It’s sobering to realize that at 57 years old, I have fewer fights left in me than I did for the first 55. Life is never black and white. Some moments are so deeply personal and nuanced that they can’t be argued or legislated — and yet, here in America, those moments are now under a microscope, politicized, and weaponized.

Let me tell you my story. My husband and I were blessed with two beautiful boys — now grown men — born in 1996 and 1999. They are my heart. In between their births, though, life handed us something far harder. Like so many couples, we experienced two other pregnancies that ended in miscarriage. Spontaneous abortion, as it’s called in medical terms, that required medical attention and intervention.

The first one, in 1997, was especially hard physically. It happened at the three month mark and I had no doubt that something was wrong. A morning doctor visit which confirmed that the pregnancy was not viable and by the afternoon I started hemorrhaging. I needed to get to the hospital. It was a Catholic hospital, just ten miles from our home. I didn’t know what to expect, but I had no doubt at all that I would get the help I needed.

My doctor didn’t hesitate. No one asked for permission. No one judged or delayed treatment because of religious beliefs or fear of legal consequences. They recognized that I was in crisis, that my life was in danger, and they acted swiftly. I had a D&C that night — a procedure to stop the bleeding and ensure I didn’t develop an infection. Because of their care, I survived. I went home to heal, both physically and emotionally, and two years later, I was able to hold my second son in my arms.

But as I sit here today, thinking about that night, it chills me to the bone: If that same scenario had happened now, in 2024, the outcome might have been very different. With the abortion bans sweeping across the country, I wonder if the doctors at that hospital — any hospital — would have been able to help me without hesitation. Would they have been forced to wait, to consult with lawyers instead of treating me? Would my husband and I have had the time or means to drive across state lines, searching for care? No. Not with how fast I was bleeding.

The truth is, I might not have survived. The odds of developing sepsis — an infection that kills quickly — would have been dangerously high. And for what? Because the people in power today care more about controlling women than saving our lives. This is not hypothetical. It’s already happening.

More than one million pregnancies in America end in miscarriage every year. One million women will experience what I did — the sudden bleeding, the heartache, the desperate need for medical care. And now, thanks to these laws, many of those women will have to fight not just to be seen, but to survive. They’ll be turned away, forced to wait until their lives are at risk, told they must suffer a little longer just to meet someone else’s idea of morality.

Where is the “right to life” in this?

These bans aren’t about protecting life — they’re about power. Power over our bodies, our choices, and our futures. And the price is far too high. Women like me — ordinary mothers, wives, daughters — are now at risk of dying simply because they didn’t have the luxury of quick access to care. The idea that any woman should have to bleed out, develop sepsis, or die because of politics is horrifying. And yet, that’s exactly the world we are living in today.

I am here today, alive and well, because I was given care when I needed it. But now, every day, I think about the women who won’t be as lucky. I think about the one million pregnancies that will end in miscarriage this year — and the one million women who will be thrown into a system that doesn’t value their lives.

This fight isn’t about abstract ideals. It’s about real people. It’s about women like me — and women like your mother, your sister, your best friend — who need care, not judgment. We deserve to live.

We cannot let this stand.

One

With all the crazy in today’s politics, it’s hard to look around and find that ray of sunshine, but there is one … it’s there, you just have to look really closely. Young folks are waking up and paying attention. It’s taken a long time, but it’s happening.

Two

There’s something wonderful about sitting and watching birds at a birdfeeder. It’s very calming… almost as good as watching a fish tank. I used to be really into fish when I was younger. I had a 90 gallon aquarium, a 55 gallon aquarium, and a host of smaller tanks. I spent a lot of time with fish. Bird Feeders are way easier, cheaper, and almost as good. Maybe this is why older, more experienced people love watching birds and don’t spend all their time, money, and effort on fish tanks.

Three

When I was in college studying to be a social studies teacher, I was nearly sidetracked by archaeology. I love history. I love archaeology. I love studying human culture, and so I took some anthropology classes and took some more anthropology classes and I almost changed my major. But the practical side of me won. I listened to that little voice that said “take the easy road.” Teaching offered security that archaeology does not. Fast forward 34 years and not one, but both of my children are archaeologists. Our family chat is a running account of their work, finds, and thoughts on those finds. My wife likes to say I ended up contributing my best work to the field, anyway. I think she’s right.

Four

Which brings me to The Road Not Taken. Not only is that one of the most celebrated, quoted, and best-known poems in American Literature, it’s also the most misunderstood poem in American Literature. The widespread misconceptions about it are ironic as hell. Most folks think it’s about the triumph of individual effort and fortitude. It’s not. It’s about looking back on your decisions and glorifying them. It’s about hindsight. It’s about trying to move beyond second guessing. A curse we all face and some even overcome. Here’s an excellent article on the topic.

Five

Given my number four, here’s some real irony for you…

I’m haunted by the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I was sure that I wanted to be a teacher when I was a kid, but why? Maybe it was because my folks were both in education. Maybe I was scared to try anything else. See, I knew what teaching was about and I knew I could do it. What I was terrified of was failure.

When you grow up as a mediocre white kid with severe ADHD, a diagnosis most folks scoffed at as fake at the time, and a handful of learning disabilities, well, doing anything on your own is perilous. “What, you can’t spell?” That must mean you are stupid. I was called the “R” word more times than I can remember. It’s ironic that you can’t even type it now. Kids used it with me as a matter of course in the 70’s and 80’s.

Growing up neurodivergent in a world without any of today’s adaptive technology was hard, and one’s prospects were bleak. Being sandwiched in the middle of two smart and capable brothers made it all the harder for me.

I was in and out of special ed classes that were mostly self-contained. The day I started middle school, I was called to the counselor’s office and told that I would be taking special ed classes, which were self contained. After years of heading to the “learning resource center” in elementary school, I wanted nothing to do with being singled out as “one of those idiots” and so I said “No.” The school’s response was not to encourage independence and support me, no… they said, “Fine, then you can sink or swim on your own.”

I dog paddled. My grades were terrible, but somehow I survived. High school was daunting. I failed as many classes as I passed. My high school guidance counselor told me I would never make it in college and so my father made them assign me to another counselor. He signed off on my graduation even though I did not have the math credits required. I think he just wanted to get me out the door.

I had only applied to one college, Ohio State. At the time, they had open admissions and so off I went. I spent my entire first year making up for classes I had not taken or failed in high school. I ended the year with a 1.1 gpa. I was on academic probation when I started my second year. That’s when I met my wife. That’s when things also snapped into place and I got serious about being serious.

I worked harder than I ever had and I graduated. Got married, raised a family, had a whole life. But every step of the way required me to fight my disabilities. I worked twice as hard for half the accomplishments. Now, with all the technology here to compensate for and ease those struggles, I have to ask… What could I have been and is it too late?

So, at 57 and staring down retirement after a long career in the classroom, I’m once again asking myself –

What do I want to be when I grow up?

ONE

I found this meme of a tweet I wrote quite some time ago on Reddit…

I think it’s held up well. It’s not the first time something I’ve done has ended up as a meme, but every time I find one, I have the same reaction … “How can that be?” What about those particular words made someone go “That’s a meme.” I wish I knew how to make that magic sauce all the time, like Jeff Tiedrich or Stonekettle. Their words just lend themselves to memeing.

TWO

Today I start my 32nd year as a full-time teacher and my 33ed in education. I have clear memories of talking to grizzled vets when I was a bright-eyed youngster just starting out and how they sounded … I sound exactly like them.

They loved teaching, and I love teaching.

They hated the bullshit that existed even then, and I hate the bullshit that exists now.

They saw testing on the horizon and warned about it. I lived through its slow destruction of learning and warned of the results.

Now we are facing the advent of AI tech in the hands of students and are wholly unprepared for what’s about to happen. AI will change the nature of education and learning in profound ways. By the time politicians get involved, the damage will be done, but they will find a way to make it worse. Here’s a great article from Stanford University about how AI will affect learning.

THREE, FOUR, and FIVE

Normally, I have five distinct things that I write about, but this week I’m going to republish an improved version of my “Lessons Learned” list. I’ve added a few new ones. These are the 55 things I’ve learned as a teacher of teens over my 33 years of teaching.

Revised Aug 18, 2023

I will start year 32 as a full-time classroom teacher today.. Here’s a list of the lessons I’ve learned over my 3 decades working with teens…

1. “Wear sunscreen.” (Thanks Baz!)

2. Never lie to the kids. Someone once told me that kids can smell BS a mile away, and it’s true. Tell the truth.

3. Love learning, be eager to teach new things. It’s infectious. Kids gravitate to the authentic.

4. Learn kids’ names and then use them often.

5. Learn to say kids’ names the way their parents do unless the student prefers another.

6. Kids will surprise you if you pay attention. They’re sorta amazing.

7. They are kids and do shit kids do. It’s not personal, so don’t take it that way.

8. If the kids get curious about something, then follow that curiosity. It’s where the most effective learning happens.

9. Let them think they are pulling you off task and they will be curious all the time.

10. Don’t fart in class

11. If you ever fall, they will act like you’re old and broke a hip.

12. If you feed them, then you have to always feed them.

13. You should always feed them.

14. Never get mixed up in their relationships. That means don’t give advice etc. it’s always problematic.

15. Rule 10 does not prevent you from sitting kids next to their crush because….

16. Give the kid a pencil, it’s not a big deal.

17. Kids make mistakes, let them. It’s how they learn.

18. Kids will fail. Again, it’s how they learn.

19. Teaching does not make you a savior and some kids just want you to be their teacher. Period.

20. If you change one life, you’ve been successful.

21. You will change many lives.

22. You will not know about the impact you have on most kids, but that does not mean it’s not profound.

23. There are many ways to measure good teaching.

24. Kids are always listening (and watching).

25. Do no harm. Adolescence is hard enough without you adding to the shit they deal with.

26. You are the adult in the room, remember that.

27. I’m shocked that there are this many things I’ve learned.

28. It takes years to become a solid teacher, but if you work at it, you will get there.

29. Tell the kids what they are learning and why. Use plain English, not buzzwords.

30. The best partner you can find is another teacher … trust me on this one.

31. Most PD is bullshit, but not all of it.

32. You may not be able to tell the difference, so pay attention.

33. Administrators are temporary. They come and go like the weather.

34. Colleagues are also temporary.

35. So, teach for the joy of teaching and not who you teach with.

36. There are no new ideas, just recycled ones.

37. Sometimes the recycled version is better than the original. Again, pay attention.

38. Try new things, new lessons, new approaches, new methods.

39. Be flexible… if something doesn’t work, don’t be afraid to change it as you go.

40. Listen to music in your classroom. It makes you human, and it’s nice.

41. Listen to lots of different music.

42. Listen to what students are telling you and remember that people use more than words to communicate.

43. You do not know everything, don’t be afraid to tell your students that and then show them how to find the information.

44. New teachers: be patient with older teachers, you don’t know what their years of experience have taught them. Try listening and you may learn something.

45. Experienced teachers: be patient with younger teachers, you don’t know what their years of experience have taught them. Try listening and you may learn something.

46. Look outside of your discipline. I’m a social studies teacher and I’ve learned the most about teaching from math and science teachers.

47. Listen more than you talk.

48. Don’t hover over students, they don’t like it. Squat down so you are at eye level when you talk to them at their desks.

49. When you are wrong, apologize and make the apology as public as the mistake.

50. Set clear boundaries and stick to them. Teaching can easily become an obsession, but there is more work than time to do it. You need to learn to say “no.”

51. Everything is political. It’s up to you how much you let that affect what you do, but you can not avoid politics as a teacher.

52. Some of the most toxic adults are inside the building with you. When you spot toxic staff, avoid them. Don’t fight, just deny them the attention they seek. Even a trash fire needs air to burn.

53. Protect your mental and physical health. If you aren’t healthy, then how can you do any of the above?

54. Don’t forget to have a life outside of the classroom. Teaching is only a part of who you are. Trust me, you will be a better teacher for the fullness of your non-teaching experience.

55… trust me on the sunscreen. (Because people can’t help themselves… yes, I've seen his speech, yes… I love it too. Baz Luhrmann rocks)

Friday 5!

One

I’ve written about my mental health journey. Specifically, the past five years. Since my Deep Brain Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation, which you can read about here and here, they have weaned me off of all meds for depression and ADHD. It’s taken a year to do so. Last week I took the last step down from my high of 600 mg of Wellbutrin a day down to 150 and now zero.

For the first time since the mid-90s, I’m just me. No mood stabilizers, no emotional safety net of any kind. If you have seen the episode of Star Trek Strange New Worlds, where Spock becomes fully human, then you have had a glimpse of what I’m going through. Suddenly, emotions that were blurred by meds are focused and sharp. Anger is bright red, sadness is blue. Joy is yellow and orange. I’m learning how to process it all over again. It’s scary and wild and terrifying. It’s a rollercoaster. Just like adolescence. This school year is going to be interesting.

Two

I was going to write about corruption on SCOTUS here, but there’s enough sad stuff going on. Here’s a puppy instead. That’s Mocha. She’s now 14, still ticking and still sleeping on the vents.

Three

When I was a kid, I used to spend a great deal of time wondering what my life would be like when I was no longer that kid. I would wonder about future loves, what my kids would be like, what job I would have, where I would live … the usual.

Looking back on what I was like, remembering what I thought about, worried about, I realize I didn’t have a clue. The fantasy life I envisioned for myself was so far removed from the reality of my adult life that it’s almost comical. The reality is SO much better than the fantasy in almost every way. I have said before and I will say it again, whatever I did in a past life must have been kick ass because I seem to have some rather good karma. Nobody is this lucky.

(My latest bout of depression does not change this. I originally wrote this six years ago, before depression tried to end my life. dTMS is yet the latest in the string of amazing things that have come my way.)

Four

America has many problems, but we can solve most of them if we had the political will and courage to take them on, but we do not, at least the @GOP does not. Look at their voting records.

They routinely vote against the best interests of their own supporters and in favor of the interests of the corporate oligarchs who hold their leashes. They voted “no” on cheaper insulin and no on easing the baby formula shortage. A no vote makes them look tough to their base, who only seem to care about winning and beating the liberals at any cost.

It’s no longer about the public good, it’s now down to “What’s in it for me?” and “If black people get it too, then nobody is going to get it.” The American right is selfish and self-centered. Full stop.

Five

Let’s clear the air a bit, shall we? The default for characters like elves, hobbits, Santa Claus, and Jesus Christ in the Western mass media has been white because they have assumed the intended audience to be white. This is problematic, as it erases the diversity of the world and perpetuates the idea that white is the default race.

This became untenable with the growth of the internet and the rise of social media. For the first time, people could see the diversity of humanity right out in the open. And so it was that every single thing that had to be depicted became a battle between “whiteness” and reality.

The internet opened up the world to everything, including ideas. White supremacists could find others who held the same views and band together in order to fight against the perceived destruction of whiteness by old scapegoats and new.

But the reality has always been what people are now freely able to see on their own. Humanity is not a group of races arraigned in a pretend hierarchy with whites on top. It’s a spectrum of boundless diversity.
As they retell old stories considering this reality, it’s inevitable that those clinging to the old vision of a world whitewashed for their comfort fight to maintain their sense of superiority and privilege.

This is what we are all now bearing witness to. The beginning of the end of default whiteness. The trauma that will result from this process will affect us all. There will heighten violence to match the anger and rhetoric of those who lead the backlash against change.

There may even be state level conflict. After all, we are talking about the force behind the crusades, colonialism, chattel slavery, genocide, and countless wars. Religions were reshaped to serve this force, and they built western education on its foundation.

There is no guarantee that humanity will outgrow its past and build a new world on its grave. Any student of history knows that progress is not inevitable and that decline and collapse are normal. This is the trap that we need to avoid.

The same ones who are fighting to stop progress and change are also hoping for collapse. It would allow them to reset the clock back to when people like them held all the power. At least they think it will.

That’s how hard these people will be to keep their privilege.They will scrap modern civilization, leading to the deaths of millions, just to hold on to their fragile views about what the proper world order should be. This is at the center of every fight we see the Right make.

Preserving privilege means everything to them.

Depression told me many lies while I was ill. These are the BIG THREE.

Depression lies.

This will be a reoccurring theme in my writing. Depression had me convinced of a whole range of things that dTMS has revealed to be false. Here are the BIG THREE.

Lie #1: The “YOU SUCK AT THE THINGS YOU LOVE DOING,” lie.

Depression used some nonsensical standardized test data and my imposter syndrome to convince me I was a terrible teacher. This was despite all evidence to the contrary.

Since starting TMS, I’ve reached out to at least a dozen former students and counting. Some have reached out to me. Most are just checking in to see how I am doing. That I can contact them and get a fast response is amazing. Some of these folks are students I had in class decades ago.

So, let’s look at the facts:

Former students don’t become part of the lives of terrible teachers.

I’ve been cleaning up my pictures (I had over 70,000 digital alone) and there are thousands of pictures of the amazing young people who passed through my classroom and the extra-curricular activities I’ve been involved with. Many of these former students are still part of my life.

Here’s the story those pictures tell me.

That dozens have packed into my kitchen for “Friendsgiving”.

That my wife and I have attended their weddings.

That they invite me to their children’s birthday parties so I can hold their babies.

That having a drink out and about or meeting them for a meal is a regular part of my left.

The only evidence I need to prove that I’ve made a positive impact on their lives is that I’m still part of those lives, even decades after they leave my classroom.

Lie #2: “YOU DON’T DESERVE TO BE LOVED BY THE PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE.”

This one is insidious.

It works its way between you and those you love and them acts as a pry-bar to force you into isolation.

So, let’s look at the evidence and not the lie.

A 35 year relationship with my partner.

Two loving children with whom I have a strong relationship.

An amazing and supportive extended family, close friends, and that horde of former students.

Those folks smiling at me from the pictures I’ve spent hours looking at. I know they are smiling at me because I’m almost always the one behind the camera.

My self-hate fueled my need to avoid being the subject of photographs, so I became the one to capture others’ happiness.

I found very few pictures of myself.

These folks were working to help me find the light again, and now that I have, I see they’ve always been there, hidden by the shadows of depression.

Which brings us to

Lie #3: “YOU ARE ALL ALONE.” I now know that I never was.

End.

The post The Lies Depression Tells You appeared first on Random Writer.

I have battled with disabling depression throughout my entire adulthood. My most recent episode started in the fall of 2018, and it lasted until I started transcranial magnetic stimulation in the spring of 2022. This is the story of my post TMS recovery.

Of all the things I did not expect to deal with in my strange new post-depression life, learning to be myself again is the most unexpected and unsettling. The fog of depression has blinded me for years, if not decades. During my time in the dark, I learned to hate every aspect of my personhood.

The sound of my voice made me wilt with self-loathing. Looking in the mirror was next to impossible, and when I managed it, I struggled to make eye contact with my reflection. Dressing was painful, so I wore the same clothes every day. Baggy to hide my relentless weight gain, adding to the long list of things that fueled my self-disgust. I refused to be in pictures, so I became the one behind the camera. If they forced me to be in a picture, I tried to hide behind as many people as I could. Pictures where I was the sole subject were repulsive.

Impostor syndrome tormented me. Every setback was proof that I was a fraud, while disregarding all evidence to the contrary. Convinced that it was only a matter of time before people denounced me and drove me from my classroom and community, I did everything I could think of to hide what was happening. I feared my unmasking would be the shame of all who knew me. I withdrew into myself and my classroom, never leaving it to talk to colleagues. An entire school day could pass without talking to another adult. When people would comment that they never saw me anymore, I’d make light of it by saying something about hiding, but it was not a joke. It was the truth.

I forgot how to laugh, something I’d done often before sinking into the darkness. In the before, everything amused me and I smiled or smirked all the time, often playing the jester who loved to make others laugh, though I never craved the spotlight. Depression turned me into a mere shadow of the person I’d been in college, and I was fading further and further into oblivion. Depression had me out of phase with reality, balanced on a knife’s edge, just waiting for the final push to send me into the abyss.

As recently as three months ago, I felt the same way. Then I started Deep Brain Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation. Within 10 minutes of the first treatment, the darkness faded like a morning fog before the rising sun. It was that immediate and that dramatic. It was beautiful.

I was a different person, but it was not just dramatic, it was also traumatic. TMS restored my former self to full consciousness and control of my mind and body. By the end of my second treatment, all symptoms of my drug resistant depression faded. Left trapped in a body ravaged by years of neglect and forced to face the damage depression had done to those closest to me, I faced a new fight to reclaim my life.

At first, there was euphoria. I told my wife on the way home from the second treatment that “I was back”, not understanding how that would affect every aspect of what our lives had become. The clarity I possessed as I looked out at the world was startling. Everything was in high definition. I had stepped out of total darkness into the bright light of the summer sun. I didn’t realize that once my eyes adjusted to my new truth, it would leave me to pick up the pieces of my life. All I knew or cared about was that it was over.

One of the first indications I had of my new reality was the way my best friend, my wife, the person who had always been at the center of my universe, acted around me. Over the years of my illness, she had learned to speak to me differently than I remembered. Our relationship was no longer between adults. She had become my caretaker. The way she responded when she thought I was upset shocked me. She did everything she could to ensure that I remained calm in the same way she had when our boys were little and had become upset over some small thing.

The changes went even deeper. Her tone and body language were careful and guarded. Like she expected me to lash out at her at any moment. She had learned to fear me and I had been unaware of this slow but steady disintegration of our relationship. My memories of the years of illness were already fading like dreams even as my memory of the life I’d led before depression became crystal clear. Her learned behavior resulted from the abuse I must have subjected her to while ill. I was horrified and still am.

In the first week after my treatments started, I was so focused on the fact that I “was back” and I missed the signs of damage. The sound of my laughter while we did the dinner dishes together startled us both. What was once a common part of our lives was now something that made us both jump.

I’d forgotten how to love my wife. I’d stopped doing all the little things that made the “me” side of our equation work and yet I had demanded more and more from her to maintain the balance. She was not used to my casual touch. I’d become a predator, only seeking contact when I wanted intimacy, but giving little in return. You may think I’m being harsh, but this is not the voice of depression talking in my voice. This new understanding results from my clarity. I can see what I had become because my transition back to myself caught the “me” depression had created red handed. I saw the horror up close.

It’s now been over two months since I concluded my last treatment and I am well along the path of repairing the relationship with my wife and children. I have much work to do beyond that immediate scope. My wife and I have had many personal conversations about the reality of my prolonged illness and its impact on our quality of life. Because we have both been open and honest, much of the damage is behind us. Some will take years to repair.

TMS saved my life. I know this for a fact. I had a foot in the grave in May, 2022. By the end of June, I was free of every symptom of depression. I’m still free of symptoms. Every aspect of my life has improved. I’m a different person and it’s possible that I’m in the best mental shape of my life. I’m still on meds, I’m still in talk therapy, and I will be for life. My journey is not over and never will be, but now I have this powerful weapon in my fight that I know works wonders. TMS has given me something I never had. It’s given me hope for a future free of pain and suffering. It’s given me back my life.