Author: Emily Davis

This is what depression feels like. Being here, in the middle of love and light and laughter and feeling like you are observing another world.

You know that world is real and your world isn’t. You want to be a part of that world. But you don’t know how… you don’t know how to bridge that gap and cross that void.

It’s lonely here, on the outside looking in. It seems like an easy thing to stand up, to join in. But there’s a weight, an anchor, dragging you backwards. There’s a cloud of self-deprecation taunting you, telling you not to even bother to try.

This picture was taken at my cousin’s perfect wedding. I remember loving the love, the perfection. I also remember feeling like an observer. Like I could never be part of the dance floor.

———————

I’ve always had it all. I do not deny the fortune with which I am blessed. I grew up in an idyllic family. I have never wanted for a need. I am surrounded always by love. I am smart, I am driven, I am capable, I am physically healthy…

Yet, I struggle. I struggle against something I don’t understand. Nothing has broken me; I was born this way. I was born with this little broken part, this tiny hole, that leads to a chasm of loneliness and sadness. I was born with this gateway to feeling too much, too deeply, to absorbing and holding on to too much emotion.

There are times when I can close the lid, cover the hole. There are days and weeks and months and sometimes years when I can seal it off. But there are also times when the latch breaks, when the seal loosens.

When this happens, I can sometimes push the feelings down, dull them. Sometimes this is done with staying busy. Busy, busy, busy and I don’t have time to feel. There’s not a chance to wallow in the murk when I don’t slow down enough to fall in. The problem is that I can’t go forever, I can’t run away because there is an elastic leash, and when I get to the end it snaps me back, deep into the hole. When I fall, I am drained. There’s no energy left to push back out.

Sometimes I can close the lid by numbing. Eat until the hole feels closed. Eat until the only thing I feel is full, no room to feel the emptiness of the hole. This, too, only lasts so long until misery and reality set in. When I realize there’s no end to the hole, no way to pack enough in to close it, I just feel sick and sad and even more defeated than before.

Sometimes I close the lid by sleeping. When I am sleeping, I feel nothing. When I am sleeping, I am alone, in a made up world where anything is possible and nothing is real. It’s glorious but, paradoxically, exhausting. The more I sleep the more I want to sleep. The more I sleep, the less I let myself feel anything real. The feelings don’t leave, though. They are waiting by the bed; they are lurking in the room. And the real world does need me. I must get up; I must face the day.

There are things I know: I know none of this makes any sense. I know I have so many things to be thankful for, to enjoy, to embrace. I know I am loved. I know I should be happy.

Somehow, knowing this sometimes makes me feel lonelier, worse. It makes me feel like hiding, because I can’t get should be and am to come together and I don’t want anyone to know. I don’t want others to think I’m not grateful or that I don’t care. I don’t want people to give up on me.

_______________

People like me, we need your patience. We need your support. We need you to stand strong beside us even when we push away a little. We need you to throw us a rope, a lifeline. Help us scale the walls of this cavern, one step at a time. Sometimes we may move slowly, make little progress. I know we will frustrate you. Sometimes we may resist, get sucked back down a bit. We need you to fight for us.

Please know we are trying. Please know we see you; you give us strength. Please know we are fighting, too.

It’s true that I’m no longer in the classroom, but I am still on the front lines of public education. This is my fifteenth year in education. My job now is to support teachers. I’ve seen a lot; I would venture to say I know a lot. I don’t know enough to solve all the problems of today’s schools, but I do know this: Parents and teachers have to work together. We are losing teachers, good and passionate teachers, because they don’t feel trusted or valued.

As a parent, I am worried. I am worried that there won’t be enough passionate teachers left to steward my daughters all the way to college. My older daughter wants to be a teacher. I am worried for her. We need more good teachers. But I also want her to feel valued in her career. I just want her to be happy. It makes me feel torn, and then bad for feeling that way too.

So, this is my open letter to parents of school-aged children, from my former classroom teacher self…

Dear parents,

Thank you so much for entrusting me with your most precious gift. First and foremost, I want you to know I respect you as the most important person in your child’s life. I want you to be your child’s advocate. You should fight for your child. No one will fight for your child quite like you.

But I also want you to know this: I am your child’s advocate, too. I WILL fight for your child. I will do whatever I can to do right by your child. All I’m asking for is your confidence and your trust.

Today’s school climate can kind of feel contentious. It seems like there is suspicion on every side. Is the teacher being fair to my child? Are the parents being fair to me? I want you to know that I am someone you can trust. I am someone you can approach with questions or concerns. I want to hear your side.

I want you to know that I am making the best decisions I possibly can. I fully admit that I am going to make mistakes. I know that you and I will not always agree. I respect your views, and if we disagree I want to know quickly and respectfully so that we can resolve the struggle and continue to work for your child’s success.

I know how much you love your child, and I want you to know that I also love your child. I think about your child’s needs, wants, fears… in a way your child is mine, too, if only for a borrowed school year. I will dry your child’s tears. I will hold your child’s hand. I will comfort your child’s worries. I will nurse your child, coach your child, counsel your child the best I can.

But I can’t do any of this without you, parent. I need your partnership. I need your reinforcement. I need your help.

I would never dare to say I am more important than you, or that my opinion matters more than yours. I just ask you to listen to my opinion. We may have different views of what success looks like for your child. We likely know different versions of your child. I need to know your version. You need to know mine.

I want you to have an open mind. Please don’t assume everything your child says is the only version of events. I promise to do the same. Please remember I am an adult, even if I am a younger adult than you.

If your child tells you something that makes you question my actions or intentions, I want you to bring it to my attention. You could say, “My child said ___ happened and that bothered me. Could you tell me your version of what happened so I can better understand the situation?” You might still not agree and I need to know that. You can say “I feel this way ___. How can we work this out differently next time so we all feel ok with the outcome?”

I became a teacher because I love children. I love the light in their eyes when they “get it”. I love their little quirky senses of humor. I love their weird little ways of reasoning things out. I love hearing their passions. I love knowing their dreams. I love seeing their innocence. I love shaping their lives. They may not remember much about me when they grow up, but I promise you every single one of them has made an imprint on my heart.

I only want to work with you for the success of your child. I can only do that if I have your trust. I want you to know that I realize trust does not mean we agree 100% of the time. Trust means I want to know your side and I want you to know mine. I want to work out a path to agreement; I want a way to meet in the middle.

Thank you, again, for loaning me your most precious gift. I hope you know now how much I cherish that responsibility. I can’t wait to see what we can accomplish together this year!

            (Emily & Will, circa 1983)

This world is so loud.  But maybe it’s time to be quiet and listen.

So many people are speaking so loudly, trying to be the MOST RIGHT person.  It’s like people think if they say things loudly enough and often enough, then everyone else will just suddenly understand and agree with that point of view.  So many, many people are vying to be heard, and really, that’s the issue. No one is willing to be quiet and listen.

We are all passionate human beings.  We feel things. We personalize things.  We internalize things. And the beauty of it all is that we are all so brilliantly different.  No two of us are exactly alike. Take a second to marvel at how amazing it is that every single person you meet is a unique being, with unique experiences and unique perspectives. We might not agree on all things, but that doesn’t make any of us any less brilliant.  We all shine.

What I don’t know is why different is equated with bad.  What I don’t understand is how people decide that someone’s opposing opinion is a personal attack against them.  I don’t have to agree with you on how you feel, but I cannot argue that you feel.  There isn’t a way for feelings to be wrong, only different.  People are so busy telling others that they hold the wrong opinion, that they feel the wrong feelings.  How can that even be true?

Why do we feel so threatened by each other’s emotions?  Why are we so reluctant to stop shouting AT each other and start listening TO each other?  Why do we put up walls and fences instead of laying the groundwork for bridges?

It seems to me like we aren’t making much progress with our brash, sweeping proclamations.  It seems like all we are doing is widening the gap between our human experiences. We are creating US and THEM, when really there is only US.  There is no Planet B. This is the only one we get and we are all on it. We have to protect it, but we also have to cohabitate on it.

I have two children, raised in the same household, immersed in the same culture, sharing largely the same experiences.  Even with all these sames, their outlooks, their personalities, their feelings, their expressions couldn’t be more different.  Neither of them is wrong; they just each live their own truth.

What makes us think, then, that others from other houses, other cultures, other experiences should conform to our way of feeling and expressing?  Is our truth any more true than theirs? Why should they be expected to live our truth?

When I hear people say they are tired of others being offended by everything, what I really hear is someone unwilling to listen.  What I hear is someone who has decided he or she has found the ONE TRUTH, has built a wall, and is standing armed and ready to fight for it no matter the human cost.

To see the other side, you must be willing to be vulnerable, to make mistakes, to engage in a messy process of understanding through truly listening.  Because all anyone really wants is to be heard. All anyone really wants is to know that you want to understand and truly HEAR, even if you don’t and likely won’t agree.  All anyone really wants is to be validated and not to be dismissed and silenced.

And they won’t always listen back; this I know.  They won’t always offer you the same courtesy of respecting your truth in return.  That, to some, can be the deal-breaker. That, to some, will be the signal that all the yelling and division is actually the only answer.  And to that end, we will have more of the same. We will have YOU and ME, we will have US and THEM, we will have LEFT and RIGHT, we will have WHITE and BLACK and ASIAN and HISPANIC, we will have RICH and POOR, we will have CHRISTIAN and MUSLIM and JEWISH and ATHEIST, we will have STRAIGHT and GAY, we will have all the things all apart, and we will all glare at each other across the great divide of noise.

It’s not easy to be still and quiet.  It’s not easy to be humble and listen.  It’s not easy to admit that maybe, just maybe, you don’t know all the things there are to know and you can’t see all the ways there are to see.  I will admit, I’m trying, and I do get trounced. I get dismissed, I get silenced. It’s really part of the process… model what you want to get, work for the way you want it to be, stop talking, be quiet, lean in and listen, really listen, truly reflect.  

 

Keep building quiet bridges.  I’ll meet you in the middle.

Early in my career I met a coworker who was a vegetarian.  I made fun of his choices.  I said the standard cracks like “If we weren’t supposed to eat animals then why are they so delicious?”  He was unfazed, held his ground, and calmly hinted that if I knew what he knew I would not be so sure of myself.

But here’s the thing… I didn’t want to know then.  I imagined animals living on farms and eating grass and yes killing them was a sad thing but that’s what they were here for… right?  Besides, I didn’t really like vegetables so much and people needed protein and everyone I knew ate meat but this guy so… he was the weird one.  

As the years went by I continued to try to improve my health through exercise and a variety of fad eating plans like we do.  Eat every two hours!  Eat carbs every four days only!  Don’t eat past 7:00!  Track every bite you put in your mouth!  Eat only these 3 specific meals over and over!  And it got really old and nothing really ever worked anyway because it was all so unrealistic and just left me feeling frustrated and like a failure.  I decided I did not want to count every calorie. I just wanted to eat healthy things and feel ok about myself.  

Somewhere in all the reading I kind of accidentally discovered the truth about eating animals.  I guess I always knew that it was weird we loved dogs and cats but ate pigs and cows, but I kind of categorized that and justified it by saying to myself that pigs are “eating animals” and dogs were “pets”.  And we need meat right?  Protein?  We are supposed to eat animals…!

But why?  (Plants have protein, FYI)

And even if I still believed that to be true, there is no way to justify the ungodly horrors that the meat, dairy, and egg industries  impose on the animals while they live.  I always thought the killing was the worst part.  It’s not.  That’s horrific and inhumane but over fairly quickly.  It’s also the life of pain and misery that I can’t bear.  It’s the fact that animals aren’t seen as living things in the factory farming culture.  Animals are a means to a profit.  You crowd as many into as small a space as you can.  You beat them into their tiny stalls.  You stack them so tightly they can’t turn around and they just have to walk over their dead.  You take their babies and harvest the milk and pretend it’s all normal… and you make it so.  No one knows or thinks about it because you package the meat and eggs and milk with happy farm pictures on them and lead everyone to believe it IS so.

There is such irony in seeing people consumed with dog and cat rescue who have no problem eating ham, burgers, and chicken.  I got turned down for cat adoption recently because in the past I had a cat that lived inside and outside.  This rescue would not even let me have a cat for fear it might ever in its life go outside.  There are a million cats needing homes.  Yet, my home was not good enough.  

A cat could do far worse than life in the northern Atlanta suburbs with a loving family.  Maybe a cat could visit a pig farm and see mother sows pressed into crates so small they can’t turn around.  Maybe a cat could compare life in a cozy home to life as a piglet getting castrated without pain medicine or really much thought or care.  Maybe a cat could compare its life exploring all three stories of my home with the life of a chicken having its beak seared off because it might peck other chickens in its tiny confinement.  Or maybe the cat could compare itself to the male chicks who hatch and get thrown into the grinder alive.  I mean– they can’t lay eggs so what is the point?

It’s seriously an animal holocaust.  When you know, you can’t un-know.  When you know, it seems silly to hear people say “I just really like meat” or “I just don’t like vegetables that much.”  It just seems like eating a salad with no meat seems worth saving an animal a life of suffering.  It doesn’t seem too much to ask.

I’m not perfect by any means.  I know, though, that every choice I make is a choice for kindness or a choice to contribute to a nightmare.  I know that, intelligence-wise, the dog I love and cuddle and dress in sweaters is no more or less intelligent than the pig who had its tail cut off (without painkillers) because the other pigs would be bored and chew it off in the tiny enclosure.

Your choices are yours and I don’t judge you.  We each must weigh what we can accept.  My family knows these things and chooses meat.  I love my family.  I hope one day they will all see that we can nourish ourselves and respect the lives of our fellow creatures.  I hope one day the texture of a lettuce leaf will seem a small price to pay to save another being from the nightmare.  

PS: .  When you want to know,  go to Mercy for Animals and follow them on Facebook.  Google the video “Earthlings” on YouTube.  Google “factory farming”.  Read  Slaughterhouse: The Shocking Story of Greed, Neglect, and Inhumane Treatment Inside the U. S. Meat Industry or CAFO: The Tragedy of Industrial Animal Factories.  Read In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan.  It’s not hard to find if you open yourself to looking.

PPS: My sister Ellen says I should give options for sustainable meat and humane farms.  I truly considered this request.  I decided against it because that’s not my platform.   I choose to avoid meat and eggs and I am working hard on avoiding dairy.  For me, that’s easier and I don’t have to wonder how humane the humane farms really are.  If you choose otherwise, certainly you can look for more humane farms.   I look for them when choosing meat and dairy for my family.  Some stores like Whole Foods label meat by the level of cruelty the animals endured.  It’s more expensive, but you are using your dollars to show you care about the well-being of farm animals while they are alive.

So I wrote my plan for 2018– focus on me, loving me, accepting me and let what happens happen.  Live in the NOW.  Be present.  All the buzz words.

But how?  How does one really do this?  Where do you even start taking apart the years of busy-ness and preoccupation in order to really stop and love the now?

It’s been an interesting journey, and not one conjured up just in time for the new year.  It’s been building quietly within me, but now seemed as good a time as any to officially declare a shift in mindset.  It might sound annoyingly liberally cliche, but it really all began for me the night of the election.  That was the night I opened my eyes to see that not all things were as I thought in this country and that I couldn’t mindlessly put myself through the paces in order to end up in a place I wanted to be.  This realization wasn’t about politics.  It was about what I perceived that people were willing to overlook or maybe what they saw and deemed acceptable.  Maybe people weren’t overlooking at all.  Maybe they just felt the political stances were worth the human cost.  Or maybe they saw no cost.  I really don’t know.  It really doesn’t even matter now.  I only know that I didn’t like the way I felt responsibility for this, for staying silent when I believed others were being hurt.  For staying silent for fear of upsetting others when silence was the very thing that ended up doing the harm.

Then, my grandmother passed away.  My perception of our country’s values shifted at the same time I lost my family’s moral compass.  I remember never wanting her funeral to end.  I have never been to a more celebratory service of LIFE.  There were so many, many stories about the lives she touched and the battles she fought for social justice.  Y’all, she was a renegade.  And she passed it on.  And she changed the world (her world, my world).  And I knew when people stopped telling stories of her battles, when we sang the last hymn and said the last goodbye, that she would really be gone.  That it would be my turn, our turn, to pick up where she left off, to be her legacy, to answer her call to action for social change.

So I was kind of unwillingly, unknowingly thrust into facing a new reality and figuring out my place here, my cause here.  I’m a super sappy, sensitive person so I read sappy, sensitive people books.  Usually I don’t discuss them because I’m also a private, sappy, sensitive person.  But suddenly it seemed VERY IMPORTANT to talk about all the things.  But I didn’t know how because I spent my whole life surrounded by talkers and I never really felt the need to join in.  They said all the things.  I agreed and processed.  It all worked well.  Suddenly, though, being silent wasn’t working anymore.

Suddenly, also, all the things I had been so busily working for seemed a little pointless too, honestly.  But the sappy people books all had told me that you can’t change the world or spread your voice or do your thing until you really, truly love and accept yourself. I am a researcher, a scholar; I read a lot.  And I also use this analogy a lot:  I can read every single gymnastics book ever.  I can know how to do all the moves.  I can explain every concept.  But I am not a gymnast unless I get on the floor and implement. I will fail many, many times no matter how much I know.  So, that was step 1.  Step 1: Reread the books!  Figure out what the heck it all means and how to do it.  Then, really focus on Step 2: Actually apply it to self.  I hadn’t really ever done this yet because, quite frankly, the application seemed hard and maybe I was scared of where I would end up.  I realized, though, that the efforts would lead me to where I wanted to go, even if that place was uncertain and scary from afar.

To apply, I had to decide what mattered most.  I had to take a hard look at what I said mattered most and what actually mattered most based on my actions.  What I said mattered most was kindness, fairness, unconditional love and acceptance, service to others.  What I emphasized through actions seemed more centered on self criticism, busy-ness, achievements, stuff.  It wasn’t clicking together.  I wasn’t implementing the things I wanted to embody.  I couldn’t love others unconditionally if I didn’t love myself.  I couldn’t emphasize service to others if I was too busy to serve.  I wasn’t walking the walk.  Why did I feel like upgrading my kitchen mattered so much?  Why did I care if other people thought my half-finished basement was a less than ideal place to hang out?  Whoever didn’t like it didn’t have to come!  It’s not that I was overly materialistic really; I was just mindlessly trying to have all the things one is “supposed” to have in a standard suburban home.  I was on autopilot, checking off all my boxes, but I had forgotten why I ever cared about the boxes in the first place.  

This led to Step 3:  Figure out what was hindering the implementation of my values in the first place.  I had already identified busy-ness and autopilot, but self criticism was harder to tackle.  I know we are all hard on ourselves and I like to think I’m not more or less hard than your average person.  I did start to realize I was so much easier on others than I was on myself.  I happened to see an article and video with two teenagers reading to each other all the mean things they thought about themselves. These two beautiful girls had all these hateful things running through their minds, and we all do that to some extent. I realized how much negativity I fed myself on a daily basis.  I couldn’t love myself while demeaning myself all day long.   I also heard the comments others would make about themselves, and I would think about how silly it was that that person was worried about whatever thing, because that person to me seemed to have it all together.  I guess we all put on a strong front.  Likely they felt the same about me.  Why do we do this to ourselves? As far as kindness, I had to accept the fact that I was being selectively kind to animals, even when I knew the truth about the meat industry.  That, however, is another post altogether.

So, on to Step 4: Remove barriers.  Removing busy-ness is kind of tricky when I am finishing an EdD program, working full time, and being a mom to two school age girls.  I will be busy for the foreseeable future.  I have a busy life.  I have a life goal of finishing this EdD, and my career is where I feel I best serve others.  I prioritize this.   To combat the busy-ness, I am making more of an effort to be conscious of how I delegate my time.  I think I have always done a good job of keeping my family first, but I am making more of an effort to spend time with the girls just being silly and hanging out.  It’s hard when you know you have a paper due or an email from a parent to return, and our culture of NOW NOW NOW makes you feel like those things are oh so pressing.  They aren’t.  Somehow, the things that need to get done all get done.  What should be pressing is modeling for my girls how to relax, have fun, goof off, let the dishes pile up and ignore the dust balls and just laugh together.

I prioritize exercise as a way of de-stressing, but I also hate the time it takes away from my family.  I always had a constant loop in my head of “go to the gym” vs. “don’t ignore your girls” that sounded like: “if I leave by 4:54 I can make it to work out….Oh great look now it’s 4:56 you are still here and traffic is getting all bad and now you failed again… you will be so late if you go now and they will be the last ones at after school pick up and you can’t let that happen or they might have memories of feeling abandoned after school”… and so forth.  I think it’s the curse of working moms.  Guilty no matter which choice we make.  I decided exercise should not stress me out.  It’s my stress relief.  I make a schedule, and if the schedule falls through no one says I can’t do jumping jacks in my (half finished) basement.  Or run around the yard with the girls and dog.  Or take a walk.  I was being too hard on what I “counted” as activity.  I was “busy-fying” my free time.

Somewhere along the way, I stumbled upon a mention of the book Love Yourself Like Your Life Depends on It.  Caution if you click the link; the book has a terrible cover, but the content is quality.  Basically, it taught me to refocus all that negative talk.  No more berating. Action step:  Rephrase!  At school we use positive language with the kids.  Why was I giving myself any less?  Not to say I want to give myself excuses or let myself off the hook, but I realized I wasn’t being kind to myself and that just changing my thought patterns made a huge difference.  

The last thing I realized was that I needed to really, as all my authors say, live my truth. I was so worried about what other people would think of me or how they would feel about me that I was hiding behind what I thought everyone wanted.  I have never and still do not wish to offend anyone.  My beliefs are mine; I respect yours as yours.  But I caught myself all the time thinking “What will other people think if I wear this or eat this or say this or do this…”  and really, who cares?  Why do I care what they think as long as my actions, thoughts, words are not abrasive/offensive?  I don’t like everything everyone else does and that’s fine.  I still like the people themselves.  I was just so busy hiding, trying to blend in, that I lost my voice.  

Not that any of this is easy or that I have it all down, but that’s my plan and my rationale. To work toward it, I bought a Best Self Journal and wrote my goal:  Be as authentic and mindful as possible and stick to my core values, 24 hours at a time.  I only focus on 24 hours.  I said could do anything for 24 hours.  But– confession– I messed up my Best Self Journal.  I did not do the stuff for like 48 hours.  A few times.  Old me would have been like “This is crap.  You always do this.  You never stick to anything.  Great job wasting money.”  New me tries to rephrase to sound more like  “Hey, things don’t always work the first time.  Maybe you set yourself up for failure picking this time to start when you knew that other thing was coming up.  It’s ok.  Week 3 is the new Week 1.  WHEN I get to the end, I’ll just copy some more pages from the website to finish it out.  Or I maybe won’t.  Maybe my journal is an 11 week journal.  That’s ok.”  It’s not pretty and it’s not perfect, but we are all works in progress.

I am rereading everything Brene Brown has written about being imperfect, taking chances, dusting yourself off and getting up after failure, and embracing and living your truth no matter what the cost.  I also love Glennon Doyle Melton’s blog (feeling all the feelings, doing the hard things, belonging to each other despite our imperfections).  I’m learning more about mindfulness, slowing down, breathing and really thinking through my motivations for actions.  I’m reading all the John Pavlovitz I can take in, so thankful to read a renegade take on Christianity.  

Maybe you think I’m going off the deep end– that’s ok.  I’m feeling pretty comfortable here.  I’m not worried if you think I’m a hippy dippy bleeding heart liberal because I am so proud to be one.  I don’t care if you aren’t one…. You’re still cool.  You do you; I’m going to start doing me.

 

This year– no resolutions, no challenges, no gimmicks… This year, I only vow to be true to me. I only resolve to love the fact that I am me. This year, I will be happy, and that is my only goal. I will be happy starting NOW.

I will not be happy when/if I lose weight, finish my degree, keep my house clean, make my kids watch less TV and eat healthier food, make more money, finally finish my basement or upgrade my kitchen…. I will be happy right now with who I am and with what I have.

Because, truly, I just need to slow down and remember that I am enough. Right here. Right now. Just the way I am.

It’s probably the scariest commitment I’ve ever made.

For my whole life, the voice of my own judgment has reigned supreme in my head. I’m never thin enough, I’m never a good enough mother or wife or daughter or sister, there’s always a carrot just out of reach and if I could just change one thing two things three things life would be so wonderful. If I could just keep making enough other people happy regardless of how it made me feel, then their happiness would become mine and I would be THERE.

Turns out, though, that there is no THERE. You never get THERE. You are always HERE, and THERE is so maddeningly just out of reach.

So this year, I stop worrying what the world thinks I should be doing and feeling and saying, and I slow down and learn to love me in the HERE and NOW. Truly, I have to get to know me again, or maybe I need to get to know me at all.

I’ve been so busy being busy. I’ve been so busy doing and getting ALL THE THINGS.

I don’t want to be so so busy and one day wake up wondering where it all has gone, wondering if I spent my whole life racing to a destination that doesn’t exist. I don’t want the edge of all of my beautiful memories tainted by the tint of worry and doubt. I don’t want to raise my daughters to race headlong toward ENOUGH, when ENOUGH was there the whole time.

In 2018, I will learn to be mindful. I will learn to be easier on myself. I will learn to see my own beauty and I will celebrate my own worth.

I am from this land

my eyes are cut from these sapphire skies

my knees have stained this clay 

with crimson blood

I belong to this land

my past sways among these pines

my secrets sink in rivers 

brown with shame

my soul carries this land

of nights alive

with beams of promise

of sun so bright

I burn with longing

~E. Davis 01.02.07

I’m Southern.  If you’re Southern too, you know it’s complicated.

This land is terrible and beautiful all at once and truly, deeply misunderstood.  

From the outside, the country sees a backward place.  A place filled, they think, with racism.  From the outside, I imagine we seem slow, and not just in our speech.  From the outside, I am sure we are perceived as many things.  I can’t really speak to that, because I’m not on the outside.

I imagine it’s easy to stand on the outside and assume.  It’s easy to proclaim and declare how things should be, but it’s harder to live the change.  I’m working to live the change.  I believe in the beauty we have here.  I see you, fellow Southerner, struggling, too, to live the change.

There is kindness here.  There is good here.  There is hope here.  It isn’t even all that hard to find.  You don’t even have to know where to look.

I know the eyes of the country were on Alabama.  Now that Alabama has done its part for change, eyes will likely turn from Alabama to focus on the next big cause.  In a similar fashion, the eyes were here on us to “Flip the Sixth” in the northern Atlanta suburbs.  We didn’t flip, but we did fight.  I’m proud of our fight.  I’m proud of Alabamians for fighting harder.

In the small Southern town of my childhood, people were black or white.  People for the most part were Protestant, as we were.  I never knew a Jewish person and quite frankly even being Catholic was considered an oddity.  There was a predominantly white private school and a predominantly black public school.  My siblings and I went to the public school.  We were also considered an oddity. I am grateful for this.

That was the status quo in the 1980s; I don’t pretend to know the status quo there in 2017.  What I do know is how incredibly fortunate my own children are to grow up in a school and community teeming with diversity.  They know people from all over the world who celebrate all different religions and traditions.  They truly, honestly don’t know the world a different way, and I am so, so grateful for that.  

It’s easy to become discouraged because change doesn’t happen quickly.  But I see it happening.  I see it in an election in Alabama.  I see it in a near-victory in the northern Atlanta suburbs.  I see it in the halls of my children’s schools.  I see it at soccer games, at chorus concerts, in the pews of my (Catholic) church…

I’m not one to belittle the beliefs of others.  You know your heart and I know mine.  To me, this change isn’t about party or politics; it’s about people.  If you love this place, you work to shape it.  You work to ensure Southern hospitality extends to all, not just those who look and think and feel like you.  There may have been pain and anger and hatred in our land’s past, but there will be joy and love and hope in our land’s future.

Don’t stand on the outside and assume, come on down.  All y’all are welcome here.

#bethechange

 

I was kind of kidding when I told Ellen I would do this blog with her.  I have a lot of things inside I want to say… I just don’t want anyone to hear them.  I don’t like people reading what I write or hearing how I feel.  When someone reads what I write in front of me or finds out my true thoughts, this is how it feels:  It feels like my skin has turned inside out and the person reading or hearing my words is pouring salt on me.  I hate it.  What I write comes from inside of me and I am an intensely private person and I do not want other people to see inside me.  Why?  I don’t know.  Maybe I am afraid they will see the real me and find me lacking.  Maybe I dislike conflict so much I am afraid to anger people or alienate people or make people feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable.  Maybe I don’t want people to think less of me for my opinions.  Maybe it’s all these things.  Regardless, I am a quiet observer.  I think many thoughts; I rarely speak them unless I know you quite well.

This is pretty much the opposite of my sister.  Growing up, I kind of felt like damage control for her unapologetic propensity to speak her mind.  She did not care if she made people angry.  In fact, that was probably often her goal.  She wanted to probe others into conflict in order to make them question their beliefs and truly examine their motives.  I hate conflict, so I always came behind her and tried to soothe it over and calm her down.  Conflict makes me feel endangered, like I’m not safe no matter which side I choose or where I go so I kind of shut down.  Conflict feeds her fire.  We aren’t very much alike.

Honestly, I always felt like the weaker of the two of us… the older sister somewhat overshadowed by the younger.  I was the “shy one” on the sidelines, quietly observing her fiery feats.

I feel differently now, about myself at least.  She is still the same force to be feared.  I know now that there is strength in silence too, and that there is profound power in making peace even when that peace comes with great compromise.  I know now that the world needs both kinds of strengths.  The world needs those who are not afraid to speak their minds, and the world needs those who quietly observe, process, and evaluate.  The world needs conflict starters and conflict enders.  The world needs tough love and soft love.  There is no right way to be.

I never thought of myself as strong, but now I know I’m differently strong. I’m differently, quietly strong.

So I said yes to this blog, because we both have voices to share.  We both have offerings we can make.  I am sure we will not always agree, and I am sure I will sometimes be uncomfortable by the things that are posted here.  Each person’s opinion is her own.  I was never good at controlling her then, but I’ve stopped trying to tame her now. I need her kind of strength, and now I see that she needs mine.

And so, the seasons of grief have come to pass, each new milestone of loss giving way to the next, each holiday and occasion becoming redefined without you.  I don’t think there will ever be a sadder Christmas than that of 2016.  To me, you were Christmas.  All that is Christmas was at your house with all the people and all the love and all the memories I have are there. So without you was just loss, and Christmas Eve was no longer magical, and sadness reigned.  And I tried, I really tried to carry it on for my girls, but in between the new memories there were tears for Christmas Eves past.

It’s devastating to me that now the house will celebrate with a new family, as if the years and years and years of love could be so easily replaced… But I know a house is just a house and the Christmas you gave me is inside me.  That’s what my mind tells my heart.  But my heart aches with the passing of days, with the memories I try to cling to as they quickly slip away.  This is the way, though.  My job now is to create new memories for my little people and to take all that you taught me and showed me and pass it on to the next generation, but it feels so difficult as I sit here in the loss of you.

My beautiful, brave, courageous, outspoken, dominating grandmother, it’s just that you left so suddenly…  You gave so much to the world, and you lived your life with such a purpose, and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.  I’ll never be ready to say goodbye. And I won’t ever say goodbye to your example, to your belief in the goodness of all people, to your desire to help even the person at his lowest rise a little higher.  You believed in good.  You believed in mankind.  You believed in leading a servant life and in setting an example for us all to do the same.  You shaped me.  I’ve never felt better than or more important than anyone, but damn if I didn’t feel luckier than anyone for the love that surrounded me always.  You gave that love freely to all.  So many were family to you.  Your heart was open and you tirelessly gave of yourself for others.  Your example drives me in all that I hope to do. I carry you with me.

And each new day brings a new loss.  A new memory that you won’t know, that you won’t shape…A birthday passing with no song, a wedding with an empty seat, a yellow leaf falling in a yard that no longer belongs to us, a summer standing at the ocean shore and feeling your presence in each crashing wave…

The world changed on that day we lost you.  The whole world shifted and tilted inside of me and outside too, and I’m still struggling to regain my balance.  We are all still teetering in this new reality, seeking to keep alive the ideals you cultivated in us.  But I won’t lie; it’s hard Grandmother.  

On election night 2016, I got this text from my dad:

“Around midnight, Ruthie said she did not feel that this is a small world after all. We agreed that the world seems larger & scarier now.”

The next day, you were gone. It hurts so much that you left a world you worked so hard to make smaller and more beautiful feeling like that progress had been reversed or was never truly there at all.

But I know what you meant– our country feels less beautiful, it feels scarier, it feels hostile… This has nothing to do with politics and everything to do with human dignity, with the worth of all the beautiful people whose differences weave a fabric I still believe in but see that many others do not.

It’s a hard world, but you knew that already.  You fought your battles bravely and you shielded us from the pain of it, but now it’s ours to carry. I wasn’t ready to shoulder the burden, but it was time for you to lay it down.  On that Tuesday, the world shifted.  On that Wednesday, you said goodbye.  And after a year of Tuesdays and Wednesdays later, I’m still finding my balance in this new reality.

I miss you.  I am blessed beyond measure for the gifts you gave me.  I will always cling to the future you fought for. You would be so proud of us Downses, Grandmother.  We are closer than ever.  We are holding strong.  We are less than without you, and I don’t imagine that that will change. But we will change.  We will fill the void in ways that would make you happy.  We will live your example. I love you.  One day, I will see you again.