Reframe Every Thought

Last year I didn't finish the last two weeks of June with my class. My body had given up after fighting tremendous headaches for 6 weeks. I needed to take the last two weeks of school off to heal. My class deserved better. My family deserved better. I deserved better.

In the teaching world, warnings to not share private, personal information with employers or students are clear (including places like personal blogs and social media because of the ease of sharing). There is a line of professionalism drawn in the sand that must be upheld. Sharing could make you vulnerable to your employer. When privacy is expected, needed or wanted, discretion is necessary. Forced privacy is also dehumanizing. The perceived loss of voice and the inability to use it comes with the cost of guilt and shame. While I was unwell, I kept private out of fear of "the rules."

I lost finishing the year with my class. I worried about what parents and colleagues would think. I worried about not being healthy enough to return the following September. In all honesty, people were more concerned about my well-being than me not working those two weeks. This is not a post about worry, however, it is a post about freedom.

I began to grieve a summer that had not yet happened. All the things that I wouldn't be able to do or give my children. Wanting to be honest with someone, I started with my three daughters. I told them I didn't feel well and we wouldn't be able to do as much as we normally did that summer. I asked them to make me a list of all the things they wanted to do. Then, I could be honest about my capabilities and let them down gently.

To the left, is the list they made. They wanted to eat Fun Dip, play outside, do puzzles, play games, go on the iPad and help mom.

I closed the door to one of our bathrooms. As I sat on the floor, my tears of relief washed my worries away. I prayed in gratitude for my children who, in their simplicity, were beginning the healing process of my pain.

***

Over the past week, I have read COVID-19 posts about the school year not ending as expected. Teacher's posts about saying goodbye to their rooms. Students and their families lamenting lost graduations and celebrations.

Going through the unexpected ending last year has made the final chapters of the COVID-19 school year much easier for me. It's okay to feel the loss and to grieve. Not finishing the school year as I had expected caused me a lot of anxiety as a fairly well-adjusted (or so I'd like to think) adult. This doesn't mean every person will experience anxiety or disappointment with COVID-19, but it does mean it is a possibility.

That summer, I needed to adjust my expectations. Let me share with you some unhelpful thinking defences I learned in therapy. Automatic, unhelpful thoughts must be caught and reframed.

All or nothing thinking - I didn't finish the school year and, therefore, I am a failure.
Counterthought or reframe - I gave my students 38 weeks of my best and let them finish the last 2 weeks of the year without me. I had taught them how to be independent. They were capable of finishing the year without me while I took care of my health.

The shoulds - I should be able to create a social-media-worthy summer for all to see how great of a parent I am.
Counterthought or reframe - My kids want a simple summer. I can give them that. If I have nothing I want to share with the world that is okay. I didn't post anything about being pregnant with Josie on social media. The people who knew about the pregnancy without a social media announcement were the people who mattered.

Emotional reasoning - I feel shame and embarrassment about taking time for my health, therefore, I am a bad person. This is where forced privacy creates unhelpful thinking. It creates the thought it is bad to have a health issue.
Counterthought or reframe - I am a better mother and teacher when I am healthy. I am smart for taking the time to get healthy. I have a choice about what I share that is health-related and about what I keep private. This also relates to all or nothing thinking. I can share some information and keep some information private.

I don't know what expectations you need to adjust or what thoughts you need to reframe. I do know that we all need to make these adjustments.

One of my favourite worship songs is a declaration. A reframe of every thought.

I am a child of God. Yes, I am.
I am chosen, not forsaken.
I am who you say I am.

Jesus frees me of the burden of discretionary secrets I have to keep and lies I believe.

"We are human, but we don’t wage war as humans do. We use God’s mighty weapons, not worldly weapons, to knock down the strongholds of human reasoning and to destroy false arguments. We destroy every proud obstacle that keeps people from knowing God. We capture their rebellious thoughts and teach them to obey Christ." -2 Corinthians 10:3-5, NLT

Why not take a listen? While you are listening, see what that summer looked like after reframing it. Even though I didn't share it at the time, I choose to share it now.

Never Once by Joyce Sertic

I want you to meet my friend, Joyce. She is a diamond. Diamonds are not formed without heat and pressure from the Earth. If you have ever asked the question, "Why do bad things happen to good people, her story is for you." If you have asked, "Why do such people continue to believe in God, her story is for you." If you haven't asked any of these questions and want to get to know someone I am privileged to call my friend, her story is for you. Her husband, Peter, was a gem and a friend too. Their story belongs to God and she wrote this book from her journals as a tribute to Peter.

"This is my story. All true. Faced with many challenges, God has remained faithful and has given me purpose, joy and continues to provide all I have needed. All throughout my life's challenges, I decided to journal. So, many of these stories, comments and testimonies were taken right from my personal journal as I was walking some very dark and unknown situations. Through infertility struggles, fostering, adopting and my husband's very unexpected death 4 days before we became a forever family, God has remained faithful."

Joyce Sertic is from Canada.

***

Here is the trailer for her book, Never Once:

Click here for Trailer

Here is the link to online order form:

Click here for ordering information

The Face of a Panic Attack

One Year Ago, 2019

The Weekend Before Victoria Day Weekend

I had my mom take me to urgent care for stroke-like symptoms. Chris had been ill, in bed and out of commission himself. The doctor arrogantly brushed-off my symptoms as a reaction to antibiotics I was taking for a bladder infection. Knowing I would be alone Victoria day weekend, I took my passcode off my phone and taught my daughters how to use my phone in case of an emergency. It was to be Chris's final retreat as a youth pastor.

Victoria Day Weekend

Days felt like years.

Weekends on my own with the girls were commonplace having a husband as a youth pastor. This time was the last for a while and should have been the easiest. I had barely texted Chris. I didn't want him to worry about me.

Using the back door on Sunday night, Chris eased into the house. I forced myself off the couch and collapsed into his arms, crying. It was a defining moment for me. I was not okay. I began struggling with daily headaches and recurring migraines.

A Sunday between Victoria Day and Father's Day

June 2019

We were a party of friends crowded in a local ice cream parlour on a Sunday afternoon in June. It was ice cream weather. The picture to the right was taken of me in line waiting to order. It was taken during the onset of a panic attack. Mental health is invisible. I didn't know I was having a panic attack at the time.

Everyone was bustling in line and deciding on flavours. I started sweating. I lost my appetite and ability to focus. The room was closing in on me and I needed fresh air. My only goal was to last standing long enough not to puke or faint. I ordered nothing, leaving Chris with the icecream decisions for our family and ushered myself outside. I landed on a rock in time to suppress the sick feeling in my stomach from exiting.

With icecream eating finished, we began to walk. I tried to stay steady, focused on each dizzying step. Another picture. I chose to sit beside a friend who had been through medical-trauma while the group-selfie was orchestrated. It was a miracle he was alive. I drew strength from his smile that day. We landed at a park. The children ran off to play. I was praying mine didn't get kidnapped because that was the extent of my parenting capabilities at that moment.

I asked Chris to keep an eye on our girls. With my purse as a makeshift pillow, I lay under the shade of a massive hardwood. As I looked up through the leaves and branches crossing the sky, my friend shared a poem about seasons and trees. She murmured that we didn't have to talk. Her words eased me. I closed my eyes and started to settle back into my own body.

***

Days later. Another stroke-like migraine hit me. I could feel the numbness radiating up and down the left side of my body. Speech? Fine. Face? Fine. I ran through the symptoms of concern my doctor had reviewed with me. Migraine. My temporal veins throbbed with intensity. Advil. Bed. The next day, the doctor wrote me off work. I couldn't teach with out-of-control migraines, even if there were only two weeks left in the year. I had already been struggling for a month.

Father's Day Weekend

I shuffled dinner around my plate, forcing myself to eat for the second time that day. Every swallow was an effort. It was a repeat of the lunch I didn't eat. Earlier, my Greek salad existed to catch tears. I had broken down with two of my friends over the meal. It was my low. My unfinished Iced Capps was a warning sign to those who know me. The days that followed had moments where my heart was quaking in my chest. Chris and the girls would stroll ahead playing Pokemon-Go while I walked the panic attack off.

***

What was the cause? I don't have a concrete answer. Headaches, migraines and panic attacks were physical symptoms. I had anxiety about what was happening, maybe even depression. I was in weekly contact with my doctor at the time. After much reflection and therapy, there were physiological, emotional and trauma-induced factors. Stress wasn't the cause, but that didn't help.

What did I do to be well? I was in regular contact with my doctor. I meditated and prayed through the panic attacks. I breathed in the presence of God and out the anxiety. There were waves I had to let pass. I would excuse myself to the bathroom, talk to myself in the mirror and say, "You are okay. You are still you." I repeated the words until I believed them. I ate healthily and exercised to help prevent headaches and boost positive brain chemicals. I went to therapy. When I was on the road to recovery, an event triggered me to the point where I almost lost all my hard work. I then advocated for myself and asked my doctor for medication. Therapy allowed my brain to make sense of my story. Now, I write.

Why? The brain is a physical part of the body. I went through emotional trauma. Initially, it wasn't my own trauma. As a witness, I can't write about what isn't mine. My unwellness was trauma-induced. At least, in part. My brain was triggered into a physical state of protection. That's the physical explanation I worked out in therapy. I believe, there is also a spiritual one. At that moment in time, I was called to walk alongside victims of trauma. Sharing a part in their stories, I found myself impacted too. I fought for my health back. As a result, I can better understand the fight. We don't always get to choose what our brains do and how our bodies react. Sometimes trying harder doesn't work.

***

A devout life does bring wealth, but it’s the rich simplicity of being yourself before God. Since we entered the world penniless and will leave it penniless, if we have bread on the table and shoes on our feet, that’s enough...

Pursue a righteous life—a life of wonder, faith, love, steadiness, courtesy. Run hard and fast in the faith. Seize the eternal life, the life you were called to, the life you so fervently embraced in the presence of so many witnesses. -1 Timothy 6-8, 11-12 (The Message)

The Leather Pants

Photo by Jasmin Schreiber on Unsplash

To be honest, they aren't leather pants. They are pleather pants. Shiny rather than matted and thick. They sit at the back of my drawer and no longer fit. They are the pants that you keep in hopes of one-day fitting again.

***

One of my dearest friends was getting married. I had nothing to wear to her wedding. Even my go-to black dress was looking curtain-like on my body. You would think I would be happy about finally being skinny. I had lived my life before that time perpetually wanting to be 10 pounds lighter. I was 30 pounds less than my typical self.

I was avoiding most people. "You look fantastic!" was a common remark. I didn't feel fantastic. Eating was difficult. I had to force myself to chew and fuel my body. My appetite was non-existent. I could barely enjoy my favourite beverage (an Iced Capp) without it triggering a headache. I can't tell you what ailed me as it wasn't one thing. Just like what made me better wasn't one thing either. I can tell you, I would rather be slightly self-conscious with muffin tops than be thin and unwell again.

Each time someone relished in my supermodel state (skinny and miserable) it was a jab. I started avoiding people publicly unless it was necessary or I wanted to socialize. At my friend's wedding in between the ceremony and reception, I bought a pair of pleather pants. Not to wear at the wedding! I had wanted a piece of clothing that made me feel positive about myself.

My galactic pants made me feel like a rock star. When I had to fulfil obligations involving a party of people I wore my pleather pants. They made me feel alive and boosted my confidence. I have a robust social circle, all but a few felt like acquaintances at that time. I would put on my superhero pants and I was able to dodge the comments about my outside that didn't match my inside.

***

"Josie, we are going to have to get moving if we want to beat the rain," I commented before leaving for our walk.

COVID-19 distance teaching requires marathons of sitting. Barely-getting-1000-steps-a-day-type sitting. My-tail-bone-aches-sitting. At the end of the day, Chris has to press on my hips to relieve some of the pressure. The mini exercise trampoline I bought has helped me get my steps to 2000 at the end of a workday. Far from the goal of 8000-10,000, I should reach. I started walking too. Both of the 20-minute rural routes I take are 2500 steps.

Josie and I didn't beat the rain that day. While I towed Josette in the wagon, she blew bubbles into the drizzle. The droplets hitting my cheeks made me feel alive.

Feeling alive releases the chemicals my brain needs to feel well. Walking in the Earth's showers. Crying, while praying and doing the dishes at the kitchen sink. Lying in bed with my children, listening to Harry Potty on audiobook at bedtime. Lifting my hands in worship at church. Holding my Grandmother's hand, crooked but also wrinkled with love from her years. Sporting those pleather pants. Each of these acts awakes my sense of being.

When this isolation is over, I am going to remove the lonely pair of pleather pants at the back of my drawer and replace them with a pair that fit to celebrate my inside being in harmony with my outside.