A Little Homework

Over my holiday break I read (listened to) “The Year of No Nonsense” by Meredith Atwood, and last weekend I was listening to the audiobook “Can’t Hurt Me” by David Goggins. Both ask you to get real about where you are and where you want to be. And both ask early on to dig deep into your past. If you are new to this inspirational self-help genre, you are often asked to do homework. Atwood asks readers to peel the “nonsense onion” to figure out what is holding you back. Goggins asks us to reflect on “the hand we were dealt” to motivate us to move beyond it.

Both ask the reader, if comfortable doing so, to share what they came up with. What a great ready-made topic for my blog right.

Initially this was one of those activities I felt did not really apply to me. I lived a charmed life. I grew up in a small rural midwestern town, surrounded by a supportive, stable, loving, middle class family. I got nothing. No problem here, I don’t know why I struggle in certain areas of my life, must just be bad luck.

Then I kept digging because Meredith Atwood told me to. And then something hit home, and hard. I know I hold back in areas of my life and lack confidence. In some areas of my life I am fearless and I have accomplished some amazing things, but in other areas I am paralyzed by fear.

I just kept digging and I started to realize it stems from the fear of being seen as stupid. So, if it is something intellectual and not physical, for example finances, I am an absolute disaster. I absolutely avoid even thinking about some things (mostly adult things like paying bills).

Why does this fear of looking or being too dumb scare the hell out of me? I am not afraid to swim slow. I am not afraid to run until I cramp up and limp. I have zero race anxiety. What is my deal?

When I finally got there it brought me to tears. As a school teacher you might have thought I would have gotten there sooner, but not me, I just keep moving. I never saw that connection between my own early education and my issues. It’s a little scary as a teacher to think about the lasting effects of my elementary and middle school experiences on my life as an adult.

To be fair I went through elementary school in the 1980’s and middle school in the early 90’s. Times were different so my dyslexia and ADHD, being not super-severe, went undiagnosed. I did not get any special services, and I tested ok. My grades were terrible, so I was just considered a little dummy, or a behavior problem, or a day-dreamer. I was always behind and confused. I was super disorganized. I was a slow reader and many that tried to teach me were more frustrated than me in the process.

I had some great teachers, but as happens, I moved on to new classes and other teachers, and the gains made in one grade were sometimes lost in the next.

By the time I hit 7th grade I had pretty much given up on school. It was a game I didn’t really understand and I could not play. In 7th grade I failed my English class with a teacher I just loved. But I could not get my shit together and keep up with the work, or really even remember from one day to the next what the work was.

I was made to attend a meeting for the real dip-shits, it was a ‘come to Jesus’ meeting with the 7-12 principal. The topic was as I remember it “Your Future if You Can’t Even do Middle School; BLEAK”. There was the threat of not graduating, not making any money as an adult. Basically living in a van down by the river.

It sucked and I did not like being in that meeting with those kids. But it was not helpful or motivating. Obviously, I did not want to be a complete fuck-up, but there was no solution that my 7th grade mind could sort out. The assumption was I chose this situation. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

My husband and I were talking about this the other night as we finished a chapter of “Can’t Hurt Me”, and I shared my “dealt hand” with him. I mentioned how it was a different time and students with learning disabilities had a hard path. He agreed remembering classmates being humiliated in front of the whole class. Specifically, he remembered teachers dumping kids’ desks out. Literally, picking up the little desk with the shelf built in and tipping it so that all the contents crashed to the floor. “That was me”! We went to different elementary schools but I had very vivid memories of having my desk dumped in front of my class because I was “too messy”.

So when it hit me a few weeks ago, how lost and hurt I had been, and the old pain came back, I had a good cry for 11 year old me. But I also had a big cry for those kids I see everyday that are giving up because they can’t figure out the game of school, and are not only not winning, they aren’t even sure how to play.

And what the hell does this have to do with endurance sports, which is the platform I am standing on here? Since Mr. Principal had zero in the way of actionable solutions. I was completely on my own (and 12 years old). And in a way I did get lucky. I was very active and had a physiological advantage in running that even I was aware of at that age (thanks to the presidential physical fitness program mile run).

So, in spring of 7th grade I was finally given the opportunity to run in organized races on the middle school track team. This required minimum passing grades for eligibility, checked weekly. At first this was a nightmare. I did have some close calls, but learned to get just enough done in each class to stay at the C or D level. With the structured practice 5 days a week I was able to burn off extra energy and initiate some increased brain functioning.

I remember distinctly the day at a meet where a complete stranger came up to me after a race and said “Maple Valley, that was a great run, good job”. I was in awe, I felt so proud of an accomplishment. My family loved me and supported me, but never had a stranger validated my accomplishments before. I had never really accomplished anything worth noticing before. It was the first time I remember feeling proud of myself.

C’s and D’s seemed easy so I scaled up. I was willing to work hard to run well, I could also work hard for good grades. Long story short, by the time I graduated (yep I graduated, Mr. Principal) I had a 3.8 GPA and was taking AP courses. Specifically AP English Lit. with the teacher who failed me 7th grade English. I went on to college and graduate school. I am now a teacher by day, with 16 years of experience.

But those elementary and middle school days were painful and best buried, I thought. So that is what I did, I buried them. And the pain, only to be dug up at the age of 41 while listening to an audiobook and vacuuming my living room, is still there and still has an effect on my life.

I am still afraid that I am stupid and live in fear of someone coming into my life and dumping the messy contents all over the floor so everyone sees. I put on a brave face and an Ironman jacket and do my best, but deep down there is fear and insecurity. There is no going back and fixing it, that is not the point. The point is to face it, and acknowledge it. The point is that now I am seeing it clearly I can put up a fight. I do hate to feel stupid, but I am capable to working hard to learn new things. And I’m a grown-ass-woman, who cares what anyone thinks of my messy life!

7th grade 1991