Future Scenarios

Maasai warriors greet each other with the phrase, "Kasserian ingera." Translated it means, "And how are the children?" I work in a school where, like the revered Maasai warriors, we ask this question of ourselves every day. Caring for our children and their well-being is at the heart of everything we do, and it can be no other way.

Many of my students come from adverse backgrounds; trauma and stress, intergenerational cycles of poverty, family and community violence, neglect, lack of resources, parents with drug and alcohol addictions, and mental health issues. Late last year, 84% of our students in Years 3-6 said in an anonymous survey that they had witnessed or been directly exposed to physical or sexual violence in their lifetime and 68% said that they worry that nobody at home or school cares about them. As a staff, we were collectively shocked and saddened by these staggering statistics. Behind this data are the faces of the real children that we come in to bat for every day. Since then we've worked hard to take strategic action to continue to improve the well-being of our children.

My main role at school is to teach STEM, which basically means I get to do all the fun stuff... and what that really means is that I get to guide our kids through student-led, hands-on inquiries about the real-world things that matter to them. Our school formed a partnership with some outside businesses and connected our students with STEM professionals, and from there we somehow found ourselves with outside recognition and media attention. It has been so inspiring and rewarding to witness the personal transformation that each student has had with this program. They come from a climate of poverty that engenders an environment of powerlessness, disinvestment and deprivation... and suddenly they have an authentic audience and a powerful message that their voices do matter and there are people who believe in their ideas. There was a real inequality of opportunity and that's what we're trying to shift with this program.

I am so proud of these kids, but even more important than that is that they are proud of themselves. They believe in themselves and they have confidence and they have hope. Working with future scenarios and solving problems that will help to improve their futures and their world has been empowering for them. Young people often have very little control over what happens in their lives and the idea of a future can be quite an abstract concept, particularly when you need to put a lot of energy into simply surviving. Anything that disempowers you in the present will detract from your ability to see into your future.

Solving current issues has helped to pave a pathway that allows them to picture the future they want and it's spurred on by a vehement belief of how things ought to be. They're on a mission!  The future scenarios are a stimulus for action and this work empowers students by inviting them to take more control of their future. Having a shared vision with their peers has also helped to build a sense of belonging in the school community; they're building relationships and friendships and there's a real feeling of them being "in this together" with this shared goal of changing their futures for the better.

I am so appreciative of the zest and empowerment that this project has created. One of my students reflected that she had never really known how to answer the question, "what do you want to be when you grow up?" because she didn't really feel like she would grow up. It didn't seem real. She said she still isn't sure what she wants to do with her life, but she feels like there is going to be a life. Her future matters and RIGHT NOW matters too. That was a really powerful moment for me, and it's feedback that lets me know that we're on the right track.

Something I have found difficult to articulate about my own experiences is that sense of a not having a future. Like many of my students, the concept wasn’t real to me as a child. It’s a time in your life where you really do have limited control over the things that happen to you. Without a sense of future you are perpetually stuck in a feeling of hopelessness, like you have no control or agency over anything. That sense of a foreshortened future hasn't made me live my life any differently (though perhaps I took more risks than I otherwise would have!), but it has certainly been a pervasive part of my landscape.

When my husband proposed to me I struggled with wondering how I could marry someone and plan for a future when I didn't even really believe I had a future.  I don't know that there is a specific or tangible fear, it's more a feeling of perpetually waiting for "the other shoe to drop" or a belief that you can't really count on something that might not happen. I had to tackle it from a very hypothetical perspective, "how do I feel right now, and if there was such a thing as a future what would I want it to look like?" 

I guess that's what I'm working on with my students: "If you had the power to change something, what would would it be? What would your future look like? What kind of action would you need to take to get there?" I hope that it is one of those opportunities they will look back on when they are 30 or 40 and say "remember when..." (By the time they get there, technology will have advanced so much that will probably have a great laugh about what they thought was ground breaking and novel!)

So if you asked me today how the children were, I feel like I could say, "All the children are well." I can't wait to see where the future takes us.

Art by Galuh Edelweiss Sayyidina, 8-yr-old artist from Indonesia.

Mother's Day...

I love my quirky kids... My daughter's teacher asked her to draw her mummy for Mother's Day. Instead she drew an Egyptian mummy in a tomb. 😂😂

Today my beautiful children have wrapped me in all the love their little hearts can muster. In spite of my failings as a human being; the times I’ve been so mind numbingly bored at home with a newborn or exasperated with a toddler who has experimented with play-dough up his nose. The times that they're bouncing off the walls, the times that my house seems completely trashed, the times that I'm so exhausted that I just want to cry...in spite of the not so perfect moments, they just see love. They see the story-time snuggles, the outdoor adventures, the dinner conversations, the laughing, the wiping of tears, the cheerleader, the confidant... the person, however flawed she may be, who loves them more than life itself. That’s what they see. 

How lucky I am that they see that. That these little people love me as unconditionally as children can. Let today be a celebration of all those who choose to love and nurture someone outside of themselves, mothers or not.

On Being Headstrong...

I ask my daughter what she'd like on her toast. Strawberry jam. So I give her the toast and she looks at it. Then she looks at me. “Is that strawberry jam?” Instantly I realise my mistake but I respond, “It’s jam, try it.” She raises her eyebrows and picks up the toast. Then she smells it.  In my head I’m like seriously?  
Daughter: "This is not strawberry jam. It’s clearly raspberry. Are you trying to trick me?"
Me: "Well... they look the same, how about you just try it?"
Daughter: "Well... if you wanted me to try it, why did you ask me what I wanted?"
I don't know! I'm asking myself that same question!  Then she starts listing all the differences between strawberries and raspberries, and questioning why I didn't just tell her that I'd put the wrong spread on her toast? Did I think she'd have no idea? She makes an excellent point. In that situation I'm feeling mix of frustration and amusement. She's strong-willed and determined, always thoughtfully questioning, pushing the boundaries and inventing 'compromises'... and it's one of many things I love about her. 

Headstrong or strong-willed is a quality that I would also use to describe myself. I think I have always been that way. From before I can remember there are stories of burying new shoes I didn't want to wear in the garden, or rolling my eyes at my mother and telling her she was absolutely wrong. I still don't easily bend. It goes a little bit beyond just being stubborn; I have my own moral compass for what I feel is right or wrong and I can be quite inflexible if something crosses that line. 

Lately, I have had some issues from my childhood come to the surface. Specifically, I am feeling all sorts of internal chaos when I reflect on the interactions I had with my abusive father throughout my childhood. I don’t plan on discussing actual assault details here, but the rest of this post may potentially be triggering for abuse survivors. I will be talking about some of the psychological aspects and feelings that I’m trying to sort out.

So I guess I would describe my father as sadistic and narcissistic. Much of his abuse felt systematic and methodical and deliberate. He often had a very calm, matter-of-fact demeanor, even when he was making me do some really awful things. Inside my own mind I was constantly analysing the chaos and confusion; I felt like I had an observing awareness and I put a lot of energy into what I considered to be a "mind game". I believed that I had an impenetrable inner world and that no matter what he did on the outside he wouldn’t be able to touch my mind.

And here’s why I’m posting this: In all the years of connecting with other survivors of abuse, I haven’t really heard anyone describe a similar interaction or reaction to their abusers. I want to better understand the dynamic I feel I experienced or played a role in as a headstrong child in that situation. Maybe I’m not looking in the right places, but I haven't been able to find a great deal of information on sadistic-narcissistic parents who are highly intelligent (perhaps even gifted). I understand from a logical perspective that there was nothing in that situation that was really my fault. It truly did not make an ounce of difference to the outcome regardless of what I did or didn't do in those moments. The end result was always abuse. I know that no child “deserves” to be treated that way.

My therapist is encouraging me to try to peel away the story that me being headstrong has caused things to be worse. I do see the value in trying to challenge this idea, but I feel a bit stuck with the reality of the past. In some ways, on some occasions digging my heels in did result in being hurt more than I possibly would have been otherwise. Perhaps it is not really measurable, but I am certain that there are times I did add fuel to fire or push buttons intentionally.  There were definitely times that I "made him angry" and in those moments, when I was able to elicit a response, I felt like I was the one in control. I think one of the magical thinking "mind games" I would play was doing whatever I could to not show a reaction back. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction, so I would pretend it didn't hurt. I didn't cry. He never showed any remorse. He used my behaviour as a way to justify and rationalise his, I made him do it.

Even though he often seemed to be calculated and calm, he was also sometimes unpredictable.  I always knew that the ultimate 'consequence' was going to be sexual abuse, but I suppose I couldn't always predict or anticipate the swift and severe anger he would occasionally explode with. Looking back now, as an adult, I know that these unpredictable swings didn't necessarily follow non-compliance or defiance from me. Sometimes it was when I was trying to follow his rules or do what he said. So I recognise that this particular "mind game" is not working for me now, and that it was not really based entirely on what was happening at the time. I didn't have the power that I thought I had.

This is a mixed-media painting I've been working on this week to try and capture some of these feelings: 

Letter to my younger self

A few months ago my therapist set me an assignment of sorts, to write a note to a younger version of myself from the wiser, older me: "If you were to think about this from the perspective of trying to help a friend struggling with a sense of shame, what you would tell them?  And I don’t meet the simple version of “it wasn’t your fault”, but  if your friend was in front of you, looking for your help, and in that moment you needed to dig down and find a gesture, a tone of voice, an expression, a metaphor, that would communicate your concern for this friend and your wish that they were out from under this painful burden, what would it be?  Can you imagine that instead of a friend, this is a younger version of yourself; this is the teenage you? What you want to tell her?"

I'm not going to post my letter in its entirety, but I am going to share parts because I found this exercise particularly helpful (and challenging!). I am still working through some old layers of shame and it feels like this is an important piece in what will hopefully be a 'turning point' for a new level of healing for me. It's been a long time since I've needed to revisit the past in such detail, but the last few months have been a time that I've found myself doing so. So, here is my letter to a younger version of myself:

If you were my friend I would come and sit with you in the corridor of that police station. We’d just sit, and I’d let you have your moment. The metaphor that I would bring would be gravity or relativity.  Trauma is as real and as powerful a force as gravity. You can’t see it, but there is no denying gravity.  And it could keep you grounded, but I would actually take it away.  I would remove the force or the weight that was keeping you there in that part of time and space.

And I would say it is okay that you don’t have all the answers. No one else in this time and place seems to have them either.  And maybe you haven’t gone about things the right way or made the right decisions… but maybe there is no right way.  You’re trying to make these connections and you’re questioning yourself and your choices, but you’re not really questioning the actions of everyone else. Who has helped to keep you safe so far? You should never have been in this position.

You are so outnumbered, so alone.  The things that have happened to you feel unspeakable. You’re afraid.  Your sense of self is so fragile and you believe there is something profoundly disappointing about you. There’s not a single person you haven’t let down. And I don’t know how you will forgive yourself for the possible consequences that your choices may have on others, but what I can tell you is that you have not taken more than you give.

This will be the making of you.  Very soon you’re going to go looking for resources for survivors of gang rape and there won’t really be any. So in just a few years you are going to be dedicated to providing support and resources to survivors of rape and sexual abuse.  Over the years you will connect, literally, with thousands of other survivors. You will make sure that no one that reaches out to you ever feels the way you have been made to feel right now.

You don’t know it yet, but you are already trying to make sense, trying to find your footing after your world has been made very unsteady. Parts of an essay that you wrote in your exams right after your rape are still imprinted in my memory.  You wrote that the character Oriel derived most of her important insights from a position of subservience. That the author had constructed the tent as a symbol of her desire to escape.  The haunted sound of middle C was one of the reasons Oriel moved into the tent and this note was the basis for all harmonic chords, so it represented dissonance as well as her separateness. You wrote about the transcendent elements; how there is no real division between life and death, or the past and present: “I travel back to these moments to wonder at what you’re feeling and come away with nothing but the knowledge of how it will be in the end.”

And I don’t know that it really meant much to you then, but what I wish is that I could go back and give you the knowledge of how it will be in the end.

Am I Gifted?

Until last year, I had absolutely no idea that I was gifted. I was noticing personality traits, behaviours and natural abilities in my daughter that made it clear that she was potentially gifted, but I had a massive blind spot when it came to my own giftedness. Fortunately for me, the psychologist I have been supported by on and off for many years for past trauma issues also happens to have a wealth of knowledge on giftedness.  When we first started discussing this topic of 'giftedness' my therapist asked if my daughter reminded me of anyone in my family. Despite the constant comments I've received her entire life about how she's exactly like me, my mind instantly went to one of my brothers: "Oh yeah, my brother's highly intelligent, challenging, etc!"

As I was peeling away the denial, this is part of what I sent my therapist: 

What you said about compliance and flexibility as an adaptive trait has helped a lot. I looked up gifted adults who reject the idea that they are gifted and I found an analogy (by Stephanie S. Tolan) that also feels helpful about dots and spaces: how we tend to see our own deficits (spaces) but others’ gifts (dots) because we take our own dots for granted. The explanation is that the combination of focusing on one’s spaces, while taking one’s dots for granted… and valuing other people’s dots more highly can lead to feeling inadequate or inferior.  There’s something about that perspective that has helped it to feel a little clearer for me; it’s not that I can’t see that there are dots, it’s just that I can see all the spaces and the feeling was that maybe they make the dots not as valid or real.

I think that may have been the real turning point in accepting that I am gifted. Of course I've always taken my own abilities for granted, that's all I've ever known! I felt really self-conscious talking about my abilities or achievements (I still do!), but all the 'negatives' that come with being gifted were fairly easy to claim. I've always known that I'm a perfectionist, which can work both for and against me... I used to explain that away as an adaptive trait I'd developed due to my traumatic upbringing, but now I see it's possibly a mix of both 'nature' and 'nurture' (or lack thereof!).  I have very high expectations of myself and I don't take failure very well. I'm a high-achiever, which can be explained away by the perfectionism and also a desire to people-please. I suppose that breezing through school as a straight A student without ever needing to really try should have told me something, but I honestly never considered my experience was any different to other straight A students. I also went to school in a fairly rough area, and I figured the bar was set pretty low. I was in extension programs but I often felt like I didn't really belong there.

Like my daughter, I was also a self-taught fluent reader before any formal schooling. I only had one day of kindergarten before they moved me to first grade. I remember being sorely disappointed that I didn't get to play all day anymore! I was very compliant at school, it was always my safe place. I do remember being told that I talked too much and that I should let my friends learn. I went to quite a few primary (elementary) schools. By the time I was 9 I had lived in as many houses. I think there was only ever one teacher that I really questioned. She wanted us to make posters about the Kosovo war, but they weren't even going to be on display anywhere. I remember being completely disheartened. What was the point of knowing about these awful things going on in the world if we weren't even going to try to do something about it? I told her she was wasting my time. Yeah, that did not end well!

I kept some of my high school reports so that when I was having 'all or nothing' moments where I felt negatively about myself I could look back on them for opposing 'evidence'.  Out of curiosity, I took them out and looked through with a different lens.  Some of the questions I had: How intelligent can someone really be if they don’t even realise they are!? If I had been a moderately gifted student wouldn’t I know? Why did no one tell me? Or is that what they were sort of saying in the reports, but I just wasn’t able to hear it? 

In high school I always felt like I was a bit of a fraud, pretending to be someone I wasn't. I had close to no self-esteem, but I acted like I was confident and self-assured. I had an opinion about everything and I wasn't afraid to share it. I was in drama and music productions, my art was displayed in exhibitions, I represented the school in sporting and debating teams. All those things were effortless, but they never really filled the hole. I was never enough. I felt like I was different to others, like I didn't belong. I believed that if anyone ever really knew me they would realise that I was fake; that I was fooling them into believing I was better than I really was. I remember at one end of year award ceremony I received 8 awards. Instead of a feeling of pride or any sense of achievement I remember thinking, "Why are you doing this to me?" I hadn't EARNED any of those awards! Afterwards, one of my closest friends commented that he had no idea I was smart. It turned into a bit of a joke, but it stuck with me. I realised that even those closest to me had no idea who I really was.

I think one of the things I have found challenging since this question of giftedness came up is that I'd always believed I was quite self-aware and reflective; I'm always thinking, analysing, reflecting. So to sit with new knowledge about myself calls into question all the perceptions and beliefs I have about who I am. If I didn't know I was gifted, what else don't I know? 

Anyway, I found a scanned copy of a pencil sketch I drew about 12 years ago. At the time, it was a way of trying to represent what I wished for in life: healing and balance, an ability to find peace and acceptance of who I am and where I've been.  To be able to "sit with" the reality of painful experiences without the intensity or power to hurt me in my present life. Although I'm spending quite a bit of energy and time digging around in my past lately, I feel like I am closer than ever to this goal. Sure, some unresolved emotions still come back with an intensity... but it's not all there is anymore. It's not the "whole" and it can't take away all of the blessings and gratitude I have in my life today. 

There's a song lyric that I like by Imagine Dragons that feels like a fitting way to end this post:

"I'm an apostrophe, I'm just a symbol to remind you that there's more to see." 

"Healing Balance"

The 'Gifted' Realisation

I used to roll my eyes when people would comment that my daughter might be gifted. My token response was, "She's a lot of fun and a lot of work, but gifted would be a completely different ball game!"  Why was I so quick to dismiss this idea? To start with she was so young when the comments started coming in, and it felt like it was way too early to make that kind of call. Plus, to be completely honest, I didn't believe that the people making those comments were really qualified to make them. The 'gifted' word was thrown around like a kind of compliment, and while it was nice to have it confirmed that my daughter was a bright little button it certainly didn't mean that she was anywhere near gifted.

Toddlers are generally headstrong and determined little people by nature, so I still had no idea what I was in for when my daughter declared at 18 months old: "I'm not a baby anymore, I'm a big girl!"

But headstrong and determined she continued to be. I couldn't drive anywhere without a little voice from the backseat telling me she wouldn't have gone that way, wouldn't it have been quicker to turn right? There were constant questions about the road rules, whether I was following the speed limit, what would happen if this happened or that happened... My husband and I affectionately referred to her as our personal navigation system, who needs a GPS when you have a living, breathing map? Before she was 3, I started wondering whether she was remembering the street signs or actually reading. I figured that like me, she just had a very visual memory.

At home I found her elaborate imaginative play scenarios quite fascinating, but it was also a constant source of exhaustion and sometimes frustration that she would completely trash the place in the process. She rarely used things for the purpose they were intended (still doesn't!). I'm not sure why I bothered to buy doll beds and blankets when my super quirky and creative child would much prefer to improvise with a xylophone and magazines!

Perhaps we're running a baby shelter

I've always been amused by her quick wit. When she was 2.5, she was singing the alphabet to her great-grandmother. Her great-grandmother told her that she knew how to sing it backwards. Without skipping a beat my daughter responded, "Well, I know how to do it properly."

I began to see some perfectionism; everything needed to be 'just right' and she'd experience frustration if she couldn't draw pictures exactly the way she saw them in her head or if she couldn't "remember where to put everything" when trying to recreate a train track or block town she'd previously made weeks ago.

She's always had a flair for drama. My husband had a dose of man-flu shortly after our son was born, my daughter was adamant that we needed to move to a new house and leave my husband behind. She didn't want to get sick, she didn't want "her baby" to be sick and surely I could see that I was being unreasonable exposing them both to germs. She's also always been very sensitive and unusually aware of others and how they might be feeling.  We got through that particular battle by appealing to her caring, compassionate side: "Well, I wonder how Daddy would feel if his entire family left him behind? What could we do instead?"

Everything is felt so deeply and intensely. We had (and still have) the usual tantrums and some epic meltdowns. Those moments help to remind me that she's still so little to be feeling so much. Then there's all the sensory issues. The sheets "don't feel right," clothes tags are "too scratchy," "lights are too bright," certain sounds are "annoying" or "too loud". It was clear that she was sensitive to sensory issues and I began to realise that maybe there was something more to this. All of the things she was complaining about were things I have always been bothered by, but it took seeing it in my daughter to recognise that what she felt... what I felt... was more than what some other people experience.

She's now 4 and sometimes it's still hard to figure out exactly how much she knows. Although she's articulate and inquisitive, she also tends to conceal a lot of the things she's capable of. She has definitely taught herself to read, but it really took so long for me to know for sure. Sometimes she still pretends she has no idea and other times she will capably read small chapter books that she's never had prior exposure to. I figure that her behaviour serves a function so although I try to gently encourage her, I also tend to follow her lead. We haven't had her formally tested yet, but I don't need a test to tell me that she has a different way of thinking and perceiving the world. Right now we're just trying to enjoy the ride!

"The gifted child is average with gifts. Not superior with faults." - Annemarie Roeper