Monday, August 5, 2013

9th Grade: The months and years after State

As I reacquaint myself with the {now much more involved} world of Blogger, I began reading through old posts. It is strange to think some of those thoughts came out of my head. Some of the things I talked about honestly seem like they were written by a different person.

I was going through endless reflection and soul searching post-break up (Spring 2011) that I think I was an entirely different person then.

Regardless of any of that brain dump, I realized that I never finished the "3-part series" that I started about my friend's death. You can read about it here--Part 1: 9th grade: The day before State and Part 2: 9th grade: The days and weeks after State. I am going to attempt to finish this story.

The months and years after this life-changing event--the suicide of a friend--were somehow always defined by that event in some way. Whenever things got really difficult or I would find some insecurity I had harbored, it drew back to the fears I'd created surrounding this event. It shocks me to this day that I allowed myself to be defined by that event for such a long time.

My love for helping people work through their problems led me to choose Psychology and Family & Human Development as degrees in college. I wanted to fix people. I wanted to figure them out and fix them all so that people wouldn't have to hurt anymore.

You can imagine how this seeped into my relationships--particularly romantic ones. For a long time, I dated guys who I was ultimately just not that into and just wanted them to need me. Ew...that feels gross to say out loud. Over time, I moved on to guys who pushed me to be a better version of myself. Still to this day I am reminding myself to love for what is instead of how I think it should be. You can ask my boyfriend that I don't always do this very well, as he often reminds me that I've told him I accept all of him. {In these moments, I begrudgingly remember...}

The happy part of this drive to fix people was that my Human Developmental program at Arizona State required me to work in a developmental preschool on campus. It was in this classroom where I discovered I loved children...who knew? Soon enough, I zoomed off to Australia and took an internship in a special education preschool.  If you would've asked me in high school if I thought I was going to grow up to be a teacher--I would've laughed. I was convinced I was bad at teaching anyone (mostly because of failed attempts to teach an ex-boyfriend calculus). Anyway, I am rambling. Moral of the story was to say that all these life events lead me right to where I am today--helping young children with special needs find their potentials.

I'm glad I waited to end this little series because I obviously hadn't reached a point in my life where I could fully process this difficult memory and its effect on my life. It is also kind of astonishing to see how this event, in part, led me to where I am today in such a positive way. The best part of writing this 3rd phase in the story 2 years later is that I no longer feel defined by this event.

Please hold your applause.

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