In the Smallest of Things

Posted on June 10, 2022 by betinahsieh

I had a great day today.

And I also had two panic attacks today, which were not great.

I just returned for several days away for a work conference, am hosting a retreat next week, and then hope to take a vacation with my 7-year old which we’ve been looking forward to for months (provided that we don’t get caught up in the current COVID surge). This morning, I had a series of great and productive meetings, humanizing but intentional, and moving work of my heart forward.

Then, when they were done, at separate times in the day, the panic set in, quite suddenly and fiercely, stealing my peace in waves of uncertainty.

Panic attacks are hard. They are exhausting both emotionally and physically. I have had both panic and anxiety attacks for at least 15 years. I have learned to be with them, make space for them, breathe through them, mask them, function in spite of them. But they are still hard and very draining.

This evening, after my second panic attack, I texted a friend to check in. While waiting for a return text, I went shopping at Trader Joe’s. I had planned to buy flowers for myself, and chose a bouquet that was vibrant and beautiful.

Then I turned around and saw a display of peonies. I love peonies.

So I debated about whether to put back the flowers that I had chosen and get myself the peonies, which would also require filler flowers because there were just five stems. They weren’t as good a “value.” They weren’t yet in bloom. What to do?

As I stood there, my mind drifted to my mother, as it often does when I am buying myself flowers. My mother hated cut flowers when she was alive. She thought they were wasteful because they would just die. It was like throwing money away, she used to say.

But everything dies. And everyone.

I had to unlearn that ephemeral beauty and the joy of individual moments are worthless. In fact, what I’ve come to learn instead is that they are sometimes the most precious things in their short and vibrant lives, in our short and vibrant lives.

I had to learn that things that had “no purpose” actually, in fact, had such an important purpose. That time that had “no purpose,” time not doing all the things, actually was the most important time. Time to be present. Time to breathe. Time to be.

My mother didn’t have a chance to know these things. She didn’t have the same life, choices, or circumstances that I have. But I often remind myself that she dedicated much of her life so that I could have this life, these choices, and the best of the circumstances I have.

We are not the same. We might never have seen things in the same way. But, she would have wanted my happiness.

My mother loved me like I love others. But, she did not love herself so I did not learn to love myself.

We are not the same. We might never have seen things in the same way. But, she would have wanted my happiness. Just like I so desperately wanted hers.

It would have made her sad to know that I have panic attacks. I probably wouldn’t have told her. Maybe she had them too and never told me. I don’t know.

And maybe, just maybe, because she knew it made me happy in a way that she might never have understood, she would have bought me flowers on days that were hard and great at the same time, or on days that were just days because every day deserves beauty.

Probably not, but that is okay.

I have been mothering myself for 27 years, trying to honor who my mother was in the way I made choices in my life. But in honoring what my mother may have done, I may not have honored what she would have wanted.

I cannot know these things. All I can do is carry her with me, and her mother before her and all of my foremothers. I carry them in my heart, and with them, I carry all that they carried. All the love they gave, all the sacrifices they made, all the dreams they dreamed. And in healing myself, I am healing them.

Today, I bought myself a bouquet of prearranged cut flowers…and a bouquet of 5-stem peonies, with another small bouquet of filler flowers to keep the peonies company.

Today, I talked to a friend who reminded me of who I am. I texted with friends that made me laugh. I arranged my flowers, one bouquet for the kitchen and another for my “office” in my bedroom.

These are small things, perhaps the smallest of things.

But we are healing through them, in the humanity and grace of accepting all that is and is not. It is there that peace exists for as long as I can be with it.

For that, I am deeply grateful.

What Does It Mean to Be Seen?

Posted on April 26, 2022 by betinahsieh

When I was a little girl, I learned that if I wanted to be loved, I should be small.

I should try to quiet my naturally loud voice, particularly my loud laugh.

I should work harder than everyone else because only through determination would I be able to prove myself, and even then, I might still not be seen.

I learned that I was not worthy for who I was but for what I did, how close to perfect I could be.

I learned I shouldn’t cry, that showing emotions, humanity, and vulnerability, particularly in relation to who I was and what I was struggling with made me weak and would leave me alone.

Instead, I should temper the strong feelings that rose up within me and I should swallow my tears, living in fear that someday “they” might find the real me and see that I didn’t deserve any of the respect afforded me.

I have spent the last several years trying to unlearn all of these things.

To reclaim my voice.

To stand proudly and know my heart.

To not perform for love or be afraid to lose love, but to trust in the strength of community, even when I make mistakes, unintentionally hurt someone I love or fail at something I so deeply want (because I still do, so often).

I have spent the last several years trying to honor the little girl who lost her way because she wanted more than anything to be loved, because she thought she had to earn love, and to earn love, she had to be what everyone else wanted her to be.

I have been trying to find that little girl and all the younger versions of me that had dreams, and the present version of me that has begun to dare to dream again, and I have been trying to listen to them, listen to us, listen to myself, to my quiet voice and my loud voice, to my sorrowful cries and my belly laughs.

I have begun to tell all the parts of me that there is a place for them.

I am trying to be honest.

I am working to reclaim my humanity.

The last 5 days, I’ve been at the annual meeting of the American Educational Research Association, a space that, for many years, made me feel invisible, so much less than so many others, a space that was not mine because I was not enough.

But it was not that space this year.

Instead, it was a space of authenticity and of humanity. It was a space where I brought my loud voice. Where I heard the cadence and rhythms of my true heart speak boldly and with confidence.

It was a space of community and communities. Of people I have loved for so long, and people I had never met in person who I love just the same, and people I don’t even know, but who know me.

It was a space where I didn’t know everything, I wasn’t the fanciest, biggest fish, but I was enough just as I was, in my ripple of the pond.

It was a space where people saw me. Where people have seen my words. Where they told me my name is being spoken in places that I may not ever be.

It was a space filled with love and possibility. Of grace and generosity. Of working and walking towards justice, even when I stumbled. It was a space where I knew I could stumble because I would be picked up if I fell.

I cannot fully express what it means to be seen after feeling invisible for so long.

I cannot fully express what it means to be acknowledged for the work of my heart.

I cannot fully express what it means to help create community, to share community, to support community.

But it is community which is embracing that little girl who felt so small, so unseen, so unworthy for so long. It is community that is healing her through their love. It is community calling her home.

Unlearning the Second Nature of Self

Posted on April 13, 2022 by betinahsieh

What does is mean to put myself first? To prioritize not just my needs, but what I want, yet remain committed to community care?

This is my current inquiry.

My whole life has been spent thinking that I should prioritize others, the work I have to do, the work that others call me to do, that I’m good at, for the greater good. I have spent so much time denying that I even have desires for better, let alone reaching for them. I have prioritized what seems to be the most obvious paths forward, that in some ways seem simplest because they are the expected paths, but in other ways bring complexity and questions about why I don’t have joy even though I’m doing “what I’m supposed to.”

However, in this last 12 months, I’ve found inspiration. In my work and in the relationships I’ve cultivated. I’ve found myself living moments of true joy, bliss, and peace. For someone who has been searching for these feelings for years and had thought they were somewhat unattainable, these moments have been life altering and transformational. I’ve felt movement that propels me towards the things that truly matter to me, towards pushing beyond what is comfortable or expected, towards the desires of my heart, spirit and mind.

And yet, in this, or perhaps in spite of it, I feel myself being pulled back.

There is a strong pull back to the “right path,” the path that I’ve always walked, the path that seems logical given the path I’ve been on.

It hurts to diverge from that path. It is difficult to stray away. It is not the simplest thing to walk towards this joy, even with the love and support of community.

It feels completely right and completely wrong at the same time.

It is new and different and requires a courage and investment in myself that I don’t really know. I know how to be courageous for others. I know how to sacrifice for community. But I don’t know how to prioritize myself, my heart, MY work and calling.

It feels selfish.

Breathe.

Perhaps this is why I have not made the time to write, to confront this conflict and name it as it lives within me. Seeing the words on the screen bring tears to my eyes.

I know if I were speaking to someone else, someone I love, someone who I get the privilege to walk alongside, I would remind them that doing our work, loving ourselves, honoring our hearts, these things are not selfish, they are forms of resistance, in a world that constantly calls us to sacrifice for institutions that limit us and don’t love us, for people who want from us but not for us. This is not real community.

True community calls us into ourselves, supports us in steps that require courage, reminds us that who we are is worthy, and to honor ourselves provides a model of self-liberation that is as powerful as any thing else we can do.

I remember myself through writing.

It is why I haven’t made time and why I must make time.

This is why I must push against what has become “second nature” to return to my first nature, my most true self, my heart, which has begun to speak to me again, which has begun to dare to trust, to want, to choose.

Breathe.

In each act of choosing myself, I am choosing community, because I can best contribute to community in my own authenticity, as my full self, and with my full heart.

I remember.

Breathe In, Breathe Out

Posted on January 27, 2022 by betinahsieh

For the last 4 weeks, I have been holding my breath.

It’s not uncommon during this time of year when I am always looking for grief to come find me.

But this year, with my (fully-masked) son contracting COVID-19 from his Taekwondo practice just before the new year, the virus making its way unceremoniously through our family in more or less the most lengthy process possible (with nearly 7 days between each case manifesting), and a four-week rolling isolation period, it’s been hard to breathe. Literally and figuratively.

Today, my partner, who was the last person in our family to contract the virus, tested negative, ending our 4-week isolation and returning us to the world, still fully-masked, still cautious, but with a bit of relief for the next couple of months and with the reassurance that my son will turn 16 in that time, making him eligible for the adult dose of his booster (the 12-15 dose was approved the day AFTER he began showing symptoms).

In this time, I’ve been aware how important community care is. My community has not only asked how to help, they have just shown up, dropping off care packages, groceries, sending gift cards, checking in with notes and messages. And I’ve learned to ask and depend on others as well. When we were all isolated in the first two weeks, I ordered delivery, I asked for friends who offered to add our items to their grocery lists, I asked for grace when I just couldn’t do all the things, I soaked in the love of those sending good wishes. I rested because I couldn’t do anything else.

This is not normal for me.

While I believe in the deep and redemptive power of community care, I couldn’t choose it until I had to or until others chose it for me.

It is hard to unlearn the narrative of individual struggle, productivity, and exhaustion.

And while it was powerful and transformative, I also know there is still so much unlearning for me to do.

I haven’t been able to breathe, to reflect, to write, for four weeks. I continued to create to a degree and have been getting what needs to get done completed, but I am spent instead of energized. I felt constantly in a state of alarm because I have been in a state of disequilibrium. I am just beginning to come out of that today, with my partner’s negative test, with my children’s negative tests and being back to their lives.

I couldn’t see it when I was in it.

I couldn’t feel myself holding my breath.

Even when I was resting, I was not at rest.

But today, I am breathing deeply. My schedule does not feel so daunting although it is full. I am taking time this morning to write, to reflect, to be. I am taking a moment to feel all that I have been carrying for four weeks, and in cycles for 27 years, and even before that, at times, my whole life.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I am constantly working towards a life that is more than survival. Today, I remember my body, my spirit, my heart.

Inhale.

Pause.

Exhale.

Pause.

Faith, Hope & Love

Posted on November 3, 2021 by betinahsieh

“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:13

In the past few months, I have been opening myself up to love more wholeheartedly.

For people in my life, this may be surprising because I have always lived a life full of love. I love easily, openly and abundantly.

But my love has never quite been a full expression of its truth. It has been a love that holds back, even if ever so slightly. It has been a love that guards my heart, that guards my full self, and that dwells alongside unworthiness.

It is a love that has believed that if people saw the real me, all of me, that they would not love me anymore.

It is a love that has lived in fear.

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear…” I John 4:18

In the past month, I have been confronting the ways in which I have been living a life of fear. I understand this fear, rooted in abandonment, coming from the early losses of people I loved so deeply and wholeheartedly before I knew the pain of loss.

Fear is a liar.

Fear has held me back from pursuing what my heart most desires.

Fear has told me that my love is not enough, that I am not enough, and that it/I will never be enough.

Fear has driven me to feeling like I have to prove my worth, through always doing more.

Fear has caused me to run away from the possibility of deep and true love, and hide behind work and obligation.

Fear has caused me to abandon my responsibility to myself, and center my responsibilities to others.

Fear has told me that if it is not now, it will not be ever.

But sometimes, in life, we are given (second) chances that we didn’t know we needed.

Chances at redemption.

Chances that restore our faith.

Chances that open up our world and open up new worlds of possibilities.

Chances that cause us to abandon our fears and embrace what we’ve always wanted, wholeheartedly and without reservation.

I have been given some of these chances this year, in incredibly unexpected ways.

They have been gifts.

But some of them are not gifts for now.

They are gifts that call me to restore my faith and hope in love. They are gifts that are meant to teach me to trust myself, trust my heart, and trust my love.

And I am so afraid.

In so many of these situations, I don’t have control of the outcome, and it terrifies me.

Because it has taken so much to open up to chances beyond who I’ve known myself to be. It has taken so much to begin to believe in myself and in those I love most. It has taken so much to trust. It has taken so much to be honest and strive towards living more authentically.

When things are not for now, every fiber of my being wants to run away and hide, to go back to a life of silence and self-denial, hiding and perfectionism, to see this “not now” as a sign of “not ever,” because I am terrified to lose that which I have just begun to find. I am terrified that I am not enough, that I can’t do enough, be enough, love enough. I am terrified of being a failure.

Yesterday was a really hard day where all of this fear spoke loudly into my heart.

But today is a new day.

It is a day that has lessons to teach me, if I am willing to listen, if I am willing to trust, and if I can believe in the love that I know is true.

I am deeply loved, treasured, and precious.

My community will hold me in my deepest fears and when I am drowning in pain.

I can trust my heart, even when things aren’t the way I so desperately want them to be.

Tears can be cleansing. They can be restorative.

My truth has never, in fact, been dependent on the outcome. It is what is, even when I refuse to acknowledge it. It hasn’t changed. It has only grown deeper. It can only be what it is, whether I run from it or run towards it, or whether I just stay still and take it moment by moment.

So that is what I have to do: take it moment by moment, learning to trust that which I can’t always see, can’t always know, can’t always touch; free myself from the need of constant external validation; and trust in what I know deep in my heart.

I’m scared, Friends, but I am trying.

Living Authentically

Posted on October 20, 2021 by betinahsieh

I have been speaking my truth and living it.

I have been holding space for ease and patience, comfort and calm.

It’s different, but it’s also been transformational.

I am realizing that peace and freedom aren’t what I thought they would be.

At times, they bring amazing joy.

At times, they bring me to tears.

I have been giving myself permission to embrace my humanity in its full scope, to feel all the things, to want unreasonable things.

This is liberating and also heartbreaking.

It requires levels of honesty with myself and others with which I am completely unacquainted. Levels of honesty that are, in fact, antithetical to the way I’ve lived my compartmentalized life for years, in order to survive and advance. Levels of honesty that rebuff compartmentalization as a survival strategy to embrace integration as a strategy to thrive and honor the deepest desires of my heart.

As I stop holding myself to levels of expectations that I don’t have for others, as I learn to embrace the parts of myself that are the most tender and vulnerable, the parts that I have always feared would leave me abandoned and alone, as I make room for the true fullness of my humanity, I am flooded with all the things.

The reality is that my community has always been ready for me to embrace myself.

They have been waiting to be let in.

They have been trying to tell me.

They have seen parts of myself before I see them.

And the parts that they didn’t see coming don’t change who I am fundamentally. They are, in fact, consistent with who I am, and with my very real humanity.

I am fully loved.

I am beautiful and brilliant.

I am emotional and full of contradictions.

I am intimidating and unpredictable.

I am unapologetic and responsible.

I am complicated and simple.

Whoever I am in this moment, I am firmly rooted and grounded in a depth of humanity and love that underlies it all. I am grateful. So deeply grateful.

Peace

Posted on October 13, 2021 by betinahsieh

For most of my life, I have been searching for peace, joy, and rest.

Sometimes what we are searching for is within us all along.

I have held tight to responsibilities for my whole life. Even as a young child, I felt responsible for the happiness of my family. Through family mythology and the position that I occupied, I learned to shift so that I could fill the needs of others. I learned that my needs were always second to their needs. Though the “they” shifted throughout my life, this lens has been the way I viewed the world.

I was searching, inevitably, through this lens and wondering when I might find the elusive peace, joy and rest that I was seeking. When would I have fewer responsibilities? When might I succeed in bringing joy to those around me? How could my decisions best serve the needs of others?

It was a trap, but an inviting, insidious one. People loved me because I became an excellent chameleon. I learned to perceive people’s needs and become the person they needed me to be. I was good at so many things, and as such was awarded greater responsibilities. I brought joy to many, but at a steep cost to my own well-being. It was never enough to satisfy me, but it was always JUST enough to keep me going, to keep me feeling like eventually, everything would lead to peace and joy. Rest came sparingly and only when I could no longer maintain the frenetic pace of people-pleasing. It “worked” but it was exhausting and inauthentic and so hard.

There is freedom in letting go.

There is peace, joy, ease and rest in acknowledging my own desires and abandoning myself to the truth of those desires, in all of their potential to ruin the illusion of perfection I’ve worked so hard to create, in all of my fear that people will love me less or even abandon me outright, in all of my new unwillingness to compromise my own well-being for the sake of others.

There is peace in that my joy is no longer dependent on the action of others, over which I have no control. I am recognizing my responsibility to honor myself, that my choices are that which are most under my control, and that I really cannot control the lives or choices of others. In not being able to make those choices, I also can’t be responsible for them.

There is so much liberation in this.

I am learning to trust myself and my truth, as messy and unkempt as it may be. It is a journey. I am learning the depth of my love and beginning to turn it towards myself. Slowly, but surely. In doing so, I find myself putting less pressure on myself and others. I find myself able to accept the wholeness of who I am, and give grace to myself and others. I find myself dreaming and exploring, more willing to set boundaries (although I’m still not very good at this, to be honest, but I am learning — walking towards is not always arriving right away), but also more willing to push them.

I am grateful for this peace whether it lasts only a moment or a season or becomes my new path.

I am grateful to love fully and be loved completely, perhaps not by as many, but more authentically than I have ever experienced love, than I have ever allowed myself to experience being loved.

Because I am listening and letting that love in, and letting go, and FINALLY beginning to say yes and no with conviction and grace.

It is a gift.

I receive it.

My Parents’ Daughter

Posted on October 10, 2021 by betinahsieh

I have spent many years claiming that I am, above all, my mother’s daughter, and this is true. My mother raised me alone for as long as I can remember. She loved me far more than she loved herself. She sacrificed everything to give me a chance at a life that was better than her own. She was beautiful and brilliant, kind and generous, but also at times lonely and prone to outbursts of anger. All of this, I have seen or been told is reflected in me.

I did not grow up with my father, but I realize that I am still his daughter, in ways that mirror traits of my mother, and in ways that are distinctly his. I am a charmer and a quick thinker, incredibly impatient, have unreasonable expectations of myself and others, and often struggle with desire and deservingness. I am hard to live with and want things my way. I want all the things, even if I have learned to suppress those wants in fear of judgment of others.

For most of my life, my parents have been polar opposites in my mind — my mother representing all that is good and pure and my father representing all that is bad, above all selfishness. But now that they are both gone, I am left to reflect more honestly and with nuance on who they were and who they are, who I am and how I am a reflection of them. I realize that things are not so simple, that no one is ever all good or all bad, that purity and selfishness aren’t always moral standards to ascribe to or to be avoided.

My mother’s self-sacrifice became such a model to me. Her deep belief in swallowing her own pain, putting everyone else’s needs before her own, and delaying her joy, set me up to believe that I should do the same because I, for so long, believed that to honor these beliefs was to honor her life, to finally give her freedom.

My father’s unwillingness to compromise himself for others and desire to be loved and admired, in spite of all the things that made him impossible to live with, became a subconscious weight in my heart, inescapable but laden with guilt.

I love easily; I give easily; I sacrifice easily — this is my mother’s legacy. I want so much that I have denied myself; I am never satisfied; I can be so hard to live with — this is my father’s legacy.

What is left of those legacies?

For many years, possibly my whole life, I have been almost completely unable to choose myself. I have been so afraid of the judgment of my family, my community (those that I have worked so hard to earn respect from), and even total strangers, that I choose based on calculated risk (leaning always towards safety) and based on the desires of others. I never want to let anyone down.

In doing so, I have settled for so much less than I deserve.

I say this not because my life is not beautiful in so many ways. I am deeply loved, held in my hardest moments. I live a life of contribution. I have had so many incredible experiences and have worked so hard to be where I am personally and professionally.

I say this because I am searching to live a more honest, authentic, and integrated life — a life that dares to ask for more, to dream of the seemingly impossible, to love wholeheartedly, to live freely — after neatly compartmentalizing my whole life into manageable parts of myself that no one sees completely.

It is HARD.

It is especially hard in an academic setting that keeps pushing for more. It is hard in a society that leaves little room for women of color to want, within and without multiple spheres of judgment. It is hard carrying the legacy of my parents.

But, I have been doing hard things for years; it is also a part of their legacy.

I am my parents’ daughter.

But I am also myself.

I am learning and unlearning.

I am choosing my own legacy.

Being Sourced by Community

Posted on August 6, 2021 by betinahsieh

Growing up, I was told that asking for help was a sign of weakness.

I am still told that today by some.

Some say it aloud and directly, “Why are you asking for help? Are you so poor? Why are you taking away from those who really have need?”

Others say it implicitly through glances that say, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

But there is no shame in allowing others to contribute.

Much of my greatest joy in life comes from contributing to those I love.

Whether it is through gifts of time, talents, or treasures, I am blessed by sharing my blessings with others.

Recently, I’ve realized the power of letting others also contribute to those I love and to me as well.

Whether my sister’s transition fund or my son’s school book room, tweets and texts in which I share my vulnerability, or support when I’m trying to do something that I’ve never done before and know I don’t know how to do, being sourced by community has been life changing.

I have always sought to belong.

Belonging has often felt elusive.

But in allowing others to contribute to me, I am growing stronger, and so is a sense of enduring belonging, of greater contribution.

I am speaking back to the voices that seek to silence me, distance me, and tell me that I must do everything on my own.

It is beautiful, beyond what I could dream, to be embraced, held and supported by a community that sees you.

Walking

Posted on July 28, 2021 by betinahsieh

I’ve started walking recently.

Pre-pandemic, I ran. I ran a lot (not as much as my friend Jung, but a lot more than zero and pretty consistently). I ran because it felt like the only time I could put my brain on pause. I ran in spite of injuries and exhaustion.

Pre-pandemic, I also ran a lot professionally. I was running from a meeting to another meeting, a session to another session at a conference. Metaphorically, I was running between multiple obligations, from a school site to campus, to shuttle my kids to and from school or activities, from a work meeting to a volunteering gig — it never seemed to stop.

Then the pandemic came, and I stopped running physically.

But, I felt like I was literally sprinting mentally all the time.

I was sitting in front of a computer all day, but I was still “running” from meeting to meeting, jumping from paper to paper, moving from one task to the next. It literally never stopped and it has been the most exhausting (and highly sedentary) period of my life.

I was so tired, and anxious, and depressed (though yay for high-functioning depression & anxiety that hides it all!).

I am on a sabbatical, which is, by origin, a period of sabbath (shabbat) or rest.

But I am realizing that I have still been so busy. I have still been (metaphorically) running, dashing, moving, carrying far too much along the way. I have still been running through and despite injuries and exhaustion.

I am healing, but I am not healed.

And if I keep running, I will never heal.

So this week, I have started to walk, as I move towards rest. I have finished things on my calendar and not replaced them with more things (although there are still more than enough things on the calendar that have not been cut).

I am slowing my pace, intentionally.

I am pulling back and making time for the people I love most.

I am not allowing myself to be defined by the judgment of others.

I am coming back to myself.

I am building back my strength in a low-impact way.

I am planning and taking time away, for myself.

I am focusing on one thing at a time, even if it’s not quite according to plan.

I am remembering to breathe, eat well, and hydrate.

I am beginning to unlearn the notions of moving towards a goal as quickly as possible and beginning to embrace the journey itself.

It’s growth and it’s good.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Step, step, step.

One foot in front of the other, gently, at a pace that can be sustained.

The Life and Times of an Evolving Academic

Join me on my journey through academia as a teacher educator committed to issues of equity

Tag Archives: Growth