Notes on the Second Half of Freedom Writers

- prejudices are ingrained in us and make us want to act in certain ways... but we don't HAVE to
- loyalty to our families can be destructive to our growth, but we're taught that if we don't stick with our blood, we are somehow wrong
- we are capable of connecting with one another, even if we are strangers, we are capable of empathy
- when we are willing to put ourselves out there, it makes it easier for others to trust us
- kids are people, too
- people can be really ignorant... and a lot of times they don't even know it
- make learning fun! (sometimes corny ideas can have amazing results, if in the right space)
- teachers have the ability to change lives in a very big way... but they need to genuinely CARE about their students... and that doesn't just go for teachers in the school setting
- a lot of times, other's insecurities, personal setbacks can make it really hard for them to support and bring up anyone else... sometimes, they even unwittingly try to hold others back
- books are AMAZING!
- I love Hilary Swank (what a great actress)
- Live by Example. We can be passionate, we can get angry, we can talk all we want about why we feel the way we do and believe the things we do, but I believe living by example is the best way to get an idea across.
- "Anyone can turn on a small light in a dark room."
- people can change for the better
- the right thing or the fair thing to do isn't usually the easiest thing to do :/
- Do What You Love... if you can
- "Justice doesn't mean the bad guy goes to jail, it just means someone pays for the crime."
- having a home, a safe place where we can truly be ourselves and be accepted and loved, is important to our development as people... and sometimes, it takes longer for others to find that home... and sometimes, they never do...

In The Beginning

Optimistic & romantic were two words I confidently – and frequently – used to describe myself when I was younger. I've come to understand in the past couple of years that there is quite a big difference between being an idealist – which I do consider myself to be - and an optimist. My disposition though is cheery. It might have been more accurate to describe myself as a pessimist – I believe there is a comfort in the cocoon of darkness negativity provides – but I try to steer myself away from that type of thought process because I know the downward-spiral of a path that it tends leads me to. I am capable of being a realist, but that isn't the default filter on the metaphorical lens that I see life through; that might be due to the fact that I connotate realism with pessimism (the world can be a really ugly place, who wants that to be in the forefront of their mind at all times?). As for being a romantic, that hasn't changed too much, but I have gotten into the habit of tacking on hopeless in front of it – because despite every life experience I've had so far, a part of me still wants to believe the easy, forever kind of love exists. The romantic love I strove for as a child was extremely distorted and logically so since my understanding of the most basic form of love - the feelings we develop for our caregivers – was also severely skewed.

[Before I continue, I’d like to say that whenever I talk about my family, I worry that it comes off as if I don't appreciate them and/or that they are horrible people and that's not completely true; except for my child-molester of a brother (the eldest), I believe they are, at their core, good people and still capable of growth.] Out of 7 kids (2 boys and 5 girls) I am the second youngest, so I had 5 older siblings to look up to, take direction from and attempt to imitate. Our parents have been married for over 40 years and I have never seen either of them lay a hand on the other nor has there ever been any question about their loyalty to each other and their family; I do not doubt that I would have been an even more broken person if their marriage wasn’t as solid as it is. I was raised to believe that “blood is thicker than water” and that we were a tight knit family – but what tied us so closely to each other (and what continues to hold them all together, despite my absence) was dysfunction and violence. We were taught to be suspicious of everyone outside of our immediate family, to follow the rules laid out in front of us and to never question what our elders said just because and we most definitely did not air out our dirty laundry. Yelling and beating was the method of discipline, used by both my parents and my siblings. Rumble was the word I used when talking with my friends about what would happen at my house when there were discrepancies between my siblings (the ground beneath us would literally shake); sides were always taken and usually friends would be over to partake in the brawling. We never talked things out – although attempts would be made, it would usually just lead to another screaming session and/or beating – words are best used as weapons; the one with the sharpest tongue wins. We never worked through our problems, we’d hold grudges and ignore each other until someone caved and then the issue would be swept under the proverbial rug like dust to be kicked up again at the next disagreement.

The repercussions of growing up in that kind of environment has left me in a perpetual, somewhat scrambled egg state of being. I give my trust easily, I love quickly and I do so deeply, but I am always afraid of and waiting for the inevitable fallout. Connecting with others is second nature and I am an open book, but I am extremely sensitive and I withdraw and throw up my barriers at the first indication of pain (admittedly, usually a phantom provoked by my high anxiety). There are times when I feel like a strong, independent, happy and satisfied person and just as often, I feel so debilitated with anxiety, fear, anger, sadness and exhaustion. When I was little, I wanted my love story to be as perfect as the fairytales. I wanted a handsome prince to fall in love with me instantly, to come save me from the woes of my reality and make me happy until we both died peacefully within seconds of each other. In middle school, I remember even wanting to save my first kiss for my wedding day! It was around that time though that I had also started to believe that fighting was how you’d see someone’s true colors and that making up meant you had overcome a hardship and were destined to be together… at least, that’s what I gathered from my older sisters’ relationships. It was even better if fighting included uncontrollable crying, screaming awful things you took back afterwards and 100 points if they hit you. So began my training in reaching out for love from the opposite sex, trying to find the one who would fulfill my life’s epic love story… crushing the weaker ones and being destroyed by the ones even more broken than myself.

Then towards the end of my sophomore year in high school, I fell in love with the one I thought I could be with for the rest of my life and I gave him everything of me I could possibly give. I was left feeling empty and so completely, so irrevocably damaged… but I stayed because he was very obviously The One. I was convinced there was always more of myself that I could scrounge up and give him, especially if we had good day. I could fix it (since I was always most likely the reason for breaking it in the first place), I could make him happy. What happened instead was I hit rock bottom and I was forced to take time away from everyone and everything I knew to really focus on myself in a very controlled space. While others saw this as a punishment, I saw it as an opportunity to connect with peers who had grown up in similar households and currently going through comparable relationship problems. I was also surrounded by supportive, loving adults who not only knew how to communicate in a healthy way, but they also wanted to talk to me. It took me being completely torn apart and lost to: begin to acknowledge and appreciate my strong suits, to recognize and reinforce my weak points, to begin piecing them all together and start finding myself.

Sir Ken Robinson on Education

http://www.ted.com/talks/ken_robinson_says_schools_kill_creativity
http://www.ted.com/talks/ken_robinson_says_schools_kill_creativity/transcript

When Mr. Robinson, through the process of deductive reasoning, stated, "...as children grow up, we start to educate them progressively from the waist up. And then we focus on their heads. And slightly to one side" I felt that wholeheartedly, from my own personal experience and from my daughter's. When he talked about how schools don't spend as much time on teaching kids dance as mathematics, I thought, "Well, they give us the option to in high school. It's up to the students to choose to take the class." But really, if I spent a little more time on it, I know I don't really believe that makes it okay.

Main Point of Our Narrative Essay

I'm not quite sure there was a point as much as just a sharing of my experience with personal growth.

First Draft of Narrative Essay

Optimistic & romantic were two words I confidently – and frequently – used to describe myself when I was younger. I've come to understand in the past couple of years that there is quite a big difference between being an idealist – which I do consider myself to be - and an optimist. My disposition though is cheery. It might have been more accurate to describe myself as a pessimist – I believe there is a comfort in the cocoon of darkness it provides – but I try to steer myself away from that type of thought process because I know the downward-spiral of a path that it tends leads me to. I am capable of being a realist, but that isn't the default filter on the metaphorical lens that I see life through; that might be due to the fact that I connotate realism with pessimism (the world can be a really ugly place, who wants to that to be in the forefront of their mind at all times?). As for being a romantic, that hasn't changed too much, but I have gotten into the habit of tacking on hopeless in front of it – because despite every life experience I've had so far, a part of me still wants to believe the easy, forever kind of love exists. The romantic love I strove for as a child was extremely distorted and logically so since my understanding of the most basic form of love - the feelings we develop for our caregivers – was also severely skewed.

[Before I continue, I’d like to say that whenever I talk about my family, I worry that it comes off as if I don't appreciate them and/or that they are horrible people and that's not completely true; except for my child-molester of a brother (the eldest), I believe they are, at their core, good people and still capable of growth.] Out of 7 kids (2 boys and 5 girls) I am the second youngest, so I had 5 older siblings to look up to, take direction from and attempt to imitate. Our parents have been married for over 40 years and I have never seen either of them lay a hand on the other nor has there ever been any question about their loyalty to each other and their family; I do not doubt that I would have been an even more broken person if their marriage wasn’t as solid as it is. I was raised to believe that “blood is thicker than water” and that we were a tight knit family – but what tied us so closely to each other (and what continues to hold them all together, despite my absence) was dysfunction and violence. We were taught to be suspicious of everyone outside of our immediate family, to follow the rules the laid out in front of us and to never question what our elders said just because and we most definitely did not air out our dirty laundry. Yelling and beating was the method of discipline, used by both my parents and my siblings. Rumble was the word I used when talking with my friends about what would happen at my house when there were discrepancies between my siblings (the ground beneath us would literally shake); sides were always taken and usually friends would be over to partake in the brawling. We never talked things out – although attempts would be made, it would usually just lead to another screaming session and/or beating – words are best used as weapons; the one with the sharpest tongue wins. We never worked through our problems, we’d hold grudges and ignore each other until someone caved and then the issue would be swept under the proverbial rug like dust to be kicked up again at the next disagreement.

The repercussions of growing up in that kind of environment has left me in a perpetual, somewhat scrambled egg state of being. I give my trust easily, I love quickly and I do so deeply, but I am always afraid of and waiting for the inevitable fallout. Connecting with others is second nature and I am an open book, but I am extremely sensitive and I withdraw and throw up my barriers at the first indication of pain (admittedly, usually a phantom provoked by my high anxiety). There are times when I feel like a strong, independent, happy and satisfied person and just as often, I feel so debilitated with anxiety, fear, anger, sadness and exhaustion. When I was little, I wanted my love story to be as perfect as the fairytales. I wanted a handsome prince to fall in love with me instantly, to come save me from the woes of my reality and make me happy until we both died within seconds of each other. In middle school, I remember even wanting to save my first kiss for my wedding day! It was around that time though that I had also started to believe that fighting was how you’d see someone’s true colors and that making up meant you had overcome a hardship band were destined to be together… at least, that’s what I gathered from my older sisters’ relationships. It was even better if fighting included uncontrollable crying, screaming awful things you took back afterwards and 100 points if they hit you. So began my training in reaching out for love from the opposite sex, trying to find the one who would fulfill my life’s epic love story… crushing the weaker ones and being destroyed by the ones even more broken than myself.

Then towards the end of my sophomore year in high school, I fell in love with the one I thought I could be with for the rest of my life and I gave him everything of me I could possibly give. I was left feeling empty and so completely, so irrevocably damaged… but I stayed because he was very obviously The One. I was convinced I could scrounge up even more of myself that I could give him, especially if we had good day. I could fix it (since I was always most likely the reason for breaking it in the first place), I could make him happy. What happened instead was I hit rock bottom and I was forced to take time to really focus on myself. While others saw that as a punishment, I saw it as an opportunity to connect with peers who had grown up in similar households and currently going through comparable relationship problems. I was also surrounded by supportive, loving adults who not only knew how to communicate in a healthy way, but they also wanted to talk to me. It took me being completely torn apart and lost to: begin to acknowledge and appreciate my strong suits, to recognize and reinforce my weak points, to begin piecing them all together and start finding myself.

Segueing from Theory into Practice

When I was younger, I had my whole life planned out. Not necessarily a bad thing, yes? But for me, it was an obsession, a way to feel like I had some kind of control over my life, an escape from the fact that I felt like I had zero control over anything, a manifestation of my anxiety and when Reality didn’t comply, my world would fall apart… in a very bad way. In some ways, this plan was extremely detailed and in other ways, not so much. Towards the middle of 6^th grade, I had decided I would go to Stanford University. I knew it would cost money and I had to get really good grades in school, but that was about it. My plan was to start doing well starting that day – then the next week, then the next month, then the next quarter, then the next year (I was a terrible student) – get straight A’s in high school, get a scholarship and move out. Only a couple more years of middle school and only 4 years of high school and I didn’t even have to wait until I was 18 to be free of my family. I would start working at 16 and save all of it; I’d have enough for a car and a few months of rent. I’d go to school and work at the same time. Then I’d get married at 21 and have at least 7 kids (like in my own family).

Needless to say, that is not how my life turned out.

Make a Difference

I had the most amazing kindergarten and 3rd grade teacher - Mrs. Donna Tukloff. Now, that I think about it, it's probably safe to say that she was my first inspiration to become a teacher. She was this tall (at least from the perspective of a below-height average 5-year-old), round (which I found comforting) and very loving woman that made me feel safe from the very first day.

First Love

When I was a sophomore in high school I met the boy who would become the biggest catalyst of change in my life. He went from being the quiet, awkward kid who hung out in one of the groups I spent my breaks with and had no interest in romantically to someone I couldn't live without and would do anything for to the person I came to live in fear of, for myself and the child he wanted nothing to do with.

Anything I know about healthy relationships I had to learn on my own. I come from a very big, very dysfunctional family; for as long as I've been alive and even before - and probably until they die - the Cycle of Violence has been an underlying way of life, the code of conduct our family values were based off of. So although this boy treated me poorly, I was not completely innocent. I would instigate verbal arguments - because I thought that, partnered with making up, would give our relationship validation - and I highly doubt I went a day without honing my skills of psychological and emotional warfare, using him as a practice field - something I grew up believing everyone spent their lives perfecting.

I learned what it was like to completely lose myself in another person, to have feelings so extreme that I had to find deliberate, external releases and to feel helplessly stuck in my own stubbornness and - although I didn't know it then - ignorance. I broke... and I stayed broken... for a very long time... but I've spent the last few years building myself up, surrounding myself with healthy, loving people, falling down, picking myself up - and asking for help when I couldn't do it alone - and learning who I am and working to be the person I want to be.

Formal Paper #1: What I Need to be Successful

1. Pick an experience to write about... don't overthink it.

 

2. Avoid distractions... work when I have a solid chunk of time where I'm not cleaning/organizing or being a mom or other stuff.

 

3. The opposite of an empty stomach...?

4. Music... to keep me focused.

5. Maybe a study buddy working on the same thing, but not talking to me.

6. Coffee... because caffeine is magical.

7...? I write pretty amazing stuff when I'm sleep deprived and under a time crunch... but I'm not necessarily sure that it would help me be "successful" in the long run.

Squirrel

You've been there through the worst parts... all the broken hearts, false starts... the incapacitating fears, my waterfall of tears... You held my hand to help stop my world from spinning out of control... you are the safehouse of my open, trusting, fragile gypsy soul. I can come home to you... wherever we may be... my distracted squirrel's favorite tree (^_^)

You're my ultimate cheerleader... my hummingbird feeder... problem solver... uber tired, stressed out language decoder. You accept all of my faults, celebrate all my successes, overlook my messes. No words will ever be enough to express the love and appreciation I feel... I know I'm so lucky to have found a friendship like this... a friendship that is the definition of "real".