ready to love again. But when you threw your paws around my neck, I knew I had to take you home. Your chaotic nature reminded both Grey and me that life was continuing and we needed to continue with living it while honoring what was lost. A year later when Daisy came home and after a traumatic introduction, you two bonded and we all became a family. You brought the light of life with you.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5FZUJd7br2AdETZFbNOJH55jUnsr8s_-WZXD4FqxO-Zcp6TFc9m_XqG0EUm6r9Lah-Fl2nJovt3IzootuIm5MQnRw-HRtJPNHmTCCJTTbYaLGmTqkG7i8Q06KfMcSEovjUjKIvEeA_aJ1/s2048/IMG_3660.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1311" data-original-width="2048" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5FZUJd7br2AdETZFbNOJH55jUnsr8s_-WZXD4FqxO-Zcp6TFc9m_XqG0EUm6r9Lah-Fl2nJovt3IzootuIm5MQnRw-HRtJPNHmTCCJTTbYaLGmTqkG7i8Q06KfMcSEovjUjKIvEeA_aJ1/w400-h256/IMG_3660.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3MHeCdTOa5uuYQ9I9CE356wUbgwZLeLeCBIBS9Kl1lUVn0ymitJRsgUte92QxAY0VUm5gC8D_SnNAvOX4IfDJzCNPbWA326kSDJlnP_LBx710BGTaC68JNm85yn8lLjCTSNrG-vC5hbd/s2048/IMG_3580.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3MHeCdTOa5uuYQ9I9CE356wUbgwZLeLeCBIBS9Kl1lUVn0ymitJRsgUte92QxAY0VUm5gC8D_SnNAvOX4IfDJzCNPbWA326kSDJlnP_LBx710BGTaC68JNm85yn8lLjCTSNrG-vC5hbd/w400-h300/IMG_3580.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>I never expected the journey we would have together; surviving graduate school and all the change that came from that process. Then there were the darkest years of my life of living through infertility, repeat losses, and having "family" turn its back. Those moments when the only lifeline I had was having you curl up beside me. I never thanked you for saving me during that time, reminding me that I was loved and that life was still worth living, even if it looked different than what I had planned for.</p><p>You shifted with me again when the kids arrived, ending one chapter and opening a new one. Reluctant at first to welcome these two odd creatures, you quickly claimed them both, watching over them navigating this world. You were the calm during the storm of two major moves for our family, first to the East Coast and later back West, working in tandem with Daisy to turn whatever space we occupied into a home. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzqj7ItddiANWmFXy5fOrKfgqQKWGcT_xdHh1thIbnizykHzFFigDjqV1C0sckL0mu2W-t6X-IzFb75UQKsoOBExq6_gCwyfiXB_9qADHnagRyD0beQ6Ea1V8a3JX0PWfuRcGi-RJ6l-7/s2048/IMG_0655.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzqj7ItddiANWmFXy5fOrKfgqQKWGcT_xdHh1thIbnizykHzFFigDjqV1C0sckL0mu2W-t6X-IzFb75UQKsoOBExq6_gCwyfiXB_9qADHnagRyD0beQ6Ea1V8a3JX0PWfuRcGi-RJ6l-7/s320/IMG_0655.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiICRVQNJ8W63nzsCqhN73zRGv2CiT99WqhL7lXw1_Gn_UwPBu6_kWZqzb5RiMqlEraRNnU0poMf4BVZApRN_iFOWVcWvfR_1OlY1IrfzNezuJza-HGZyJnRO0LAxuH8KtSTXPByKW9X1F2/s2048/IMG_3395.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiICRVQNJ8W63nzsCqhN73zRGv2CiT99WqhL7lXw1_Gn_UwPBu6_kWZqzb5RiMqlEraRNnU0poMf4BVZApRN_iFOWVcWvfR_1OlY1IrfzNezuJza-HGZyJnRO0LAxuH8KtSTXPByKW9X1F2/w300-h400/IMG_3395.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p>I miss your facial expressions. Being greeted by you every morning with a meow that was uniquely yours. Spending evenings with you on my lap, insisting on being pet. During this past year, doing all my teaching with you close by, routinely putting a paw on me to let me know that you were there and all would be alright in a world that most certainly wasn't.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Ro54qcaBo7w_z4v57_wonGsVjOgS6QDb89_d3nUxnYzzHcnnEj6pUwSlaQTMuXBHg-ncSaT4MXYocU3wA9jXUoI-9cm5K3YNLap0zriI5bz1VCgAKil6__atimoJmVW6hTV5YieWc0aV/s2048/IMG_3955.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Ro54qcaBo7w_z4v57_wonGsVjOgS6QDb89_d3nUxnYzzHcnnEj6pUwSlaQTMuXBHg-ncSaT4MXYocU3wA9jXUoI-9cm5K3YNLap0zriI5bz1VCgAKil6__atimoJmVW6hTV5YieWc0aV/w300-h400/IMG_3955.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5RouC3-VGWRLKXdnh3Y8_xdtfvCQD-tpyWsk4IA3Xp_tEQf79mkIPaWDGMpQYIwElqAW-YC5BrwBd7EEk8BFnl7DybFHCmTFb_p1_yBTJj8K8fVmEyYg5ch0Nmhh9Gl92l-MEPcHLSb0/s2048/IMG_3547.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5RouC3-VGWRLKXdnh3Y8_xdtfvCQD-tpyWsk4IA3Xp_tEQf79mkIPaWDGMpQYIwElqAW-YC5BrwBd7EEk8BFnl7DybFHCmTFb_p1_yBTJj8K8fVmEyYg5ch0Nmhh9Gl92l-MEPcHLSb0/w300-h400/IMG_3547.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPcnA3GkgBfhWtXRAhZ8Q_AHPN2aE8I5YKym6wGr-HrGS54wbKPt-CwVJX2x33RX7cOjdl3yBefiP60UHGOl8byfyqfNFICX5HsvvdDQbV6HIRughAdOsR5aeglqT_UwCFzAKBTpbwAjMQ/s2048/IMG_3671+%25281%2529.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPcnA3GkgBfhWtXRAhZ8Q_AHPN2aE8I5YKym6wGr-HrGS54wbKPt-CwVJX2x33RX7cOjdl3yBefiP60UHGOl8byfyqfNFICX5HsvvdDQbV6HIRughAdOsR5aeglqT_UwCFzAKBTpbwAjMQ/w300-h400/IMG_3671+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p>I knew the end was coming. After finding that growth on your body, it was only a matter of when. Still, I wasn't ready for the news that the cancer had spread throughout your body. I didn't want to let you go despite all the signs you were giving me that it was time.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOngMa6q_lCKo5JYLOTUHXduyU5R6GvwRussYM_kVYwt3h8W2N-mFRhqkyRME-sPEYkn9jCWp1_NM_y7s13uNl_GXgqA6E9MYUKLCPOlSYKybHeB8_LXd_ZCYDgSYnunP7rk4-L-3-ssSf/s2048/IMG_4042.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOngMa6q_lCKo5JYLOTUHXduyU5R6GvwRussYM_kVYwt3h8W2N-mFRhqkyRME-sPEYkn9jCWp1_NM_y7s13uNl_GXgqA6E9MYUKLCPOlSYKybHeB8_LXd_ZCYDgSYnunP7rk4-L-3-ssSf/s320/IMG_4042.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Yesterday, you woke me at 4 am to go outside to watch the sunrise one last time. Daisy joined you, which was unusual for her, so I knew you both understood what was happening. You then taught with me one last time, pressing your head to my leg during the moments I felt less sure. Giving me that look I know so well that was telling me everything would be alright.</p><p>Your parting gift to me was you allowed me to hold you as you died. You trusted that I would let you go, even though I desperately didn't want to. Despite snarling at the vet, making it clear you would happily bite them, you allowed me to put my arms around you and touch you while they administered the drugs that would stop your heart. You breathed your last breath while I stroked your body; a sigh that released your soul and allowed you to be free. </p><p>You've left behind so many beautiful memories of a life well-lived. A life where you brought so much love, comedy, adventure, and grit. I can't begin to tell you how much you are missed already. Daisy is visibly heartbroken not to have you here, Maddy and Teddy swing between laughing about the memories of you and crying because you are gone. Grey and I are physically numb. My being hurts from the knowledge that you're no longer here. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1Yurn9tieHNKKoKkWwvoRkkwgcImljQAvV4CVqk_dNE6U0BJ2w3WQiY3iqyl_MB0MjLrGhI7Fo9-omImS5GhkuZ55mScbt3nWH-9PzZ-foX9wi_WFRhMsqsUuTcJXyQyqQD6pEo1g5NB/s2048/IMG_4058.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1Yurn9tieHNKKoKkWwvoRkkwgcImljQAvV4CVqk_dNE6U0BJ2w3WQiY3iqyl_MB0MjLrGhI7Fo9-omImS5GhkuZ55mScbt3nWH-9PzZ-foX9wi_WFRhMsqsUuTcJXyQyqQD6pEo1g5NB/w400-h300/IMG_4058.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>I don't know how to live my life without you in it, my beloved. This next chapter without you in it terrifies me. But I also know that you expect me to continue living and living in the manner you taught me to. That doing anything less is not an option as your lessons are firmly engrained.</p><p>I love you so much Jaxson; I always will. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for pointing me to the light. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/IqFsRt0uYzA" width="320" youtube-src-id="IqFsRt0uYzA"></iframe></div><p><br /></p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-22762018923635881802021-04-12T18:34:00.000-07:002021-04-12T18:34:02.725-07:00#MicroblogMondays: I'm not there<p> <em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? </em><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/" style="color: #cc0000; padding: 0px;">Read the inaugural post</a> which explains the idea and how you can participate too.</em></p><p><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br /></em></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoMxhwixcpsZesl_JhzX596bwzyet7eKtQzQpvs_ScTZVL733BXaEhbXk4vYq-S6CQyCIHZtF4tY4GO2k2zePxhU-j7kdefS2iQ1MvC3Fjj-aIFEh_51BjE6Mo76NaV05gNvtl2Fqild0K/s2048/IMG_3858.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoMxhwixcpsZesl_JhzX596bwzyet7eKtQzQpvs_ScTZVL733BXaEhbXk4vYq-S6CQyCIHZtF4tY4GO2k2zePxhU-j7kdefS2iQ1MvC3Fjj-aIFEh_51BjE6Mo76NaV05gNvtl2Fqild0K/w480-h640/IMG_3858.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br /></em><p></p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-43810498025447746062021-04-06T18:25:00.005-07:002021-04-06T18:25:36.296-07:00Their grief<p>The email came on the evening of Easter. With "sad news" in the subject line, we learned that one of Maddy and Teddy's teachers died on Saturday in a car accident.</p><p>On the heels of <a href="https://searchingforoursilverlining.blogspot.com/2021/03/microblogmondays-for-pretty-lady.html" target="_blank">losing Scruffy</a>, I'm at a loss for how to tell them.</p><p>So today, following a medical appointment for Grey, we sought the ocean.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPBnlcKuI4MHqIkBrJDK0rb2ifALoOc_vjD9Rgt8Gb2lSo1NU_lAwjnnOytF3sjUgL670H2YHJRRiwzF1-NG2g2m9RxQjkj33hyVMRNjrRncQE-F19HDURwg0gfHtJDLgsMh9-QMADz_C/s2048/IMG_3844.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPBnlcKuI4MHqIkBrJDK0rb2ifALoOc_vjD9Rgt8Gb2lSo1NU_lAwjnnOytF3sjUgL670H2YHJRRiwzF1-NG2g2m9RxQjkj33hyVMRNjrRncQE-F19HDURwg0gfHtJDLgsMh9-QMADz_C/w640-h480/IMG_3844.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>As they played, I watched the waves, allowing the rhythm of water catching on the shore to calm my spirit and unjumble the thoughts and emotions from all the loss from this past week. From this past year. </p><p>From a lifetime. </p><p>Grief is hard on so many levels and learning how to manage it for me has been an education. Learning how to help others manage it, especially the young ones, is a different level. I have zero illusions about what this will look like or how it will play out. </p><p>What I do know is that I will punch anyone who tries to tell me that losing this teacher isn't a great loss. Come Monday, an entire elementary school will be grieving together and encountering a loss few could have imagined. In a blink, everything has changed.</p><p>So instead I'm left preparing to confront grief. Only this time, their grief and healing are foremost on my mind.</p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-77583032627285665942021-04-05T12:54:00.000-07:002021-04-05T12:54:36.978-07:00#MicroblogMondays: Latibule<p><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? </em><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/" style="color: #cc0000; padding: 0px;">Read the inaugural post</a> which explains the idea and how you can participate too.</em></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh16kTjAXEphlzsNE_RZOxY7Mw-5YqzAyX4TSAqRYwhgY4qKQKR5F7o5wTv0ruX-Z7LZr5LxGRltkL7z-OqA3t-XH_Ibr3ZUYM4TUFhY7RzQEi3l1tU6H6wxPq9JPS5Zrlr8VT7yyrRZw7g/s2048/IMG_3724.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh16kTjAXEphlzsNE_RZOxY7Mw-5YqzAyX4TSAqRYwhgY4qKQKR5F7o5wTv0ruX-Z7LZr5LxGRltkL7z-OqA3t-XH_Ibr3ZUYM4TUFhY7RzQEi3l1tU6H6wxPq9JPS5Zrlr8VT7yyrRZw7g/w640-h480/IMG_3724.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><i>"There is a secret medicine given only to those who hurt so hard they can't hope. The hopers would feel slighted if they knew."</i></p><p><i>~Rumi</i></p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-5708540131280569572021-04-01T08:38:00.004-07:002021-04-01T10:35:16.507-07:00Body grief<p> The feeling is a familiar one. Like the aftermath of being electrocuted or being beaten. My nerves feel raw and I'm sensitive to sound, light, even touch. My thoughts come more slowly, with brain fog clouding my judgment and perception. The need to sleep is always there. And I'm insanely cold, despite it being a warm, sunny day.</p><p>Grief is a familiar companion, especially this time of year. My body always slows down with those first blossoms, reminding me of <a href="https://searchingforoursilverlining.blogspot.com/2012/04/untelling.html" target="_blank">what was lost</a>. But this year it's especially hard, both with <a href="https://searchingforoursilverlining.blogspot.com/2021/03/microblogmondays-for-pretty-lady.html">the loss of this one</a> and the news that Jaxson has the same disease, with me not being ready to let him go. And so the fresh wounds pile on the old. With me trying to distract myself in order just to get through the day.</p><p>Yet my body has other plans.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJD2i7eIlWBAsFgfxhkoVildyGyC-1GIBsXrH1jLSJUXazJYNby29fx8sv-T08zVj_tc0tluO35wdViZU4BUXe8UPYGhHx3WAXY2MF-pdTGW3XbS49M7v6MFf69_oiuVbq8tFZl6AtEssj/s2048/IMG_3818.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJD2i7eIlWBAsFgfxhkoVildyGyC-1GIBsXrH1jLSJUXazJYNby29fx8sv-T08zVj_tc0tluO35wdViZU4BUXe8UPYGhHx3WAXY2MF-pdTGW3XbS49M7v6MFf69_oiuVbq8tFZl6AtEssj/w400-h300/IMG_3818.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>A massive flaw in Western culture is the blindspot to grief and grieving. Grief is inconvenient and uncomfortable. Grief is economically costly. For many, grief brings to the surface pain and toxic behaviors that many would prefer to stay buried. And there is no rule book for grief, despite the request for timelines and rules for engagement, as it is an incredibly personal process. </p><p>Compounding all of this is that as much as we'd like to divorce ourselves for our grief, our bodies manifest it. The aches, pains, slowness, and fluctuating weight are all signs that our bodies are processing, even when our minds are not. It can feel like regression, especially when one is making strides towards healing, to experience these symptoms as usually, they aren't temporary. Every year my body reenters the grief cycle, which has been a struggle to deal with when my mind knows it has to perform counter to that.</p><p>One silver lining of this pandemic is the world has been forced to confront the language of grief. More research is coming out, and many are beginning to talk more openly about it (I recommend <a href="https://hbr.org/2020/03/that-discomfort-youre-feeling-is-grief" target="_blank">this</a>, <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4345827/" target="_blank">this</a>, and <a href="https://scienceline.org/2015/07/is-there-a-reason-for-grief/" target="_blank">this</a>). <a href="https://slate.com/culture/2021/03/wandavision-trauma-recovery-i-may-destroy-you-flight-attendant.html" target="_blank">Pop culture is even beginning to examine it.</a> Yet with all of this, what we're still not focusing on is what grief is, what its purpose is, and why honoring it is so essential, especially with those who want so desperately to return to what was. And how fighting with one's body, forcing it to forget, is pretty destructive.</p><p>Sitting here and typing this all out, I recognize my default is to try to logic my way out of this grief. Life happens, it's for the best, no longer suffering. It's not your fault. And yet, despite those truths, I also realize that the only way to heal is to go through it. To push back on all the pressures and vocalize that right now is hard, despite others' disappointment or confusion. </p><p>My body is grieving. That needs to be okay.</p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-11718397274180809012021-03-31T08:28:00.005-07:002021-03-31T16:38:54.524-07:00Eigengrau<p>A few weeks ago, Grey and I found ourselves sitting in the dark. The blackout came suddenly, leaving every house that didn't have solar panels in darkness for a couple of hours. Sitting in the dark triggered the memory of the first blackout I remembered, leading to a conversation with Grey.</p><p>It happened when I was a child living in a small southern-Minnesota town. I don't know what triggered the blackout (I suspect a storm) or how long it lasted. What I do remember was that it was so dark that the window looked blindingly gray. It was seeing the gray that caused me to panic, feeling disoriented and desperately searching for any point of light to make sense of what I was seeing. </p><p>As Grey and I waited for the power to return, we debated this memory. "Dark is dark," he argued. The absence of light is black. And yet, once the power returned, we both learned that the brain is a funny thing, where it isn't black that most people see in perfect darkness, but a dark gray color that is the result of visual signals for the optic nerve. Humans actually need a bit of light in order to see darkness.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik-mnPblqeFOgQ6bkIkdxZikOl44qpU82nhR9UJNjMGaCY8pCTFtdT1kNpDYnBm4CC9I4BUBiLTZ9n70wiupiX1RVnMoWOJ9PexZjfDVTRh9Y1WtsO7_oZ74rwibPvXmvYZHDSPXrtQbiE/s2048/IMG_2726.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik-mnPblqeFOgQ6bkIkdxZikOl44qpU82nhR9UJNjMGaCY8pCTFtdT1kNpDYnBm4CC9I4BUBiLTZ9n70wiupiX1RVnMoWOJ9PexZjfDVTRh9Y1WtsO7_oZ74rwibPvXmvYZHDSPXrtQbiE/w300-h400/IMG_2726.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p>I've been thinking about <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eigengrau" target="_blank">eigengrau</a> in relation to how most people have been weathering the COVID pandemic. <a href="https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/how-we-can-deal-with-pandemic-fatigue/" target="_blank">Pandemic fatigue is very real</a>, with many unaware of the extent they are suffering from it. But another level has been watching how so many around me struggle with parsing information (and misinformation) coming at them throughout this crisis. As a scientist, this parsing, assessing, challenging and constant re-evaluation is something my training prepared me for. I'm used to questioning everything that comes my way, particularly when the information is coming from trusted sources as I'm well aware of my echo chamber. And yet, this past year has reminded me that most people don't have this skillset, leaving them disoriented when trying to figure out how to navigate our world. </p><p>The results have been the politicization of science, with people overly confident to effectively assess risk and harm. Relationships have been fractured, lies buried in half-truths have spread like wildfire, and distrust has grown. It's widespread and across educational classes. And it's been surreal to watch as I've also had my eyes on the data coming out about SARS-CoV-2 and how it weaponizes people's immune systems. Seeing the data on how exactly people are dying is sobering.</p><p><a href="https://www.ststworld.com/eigengrau-dark-gray-colour/" target="_blank">"Paradoxically, people need light to see darkness."</a> This one statement has haunted me since I first read it and I'm beginning to understand the wisdom in this. Last year, our world was plunged into darkness. And those that were tasked with leading us out proved how incapable they were to do so. Those that have been the voices to advise these leaders either have been ignored, silenced, or have lied. All of it leading to disorientation and panic, combined with chronic fatigue. What is clear is that we need someone to show us the light. And we need that individual or groups of individuals to do so while pointing out the darkness.</p><p>Make no mistake: COVID-19 is real. I don't care if you have gotten the virus and came out okay, because others are dying or are very much at risk. Plus we don't know what the long-term effects of infection are (I suspect we will see a spike in infertility globally, as our immune systems are directly linked). But equally dangerous is this being plunged into darkness without any pinpoints of hope for finding one's way out. After living a year in lockdown and a pseudo-Zombieland, it's hard to ignore the impact.</p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-18872616637867081202021-03-29T14:06:00.005-07:002021-03-29T15:56:08.442-07:00#MicroblogMondays: For the pretty lady<p> <em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? </em><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/" style="color: #cc0000; padding: 0px;">Read the inaugural post</a> which explains the idea and how you can participate too.</em></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCi58jSkh7N32wDN8qJt5N_u0VQQnRDHmNWYfe7vDuNxNUM6sHkaoo9PW5ln5AwlobA6UYsBRSKJTxXBvucyg6mFXfef1A2nZl2VB5zSOMgRMn8ibeIVjHuF4NGjZ5HzYDHSMJtCw4UaTO/s2048/63858204547__7123001A-2FC1-4BDD-8ED9-F0AB54C0A923.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCi58jSkh7N32wDN8qJt5N_u0VQQnRDHmNWYfe7vDuNxNUM6sHkaoo9PW5ln5AwlobA6UYsBRSKJTxXBvucyg6mFXfef1A2nZl2VB5zSOMgRMn8ibeIVjHuF4NGjZ5HzYDHSMJtCw4UaTO/s320/63858204547__7123001A-2FC1-4BDD-8ED9-F0AB54C0A923.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;">I'm not good at goodbyes. Especially the goodbyes that I know will leave me heartbroken. And yet this one deserves an extra special one. In 3 short months, she taught me so much.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;">The beginning of this story starts on a cold (for California) December night. Grey was driving home and had just turned into our street when a cat walked out into the middle of the road. Slowing, he figured she would finish crossing. Instead, she sat down in the middle of the road in front of the car, staring him down. Moments later, he would walk up to a neighbors house, assuming that she belonged with them, asking if they were missing her. Later, he would walk through the door to tell me the story about how he unintentionally homed a stray cat with strangers. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;">And with that, Scruffy entered our lives.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;">Over the next couple of weeks, the neighbors and I began piecing together Scruffy's history. She came off the streets extremely thin, leaving us worried she was recently homeless. What we learned following a diagnosis of hyperthyroidism was that she had been living on the streets for 11+ years, having been abandoned with her siblings. While they quickly found homes through neighbors capturing them and adopting them, she spent her years roaming the neighborhood, making friends with a select few who would feed her, and finding shelter where she could. That wisdom came through with each interaction, with her quickly assessing people and deciding whether she would come to say hello too. And though the neighborhood rallied around her, she quickly picked her people, allowing me, Grey, Maddie, and Teddy into her circle.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;">The pandemic has been hard for many reasons, but one of the hardest is revealing people's true selves. It has been hard to read about all the selfishness and pettiness that people have been inflicting on one another during a time when community is most needed (even though we can't physically be together). Worse still has been watching those in positions of leadership fail to model love, compassion, and sacrifice needed to weather this virus. Scruffy coming into our lives did what so many leading failed to do. This small, elderly lady reminded us all of the importance of loving one another, even though we didn't know one another well, and why we need to work together. Compromise and empathy were essential for weathering this relationship over the past few months, as it was not only her health that was on the line. Yet those purrs, headbutts, and snuggles were worth it. The evening visits resulted in new relationships being forged. And above all, there was love.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;">This pretty lady died this morning on a beautiful warm California spring day. It was a good death and her soul left this world so peacefully. Though there are no regrets and am forever thankful that this soul came into our lives at the end of hers, my heart hurts so much today. I'm missing the scruffy one.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><p></p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-38046486220095057652020-08-15T16:30:00.003-07:002020-08-15T16:30:29.028-07:00Roll with it<p>Day 4 of the school year has been completed, with Maddy and Teddy navigating distance learning. Due to our essential workers' status, Grey and I enrolled both kids into a learning pod at their school for the morning instruction followed by a pod for aftercare, leaving me to cover school instruction post-lunch. There have been so many balls in the air just with navigating how distance learning is happening for these kids (Google Classroom, Zoom meetings, and Seesaw), so adding in this learning pod arrangement has also been another level.</p><p>Never mind the fact I've been teaching from 10 pm -12 am my time for the past 2 weeks, developing curriculum, running pilots, and managing the panicked state/lack of attention from my learners.</p><p>It would be logical to be insanely anxious about all of this, but looking at the schedule on Sunday and after having a short cry due to a house being in utter chaos, I found the Id part of my brain took over and the theme became "roll with it."</p><p>Yes, both kids have missed a couple Zoom meetings. Yes, we've been missing worksheets during lessons (which I've had to recreate on the fly). Yes, we're all exhausted and need a weekend to recharge. But the beauty of rolling with it, accepting that "good enough" is the hero in the story of what should be utter chaos and that recognizing how much the teachers, both at school and in their learning pods, are giving to make this work, is seeing the potential of what can be done and recognizing the changes we're long overdue to be made.</p><p>For the past 2 weeks, I've been taking a Virtual Trainer course with my coworkers. And what we've been confronting through the absence of in-person instruction is the recognition that many things we thought were working actually weren't working as well as we thought. It has been hard to see curriculum and practices that have been the labor of love for so many literally getting tossed in the waste bin, and I can confess I've had my moments of panic seeing things I thought were done going back into draft mode. But what's been coming out is something that wouldn't have been possible before; seeing the budding of projects and curriculum that was previously dormant.</p><p>A year ago, <a href="https://www.aeaweb.org/articles?id=10.1257/aer.20161574" target="_blank">a paper was published </a>about how <a href="https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2019/08/190829150642.htm" target="_blank">paradigm shifts occur when star scientists die</a>. The argument made by the authors is that change can't happen when those dominating a field or thought process are still occupying the stage. I for one am going to argue that the pandemic has ushered in a new form of death, shifting so many perceptions about life and how the world functions. The rules that existed for so long, with certain practices being best are in direct contradiction with keeping people safe. Survival means listening to the outsiders in order to find a new way.</p><p>I'll confess, I still have my moments. A midnight training on software really didn't go the way I hoped, leaving me in a bit of a panic. Sending Maddy and Teddy to learning pods leaves me with a since of guilt as others talk about how they are making the decision to keep their kids home (I commend them; it's not an option for us). And it's been a week of adjustments for all of us. </p><p>But the beauty of rolling with it, accepting that there isn't a perfect, has allowed for so much good to come about even after 4 days. To hear the kids are better with masks and social distancing than most adults, to be learning new tricks for Zoom from them (they found the emojis for the chat function), and to be able to take what they are doing and incorporating with global training for a biotech company that is on the front-lines of this pandemic and learning that we're actually training better than before, has been something to hold onto. All of it "good enough" instead of "perfect." I'm starting to see the value in that.</p>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-33237828399130563872020-08-05T13:17:00.002-07:002020-08-05T13:17:21.194-07:00BobI remember the first time I had to tread water while holding a 10 lbs brick. I was 15 years old, enrolled in Lifeguard training, and we were going over all the requirements needed to pass certification. Distance swimming wasn't a problem for me (still isn't) and mastering all the holds, maneuvers, and First Aid was something I knew wasn't going to be a problem. But sitting in the deep end of the pool, looking at the bricks, which were meant to simulate holding a human head, I remember wondering how in the world I was going to keep my nose above water for more than 10 mins.<div><br /></div><div>Full disclosure, there was a failure in those first few attempts, including me sinking like a stone after 10 seconds on that first day, but with trial and error I eventually figured out how to kick, position the brick on my body to stay afloat and push through the panic of feeling like you're about to sink. But another thing I learned is how to hold just enough air in my body combined with spreading out my body on the water, allowing me to bob on the surface enough to hold that brick well beyond those 10 minutes.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've been having flashes of bobbing over the last month as my manager has returned from maternity leave and we're in the thick of trainings. Her first week back was basically someone throwing her into the deep end with cement blocks strapped to her legs as the pandemic has scuddled any in-person trainings, but the demand for virtual trainings is at an all-time high. It's been rocky, with both of us trying to figure out how to navigate everything, especially since she came back to a whole new program that she didn't have much say in building, but I've been surprised that things have been progressing in the direction that I've hoped for. A silver lining in all of this.</div><div><br /></div><div>But as I've been sitting in professional trainings for me, geared towards eLearning design and delivery, I've witnessed how many have been struggling with this new reality and are finding it difficult to adjust. Part of this comes from a lack of guidance and structure, with no direction from their leadership on how to pivot into the virtual space and making teaching more effective. But there's also been roadblocks in mindset around this adjustment, with the assumption still that online learning is a poor second option compared to in-person training. What few are exploring is why this mindset exists, how it can be adjusted, and whether it's masking something that has actually been limping along and not working terribly well despite these assumptions.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have so many thoughts on change and how humans see the world. There's been so much of it recently, all sparked by <a href="https://www.ucsf.edu/magazine/covid-body" target="_blank">a novel virus that we are still learning about every day</a>. And while it's easy to blame everything on SARS-CoV-2, what people are slowing coming around to is the fact that we were living under a false sense of security that everything was fine and working well. Never mind that <a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/09/the-end-of-denial/614194/" target="_blank">racism is very much alive</a>, <a href="https://www.wired.com/story/why-are-rich-people-so-mean/" target="_blank">Rich Asshole syndrome </a>is a huge problem and at the root of many of our societal ills, and we as a global community have our priorities wrong as <a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2019/10/why-donald-trumps-economic-dream-crumbled/601153/" target="_blank">tax-cuts are pushed </a>to the collapse of community and social issues (*cough*cough* public education *cough*cough*). </div><div><br /></div><div>All that without talking about the Elephant-known-as-Trump in the room.</div><div><br /></div><div>All said and done, though, I have been witnessing people who truly have no other option, learning how to bob. My manager demonstrated this today as we sat through our training together, with the facilitator repeating a lot of the same principles and guidance I've been talking about over the past month. There's still resistance to change and I'm still witnessing old assumptions, but I'm also seeing signs of shifting as the messaging is coming from multiple sources. I've also been seeing this in my community too, with people finally venturing away from the echo chambers, being willing to listen and seeing the value of community. "Us vs. them" is becoming very unpopular.</div><div><br /></div><div>In short, though I'm exhausted, I'm still somehow afloat while desperately treading water with cement boots. I'm seeing this from others too. May we all continue to bob.</div>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-6605191480022535422020-06-15T09:31:00.000-07:002020-06-15T09:31:47.091-07:00#MicroblogMondays: Follow<em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? </em><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/" style="color: #cc0000; padding: 0px;">Read the inaugural post</a> which explains the idea and how you can participate too.</em><div><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br /></em></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3REU11q9nQJ8R7-1CbWyj5iuzCy7ZwBr6CUPt2eG3Hvx4ep3JGo2uGLipcpu8boEdmWS4bBvouKyd1mq2juSjBsQFlbf1gKipuFadwO-UJKM1_-b49aNjZMl0KsU1028-fVhbza0Sir2S/s4032/IMG_2593.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3REU11q9nQJ8R7-1CbWyj5iuzCy7ZwBr6CUPt2eG3Hvx4ep3JGo2uGLipcpu8boEdmWS4bBvouKyd1mq2juSjBsQFlbf1gKipuFadwO-UJKM1_-b49aNjZMl0KsU1028-fVhbza0Sir2S/s320/IMG_2593.jpg" /></a></div><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br /></em></div>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-74997907276990648432020-06-12T17:06:00.001-07:002020-06-12T17:06:24.147-07:00When the blinders come offI remember the first time I was accused of being racist. I was new to the condo board and Cyrol and I had begun to battle over his treatment of other people. In a rage, after I pointed out that he wasn't being fair about a situation involving the property manager, he responded that I was being racist and not respecting his cultural viewpoint. The goal of throwing out "racist" was simple: it was meant to shut-down the conversation and allow him to win, but at that moment I remember being horrified that a label I found so abhorrent was being applied to me as that was not how I saw myself in the world.<div><br /></div><div>The past few weeks have ripped the blinders off so many, forcing them to confront their privilege and racial viewpoints. The response has been mixed on this front. One camp is hearing the call to begin educating themselves, focusing on listening and approaching the situation with curiosity despite being painfully uncomfortable with the truth. Then there's the other camp, where the focus is on justify their stances, fighting to maintain the labels and self-identification that allowed them a level of comfort in the world. What been interesting about this camp is watching to see how their fear drives them almost to the point of absurdity; maintaining their arguments even when it's clear that doing so is harming others. And that one very easy way to win this argument is to distract, playing a card about victimization or being harmed themselves.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's no secret that humans struggle to talk about unpleasant truths. Racism definitely falls into that category, but so does gender identity and sexual preference. But this problem is more pervasive than these topics, present in any community where some hold power (social or political). Substitute "racist" with "radical," "judgemental," "sinner," or "oppressor," and you end up with a similar outcome, where those doing the screaming hide behind some moral justification they have for why they are threatening others. What it really is is an <a href="https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/a-sociologist-examines-the-white-fragility-that-prevents-white-americans-from-confronting-racism" target="_blank">exposure of fragility</a> and an awakening that what they hold true is in danger of being proven wrong.</div><div><br /></div><div>One truth I learned to embrace is that being called "racist" isn't the worst thing that can happen to me. The worst thing that can happen is that I allow my fear of being labeled to prevent me from removing the blinders and finding learning from what's happening around me. True learning involves pain and failure, making mistakes, and stumbling. It means having to apologize for not knowing better and being embarrassed while being corrected. True learning means looking incompetent and weak; feeling like one is failing despite efforts made to do better. It's often an uncomfortable and demoralizing process, especially when the stakes are so high. And yet, not doing this work and leaving the blinders on is far more destructive. I believe that it's generationally hazardous.</div><div><br /></div><div>On my end, my moments of misstep had good outcomes. With Cyrol, his accusation masked his own racism and bigotry, which ultimately lead to him stalking me for close to 11 years, ending with a judge warning him that his behavior was punishable (he would later be fired from the Seattle Public School District for racist statements inside the classroom). This week, I watched as other rallied around Samantha Francine <a href="https://missoulian.com/news/local/samantha-francine-did-not-back-down/article_0b989db9-a501-5927-ad85-ff1b86a7b631.html" target="_blank">as she refused to back down</a> while being attacked by an aggressive man during a peaceful protest. And then there's been the outpouring of support for the transgender community on the heel of <a href="https://www.jkrowling.com/opinions/j-k-rowling-writes-about-her-reasons-for-speaking-out-on-sex-and-gender-issues/" target="_blank">J.K. Rowling's essay</a> denouncing the transgender community. Despite her claims that she is protecting women from becoming victims, people have been holding her accountable for her words.</div><div><br /></div><div>My hope is that the good people are seeing will help convince them to keep the blinders off and take risks with learning and growing despite the fear of revealing some uncomfortable truths. </div>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-56971368668552317702020-06-08T11:17:00.003-07:002020-06-08T11:33:55.266-07:00#MicroblogMondays: Shut up and listen<em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? </em><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/" style="color: #cc0000; padding: 0px;">Read the inaugural post</a> which explains the idea and how you can participate too.</em><div><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br /></em></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's been a week of listening. From conversations with connections inside and outside higher education to <a href="https://medium.com/wake-up-call/a-detailed-list-of-anti-racism-resources-a34b259a3eea" target="_blank">reading about anti-racism</a>, a lot of my free time has been processing everything I allowed myself to be blind to. It's been hard to confront, but already rewarding as I've been starting to fit pieces together that previously didn't have places in the puzzle. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But with all this good, I've been frustrated by side conversations that have been happening about feminism. And though I consider myself a feminist, what has left me angry is listening to those who embody privilege within feminism trying to align their own experience with the Black Lives Matter movement. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In 2018, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/rachel.cargle/?hl=en" target="_blank">Rachel Cargle</a>, a black feminist activist, wrote a piece in Harper Bazaar about <a href="https://www.harpersbazaar.com/culture/politics/a22717725/what-is-toxic-white-feminism/" target="_blank">toxic white feminism</a> and how it's drowning out the message from anyone outside the white feminist mindset. It's a hard piece, <a href="https://www.antiracistarchive.com/blog/i-refuse-to-listen-to-white-women-cry" target="_blank">as is this follow up one,</a> but what was striking is that the same thing that happened then is happening now, with co-opting and silencing of the message by those who see themselves in certain lights who are finding themselves challenged and the backlash that follows. Instead of listening, probing deeper, and exploring, the result is to drown out or attack. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">To those who are deviating from the Black Lives Movement message, adding their tangents on feminism, I want to remind you that Amy Cooper considers herself not racist and a liberal feminist. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sit with that for a moment. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This woman, who wore a mask and embodies so much of what we believe feminism should look like, made a false police report on an African American man solely because he asked her to follow the rules and leash her dog. This same woman likely has joined in discussion groups about patriarchy and how suppressed women are, advocating for "leaning-in" and equal rights. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">One of the hardest things about confronting one's own racism as recognizing one's own discomfort and learning to shut up instead of drowning out the conversation. Is patriarchy real? Absolutely. But many who are writing about it at this time aren't risking their lives to do so. They don't give a second thought about whether they will end up dead from raising their voices. And they don't seem willing to understand why diluting the message from this movement is a problem. That <a href="https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/a-sociologist-examines-the-white-fragility-that-prevents-white-americans-from-confronting-racism?source=search_google_dsa_paid&gclid=Cj0KCQjww_f2BRC-ARIsAP3zarGTibi47hQPpXfC8h6JH2h3wVgLq6yU_Wco3ym9JZvQI9cGAEX57TkaAtjvEALw_wcB" target="_blank">white fragility</a> is very real and damaging, adding to the harm those who are risking their lives to speak out face.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's time to shut up and listen. Suppressing the urge to align your views of life with those who are raising their voices. I can guarantee that doing this listening and reflection is going to make you uncomfortable, making you face your privilege. But the work is long overdue. <a href="https://www.forbes.com/sites/terinaallen/2020/05/29/3-things-amy-cooper-did-in-central-park-that-destroyed-her-life/#5ad195ac6198" target="_blank">Remember that Amy Cooper never owned her racist act</a>, choosing instead to hide behind the defense of "not being racist" and playing the victim. Frankly, I don't want to live in a world where this response is seen as okay, because Amy Cooper doesn't represent <a href="https://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/face-feminism-longer-white-middle-class-200401084751413.html">the type of feminism I want to support</a>. It's time to give the stage to those who do.</div>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-57302040504407773192020-06-04T10:19:00.001-07:002020-06-04T16:05:35.665-07:00LevelingThis past week has been filled with uncertainty. Living on the east side of the Bay Area means that we've had a curfew and been on high alert for potential violence and looting. My neighbors, many of whom have lived in suburbia their entire lives, have been experiencing a new level of anxiety as the protests have come into this place they have called home. It's been interesting to watch as being able to leave isn't an option and most have never experienced the reality of that.<br />
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On our end, both Grey and I have been conflicted. If Maddy and Teddy weren't here and still so young combined with the pandemic and us not knowing whether we've already been infected by SARS-CoV-2, we would be marching. In the absence of this, we've been donating to organizations that support this movement and making a point to support those in our community who have been harmed. All of it feels minimal, meaning we've decided it's overdue to begin looking outside ourselves and learning more.</div>
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Admitting that my thinking is flawed is not something new to me. When it came to parenting, I knew from the beginning that I didn't have a healthy foundation given the abuse I suffered as a child. So from the beginning, I worked to reframe what it meant to be a "parent," actively working against the defaults and instincts and seeking help to restructure how I viewed children, not only my own but others around me. A process of leveling that meant debunking myths and half-truths with data, counterexamples, and information that has led to a healthy mindset. It's not been easy, given that there are 30+ years of programming I've had to mindfully confront and there have been many moments of extreme hatred I've felt towards my parents for not doing this work (another topic for another day). But the work has been important as I knew from the beginning that I couldn't continue the generational practices that were passing on harm. If I wanted things to change, it meant that the work had to start with me.</div>
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With this mindset, I've begun to actively explore anti-racism literature and teachings, with the goal not only to learn about also to begin this conversation with Maddy and Teddy. <a href="https://www.ibramxkendi.com/how-to-be-an-antiracist" target="_blank">Ibram Kendi</a> has long been someone I've read, but it's time to dive deeper into his essays and to expand to the writings of others. Similarly, we're overdue <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/jun/04/no-reader-is-too-young-to-start-anti-racist-books-for-all-children-and-teens" target="_blank">to find authors to help us with this discussion with Maddy and Teddy</a>. Meaning I have a lot of homework to do.</div>
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The final component, though, is Grey and I need to explore our own racism. This means admitting some hard truths about what we were taught by people we love and trust and confronting the messaging we were feed for so long. It's not easy because no one wants to be seen in this light, but I also have experience with being on the other side of privilege and being forced into silence because the message that was harming me made someone who was benefiting uncomfortable. The memory of that trauma and pain is still very real, making it easier to empathize and be open to the realities of the privileges I benefitted from.</div>
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So begins the processing of leveling: of bringing to light the message that has been suppressed for too long and silencing those who have dominated the conversation. Of not allowing those who have had privilege to hide behind the myth that they have "earned" it, despite their blindness to the advantages they had to even begin earning. And to begin rebuilding.</div>
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It's not going to be easy, but as before doing this work isn't solely about me. That makes it all the more important.</div>
Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4129722175911979282.post-61574218708127783122020-06-01T17:20:00.002-07:002020-06-01T17:20:55.880-07:00#MicroblogMondays: Noise<em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? </em><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/" style="color: #cc0000; padding: 0px;">Read the inaugural post</a> which explains the idea and how you can participate too.</em><div><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br /></em></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg77kc7KIA_xL_TMM9Ri63S5011oBgp9hJG8f9395hkUSOyBQVxc_4iW0CjaLd36XDiPbgZpRbmfBtY1059EGt1eCYYJWhAB-1UnKB-vsp9NBtOynTvvh_EBi1JiLQMzWm362zoCZdw8JYY/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg77kc7KIA_xL_TMM9Ri63S5011oBgp9hJG8f9395hkUSOyBQVxc_4iW0CjaLd36XDiPbgZpRbmfBtY1059EGt1eCYYJWhAB-1UnKB-vsp9NBtOynTvvh_EBi1JiLQMzWm362zoCZdw8JYY/s320/IMG_3106.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br /></em></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I grew up outside Minneapolis. As a teen, I spent many a weekend or summer day venturing into the city, exploring the Uptown area and Nicollet Ave. I have fond memories of walking around Lake Harriet and Lake Nokomis. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But as much as I loved this region, one thing I knew was odd was the lack of diversity. My high school and neighborhood were primarily white, with only a handful of kids who were African American. This absence of cultural diversity led to an insularity, with the naive assumption that racism was a thing from my parents' generation. It wouldn't be until I left home and began college that I would begin to see how wrong that assumption was. And it wouldn't be until I began working with under-represented populations that I would actually hear the stories first-hand, witness that damage of racism, and learn that the work is far from over.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Over the weekend, one of Grey's coworkers found himself being profiled after he had to evacuate his home due to the violence from the protests. Grey didn't hesitate to give him the day out to recover from the trauma of that experience, but it led us to reflect on the privileges we grew up with and how the teachings of "color-blindness" and "white silence" have exacerbated the problem. Adding to this conversation is that our town is in lockdown due to the violence only a few miles from us with a curfew in place to curb that violence. All the while I'm well aware that no one would bat an eye if I was out solely because of my appearance the color of my skin.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's hard not to be angry with all of this. I'm worried sick for the people I consider friends who could easily be hurt if they say or do something that is considered "wrong." I have nothing by violent feelings towards the man-child who was elected to lead the U.S. But the thing I'm blind with rage over is that so many are trying to use this movement for their own gain, twisting a message that very much needs to be embraced, which is that no one, no matter their age, skin color, ethnicity, or creed, should fear for their lives simply because they are walking down the street or engaging in daily activities. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, despite how unpopular I know I will be, it's time to begin making noise again. It's time to start embracing the message of spreading anti-racism, acknowledging privilege, and focusing on the work needed to be done. It includes holding people like Amy Cooper accountable and making sure that those who murdered George Floyd are brought to justice. And it means being okay with uncomfortable silences. Because one thing is very clear after the pandemic and this recent round of senseless murders: it's time for change.</div>Cristyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317873211902543387noreply@blogger.com4