I believe each of what I call our “training days” started at the moment we entered this world.
We had to immediately learn how to grasp for air.
Since then, I would like to believe I had decent training on how to carry myself from early on.
While I certainly have my rebellious ways for the sake of the inner childish comic who shall live forever within, thankfully, Mama gave me some good reminders, time to time, on how to be a lady.
Roll your shoulders back to walk with good posture. Avoid ever stooping for such look is not fit for a lady (or, anyone?).
Cross or close your legs when sitting down. (The humor I never tire to recall is, There are many tales to keep secret between the covers.)
Do not curse. (Okay. I struggled with this in junior high, but Papa came to my defense by telling Mama, as long as I was not calling someone ugly, stupid, or fat- what’s wrong with a bad word verbally spewed out now and then?) I took Mama’s silence as permission granted, still, respectfully so.
Yet, my greatest struggle for the longest of time? Do not be so loud.
By high school, I was mainly quiet in class, either (doing my best to be) listening to the teacher or sleeping (back then, I easily worked 30 hours after school, at one point, juggling two jobs as there were no student work hour restrictions), or both.
Whether I succeeded or not, I was busily believing, not proving, that I was better or just as good than those I found myself around.
The proving was not for those around me. For me. Arrogance to some. Confidence and belief for resilience, to steadily give myself.
In my placement or elected classes, I not only found safety to healthily grow, but there was peace to be found amongst fearless talkers and debaters.
All were going somewhere; purpose and focus were everflowing.
Since I can remember, however, I was talkative and loud, thinking this gave me control of self.
Outside of my classes, whether around my neighborhood or home, I sensed the need to filter the air with noise.
Silence was eerily unwanted. I somehow connected these moments as forewarns to when something was bound to be out of my control.
That child in me had become accustomed to know the quiet before the storm.
There was that quiet before the strike.
There was that quiet before the cry.
There was that quiet before the draw.
There was that quiet before the lights.
The only time quiet was briefly heard after was to follow a flatline.
All knew what that meant.
And, then, there followed, the wailing.
“La-la-la!” could be repeatedly sung. But even with fingers in the ears, there is only so much control one is given.
Perhaps I thought, if all was always noisy, the storms would never come.
I can still remember the feeling of wanting and trying to make everyone happy around me by rampantly talking, probably many times, nonsense, whenever I felt thickness in the air.
Amongst others, I would most often be the one to talk loudly.
Developed within, I brought this onto my marriage.
Almost to my golden years I finally found readiness to understand why.
All those years where my husband would try and remind me that I didn’t have to yell, I couldn’t just completely stop.
Until I came to the understanding that it had become a subconscious belief of losing control I had not acknowledged, I found myself yelling without even realizing I was, many times, even when in just a simple discussion or conversation.
My husband (Oh, how silently offended I was!) actually bought a recorder (before cellular phones), and, while quietly sitting down, secretly recorded me, later to replay how loudly I talked in our home.
Hearing myself was shameful. Young, however, time could only be my husband’s sure hope for me to change.
There is good to come of any situation sought to be the contrary. Hope answered was well on its way.
Teaching virtually, confining myself to my own classroom during instructional sessions, while our two youngest children separately followed their own schedules, the pandemic placed all of us in a respectfully peaceful environment.
Even my husband followed our schedules in his own office, knowing when to engage in conversations with any of us.
Inadvertently, I found myself partaking in a much needed safe-haven in my own home.
I contributed to the understanding that while there were those finding ways to be heard and seen from the confines of their walls, it was imperative to choose solace for my children and all the children who turned their cameras and audios on to hear and see me each “school day”.
I could see our youngest two were happy to be home with both their mom and dad, completely taking in the blessings of their found circumstance.
My husband and I were one of those who actually found greatest advantage and joy in not having to leave our home to distance ourselves from others.
And, yet, when students unmuted their own audios, the opposite temperance could sometimes be heard in their own homes.
I knew the sounds. I had been part of those sounds. I had lived them.
It had been as if each time I heard noise from the backgrounds of my students, I related and understood because I shared the same.
No longer.
The eyes of my students were looking at me for peace and comfort.
For the first time, I found duty to be peace, not just peaceful. From within my inner quiet, I was to give much needed comfort.
By the time we returned back to school, slowly, but surely, I found that same duty in me to keep steady, even more than from just sitting in front of a camera.
Masks were on and for the first time, I was forced to focus on each pair of eyes looking at me.
Far more than ever, the ask of peace was ever so loudly in my heart, my mind, my body, and my spirit.
All of a sudden, I felt myself let go of that old me needing to believe for my own resiliency.
I needed to be the belief.
All was going to be alright. In my actions, each child had to feel it. Not just for a moment, but the entire moment each were to be with me, one class period at a time.
We gave not one doubt to our own, youngest children. I had within me to continue to do the same for all other children I could.
While still a child within, I was glad to have that one particular part grow up and out of me, the scared to lose control, uncertain one of what will be for so long.
No longer.
I recall, just about a year ago, happily acknowledging that, what to me, had been a “training day” success.
Having to finally embrace my why of that loud part of me was like looking into the eyes of a child with a reassuring smile suggesting that there was no reason to be afraid anymore.
Relax. Breathe. Let go.
Recently laying in bed, I happened to share with my husband my moment of realization, after so many years of not even thinking there were any reason at all.
I still have moments when I come to realize I have positioned myself to start clenching into that ready-mode of talking loudly.
To be resilient, I must keep breaking through the challenge to be without fear.
I smile knowing I’ve got angels around always ready to help me.
Thanks to one of my students this year who, when I started to nervously lecture about choices in life at a moment I felt a disruption of knowing within their realm, she strongly noted, respectfully, but equally blatant, that “It’s not that serious”, suggesting my reaction to the felt imbalance in the room.
I had felt my voice begin to rise at the moment she drew me to acknowledge myself.
I recall quickly telling her “thank you”, and how “I needed that”.
I also recall noting to take a breath.
My student had been absolutely right in her stance.
And although that student and I (in middle school, there is usually [at least] one) definitely had our moments of testimonies, I was grateful she remained steadfast and strong in her stance to the end with me.
My biggest angel of all my angels this year, that one.
At home, I have my husband to call me out when I begin to tense up in similar manner.
My youngest two children help out, too.
Angels all around help me through my training days.
I have needed direction and guidance to get to my own finish.
I realize now, I always did. While most certainly moving forward, I didn’t necessarily know direction.
I let the loudness cloud my thoughts.
I knew to be good, do good, and follow good.
While Mama surely taught me the mannerisms I needed, Papa had assured me all I needed in life was to follow the Ten Commandments while giving me the freedom to seek for truth.
Still, I had me to work out to overcome anything ahead.
Some training days last for days; some last a lifetime.
If and when the compass rose is broken or one cannot be found, even to think heading forward could lead one in a circle without knowing.
One interesting piece I conjectured from Einstein’s thought process during my last reading about him is that, in every step we make, we may well be unaware or unknowing of our true relativity.
I further clarified this in my understanding that the only way we can identify change in motion is in comparison to where we’ve been.
Otherwise, how can one really know?
Training days are not supposed to be smooth and easy, correct?
They are to challenge the best of us.
For those wanting to wage the same or better, like an experience that cannot be fully captured by a mere picture, one’s journey cannot be fully felt through words or depictions.
While informationally truthful I can be, for others to fully fathom would be most unlikely, as if trying to explain a phenomenon to one who was not present.
I laugh to think this is why we don’t share with any new brides or mothers the cracks and crevices between glory days of marriage and parenting.
Positivity focuses on the light.
When determined to make it through, I believe each of us know that somehow, anyhow, one will make all work, no matter the journey.
Those with the finishing mindset will do just that, training days to the finish.
All the growth comes with every piece of glory like the flowers that bloom in due season.
Not all will take to follow your path if they knew the challenges you faced ahead.
If one was to be told many times you will go under instead of over, jump across instead of just up, fly down close to the ground before catching wind to lift up again, there will be those who will not take the road offered, no matter what is to be on the other side to gain.
Still, like I do with these reflections, there is a sense of generational request to journalize journeyed moments as victorious.
Training days were made to be overcome so in return, greater strength and wisdom can be gained.
In my case, like the word of the spirit, I will find myself repeating moments of victorious feelings many times.
Better to say so much more, too many times, to be reminded over and over again, than not at all or ever hear what you should be listening to in able to keep the right path forward.
It is victory moments that remind others to believe.
Just like any line of duty where there stand levels of expertise, each higher level requiring more knowledge and skill, our stripes, if I may call them for the sake of analogy, differ in our willingness to sacrifice for glory.
Yes?
Let our victories be known for others to dare venture.
It is not the hurt and agonies you hope for others to endure; it is the light shined upon you that, after those training days, you can be standing in your own victories as testimony that after a storm, there is indeed, peace.
