Tomorrow, I become Ms. cracker and cheese, M.S.!* Earning a Masters' on the way to a doctorate degree is something that most people in our program achieve, and tomorrow I will receive that degree. To be honest, it's felt a little anticlimactic, and something that I've underplayed. Any other time I've graduated, I've ended one chapter of my life to begin another. This time when I graduate, things stay the same. I've been a doctoral student for the past two years, and after tomorrow, I will continue to be a doctoral student. Many of my classmates received their masters' and never attended the graduation ceremony. I decided to attend the ceremony and walk the stage tomorrow, mainly so my parents could come down and celebrate with me. A few weeks ago, when I shelled over some money to purchase the cap and gown and rent my masters' hood, I almost regretted that decision.
Fortunately, my apathy toward graduation has subsided and my excitement has grown as graduation grows closer. I've started to share about it with others, and it's been easy to feed off of their excitement and pride for me. This is a big deal! Maybe this won't be a life-changing event, but it's a significant accomplishment. I've worked hard in this program for the past two years, and it's great to have an achievement like this to celebrate.
So tomorrow I'll fix my hair and make-up, put on a pretty dress, don my cap, gown, and hood, walk across that stage, text message friends during the 2 hour ceremony, and greet my family, taking pictures, and celebrating this step!
*Most of you know who I am, so just insert my full name in there!
Showing posts with label pride. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pride. Show all posts
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Monday, November 17, 2008
word vomit AKA 3 posts condensed into one
Self-compassion. It's the idea of realistically loving oneself. Not just self-esteem which could turn arrogant by only focusing on the good, but being humble enough to recognize one's faults and mistakes and forgive oneself, not punishing oneself, but caring for the self. Not self-indulgence, but self-care. I see so many ways that when I'm stressed or lonely or sad I become self-indulgent, eating ice cream, watching television, drinking lots of coffee, drinking alcohol, staying up late on the internet, many of those deliberate behaviors because, "I deserve this." When really, the most caring thing to do for myself would be to go to bed, eat healthier, exercise, and engage in activities that truly refresh my body and spirit, like prayer, journaling, reading. But often I choose indulgence because my flesh craves it, and these things seem to promise satisfaction, but they are empty and only occupy me for moments, and leave me still wanting. But where is the line between treating myself and enjoying life's simple pleasures and acting self-indulgently? Maybe it's the motivation. If I'm filling my body and mind with something because I think it will help me to escape sadness, stress, or loneliness, then it's probably self-indulgent. If I'm doing something because it's loving and caring toward myself, because it truly feeds my soul and refreshes me, then it's probably self-care. God, grant me discernment. My friend recently said that often how we treat others is how we treat ourselves. I want these two things to be congruent. I don't want to treat myself better than I treat others or to treat others better than I treat myself. I want to forgive others and self, and I want to feed and water and care for others and self.
An agent of change. Or maybe a conduit of change, a vessel through which real and transformation can occur. As a counselor, I want to be this. I'm great at being empathic, at providing a warm, safe place for others to share their pains and thoughts and feelings and feel understood and not judged. This is a great quality about me, and that's the first step. But I want to move from that, I don't want to be indulgent of my clients and those around me either, I want to help move them toward change. Which I don't really effectively know how to do. When I do see change in others, it seems random, and motivated by outside forces. I don't know. And it's frustrating too when so many people, myself included, don't really want change, but just want to feel better. I say that I want to change certain things about myself, my life, and my relationships, but often, the familiar is comfortable. Even if it's stressful and sad and disconnected and unsatisfying, changing it would be icky and messy and maybe this little pit will get a little more warm if I lay here a bit longer, maybe not, but the climb up is strenuous, why don't you make the climb first and throw down a rope and pull me up? I do feel myself growing and changing, but I also feel myself resisting the growth. What am I resisting? What am I avoiding? Responsibility? Accountability? Awareness that yes, I really am a dirty, ugly sinner?
Who reads this blog? When I started this over two years ago, I had this plan to stay anonymous. I'll be crackers and cheese instead of my name, and I'll post cryptic poetry that no one will ever know what events and what people in my life inspired the poems. But the anonymity quickly faded, and my posts became more personal, more real, more genuine. And I made friends through this blog, Martha, Ben, Anton, I'm so glad that this blog brought you into my life. I am thankful for you. And it's allowed me to keep up with old friends, Cara, Britt, and Laura especially. I love you deeply. And there are other friends, and I enjoy you too. But it's still stayed a tight, somewhat exclusive circle. I still don't use my name. I don't have a link on facebook. Until about a month ago, if you're reading this, it's because you have a blog too, and we're somehow connected in that way. Recently, my friend from high school, Emily, started a blog to chronicle her year in Bangladesh, and she started reading my blog. Since then, a couple of other dear, close friends who don't have blogs have discovered my blog and started reading. I never was deliberately hiding this from you, it just seemed so separate, this blog life, different from the life that I share with you. But it's the same in a way, so it seems natural and good and right that you are reading this now and that this blog circle is opening up more.
But I somewhat like having this blog stay somewhat exclusive. It gives me a freedom to write in honest, real ways that I might not if I knew that anybody who knew me on facebook would find this blog. But I do wonder . . . many of my church members, including pastors, have blogs. Occasionally I browse them, and recently found that a couple of neat girls who I really like also have blogs, so I added them to my google reader. But I'm scared to comment on their blogs, to open the floodgates for my brothers and sisters from church to read this blog. Somewhat, I'm afraid of what they may think when they read these words. Which is silly, because with this church family, for the first time I've really embraced openness and honesty and light and rejected darkness and secrecy and fakery (it's a real word, even if google doesn't recognize it). This church knows me more intimately than any church ever has, and I rejoice in that. When someone asks, "How have you been?" I answer completely honestly. If it's been crappy, I tell them that, and if I say, "It's been really good." or "I've been doing well, lately," oh believe me, I mean it, and let's rejoice and celebrate that together. But that kind of intimacy is still kind of frightening, and it's tempting to hide a little now and then or to worry that I'm sharing too much.
But mainly, I'm afraid to expand my blog community to include my church community because I compare myself to their blogselves. So many of their blog posts focus on spiritual topics that it seems like they write about godly things all the time, so they must be thinking about God more than I am. And I write about roach spray and weddings and weird dates and cultural identity and applications and movies and bars and music. Things that seem so worldly, so not-glorifying to God. I'm afraid that if you compare our blogs, I won't look like a good Jesus-follower. I somewhat take pride in being a good Jesus-follower, because if I wasn't, I'd be a bad friend, a bad daughter, a bad sister, a bad girlfriend, not worthy to give advice and counsel, not worthy to be a wife. Gosh, these have got to be lies, but they feel so true sometimes. That's probably my biggest fear, that if you read this blog, my final mask would be torn down, and you would see me as someone who isn't completely devoted to God, at least, not in the way that you seem to be. As I write this, I know this is a lie, that none of us are worthy, all of us stray, but it's easy to think that I stray further than you do, that you are closer to the Father than me, that you love Him more or better. And I know that God is in these writings about weddings and dates and bars and applications, because God is big and complex and I shouldn't limit his involvement in only things that traditionally seem godly.
As I write out these honest fears, I feel close to making the leap to include you, my church, in this blog life of mine. And I feel like I can do that without changing the content of my blog, while still writing what I want to write. So, if I do take that step and you are reading this, know that I love you, you are welcome here, you are welcome into my life.
An agent of change. Or maybe a conduit of change, a vessel through which real and transformation can occur. As a counselor, I want to be this. I'm great at being empathic, at providing a warm, safe place for others to share their pains and thoughts and feelings and feel understood and not judged. This is a great quality about me, and that's the first step. But I want to move from that, I don't want to be indulgent of my clients and those around me either, I want to help move them toward change. Which I don't really effectively know how to do. When I do see change in others, it seems random, and motivated by outside forces. I don't know. And it's frustrating too when so many people, myself included, don't really want change, but just want to feel better. I say that I want to change certain things about myself, my life, and my relationships, but often, the familiar is comfortable. Even if it's stressful and sad and disconnected and unsatisfying, changing it would be icky and messy and maybe this little pit will get a little more warm if I lay here a bit longer, maybe not, but the climb up is strenuous, why don't you make the climb first and throw down a rope and pull me up? I do feel myself growing and changing, but I also feel myself resisting the growth. What am I resisting? What am I avoiding? Responsibility? Accountability? Awareness that yes, I really am a dirty, ugly sinner?
Who reads this blog? When I started this over two years ago, I had this plan to stay anonymous. I'll be crackers and cheese instead of my name, and I'll post cryptic poetry that no one will ever know what events and what people in my life inspired the poems. But the anonymity quickly faded, and my posts became more personal, more real, more genuine. And I made friends through this blog, Martha, Ben, Anton, I'm so glad that this blog brought you into my life. I am thankful for you. And it's allowed me to keep up with old friends, Cara, Britt, and Laura especially. I love you deeply. And there are other friends, and I enjoy you too. But it's still stayed a tight, somewhat exclusive circle. I still don't use my name. I don't have a link on facebook. Until about a month ago, if you're reading this, it's because you have a blog too, and we're somehow connected in that way. Recently, my friend from high school, Emily, started a blog to chronicle her year in Bangladesh, and she started reading my blog. Since then, a couple of other dear, close friends who don't have blogs have discovered my blog and started reading. I never was deliberately hiding this from you, it just seemed so separate, this blog life, different from the life that I share with you. But it's the same in a way, so it seems natural and good and right that you are reading this now and that this blog circle is opening up more.
But I somewhat like having this blog stay somewhat exclusive. It gives me a freedom to write in honest, real ways that I might not if I knew that anybody who knew me on facebook would find this blog. But I do wonder . . . many of my church members, including pastors, have blogs. Occasionally I browse them, and recently found that a couple of neat girls who I really like also have blogs, so I added them to my google reader. But I'm scared to comment on their blogs, to open the floodgates for my brothers and sisters from church to read this blog. Somewhat, I'm afraid of what they may think when they read these words. Which is silly, because with this church family, for the first time I've really embraced openness and honesty and light and rejected darkness and secrecy and fakery (it's a real word, even if google doesn't recognize it). This church knows me more intimately than any church ever has, and I rejoice in that. When someone asks, "How have you been?" I answer completely honestly. If it's been crappy, I tell them that, and if I say, "It's been really good." or "I've been doing well, lately," oh believe me, I mean it, and let's rejoice and celebrate that together. But that kind of intimacy is still kind of frightening, and it's tempting to hide a little now and then or to worry that I'm sharing too much.
But mainly, I'm afraid to expand my blog community to include my church community because I compare myself to their blogselves. So many of their blog posts focus on spiritual topics that it seems like they write about godly things all the time, so they must be thinking about God more than I am. And I write about roach spray and weddings and weird dates and cultural identity and applications and movies and bars and music. Things that seem so worldly, so not-glorifying to God. I'm afraid that if you compare our blogs, I won't look like a good Jesus-follower. I somewhat take pride in being a good Jesus-follower, because if I wasn't, I'd be a bad friend, a bad daughter, a bad sister, a bad girlfriend, not worthy to give advice and counsel, not worthy to be a wife. Gosh, these have got to be lies, but they feel so true sometimes. That's probably my biggest fear, that if you read this blog, my final mask would be torn down, and you would see me as someone who isn't completely devoted to God, at least, not in the way that you seem to be. As I write this, I know this is a lie, that none of us are worthy, all of us stray, but it's easy to think that I stray further than you do, that you are closer to the Father than me, that you love Him more or better. And I know that God is in these writings about weddings and dates and bars and applications, because God is big and complex and I shouldn't limit his involvement in only things that traditionally seem godly.
As I write out these honest fears, I feel close to making the leap to include you, my church, in this blog life of mine. And I feel like I can do that without changing the content of my blog, while still writing what I want to write. So, if I do take that step and you are reading this, know that I love you, you are welcome here, you are welcome into my life.
Monday, July 28, 2008
family ties
I never understood young adults who complained about seeing their family. I see this more on television and in movies, but I've also heard friends, coworkers, classmates, and even professors complain about not wanting to go visit their family.
Unfortunately, I'm afraid that I'm beginning to understand this phenomena. I've just spent the past weekend at home, and tonight my dad is coming down, and Tuesday my mom is coming down to help me move and will probably stay through Sunday. I'm really grateful for the help and know that this will be a good time, but part of me is groining, "Too. Much. Family. Time."
It's not that I don't enjoy spending time with my family or don't want to receive what they're offering. I'm just realizing that when they come down here, especially during the week, I feel like my space is being invaded. When I asked my mom to come down and help me move, I only asked her to come for the weekend, but then she suggested coming earlier to help me pack. I explained that would be fine, but I would be busy and wouldn't have a whole lot of time. So, she decided to come on Tuesday night, so she can spend Wednesday and Thursday helping me as well. It's a great idea in theory. This past weekend, my mom asked me for my schedule for each day this week. As she was writing it down, she explained, "You're really busy! When are you going to have time to pack?" "Erm, well, I have a little time Wednesday afternoon, and a little time Thursday morning, and then more time Friday afternoon and evening." "Yeah, I guess we'll just do most of the packing on Friday." Which is what I'd said all along. I'm sure we'll get some stuff done on Wednesday and Thursday and it will make Friday less stressful.
I like my space. I like having visitors, but I prefer them to come on the weekends when I'm less busy and can actually be a good hostess. And during the week, I'm so busy and all over the place, that hosting someone is just kinda stressful. Though my mom insists that I won't have to entertain her during this time and that she understands I'll be busy, I still feel guilty for not being around to spend time with her. Especially when she exclaims, "You're busy!" as if this surprises her.
Alright, just had to get that off my chest and into the blogosphere. Part of me is dreading hosting my family all week long. But I really need to put that aside, and be grateful for the help they're offering and the good times that we will share, when I'm not at work, seeing clients, studying, at a meeting, or with my church group. And I'm a big girl. I can put aside my needs for space and privacy and freedom for this one week and allow my family to invade my life down here. Honestly, pretty soon the fall semester will be starting and I'll be even busier and have less time to make it up to see them. While I complain, I do want to put aside my selfishness and cherish the this opportunity to spend time with my family. And I can't do this on my own. My natural inclination is to get riled up at this perceived threat to my independence and feel anxious and complain, but I need God's grace to override my natural reactions. And this threat to my independence is probably a lot of what these feelings are about. I have a hard time admitting that I need my family. I need to let go of my pride and surrender this.
Unfortunately, I'm afraid that I'm beginning to understand this phenomena. I've just spent the past weekend at home, and tonight my dad is coming down, and Tuesday my mom is coming down to help me move and will probably stay through Sunday. I'm really grateful for the help and know that this will be a good time, but part of me is groining, "Too. Much. Family. Time."
It's not that I don't enjoy spending time with my family or don't want to receive what they're offering. I'm just realizing that when they come down here, especially during the week, I feel like my space is being invaded. When I asked my mom to come down and help me move, I only asked her to come for the weekend, but then she suggested coming earlier to help me pack. I explained that would be fine, but I would be busy and wouldn't have a whole lot of time. So, she decided to come on Tuesday night, so she can spend Wednesday and Thursday helping me as well. It's a great idea in theory. This past weekend, my mom asked me for my schedule for each day this week. As she was writing it down, she explained, "You're really busy! When are you going to have time to pack?" "Erm, well, I have a little time Wednesday afternoon, and a little time Thursday morning, and then more time Friday afternoon and evening." "Yeah, I guess we'll just do most of the packing on Friday." Which is what I'd said all along. I'm sure we'll get some stuff done on Wednesday and Thursday and it will make Friday less stressful.
I like my space. I like having visitors, but I prefer them to come on the weekends when I'm less busy and can actually be a good hostess. And during the week, I'm so busy and all over the place, that hosting someone is just kinda stressful. Though my mom insists that I won't have to entertain her during this time and that she understands I'll be busy, I still feel guilty for not being around to spend time with her. Especially when she exclaims, "You're busy!" as if this surprises her.
Alright, just had to get that off my chest and into the blogosphere. Part of me is dreading hosting my family all week long. But I really need to put that aside, and be grateful for the help they're offering and the good times that we will share, when I'm not at work, seeing clients, studying, at a meeting, or with my church group. And I'm a big girl. I can put aside my needs for space and privacy and freedom for this one week and allow my family to invade my life down here. Honestly, pretty soon the fall semester will be starting and I'll be even busier and have less time to make it up to see them. While I complain, I do want to put aside my selfishness and cherish the this opportunity to spend time with my family. And I can't do this on my own. My natural inclination is to get riled up at this perceived threat to my independence and feel anxious and complain, but I need God's grace to override my natural reactions. And this threat to my independence is probably a lot of what these feelings are about. I have a hard time admitting that I need my family. I need to let go of my pride and surrender this.
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