So, first of all to those of you who have been waiting and those of you who have been asking....Cheeky Teacher is back up. It was 2011 the last time I posted. I was a year post-residency and I believed I might, maybe could, be a writer.
And then life caught up--the doubts, the perfectionism, the underlying shame that has defined my life of "not enough" ________ (fill in blank here). Time, talent, beauty, wealth, knowledge, chutzpah, confidence. And thus I murdered the one true friend I have in life...me, the writer.
So that brings me to my second point: being a nana. It started three years ago when Amelia was born, studious and adventurous, she took my heart by storm. Then came Madison, a raven-haired conversationalist who charms with her impish smile. Then little Lucy with the courageous heart and breath holding eyes. Bodie, the tiny new man among the women with his determined brow and sweet curling smile. And along the way...Charlotte.
Charlotte wasn't planned exactly. She was the child of the daughter who fell in love at college...a dangerous combination of words. And Charlotte became the reminder...the flooding back to the girl I was. The girl that was destined for the University and becoming the world's savviest engineer...making millions by 30, traveling the world, giving my mom and dad the things they'd never had or given us kids.
But here's the problem...I wasn't really that good at math--B's and C's, ya know--which in my heart equaled F's. And I really didn't fully comprehend acceleration and derivatives, Fortran IV and electrical circuits and besides....there was this boy...
And the rest is history. The history of a life and its shame...for its failure when that boy grew up five years later and decided he didn't want to be married to me. For the reckless man I re-married hoping to ease my aching heart...for the even more reckless aftermath of the car wreck that became my family...the ambulance ride, figuratively speaking, that carried away that first baby girl and her sister as I watched bleeding from the shoulder of the freeway, struggling to clutch to my heart the two daughters that were left.
How we survived I cannot know. Some days I'm not sure I did. All I knew was shame. Shame was the legacy I endowed on my daughters--they received it like daily doses of bad medicine. I recited shame like scripture. No self-punishment seemed harsh enough; I posted it on my door post in Biblical 83 point font.
So when Charlotte was conceived I vowed to do it differently. To welcome her life with open hearts and open arms in a way that I wish someone would have done back in college on the day my daughter's life was first made certain to me, the day the college health nurse told me that I was pregnant, and in the same breath told me that the next step to take was the abortion clinic. I have never been more alone in my life.
But through the grace of God, and a boy who said, "I want to marry you," my first daughter did not become the victim of my shame. I adored her growing life, and I loved her, even as I despised myself. I gave her every joy I knew, even as I denied them to myself. I cherished each daughter, even as I failed to cherish myself. And somehow, through that same grace, my daughters survived me again...and not only survived but have gone on to become the four most beautiful women I know.
And this post...the return of Cheeky Teacher is a tribute to the end of that shame. Brene' Brown says that shame thrives in silence. She is right. And this is my public proclamation--my art.
My art...it is not perfect. It is not perfect. But it is made in love. My life, my life is so very NOT perfect...but I have loved, and loved with my whole heart.
And so I share. Because only in sharing can I ever hope to rewrite the laws that have been chiseled on my door post.
Daughters--shame does NOT live here anymore. I'm so, so, sorry it took me so long to understand. I pray for redemption every day.
And to my grandchildren--my four precious grandaughters and my new baby grandson: I give you my art. To baby Charlotte--I give you your first year. I'm so glad you came.
Love,
Nana
And then life caught up--the doubts, the perfectionism, the underlying shame that has defined my life of "not enough" ________ (fill in blank here). Time, talent, beauty, wealth, knowledge, chutzpah, confidence. And thus I murdered the one true friend I have in life...me, the writer.
So that brings me to my second point: being a nana. It started three years ago when Amelia was born, studious and adventurous, she took my heart by storm. Then came Madison, a raven-haired conversationalist who charms with her impish smile. Then little Lucy with the courageous heart and breath holding eyes. Bodie, the tiny new man among the women with his determined brow and sweet curling smile. And along the way...Charlotte.
Charlotte wasn't planned exactly. She was the child of the daughter who fell in love at college...a dangerous combination of words. And Charlotte became the reminder...the flooding back to the girl I was. The girl that was destined for the University and becoming the world's savviest engineer...making millions by 30, traveling the world, giving my mom and dad the things they'd never had or given us kids.
But here's the problem...I wasn't really that good at math--B's and C's, ya know--which in my heart equaled F's. And I really didn't fully comprehend acceleration and derivatives, Fortran IV and electrical circuits and besides....there was this boy...
And the rest is history. The history of a life and its shame...for its failure when that boy grew up five years later and decided he didn't want to be married to me. For the reckless man I re-married hoping to ease my aching heart...for the even more reckless aftermath of the car wreck that became my family...the ambulance ride, figuratively speaking, that carried away that first baby girl and her sister as I watched bleeding from the shoulder of the freeway, struggling to clutch to my heart the two daughters that were left.
How we survived I cannot know. Some days I'm not sure I did. All I knew was shame. Shame was the legacy I endowed on my daughters--they received it like daily doses of bad medicine. I recited shame like scripture. No self-punishment seemed harsh enough; I posted it on my door post in Biblical 83 point font.
So when Charlotte was conceived I vowed to do it differently. To welcome her life with open hearts and open arms in a way that I wish someone would have done back in college on the day my daughter's life was first made certain to me, the day the college health nurse told me that I was pregnant, and in the same breath told me that the next step to take was the abortion clinic. I have never been more alone in my life.
But through the grace of God, and a boy who said, "I want to marry you," my first daughter did not become the victim of my shame. I adored her growing life, and I loved her, even as I despised myself. I gave her every joy I knew, even as I denied them to myself. I cherished each daughter, even as I failed to cherish myself. And somehow, through that same grace, my daughters survived me again...and not only survived but have gone on to become the four most beautiful women I know.
And this post...the return of Cheeky Teacher is a tribute to the end of that shame. Brene' Brown says that shame thrives in silence. She is right. And this is my public proclamation--my art.
My art...it is not perfect. It is not perfect. But it is made in love. My life, my life is so very NOT perfect...but I have loved, and loved with my whole heart.
And so I share. Because only in sharing can I ever hope to rewrite the laws that have been chiseled on my door post.
Daughters--shame does NOT live here anymore. I'm so, so, sorry it took me so long to understand. I pray for redemption every day.
And to my grandchildren--my four precious grandaughters and my new baby grandson: I give you my art. To baby Charlotte--I give you your first year. I'm so glad you came.
Love,
Nana
