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The Power to Choose Our Feelings

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A few years back, I heard this quote, “Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt, I thought, wow. That’s some powerful stuff. You go, Eleanor. I loved the idea of holding one’s own space. I was at a point in my life where I’d become comfortable with my adult self and I found this quote inspiring.

But lately, this quote has been bothering me. As a mother and educator of small children, I’ve been thinking, now wait a minute, Eleanor. Were you suggesting what I think you were? That each of us is solely responsible for our self-esteem? Maybe grown people, adults. What about the children?

I knew Eleanor was an advocate for children. Perhaps, I thought, I’d been reading the quote wrong, attributing meaning where there was none. So, I did what I so often do when something bugs me, I go in search of information. Which means I did a quick Google search. And I found a story tied to this quote on the website, quoteinvestigator.

Mrs. Roosevelt’s original quote, it seems, had been part of a longer response to a reporter’s question about a situation where snub may or may not have occurred to a government official. When Mrs. Roosevelt was asked to weigh in on the situation, she (in my opinion) answered quite diplomatically. First, she said (and I’m paraphrasing) the snub had to have been made intentionally in order for it to have even been perceived as a snub. Mrs. Roosevelt went on to say that when we, the ones on the receiving end of a confusing, possibly offensive interaction are feeling unsure of ourselves, it is easy to feel insulted, marginalized.

In essence, she was saying we have the power to let a comment or action grow, become “a thing,” which can make us feel poorly about ourselves. But when we feel confident, know where we stand, we can laugh at remarks, brush off slights, render them powerless. A few years later, the website said, her remarks were shortened in a Reader’s Digest story, distilled into the famous quote that’s been bugging me so much lately. Hmm.

After mulling it over, I think Eleanor demonstrated kindness and empowerment. How can we ever know the intent of another without asking? But so often we jump to conclusions. Create narratives to explain our feelings away. And in the process, we choose to give our power away, we choose to feel offended.

Going further, I think what Eleanor was essentially saying was that sometimes people do or say things intentionally that make us feel bad. Other times, though, the things people say or do that make us feel crummy are completely unintended. Thoughtless comments, brain-cramps, social whoops.

And it’s up to us, completely in our control, to determine the motivation of the other. Choose how we’re going to respond. Or not respond. We can deem the other person offensive and reestablish a boundary line, disengage or we can recognize their misstep as nothing more than a mistake, choose to meet them with compassion.  It’s completely up to us. We can choose to be offended or just to let it go. Wowsa. That’s some serious empowerment! And such a great lesson to teach our kids.

Because think about it; when our kids hurt, we feel their pain just as acutely, sometimes even more. The birthday party our child wasn’t invited to, the recess when there was “nobody” to play with, the playdate our child heard happened without them. All of these things happen. None of them are pleasant. But we adults have the choice to interpret as the incident as a slight or a non-event. And teach our children that they, too, have the power to reflect, feel and choose to feel good about themselves anyway.

In the age of technology and social media, where every moment is shared, it’s so incredibly easy to feel snubbed, question ourselves. And when the icky feelings get stirred up, we need to remind our kids and ourselves of Eleanor’s impactful words. Remember each of us has the power to choose how to feel.

©Kathie Z.

 

 

A Birthday Gift

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It’s a cold, rainy, autumn New England day. A stay in your pjs, sip tea kind of day. The kind of day that invites quiet contemplation.

It just so happens today is my daughter’s birthday. It’s her 22nd, but in a way, it’s another first.

It’s the first birthday she’s celebrating far away from us.

Coming to the realization we wouldn’t be spending this birthday with her was another reminder that she’s grown, on a journey that’s leading her to places unknown. Although I’m incredibly excited for her and the infinite possibilities that exist, I can’t help but reflect on the days gone too soon.

Remembering the bright, sunny day when she’d turned one brings a smile to my face. Dressed in black leggings, a white fleece sweater and a pair of Stride-Rite walking shoes, she’d taken her first steps. She was so proud of herself. I remember feeling a twinge sad then at how fast my baby was growing up. That memory led to the memory of her eleventh birthday. She’d been so confused when we met her at the bus, told her there was a surprise waiting at the house. When she got inside, she found a puppy; small and brown, unnamed, a bow attached to his collar. She sat on the floor, snuggled him. She was so excited, she promised, “I will never ever in my whole life ask you guys for anything else again.” We laughed, knowing her earnest promise was impossible to keep. And last year when she’d turned 21…it had been parent’s weekend at her college. The last we’d attend.

Knowing we’ll be together as a family to celebrate her birthday in a few weeks, my husband and I still wanted her to have a gift from us on her actual birthday. But what? We went back and forth discussing options. There were things every young person needs when they leave home. Things like furniture and rugs. Stuff everyone needs when they’re just starting out. But those were just “things.” Things that she’d collect piece by piece, accumulate over time. Replace when they were no longer useful.

We decided to choose the option that would bring her the most happiness.

And then it occurred to me. It didn’t matter what we sent her. Not really. Because over the course of the last 22 years, she’d received the most tremendous gift of all. From a whole bunch of us; her family, teachers, professors, mentors, and friends. Each one of us had made small contributions in the forms of encouragement, empathy, and love that had accumulated, grown-amounted to most valuable gift of all; worthiness.

Making deposits, increasing a child’s self-worth can be done quickly, simply. By sharing a kind word, a smile. Being an engaged listener; keeping quiet, nodding in understanding. Clearly communicating expectations while tolerating mistakes, turning them into learning opportunities…

In a million small ways, day after day, we adults can affect positive change by helping our kids to grow their own sense of worthiness. Because in the end, isn’t that what we all want? To know we’ve given the kids the tools to live their lives with confidence, creativity and compassion?

I can’t think of a better gift.

©Kathie Z.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Importance of Teaching Boundary Building

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Boundaries. They’re essential to living a happy life, one in which we feel safe; physically and emotionally. We all build them. Eventually. After lots and lots of practice.

The clearly defined, non-negotiable set of rights and wrongs: work hard, tell the truth, don’t take what’s not yours, use your manners were handed to me by my parents and their friends. This set of acceptable and unacceptable behaviors were communicated well, passed to me and my peers as a set of expectations, a code of conduct.

Although we were taught to play fair, do what’s right, I don’t ever recall being taught explicitly how to either define my personal boundaries or protect them. That’s why it takes so many of us years, decades even to define our own boundary lines, protect them when others trespass.

I find it odd that the boundaries around time, space, and self-image are mentioned, hinted at, but not explicitly taught to children as self-care. I believe boundary setting is essential for all of our children and it can be taught like brushing teeth, tying shoes, and reading; bit by bit with lots of opportunities for practice provided.

So how can we do this? Well, in primary classes, we teach children to define their space bubbles and stay in them. Some of us, myself most certainly, need larger space bubbles. But defining our space bubbles, our safe amount of personal space isn’t enough. Our children need to be taught how to verbalize in an assertive, respectful way when others get too close, make them feel uncomfortable. A strategy I utilize is one I was taught decades ago during a conflict-resolution training; the I Statement. I Statements are easy for little kids and they work wonders. They empower the child delivering the message to use their voice, claiming their boundaries while maintaining the dignity of the child who has over-stepped. The structure of an I Statement is as follows: (child’s name) I feel when you (state the action) and I’d like you to (name a replacement behavior). Kinda easy, right? And incredibly empowering.

We parents can help our kids build their confidence to speak up when we reinforce this strategy at home. It separates the behavior from the person, minimizing shouting and shame while reminding our children that mistakes are expected and accepted. And although consequences will likely be given, forgiveness will be, too. Self-images are protected.

But sometimes things happen, things we have no control over and boundaries are crossed without permission, our kids are hurt by others. Their hurt becomes our hurt. And as hard as it is, we need to remember it is our job as parents to lead by example: encourage our children to use their voices, share their experience with us while we listen calmly, non-judgmentally. Console with love and acknowledge the bravery exhibited to speak rather than remaining silent. And then we help jumpstart the healing process by guiding our children to reestablish their boundaries and strengthen them.

We need to model boundary setting, too. Engage in the essential self-care of setting limits, maintaining them, especially when doing so feels “selfish.” Because our kids are watching, listening. Learning.

©Kathie Z.

 

Opportunities are Like Tomatoes

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Raising courageous, confident kids is hard. It’s the hardest work we will ever do. Because, I think, there’s so much at stake.

Without a doubt, educating and empowering kids is my calling, my life’s work for my own two children and the students I’ve taught and continue to teach. Over the years, I’ve honed my craft, curated a well-stocked tool box, and refined my practice. That said, the process doesn’t get any easier, the task remains challenging. I’ve learned, though, we get better over time with lots of practice. And continuous learning.

That’s why I read so much. Books to build growth mindset, books about resilience, books about taking action and living your best life, fulfilling your purpose. I gravitate to work that is presented with a blend of personal anecdotes and research based-evidence.

These past few weeks, I’ve been rereading Mel Robbins’ the 5 Second Rule. In her book, Ms. Robbins explores the trap of over-thinking and creating a negative, fear-based narrative that pushes so many of us into inaction and becoming stuck. Having become stuck herself, Ms. Robbins developed a simple five second strategy for action. Backed by neuroscience, her process for acting on good ideas has been transformative for lots of over-thinkers.

The fact that I was reading the 5 Second Rule while my daughter was simultaneously preparing for her first art show post-college and interviewing for a job in higher education was pure serendipity. As an educator, I know the research on parents being their child’s primary source of influence. And here she was, living under our roof again for the first time in four years. Navigating an incredibly stressful time with her parents in the next room, keeping tabs on the progress of both her show and job search. Yikes!

My husband and I tried our best to be supportive, but I’m pretty sure we hovered. As a writer, I know that putting yourself and your creative work out into the world can be dauntingly scary. The same can be said for working in a more traditional field, as well. The fear of judgment can become a terrible deterrent. The imagined scenarios of failure and the uncertainty of what if are confidence-eroders. We tried to support her in the best way; making ourselves available to answer her questions, offer advice only when solicited and keep the fridge stocked with good food.

A few days before the show I arrived home from work. Her best high school friend was visiting, offering moral support. She, too, was in the process of finding her first post-college job. She, too, was navigating the stressful process of interviewing and waiting. My daughter had had a phone interview for an amazing job a few days earlier. She’d been told the process would move quickly, but she’d been playing phone tag with the college for the past 24 hours. She’d made the last call so it was her turn to receive a call back. But her phone hadn’t rung, cell service in our house undependable. The end of the business day was drawing near and her time was at a premium. The art show was going up in two days. Would she need to make the four hour drive for an in-person interview? The timing was terrible. But all signs pointed to this being an amazing opportunity. So, I butted in.

“You need to Mel Robbins this thing.”

“What?” she said.

“Five second rule it. You call back,” I said.

“Yeah,” my husband chimed in.

“You really should,’ her friend joined in.

“Pick up your phone,” I said. “If you get voice mail, you get voice mail. You’ll leave a message. Then it’s up to them.”

Then I counted down. “Five, four, three, two, one, go!” I pointed to the door.

She headed out to the back porch with her phone. She made the call. And arranged an interview!

“Aren’t you glad you five seconded it?” I said when she shared her news.

“I guess so,” she said.

In the whirlwind of three days, she traveled 500 miles, interviewed for a great job and exhibited in a juried art show. She faced her fears, worked through discomfort and experienced success.

A few days after the interview, she was offered the job. She packed up her car and made the four hour drive to a small college town to start the new phase of her life. As she pulled away, she smiled her broad smile. She looked like a young Mary Tyler Moore, heading into the world on her own. I thought of the theme song to the show, “Love is All Around.” Like Mary, she was headed off into the unknown. I knew there’d be an adjustment but I know in my heart she is going to not only make it, she is going to thrive.

This morning I stood at the kitchen counter, reflecting on the whirlwind of the past week, how our daughter’s life had jettisoned in just a few days. My husband and I have been empty nesters for two years and we’ve embraced it. Realizing that our oldest was actually an adult who was living far away hit me. I was so happy for her, but a twinge sad.

I reached for the tomato I’d placed on the windowsill the night before. It was still a little yellow so I figured I’d save it for my lunch, give it another day to ripen. But overnight it had developed a bunch of black spots that radiated from the center. I’d waited too long and it had gone bad. Then it occurred to me. Opportunities are like tomatoes on the vine. They take time to ripen, but they need to be picked at just the right time. Enjoyed. If we wait too long, don’t act, then the opportunity will pass. So will the joy. I planted these tomatoes from seed in April. Finally, in September, they are ready to be picked and enjoyed. Right then and there. Foolishly, I had waited, let the opportunity pass.

I smiled at the irony. Had my daughter waited for the call back, didn’t act, let the call go to voicemail due to unpredictable phone service; who knows what would have happened? Perhaps her opportunity would have withered on the vine, maybe been picked by someone else who was waiting, ready. But she’d acted, made the call, “picked the tomato.” Chosen to enjoy it. Without over-thinking.

May this be the first of many tomatoes she picks at their peak.

©Kathie Z.

September, the Other January?

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Everywhere I’ve looked in the past week or so, I seem to encounter this idea: September, the other January. A time to reset, start anew. Do better, be better. The second “New Year.”

This concept is not new for those of us who teach. September literally is the beginning of a new year. And each brand-new year is full of endless possibilities. It’s a time to refine what’s worked in our practice and try something new to replace the things that haven’t. September is our annual do-over. That’s why September is so great. For us.

In spite of our excitement, we know September and all of its unknowns can be a tricky, stressful, challenging time for our kids. And the gift of experience heightens our awareness for spotting worry and unease which we work to minimize with a treasure trove of get-to-know-you and community building activities. During September, we take our time settling in, establishing routines to foster an environment of encouragement and student success.

One of the ways we build our students’ confidence is by building a classroom community through whole group activities that allow us to become a “we.” Tour any elementary school in September and you’re likely to see different examples of students’ hopes and wishes displayed, my classroom included. Each September as I open another school new year with a new group of students, I read Happy School Year! by Susan Milord aloud. In the book, every student in the school makes a wish for a happy school year. Just like last year and the year before and the year before that, I invite my students to make a wish for the new school year. My students think about the things they want to learn, skills they want to develop, friendships they hope to make. After making a wish, students write their wishes for a great year on paper cupcake cut outs that they decorate with crayon. By putting pencil to paper, my students make their wishes for a happy year real, their goals visible.

For years, I’ve embraced the idea of September being the marker of a new year, a time when anything is possible, a month of optimism. Then I thought of my daughter who had recently graduated from college. And the rest of the “big kids” who had not landed where they wanted to be yet. September is here anyway. And for the first time in nearly two decades, they are no longer part of a school community, following academic calendars, working towards graduation requirements. They’ve crossed the goal line. Sort of.

This made me think of the flip side of the September coin. Where I find September rejuvenating, a return to structure, routine, my calling; there are scores of young people feeling the opposite. The infinite possibilities of “the rest of your life” can be mind-boggling and the prospect of finding work that both sustains and fulfills overwhelming. Statistics tell us that it takes college graduates on average three to six months post-graduation to find work in their chosen fields. That means that scores of young people are currently unemployed or underemployed. It’s no wonder these kids find themselves feeling untethered; like balloons whose strings have been let go, floating to places unknown.

And then it occurred to me. Why is it that we encourage our younger students to reflect each September on the things that would make them happy in the coming months? Then help them to set personal goals, which we help them to attain? But we discontinue this practice once our kids grow older, become “big”? What if we parents and mentors asked these big kids to take a moment, reflect on what they hope to accomplish in the coming months? Visualize, articulate the things that would make them happy in the next year? Guide them in the direction of following their dreams, remind them that we struggled, too, many years ago?  What if rather than the month to figure out the rest of their lives, September became the month of hopes and dreams, the month to make wishes and devise plans? A time to take a breath and figure things out. For now.

Then September could be the start of a happy new year.

©Kathie Z.

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