The Luckiest No Matter What!

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week. For whatever reason, I am noticing it being talked about by so many in the accounts I follow this year and I am SO glad. Thankful. If these resources and conversations were more at my fingertips when I was struggling years ago, I know I would've been overjoyed not to feel so alone. One of the posts I was just reading was about how many mixed emotions someone can feel going through infertility. I remember, during one of the hardest times for me, there were several people at work pregnant at the same time. I was, genuinely, happy for them and I hope they each felt that from me. I also went back and forth on whether I actually COULD show up to their baby showers. I didn't know if I could handle it, my heart so broken and so hopeless. Mixed Emotions of Infertility After years of infertility, these are the first pictures of my twins <3  I was joyful and deeply, deeply sad at the same time. It was really weird. I literally agonized...

Mistakes are tricky for me.  I know I make hundreds of them a day. But, I work tirelessly, to the point of exhaustion, to prevent myself from making them. Mistakes are where our greatest learning and unlearning takes place, which makes them extremely necessary. However, when I make mistakes, I'm simultaneously tearing myself down to shreds while  learning and unlearning. I outwardly embrace mistake making, encourage it both to my own children and the students I've served. Inwardly, though, the thought of possibly making a mistake makes me nervous and sometimes downright terrified.  I am working on my complicated relationship with mistakes and failures in therapy. I have been reacquainted with why this tricky relationship exists, where it came from, and what triggers it. I'm slowly working on how to sit with the feelings that making a mistake bring to me... uncomfortable ones of sadness and failure. Finally, I am learning how I can help myself  feel better and mo...

 I am a writer. As I type that out, I immediately want to erase it, take it back, and blush with embarrassment. I am not classically trained, or frankly, trained at all. Until a year ago, I had no idea what passive voice was (or how much I liked using it). I struggled to teach my own students writing conventions because I often didn't know them myself. I have learned more about prefixes and suffixes as well as Latin and Greek roots from my second grade sons this year than I ever remember learning in school. I hated my linguistics class in college. My writing was called "too fluffy" by a professor in one of my masters classes.  Yet, somehow, for as long as I can remember, I've always written. Writing has actually been a HUGE part of my life. I love it. I fall in love with it in different ways as time goes on. Because this time of year is full of love and thinking about our loved ones, I thought I would write a love note of some kind to writing. These are the loves of ...

Throughout this pandemic, I lost myself.  I lost my personal interests and my personal identify. It was a gradual process. I began to notice, through the spring shutdown, that the things that helped me balance out my role as mom were not allowed or closed. Seeing friends was off limits, going out to eat or drinks or dessert with adults was not an option, writing curriculum while I was taking a break from teaching was put on hold. Not having these things in my life, suddenly, made me really, really sad. As time went on and the weeks became months, I began to also notice the other things that helped full me up and provide respite were also taken away from me. Having time to myself to do ANYTHING like reading, writing, working out, or working on creative projects was non existent. One day, in early summer, I realized that anything I did or was interested in or spent time doing that was just for me was gone. Anything that helped make me who I was ripped from me.  Kicking and Screa...

Thursday September 17th, 2020- that is the day this pandemic broke me.  I laid on the floor next to my bed sobbing- the kind of crying where the tears are coming so fast you can't catch your breath. It was hard enough to make my way upstairs so that I didn't worry my sons, but I couldn't even make it to the actual bed. I collapsed right next to it. My husband rubbed my back as he sat beside me. I could tell by the look on his face, with his eyebrows pushed together and his mouth in a straight line, he was worried about me. He should've been- I was worried about me too.  I Can't Do This... It's Every Day He asked what was wrong and I didn't even know how to answer. It was nothing, it was everything all at the same time. I can't remember what sent me over the edge. It was probably something small.  I kept repeating "I can't do this... it's every day" over and over and over. Even though those were only seven words, they had so much more be...

Anyone in my life knows I haven't handled this pandemic very well.  It's a perfect cocktail of the extremely high expectations I put on myself + an incredible sense of responsibility for my children's education, mental health, and well being + wanting to do everything + wanting to do everything well + being an anxious worrier + little to no alone time or break from... well... anything = a sh*t storm for me.  My mom has been on the receiving end of teary phone calls from me more times than I can count.  My group chats have been on the receiving end of many pictures of dumpster fires to describe how it's going at my house on any given day.  And I have been on the receiving end of text messages from friends checking in to see how I am doing (thank you, profusely, by the way).  I sometimes find myself, after an occasional good cry in the shower (shower cries are just the BEST aren't they?! Such a good way to let things out), thinking there HAS to hav...

The other day a woman at Josh's work was telling him how pleased she was with her daughter's third grade teacher and what a nice start to the school year it was. The two of them talked briefly about how Nolan and Judah were doing at the beginning of the year as well.  She then asked Josh, "With Kristin being a teacher, do you find that she is highly supportive of other teachers? Extra critical of them?" Josh smiled and answered, "Yes." #nailedit. That one word answer is not only the truth, but is a short, concise way to say a mouthful. Although he could've left it there and got a point across, he elaborated a little saying that I am HUGELY supportive of the educators themselves, and extra, super critical of the institution of education in general. Also, #nailedit. Teachers as a whole are absolutely amazing: steadfast, unwavering, determined, kind, compassionate, empathetic, intelligent, loving, hardworking, and passionate. I love my students...

I am a walking stereotype... I am a Virgo and basically encompass every single trait I've ever read about that sign. Virgos tend to be extremely responsible, a planner, meticulous, over-critical and judgmental (of themselves probably more than others), neat, selective, economical, worriers, highly determined, and sometimes harsh. Check, check, check. I'm also a first born. I follow essentially every psychologists research on what a first born might be like. First-borns are often reliable, people-pleasing, rule-followers, goal oriented, conscientious, critical, control freaks, scholarly, leaders, and well organized. Again... CHECK. You can see, as you look at these traits, how much Virgos and first-borns share. This is a powerful, dangerous cocktail, I can assure you.  I kinda hate that I am SUCH a cookie cutter of both of these things, but even the fact that I don't like how much  I fall into the natural roles of these things also perpetuated th...