Feelings, Fabuloso, and Figuring Sh!t Out
I wrapped up the school year and walked out of the school building a week ago, but it hasn’t felt quite like summer break until now. I’m finally done with the things that have been hanging over me like a cloud: surviving May as a public school teacher (a massive task in and of itself), moving, unpacking, deep cleaning, and settling into a new space—physically and emotionally.
I’ve had the most challenging year of my life, personally and professionally… and that’s not hyperbole. My brother once said, “You know, when I think about your life, it’s pretty damn colorful.” He’s not wrong, but this one? This year my life took some psychadellics and found all sorts of previously unseen colors because WOW. I had such a transformative summer after the near-death fiasco with the almond, and I went into the 24-25 school year with such a joy and enthusiasm at the thought of getting to be alive and happy in life, which was pretty much a first.
Then, my life sort of dismantled in a way I would never imagined. And maybe this is hyperbole, but they’re my feelings, so suck it…
Anyway, I feel like everything I have ever known to be true wasn’t. Every belief I’ve ever had was challenged in some way this year, and the things I knew to be true about myself, love, life, and belonging were tested. I had to face hard truths and do stupid and hard work. So…exaggeration or not, the unraveling of my existence in unexpected ways nearly killed me harder than aspiration pneumonia.
Maybe the last seven days were like the bit of time “in recovery” after an accident. You’ve gotta have some time to just exist and begin to heal before you start physical therapy. That feels sort of like what I’ve been doing for the past month or so—just existing quietly, and it’s been pretty terrible. Especially this past week without work to distract me from at least some of the hard things I’m working through.
Shoutout to Kelley Walters, LPC (my therapist and emotional personal trainer) who I started working with through Feelings Healers (terrible name, solid impact.) My feelings and I have been through it in the past 44 years, but Ms. Walters has been through it with me for the last two of those. I’ve never been more grateful for a mental health professional (and y’all know I have had many).
When I moved into my new place, I scrubbed what I suspect was years of someone else’s dirt off the floor. I hate mopping….LOATHE it. I tried the shortcuts: Swiffers, spraying Fabuloso y agua and sliding around like Pippi Longstocking. But I couldn’t feel okay until I really scrubbed, so I got down on the floor and scubbed in on hands and knees ten square feet at a time. I had to dump and refresh the water an absurd number of times, and then I steam cleaned it. It was disgusting and tedious, it finally felt clean.
Did it suck? Oh, absolutely—every second of it was awful. It’s shitty and hard to look at the dirt that close up, not knowing what it is or where it came from, only that you’re getting ride of a mess someone else left behind. But regardless of who left the mess or whether they meant to—it’s there. It’s either going to stay under you forever, or you’re going to have to get up close and scrub it away.
That’s what I’ve been doing for the last several months. Emotionally. Spiritually. Practically. And that’s new for me.
Kelley helped me heal my feelings. Now I’m working them out. And maybe I will start calling her my personal trainer. I feel like if I say something like “Hey, I’d love to, but I’ve got a run—meeting with my trainer this evening!” makes me sound a bit more put together “Gotta go, I’ve got psychotherapy at 5.” But honestly, what others think of me is none of my business, because I’ve learned I deserve to be to be un(apologetically)well.
Anyway. Here's to clean floors, weird metaphors, and doing the gross work because we deserve better.
