Just Checking In, Part 2

The Unexpected Stressor

“And somehow it all feels perfect today. We’ll see what tomorrow brings…..” is how I ended Part 1.

Somewhere inside I knew Part 2 might be coming. I seem to regularly misjudge exactly where I think am while in the midst of these shifts. A little voice even suggested that perhaps I should wait before hitting send. Maybe this wasn’t a complete essay after all, but the beginning of a longer, more drawn-out seasonal experience. There have certainly been plenty of years when I’ve moved through this time of year with nothing much to report, or just a few little rumblings. A taste of the beauty, heightened sensitivity, and insight without the drawn out ups and downs and disrupted sleep that follows. How I wish that could always be the case! I was feeling pretty good about where I was. I still am, actually, but things got a little more complicated.

I’ve definitely learned what works for me over the years and have a pretty good understanding of how to care for myself, how to recognize those all important early signs, and how to create the conditions that allow me to stay relatively balanced.

Worth noting that these conditions rest firmly on my relative privilege and the color of my skin! None of it possible without some basic security.

I’ve built a pretty calm and easy life with work that nourishes me in a very deep way, supportive relationships, and perhaps most importantly, a new story about myself that feels much more aligned with who I truly am. I’m pretty dialed in, so to speak. But no matter how carefully I tend to all these things, I can’t control everything.

A few days after publishing Part 1, I was blindsided by some unexpected news and a confrontation with someone whose behavior felt deeply out of integrity. The details unimportant. What’s important to this story is what happened internally in response and how some of my old righteous wounded parts came roaring to life.

I’ve always had a particular kind of sensitivity to injustice, dishonesty, and people acting without integrity. It’s something that has served me well in many ways, including how I looked at myself during times I was unable to show up for the people in my life. A constant motivator to keep working on myself no matter how stuck I felt. It fueled my younger activist self, has informed much of my work with children, and continues to shape how I move through the world. But I have come to recognize that some of my strongest reactions to injustice are tangled up with much older wounds, parts of me that learned early on what it feels like to be misunderstood, dismissed, or powerless in the face of someone else’s authority.

What was particularly interesting about this experience was that I actually knew what was happening while it was happening. That’s a pretty big shift from my younger years. I could feel those old righteous wounded parts coming alive, recognize the familiar emotional charge, and understood that I was entering territory where things could begin to amplify. That awareness helped soften the intensity somewhat, but it didn’t necessarily stop me from engaging. In fact, if I’m going to be completely honest, part of me rather enjoyed it.

There’s something incredibly energizing about righteousness, especially when I’m convinced that something is so obviously wrong and I just need to help the other see what seems perfectly clear to me. I can feel myself becoming more animated, more determined, and more invested in making my case, while simultaneously losing my usual empathy and grounding. There’s a certain pleasure in having a cause, something to stand up for, something to push against. And when my sense of justice gets tangled up with those older wounded parts, that energy can become pretty intoxicating. Even as another part of me is quietly suggesting that perhaps it’s time to disengage, the righteous part has a whole lot more to say.

My closer friends and family reading this are knowingly smiling at this point:-)

I’ve been thinking about how having a cause for me can sometimes become a form of escape. Not just an escape from sadness or some deeply buried wound, but also from the discomfort and uncertainty that are so much a part of just being human. It offers a kind of clarity that can feel wonderfully liberating. Suddenly everything seems obvious. I know where I stand, what I believe, and what needs to be said. There’s no ambiguity to wrestle with, no uncomfortable questions to sit with, no need to carefully navigate the many layers of my own sensitivities. For a little while, I get to experience something that feels like being myself one hundred percent, without the burden.

So much of what I’ve learned about caring for myself involves paying attention, noticing subtle shifts, making thoughtful choices, and sometimes holding back when every part of me wants to move forward. I’ve become pretty good at it, but there’s also something undeniably appealing about setting all that careful management aside and simply letting myself go.

The trouble is that all this energy comes at a cost, particularly when I’m already moving through one of my more sensitive seasonal periods. Even when I understand what’s happening, my nervous system is still responding to the intensity of it all. My mind keeps returning to the conversation, rehearsing what I might say next, finding new ways to make my point.

One of the more challenging things about these experiences is that the original stressor doesn’t necessarily have to remain present for the amplification to continue. The confrontation can be over, the immediate situation can settle, and I can even feel relatively clear about how I’ve handled things. But something inside has been stirred up, and it takes time for all those activated parts to find their way back home.

A clear memory suddenly arises of being in an involuntary hospital setting at 16 desperately trying to convince anyone that would listen that I do not belong there. I’m sure my desperation came across as manic, only reinforcing their narrative. I was just a scared, traumatized kid—and it’s that exact same kid who was stepping in to try and protect me from this latest stressor.

So where does this all leave me today?

The intensity has settled, my sleep is slowly getting back on track, and I’m feeling much more grounded. But I’m also aware that something has shifted. There’s a little roughness around the edges, an edginess that wasn’t there a couple of weeks ago, and a familiar sense of being a little closer to my shadow. Nothing particularly dramatic, just a subtle change in the way I’m experiencing myself and the world around me. I’ve been here before and understand now this is also a fertile place full of lessons and potential growth if I can stay calm and present. There’s actually a kind of comfort being here as the seasons are naturally pulling me in this direction anyway.

I’ve come to recognize this space as what I sometimes like to call the field where depression is possible. I’m not depressed, but I know this territory well enough to recognize how close it is. There’s a certain heaviness that can begin to creep in, a little less ease in my everyday life, and a greater awareness of the sadness that seems to live somewhere deep inside me. It’s not necessarily an unwelcome place, but it is one that asks for a different kind of attention.

So I make time to hold those tender wounded parts that need a bit of attention and let all the grief and sadness do it’s thing. I know how to hold all this now.

Perhaps one of the biggest changes in my relationship with these experiences is that I no longer feel compelled to turn every shift in my inner landscape into a problem that needs to be fixed. And I’m not running in terror from the darkness and the great unknown! Instead I am leaning towards it with a sense of curiosity and care. A huge and important shift in how I see and care for myself.

And there’s something reassuring about being able to write this while I’m still in the middle of it. I don’t have to wait until everything is settled or I’ve figured out what it all means. I can simply share where I am, let myself be witnessed, and continue learning as I go. A big part of why I started writing here in the first place.

So here I am again, checking in. A little rough around the edges but feeling pretty good about how I’m navigating it all.

And somehow it all feels perfect today. We’ll see what tomorrow brings…..

Much Love!

The Mad Preschool Teacher (He/Him)

P.S. I’m hoping there isn’t a need for part 3. I’m feeling the call to write a sweet essay about all the new kiddos in my life and how lovely the beginning of our school year has been.❤