What Would It Be Like to Trust Myself?

Posted on July 25, 2024 by betinahsieh

A few days ago, I wrote about being more patient with myself when I make mistakes. I am still working on this, but also with a slight reframe.

Yesterday, I prioritized self-care and community-care. I connected with people; I ate well; I walked; I listened to my body later in the day when I was working past my limits. I had a few wonderful conversations with wonderful humans. When I get the chance to be in community with others that I have a deep resonance with, it feels replenishing. I did small and big things that bring me joy. When I do this, my body (eventually) feels a sense of deep peace. It’s something I expected to find here, in my new home, easily, but something that has been elusive since the move.

Initially, likely because I am out of practice, the self-prioritization didn’t sit well with me. I had decided early in the day to pivot a proposal I was working on, but because I had scheduled multiple care activities during the day (and was prioritizing things like preparing and eating good food), I didn’t get to my proposal until later in the afternoon. I caught myself at multiple times moving towards anxiety that it wasn’t going to get done or that it would push into other times that I had carefully cultivated for other things. I noticed how much stress sits in my body when I have an unwavering commitment to time looking and going a certain way.

I chose to lean into trusting myself and reminded myself that time expands and contracts if and as we allow it to, particularly when it is time in relation to writing and thinking. I often worry, as someone who spends a lot of time thinking and writing, that the “right” thought or words will be there only in a moment and then gone the next. I worry that if things don’t get done in this moment, they will be forgotten and never get done. I worry a lot about the disappointment that might bring to others.

I am remembering in my body, now that I have given myself permission to breathe, however, that I can trust myself, that I can choose to value my time and my energy and to bound it in ways that allow me to continue in community. Sustainability, at this stage, is a choice that is within my reach. Choosing it is as powerful as anything I can produce in any given moment.

I am reminded that what is meant to be mine will find its way to me and what is not for me may be a blessing to someone else.

I am reassured that mistakes are human and that my humanity and humility are held in community.

All the power of my foremothers, my other mothers, my siblings, and all they have contributed and continue to contribute to me have brought me to this point. Their power, our power, rests within me. It is mine to claim.

I know these things. They sit with me when I sit with myself.

But sometimes, it can only be felt in the stillness.

Sometimes, it can only be felt when I trust myself to embody it.

These are the moments that I hope to hold on to.

Cultivating Patience

Posted on July 20, 2024 by betinahsieh

I am learning to be patient with myself.

In the process of transition, I find myself making many mistakes out of haste. Costly mistakes that I literally catch minutes (maybe even seconds) after I’ve already committed money to them, which then leads me to invest more time, energy and money to redo/ undo them.

When I make these careless mistakes, I get deeply upset with myself.

This is a part of my humanity that I have never been able to embrace.

It is a part of me that I try to hide away by frantically seeking to erase any record of it.

It is a part of me that causes me deep shame.

But in reality, it is one of the most human parts of me: imperfection.

Intellectually, I know that no one can get it right 100% of the time, that as hard as we work or try or strive, we are bound to make mistakes. I also know that these mistakes hit hard for those who care deeply (about everything), and that these mistakes are more likely in exactly these times: times of transition, times of exhaustion, and times where I am devoting all of my energy to supporting others and neglecting time to pause and care for myself.

In these times, my energy and rhythm becomes frantic. I am not my best self. Then, I berate myself for not being my best self when I feel like I “most” need to be.

I am realizing that this self-flagellation has a deep impact on those who love me the most. My family and closest friends have been on a campaign (noticeably recently, but likely for years) urging me to be kinder to myself, and allow myself the grace of my humanity. They constantly remind me that who I am is enough, that what I do is a lot and that my own brand of quirky humanity is one of the things they love most about me.

I have a hard time listening to them even though I know they’re right. It’s hard when I’m part of a society and a profession that has socialized me to expect perfection from myself. I find it easier to challenge that expectation when it comes to holding space for others, but it is so hard when it comes to holding space for myself.

There isn’t a happy ending or resolution to this particular blog post. This is very much still a work in progress. I know from my therapist that my ability to give grace and show patience towards others is limited by my ability to do so for myself. I even feel badly about not making progress “fast enough” in this area. I know it’s all related, and perhaps seeing it in writing can be a step in moving past it.

If you’re like me, I hope we can learn to be more patient with ourselves together. If you hear me beating up on myself, remind me of my humanity, and of my contributions and the beauty in the imperfections of both.

Moving, Movement, (E)Motion

Posted on June 2, 2024 by betinahsieh

It is a time, my friends.

This week, in preparation for selling our home, there has been a lot of disarray, a lot of movement, a lot of sorting.

Keep, give-away, recycle, throw away.

It is simple but never easy.

At least for me.

My two children sorted through things with much greater ease than I did. They have been blessed with much, so their attachment is much less to things than to people. It is easy for them to recognize when they’ve moved past things.

I grew up without a lot so everything seemed so valuable.

Then when I lost my mom at 16, time seemed to stopp. For a long time, I couldn’t throw away anything from the before times. In my series of moves after my mother’s death, in high school, throughout college, in my early career and first house, back down to Southern California and into this house, there have been boxes I have refused to look through. The boxes that follow me, like ghosts from eras past, from place to place, because I refuse to see them. Memories of the before times and of the year my mother died and the end of high school. I have perhaps held on to all of these things because it was too painful to remember a before time, a rupture. It was too hard to revisit that time and losing the most important person in the world to me.

But, somehow, now is the time.

Today, after beginning my day sorting through some of my college memories and a few childhood memory boxes, I left to give a keynote to a sizable cohort of teacher residents earning their Masters of Arts in Education. In my keynote, I said these words:

“When we spend time talking at one another instead of talking to one another, when we are bombarded with information at such a rate that it’s overwhelming and we don’t know what to believe, we begin to lose connection with our own humanity and the humanity of others. In these moments, we must hold onto our why and hold on to our humanity.

I’d like for all of us, whether you are a graduate, faculty member or guest to take a moment right now and think about your why and I’d urge you to reach out to the people who are your why and to tell them how much they mean to you. When challenging times arise in teaching, these are the people that ground us.

We have to hold onto our why, to know and embrace all of our humanity as educators because our humanity will be tested within and beyond educational institutions. When it is tested, if we do not hold on to our humanity and our integrity, our reason for being here, if we lose ourselves, it is a huge loss to those who love us, to our students & their families, and to the difference we are committed to making. We must stay committed to listening and learning from our communities, from those most impacted by violence and inequities, and to using our privilege and position to amplify their voices.”

When I asked the audience to think about their why, I thought about mine — that my why has always been to honor the legacy and sacrifice of my mother, and to be a good future ancestor for my children. My why is about making a difference in the lives of others, seeing them, because when we are seen, we can fully be, in ways not otherwise possible.

Somehow, in holding onto my why, the what suddenly became less important — that is to say that, suddenly I was able to revisit a time that I couldn’t be in before and let go of the things I carried from home to home, from year to year. I left the ceremony and went to pay my respects to the elders in my family (my aunt, uncle, mom and grandmother) then came home and sorted through the box (it happened, perhaps not coincidentally, to be the box that was next to be sorted through) that had my letters from high school and all of the cards we received when my mother passed away.

I read through them and kept a few but let the majority of them go.

It was time.

It is time.

I am finally in a place where letting go of that time, letting go of those things, does not mean letting go of my mother.

I can never let go of her.

She has sourced so much of the good in me.

It is a time. It is a time to hold those we love dear to us in our hearts, to sort through the clutter to get to the essence. To heal so that the next generation doesn’t carry forth our burdens.

It is a time.

Moving Parts, Moving Whole

Posted on May 17, 2024 by betinahsieh

It has been a destabilizing time.

This last year has been a navigation between multiple places and spaces, made more complex by a parallel journey towards greater humanity in a world that seems to be moving (in so many ways) towards dehumanization.

It has been a tiring time.

I find myself this week packing up my home, getting ready to sign papers for a new home, preparing my son for graduation, talking with my daughter about leaving her besties behind, balancing multiple work-related projects, and holding a lot of feelings and realities with very little capacity.

It has been a deeply humanizing and deeply humbling time.

I am realizing that there isn’t a way to actually honor humanity without honoring one’s own humanity. I’ve been recognizing my internal and external fragility, expressed through exhaustion and missed deadlines and commitments, through the flare up of chronic underlying health conditions, through a wanting to run away or bury myself in work (productivity solves everything and makes the emotions go away…or so I’m unlearning) or isolate. I have been trying to call myself in with kindness and compassion, to let myself be loved when I feel unlovable, and to recenter joy and strength in community.

It has been a hard time.

I hate struggling when I am the emotional center of my family. Truth be told, there is a lot to hold for everyone in this moment. I do not know how to hold it all when I am barely holding my own things.

We are in a process of moving.

Moving can be so fragmenting, uprooting, and traumatic. This time it is also drawn out. I am trying to remember to hold community close, in and through this transition, on both sides of the move. While there are many, many moving parts, I am pulling for our wholeness in the move, for a coming together that is so desperately needed. It may begin with me but it ends with us. We are moving towards wholeness, towards healing, even as we move through these times.

Being Fully Human

Posted on May 14, 2024 by betinahsieh

Yesterday was a day.

I started writing this post about all the things that happened yesterday, but really this is a post about my humanity so I want to write about the feelings instead.

Yesterday was the memorial service/ celebration of life for a dear friend and church brother, Dave Lamondy. Dave was someone who constantly could make you laugh because he didn’t take himself seriously, who would give you the shirt off his back (or come over to do any home repair job you needed), and who didn’t need to draw attention to the things he did because who he was spoke volumes. He left a legacy of love and care that was celebrated by family and community. I learned during the memorial service about how fully human Dave was, and it didn’t particularly surprise me because often such generosity comes from a knowledge of how much undeserved generosity we’ve received through the blessings in our lives. I will miss Dave, his smile and way of being, his kindness and humor, and that he was the only one with rhythm more off than me in our gospel choir 😅.

Following Dave’s service, I took my little one for a follow-up appointment to the endodontist, after her fall from a few weeks ago that chipped her front tooth. She ended up needing an urgent root canal which left me simultaneously grateful for an amazing Endodontics team and for the ability to provide nitrous oxide for her to keep her calm in the midst of severe phobia of needles and dental surgery. This, however, was a lot to hold for me, and it activated a sense of stress around sudden, unexpected expenses which there are a lot of, in this moment.

Because my daughter and I both needed a treat following the unexpected procedure, we drove to a local ice cream shop. I got a text from my friend, Leah, asking if she was in the right Zoom room for the virtual book talk that I was supposed to be hosting IN TWO MINUTES that I had completely forgotten about. Cue extreme guilt. While Leah and my equally amazing friend Jung, jumped in to pick up and we hosted a wonderful book talk with the incredible Joanna Ho and Amanda Phingbodhipakkiya, I felt terrible about my very minimal bandwidth for this event and about literally barely showing up for an event that had been my idea in the first place.

Once I arrived home and we closed out the event together, I realized that I had pretty severe stomach pain, almost certainly a result of a stress (+ diet) induced flare up of IBS. I sometimes forget that I have chronic health conditions that don’t bother me until they do, and then come at the most inopportune times to remind me that, despite my best efforts, I am fully human, and fragile at that. This morning, the pain is better, but still present and accompanied by the start of a migraine or tension headache (I can’t quite tell which).

So it was a lot: grief, joy, stress, pride, joy, stress, guilt, exhaustion, pain.

It is still a lot.

Am I sorry not sorry for my humanity? Sort of.

Am I deeply aware of my humanity? Definitely.

I am working on being where I am, on being present, on being alive, at learning from my body, my humanity, and from my limitations rather than resenting them. I am learning to let go and to ask for support. These are hard lessons for me.

I am so tired. I am not wanting to disappoint anybody.

But if I cannot show up for myself, I also cannot show up for anybody else.

It is a time. A very fully human time.

Broken Teeth, Broken Hearts & Healing: MotherScholaring & Holding Joy

Posted on April 20, 2024 by betinahsieh

Yesterday was a long day to end a week of unlearning.

When we commit to honoring our humanity and embracing joy and healing, I suppose it’s to be expected that our humanity will show up in full-force. I mean, honestly, our humanity is always showing up, but I guess I’m more attuned to it now that I’m not shushing it or judging it and trying to instead, acknowledge and nurture myself.

So this week, plenty of mistakes were made in all the areas that tend to activate my self-judgment the most: finances, mothering, and time. I also did things that were hard but necessary, offering public comment at a commission on teacher credentialing meeting, admitting to myself that not everything was going to get done, and holding my little girl’s hand while she went through an emergency dental procedure.

This last event leads me to yesterday afternoon. I had just finished my last call for work and was looking at a paper revision while waiting for my nail salon date with my dear friend, Anna. My phone rang and the name of my daughter’s school office came up. My daughter has had many a share of accidents in her young life. We generally get 1-2 calls a month about her hitting her head on something and have gotten used to concussion protocol. So when I saw the office number, I was concerned but not alarmed.

When I answered the call, I realized that this accident was more serious. She had tripped on the blacktop and hit her front teeth. There was a lot of bleeding and crying. I rushed out the door and ran down to the school (which is fortunately a 10-minute walk; 7-minute jog) from the house and found my little one in pain and in need of serious dental intervention.

After dealing with the frustration of my phone refusing to connect to the internet to find her dentist’s number which I somehow didn’t have programmed into my phone (or maybe I do, but I didn’t look there in the moment), my husband arrived, found the number, called the office and we were on our way.

My youngest daughter is one of my greatest sources of joy. She brings light, energy, and joy into every space she occupies. She is bold, hilarious, and amazingly self-expressed. She is also kind, caring, and incredibly loving towards those around her. My little one is the one who has always called for me to be home more, to make time for her, to take care of myself. She is goals for me in so many ways and she holds me to high standards as a mother.

Because of all these things, as I was walk-running to her, the inevitable heartache and self-questioning began. Yes, I was there for her in this moment, but what if this accident had happened next week or last week (when I’m traveling)? What if her accident had been more serious? (This is a huge fear of mine because I have extreme trauma from accidents.) What if she didn’t really know how much I loved her?

These are hard questions that I struggle with a lot. Because of my commitment to my professional self, I have missed out on major events for my kiddos, both good and bad, and it doesn’t ever get easier. Even when I’m ACTUALLY there (like yesterday), I still have guilt triggered about the moments when I’m not there. My children have an incredibly competent and loving father in my husband, but I am still often left with not feeling like I’m the best mom they could have.

Fortunately, the immediate fix for my little girl was quick (although not covered by insurance) with follow up in a few weeks to give her teeth time to heal from the trauma (hopefully) and re-root in their place. Depending on how they’re doing in a few weeks, she’ll have additional procedures, and they’ll reconstruct cosmetically a part of her chipped tooth, but eventually everything will be fine. After sleep, she’s feeling better although still adjusting to a tooth splint and some very sore gums.

I’ve realized, however, that the tensions around my MotherScholar life aren’t going to go away (at least not for a while without more explicit unlearning).

Still, I am lucky to take my cues from my little one who slept it off, cuddled with me this morning, and is happily using baby medicine syringes to feed herself mango smoothie this morning. We’re going to go to the library later to check out graphic novels, after my make-up nail salon date this morning. I’m grateful to take my cues from my son who is spending his morning playing video games before his last concert with his high school orchestra. I’m even (more begrudgingly) taking cues from my dog who is always resting, eating, and self-soothing.

This is, I suppose, my full humanity. I continue to work to embrace it. It is not easy, but it is joyful and authentic, and if anything, I know how to do hard things.

A Year of Healing & A Year of Joy

Posted on April 16, 2024 by betinahsieh

Photo of a page from Shamari K. Reid's Humans who Teach that says "We must take care of ourselves, as we cannot be replaced."

If you have not read Shamari Reid’s Humans who Teach, I cannot recommend it more highly.

AERA 2024 owes me truly nothing. [Note for non-education professor friends/readers: AERA is the Annual Meeting of the American Educational Research Association. It is the largest professional organization of educational researchers in the country and the conference this year drew over 15,000 registered participants]

I came into AERA 2024 exhausted. As those of you who follow this blog know, it has been a long period of transition for me. In this transition, as I do, I have been in the practice of prioritizing the needs of everyone and everything over my own. After two major scares in the fall (one involving a loss of consciousness and a fall, and the other involving a car accident with my daughter in the car) which thankfully didn’t result in serious physical injury, I knew that things had to change, but getting off the hamster wheel is hard. And I am human. Very fully human.

So, I was not actually looking forward to being in 7 sessions and a committee meeting as part of this conference. I was beyond tired. I had prepared my sessions, which actually reminded me how much I love the research side of what I do, but I was not necessarily excited about them. I was stressed. Years past had me in my head about prospective lack of attendance. Imposter syndrome reared its ugly head and I wondered why I always do too much.

But, the conference ended up being so different from what I had thought it would be.

From the time I arrived at the airport this year, AERA was about community and reconnecting with the best parts of this academic endeavor and (some of) the very best people in my academic (professional and personal) circles. At the airport and boarding the plane, I saw many friends heading to AERA. I got to connect with them on the flight, at the airport after we landed, then saw colleague-friends for meals, coffee, drinks, in the hallways, business meetings and sessions. My heart was so filled with the joy of reconnection.

My sessions were beautiful and, for the most part, very well-attended. I learned so much from my co-presenters, got good feedback from discussants and appreciated the deep engagement from audience members. By the Sunday of the conference (when they were slightly less well-attended), I realized that the number of people in the room wasn’t important, what was important was WHO was in the room, and that exactly the right people would be in the room whether there were 2 of them or 50 of them or 100+ of them. I connected with so many emergent scholars who spoke about the impact of my research on their scholarship and on them, as humans. My heart was so filled with the joy of scholarship, the joy of new connections, and the joy of possible futures.

During AERA, I was challenged with the both/and of counter narratives or counterstories that challenge stereotypes and dominant narratives existing alongside our rights to tell our own stories and have them stand on their own. I was reminded over and over again about the importance of joy, of centering joy, not in a way that refuses to consider the very real challenges to our ways of being, livelihood, and lives, but in ways that reclaim our right to all of these things. I was reminded that my work matters, but that more than anything, I matter, and I’m not replaceable to those who truly love me.

On the plane ride home, I read Shamari Reid’s Humans who Teach which came at the exact perfect moment for me. Shamari is someone I consider both a friend and an academic sibling. His work on humanizing teaching is deeply aligned with my own views about how to make teaching sustainable and joyful as a profession. Also, Shamari walks the talk, and he stands for me and my well-being. For all these things, I am so grateful.

As I read and began what I know will be an ongoing work of healing and letting go of A LOT of perfectionist standards and harmful ways of being, I truly began to feel the words he himself has said to me for several years, that I am love and I am loved and I deserve to be loved right where I am and regardless of what I do. That being alive is enough. That I am enough. Also that love is about nurturing, that yes, love requires sacrifice, but also that at its core, love supports our physical, emotional and spiritual development, and that it starts with self-regard. Yes to all of this.

I am writing this as a commitment to bring myself back to my humanity, in its fullness, as a means of accountability. My humanity is as much my joy as it is my struggle. My humanity is as much my struggle as it is my success. It is all of this, and….

This will be a year of pacing, a year of intention, a year of joy, a year of healing, a year of learning and unlearning, a year of deep self-regard.

And as is human, I am afraid of much of this, but I am also ready to move forward trusting that I am surrounded by love, if I would only accept my full humanity and honor the full humanity of those around me.

Lifeboats

Posted on April 4, 2024 by betinahsieh

I am hanging in there, Friends.

As I move through this period of transition for myself and my family, I am so present to the immense privilege of my life.

I do what I love.

I am deeply loved and held by family and community.

I am safe. I no longer have to worry about physical or emotional survival.

These are things that are absolute gifts that I don’t take for granted.

But it is hard to exist with an extremely open heart in a world where there are so many that don’t have these things, for whom basic survival seems tenuous, opportunities to be seen and feel loved seems far away, and opportunities to live in ways that are their best expressions of themselves (even within unjust systems and institutions) feel completely unrealistic.

So I am working on being with these contradictions in the midst of transition, to never take for granted that I am extremely blessed, sharing those blessings generously with others, and also recognizing that there are so many that don’t have these things, that the arc of justice is long and requires committed, intentional action.

I am often very tired these days, Friends, often sprinting the internal marathon between my head and my heart multiple times a day.

Thank you for those who offer water and rest, for those taking things off my plate when I’m not even sure what to give you, for those who continue to honor my spirit and my heart.

I want to let you all know that I am fine, as fine as one can be in this world in which we live, a world that is not meant for the fully human and tender hearted. I am continually moving towards greater wellness, but this is not a marathon I can sprint, it is one that requires slowing down and intentional steps forward, with occasional steps back.

Thank you for being my lifeboats, for coming alongside to pick me up from the water when I feel like I’m drowning. I know I will never be alone because you are with me.

I love you and am grateful for your care always.

Abundance & Overwhelm

Posted on March 17, 2024 by betinahsieh

When a lot feels like too much, I simultaneously go into hiding and overdrive.

As winter moves towards spring and hibernating grief shifts towards swiftly moving productivity, I go from quietly hiding out to perpetually in motion.

A frozen state of liminality is beginning to thaw as more and more is pulling me towards my new life, pulling our family towards a new life.

In a big thaw, the flow of the run-off can be so sudden and unexpected that it sweeps you off your feet, even if/when you know it’s coming.

Perhaps, I should grab for something to slow me down but I feel like the current is carrying me far too fast to reach out for something to hold on to. Everything is rushing by so quickly and I don’t have time to be where I’m at, even though I’ve tried to take so much care to proceed with intentionality.

The beauty of spring is coming and I want to be present for it.

But, I am so tired.

Perhaps, instead of fighting the current, I should go with the flow, allowing what passes by to go even as I wish I could slow down time.

I have never been good at letting life carry me, at not feeling completely in control.

But, I am so tired.

There is so much out of my control and I can no longer delude myself into a semblance of control over most of it.

Sometimes I find myself even at a loss for words.

So, perhaps in this moment, there is simply surrender to what is, a return to moment by moment, an acceptance of just good enough, an acknowledgment of abundance (with gratitude), an equal recognition of overwhelm (with humility), a desire for rest, and a longing for authentic connection that comes from just being, in my full humanity.

Mothering Moments

Posted on February 15, 2024 by betinahsieh

February is an emotional month.

This February, particularly, it has been a metaphorical roller coaster, because of an actual roller coaster (model that my son and his physics group had to design for his physics class) and because, well my son turns 18 today.

I birthed an adult.

This morning, I shed some tears when I thought about this morning 18 years ago, waking up with light contractions. I would go to a local Indian restaurant with my sister in law for lunch, and she would urge me to eat as much as I could since this was likely to be my last meal before the baby came. We were stuck in traffic on the way to the hospital where they were not sure they should admit me because I wasn’t “that far along,” but did because I lived 30 minutes away, “just in case.” Less than 2-hours later, when they came to check on me, my son was imminently on his way. They rushed to call my OB/GYN who had been finishing up a leisurely dinner, sure that I wouldn’t deliver any time soon. He arrived just as I was pushing, in time to cut the umbilical cord and hand me a little boy that was half of me genetically, but held my whole heart.

I can’t fully describe how much I cherish my son. His early years were some of the very hardest of my life, when I was struggling with severe health issues that nearly killed me while also completing a doctorate and going on the job market. He was with me during the most exhausting parts of the tenure process, and sacrificed a lot throughout his K-12 schooling, switching elementary schools 4 times (because of moves and fit) and still never feeling like he quite belonged, even when he found stability in his 7-12 grade secondary school. While he considers himself pretty lucky to have had the life and family he has, things haven’t always been easy. There have been moments where he’s felt lost, including many where he’s felt alone and questioned his decisions, wondering if he’ll ever find his people outside his family.

This hurts my heart because he still holds so much of it.

Today, he turns 18.

We are waiting on college admissions decisions and anticipating the many transitions adulthood will bring.

He is irritated about the many, intense projects in his physics class, one which culminates today, only to shift focus to another due in 4 weeks.

I am irritated because sometimes I can feel his irritation, but I can’t force him to talk about it, and so I can’t help him through it.

We are exhausted from late nights and uncertainty, which neither of us likes, from things we can’t control and things we perhaps should have done better.

We are human.

In the journey of the last 18 years, perhaps no one has helped me to grow in my own humanity, humility and imperfections as much as my son. Few people have shown me as much unconditional love, grace and understanding as he has. He reminds me to care for myself and that I’m doing a good job as much as I remind him of the same.

I love my son with my whole heart.

What a gift to be his mother.

What a gift to journey together.

What a gift to receive his love and grace.

I hope the next 18 years bring all the joy and belonging that he so richly deserves, beyond that which he has in our family, as he moves out into a wider world, and that we continue to journey through those years together.

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: Humanity