10.10.2017
Today was my birthday. Today, was also World Mental Health Day and National Coming Out Day. These days have such a resonance for how many people they honor and shine light on, but for me- sharing the day of my birth with these two days is more than just symbolic.
This morning, I walked into our staff meeting, donuts in tow, just in time to hear our principal wish me a happy birthday, and ask the staff — a room full of women — whether it would be appropriate to ask me my age. It’s an innocent enough question, especially given the setting in which we work. When one of our students has a birthday, we ask them how old they are, pretty much automatically. As teachers, this allows us to show interest in their lives, while at the same time gaining a bigger understanding of the demographics in our class.
As adults, however, this age thing becomes somewhat tricky, doesn’t it? The room full of women, quite quickly rebuffed the idea to ask me my age — No! Echoed around the half-sleepy, half-caffeinated room. Several kids also asked me throughout the day, and I noticed myself skirting their question — “I’ll tell you later”, “It doesn’t matter”, “Older than you…” These were my answers to a question that, quite honestly, I am proud to answer, and that, eventually — I did.
Whether we like it or not, our lives are ruled by numbers — the date, the time, our age, our weight, the amount of money in the bank account, how many years experience we have, how many years since/before/until…these are the tension rods on which we hang our existence. Yet- these numbers are all so fragile, so relative. Once, the number on the scale ruled my well-being, and now I don’t even look when I go to the doctor. Once, I counted the seconds until I could lock myself away- alone, isolated, so I could try and sleep forever. Once, I couldn’t imagine counting years into my 30s. Two clocks in the same room can have a different time on them, just as two people of the same age may have led very different lives.
I’m 32. It’s a big deal for me to be 32 because there was a time in my life that I sincerely believed I would not live past the age of 25. I read somewhere, most likely in one of my (pretty outdated) psychology textbooks that if mental illness is not taken care of before the age of 25, it is irreversible. At 25 — I was alive, but I was not yet well. Truthfully, I don’t know if it is possible to be fully “healed” — the scars that I carry are both visible and invisible, and their presence is palpable in all that I am, and in all that I do. in my In 32 years, I have lived many lives, I have fallen and gotten up again. I have learned lessons, lost friends, gained wisdom, connected deeply, loved fully, sobbed unabashedly, taken risks, been at risk, given life — which continues to give every day — I have taught, I have learned, I have observed. I have been sick, I am in recovery, I have been scared.
What we do with our years, that’s really up to us. Whether we want to live for material gain, whether we think only of our own pleasure, or whether we try our best to be kind, respectful, and righteous people — that is up to us. Every year on my birthday, I look back on the year tha thas passed — and on birthdays past. This year, the images that fill my mind are of many firsts — first words, steps, songs, days in daycare, kisses, hugs — and of important finishings — graduation. For me though, the moments that really fill my heart with warmth and purpose are the ones that I spend in the classroom with my students. Whether they are “I Am”/meditation students, or students that I see every day — I celebrate their joys, successes, achievements with them and I stand with them in their struggles, challenges, and inner turmoils. Their energy, curiosity, openness — pours light into my life.
It is in teaching these kids — and the ones before them — that I feel the purpose of my life, that I know why I did indeed survive the turmoil that plagued over a decade of my life — a dark time that I was sure would claim me. I teach from my scars — when I bring a meditation, a lesson from life, or a chance for self-reflection into the classroom, it comes from a practice that helps me maintain my balance, from tools that allow me to get through challenging moments, and from many years of hard work I have done to get to know my body as a place that I can live in peacefully. Every word that I have the chance to say in the classroom is a blessing that I am deeply grateful for -each breath beyond 25 is a miracle. Every time I teach meditation to my students- to anyone- I feel that I am giving away a sacred formula. This breathing — literally- saved my life. And more than once.
It hasn’t been perfect. Each year, I look back to find the moments that add up to health: a long streak of “good” days, a healthy habit that I have managed to make stick, and any moment where I catch myself thinking — “ok, I kinda like myself right now”. As the years go on, I step further and further away from the darkest days. Some scars fade, and many others stay as constant reminders of what a true miracle life can be. Though it’s clichéd to say “life”- because what I really mean is that it is a true miracle that I have more days where I am excited to be a part of life, than those where all I want to do is hide in myself and battle my memories.
At 32…16 years after the onset of my struggles, and 5 years since I discovered the work that allows my soul to sing, and my being to heal. At 32…having the immense privilege of nurturing a new soul with greatness ahead, and the honor of being a guide to so many soul warriors in training — my students- I find the gratitude, and I hold it close to my heart. I look around today, and my life is filled with creative, beautiful, inspiring, kind, loving, strong people, with moments of laughter and shared emotions, with new opportunities to share what I have learned.
It is wonderful. It is grand. If is a miracle. It’s not always easy. Some days, I reach for my old masks, I hide behind non-commital responses, and I avoid real conversation, and I reach for foods that I know will keep me safe. Some days, I wonder why the sun rises at all. At 32…most days are positive. Most days, are light.
Our soul is stronger than we think. It can survive all the mutilations and slashes of life, and the marks we put upon it. Our light still shines through our cracks- and all together, they make us perfect and complete.
—
If you or someone you. know is struggling with mental health…reach out — to them, to family, to anyone who will listen. If no one comes to mind — we are blessed to have so many organizations with hotlines that can serve, help, guide, and support.
