Showing Up

Posted on November 28, 2022 by betinahsieh

I’ve been reflecting a lot this weekend on how I show up and who I show up for.

I started rereading How We Show Up: Reclaiming Family, Friendship, and Community by Mia Birdsong, a book that was gifted to me during an earlier part of the pandemic by my dear Sister-Friend, Ruchi, and that I had read then, but in a different space and place.

In coming to it this weekend, I’ve been thinking a lot about chosen family and the ways I show up for community and how I allow community to show up for me. This has been particularly in my heart in the wake of the ClubQ shootings and as we approach the 10th anniversary of Sandy Hook.

I think about my LGBTQIA siblings; I think about my own brother and my nephews and their town; and I think a lot about how to show up, using my platform, positions of power, and proximity as ways to hold space, reach out, speak out, or do work unseen, all grounded in love and community and centering those who are suffering most.

I have also been thinking about how I show up, given that this has been an incredibly busy and challenging time for me, and will be, for the next few weeks, a time in which I need to be fully present, as much as possible, while holding space my own continued grief, for the trauma and loss of people that I hold dear, and while also helping my sister with an unexpected move and my daughter with unexpected and lingering unemployment.

All of this leads me to the realization that I cannot show up (fully, authentically, truly) for others when I am not showing up for myself.

This is funny to me, in some ways, because my whole life has been about compartmentalization, and showing up for others in spite of a profound lack of connection to my own heart and longings. But showing up in that way has left me at a loss, exhausted, and in many ways broken.

I have been on a journey to reconnect with myself, and in finding myself, to find my community.

I have been on a journey to reconnect with my community, and in finding my community, to find myself.

In this moment on this journey, I know that I can only do what I can do right now, that this is the best I can do. The limits of the grace I can show to others, and the space I can hold for them, and the ways I can show up, is bound in the ways that I show up for myself and in the ways that I call upon and connect with community in ways that allow them to show up for me.

I am trying to let go of the guilt of not doing more.

I am trying to remember that I am enough.

I am trying to feel with each breath that those I love know that I am always with them, and that our love for one another is not contingent on what I can or cannot do in a moment, because we journey together over a lifetime.

I am trying to hold on to love and rest as resistance.

There will be other opportunities to show up if I cannot show up today.

But I need to be around to show up for them.

I have been reminded in the ways that those I love have shown up for me recently that my life matters deeply, that needing to rest is human, and that I do not need to keep running. I can simply be, and the next right thing will come to me. I can simply be, in all of the complexity that being may bring, and feel the love of those around me.

That love, and that being, will bring forth my love, and my authentic voice, which will speak in its time.

There is nothing to prove to anyone.

Those who need to know have always known or will come to know, and those who do not understand cannot be convinced. Those who feel my heart are connected in ways that need not be seen or known.

I just need to work on trust, trusting myself, trusting those I love, trusting community, trusting that in whatever time I have left, what is mine to do will be done.

I am showing up as best I can, for myself, and for those I love.

And that is enough.

Tenderness, Tension, Community & Connection: Reflections on #NCTE22

Posted on November 22, 2022 by betinahsieh

What does it mean to dream? What does it mean to pursue the light?

This year’s National Council of Teachers of English Annual Convention theme was ¡Sueños! Pursuing the Light. It was the first annual convention held in person since 2019, and it was held in my current hometown of Anaheim, California.

I was on the program 10 times, and had the honor of facilitating a conversation with Dr. Seema Yasmin on her new book What the Fact: Finding the Truth in All the Noise. In fact, all of the program appearances were an honor: from work related to chairing the NCTE Research Foundation Trustee Board (whose mission is not only to promote research within the organization but also to support the Cultivating New Voices among Scholars of Color program), to presentations with colleagues and friends who are amazing and brilliant educators, to work with my beloved professional home & family: the Asian/Asian American Caucus, to supporting the work of mentoring and networking (a session I had to bow out of, but to which I hope to return). All of it is important work that is close to my heart. All of it is work to support community & commitments that I hold dear. All of it is good.

But all of it together is too much.

On the night before Day 1 of the conference, I began to lose my voice. By the morning of Day 1, it was almost completely gone. I did not feel sick. In fact, I had recovered from a recent cold, tested every day for 3 days to make sure I was not COVID positive, and felt better than I had in awhile. I thought maybe the laryngitis was a result of new allergy medication I took. But whatever the cause, I could not speak like myself.

I also could not fully rest my voice, given the schedule that I had: a board meeting to facilitate on Thursday, two presentations on Friday and a full Saturday schedule including the MainStage presentation, after an 8am session and before the 11am Caucus Open Forum.

In between all these things, I was coordinating an important, time bound project at work (even with my out of office message on). I was also running into people I hadn’t seen in years who I love deeply in the halls between sessions, snapping a quick selfie and moving on because I had to get to the next place.

As I saw people, those who knew me best heard my voice, looked at my face, had seen my name on the program, and said, directly and indirectly, that they were worried about me.

I was not in my body enough to worry about myself.

Finally, as I was leaving the Caucus Open Forum on Saturday at noon, my friends, Jung and Grace, told me that I needed to duck out of my scheduled session to eat and to rest. They knew I had another 3 commitments in the afternoon/ evening and that I would have just kept pushing forward if they didn’t forcibly stop me.

So, I excused myself from the session & was given so much grace by the session organizer, ate some food with Jung & Grace, got a couple of books signed, saw some really lovely and dear friends, then went to rest.

Then I got up and did the rest of the conference like I had done the part before Jung & Grace’s intervention.

Except…

My very last session of the conference was with people who I consider family. It was a small session, mostly just the presenters and a few dear friends. So, we chose to forego the typical academic format, and talk truthfully and justice, grief, healing, community, family, rest, resistance, humanity, dehumanizing institutions, and how we live our truth. It was a healing and authentic space where I could breathe.

And yet…

In that session, there was a moment where I began to choke on my own breath. I tried to take a sip of water, but I began to choke on that too. I left the room, sat on the floor outside the door, in the registration hall, and coughed until I was crying. A woman I did not know began to approach me to see if I was okay. I signaled that I was, because physically I knew I could recover myself, but I realized that I also was not. I was not okay. I had fallen back into the trap I know so well. Doing, doing, doing to the point that I was choking on the very things that gave me life. I could not be with the things that I needed to live.

Breath.

Water.

Community.

My body knows more than my mind. It was telling me that I am human, that I cannot do all the things. But I refused to listen. I had gone on autopilot.

When I give control of my body over to my mind, I can run on reserves until I am a literal shell of myself. My voice was silent and then strained. But I would not stop talking.

So, my body made things that should be automatic and reflexive: breathing, drinking, swallowing, into things that had to be intentional. I had to slow down. I had to pay attention. There was no other way.

My dear brother, Shamari K. Reid, reminded me that I, like so many other women of color, have to slow down, have to stop, pause, breathe, rest, or we are enabling our own death. We become complicit alongside the institutions that would kill us. I know this, but when he reminded me, I felt it.

My dear sister, Sakeena Everett, reminded me that so many people want me to live. But that if I am to go, it is my children, my own family, that will not be able to replace me.

They said these things in love, with tenderness but firmness, with conviction and care that called me in, to myself and to community.

It is up to me to listen. It is up to me to live the life I choose, to model what I wish for those I love. They are looking to me. I am looking at myself.

There was much joy at NCTE this year, so many moments of reconnection and community. There was abundance, but I wonder how much richer those interactions could have been if I had allowed myself the space, time, rest, grace that I deserve as a human being. I wonder how much more present I would have been with pause.

There is always tension when one loves, between depth and breadth, between others and self, between fragmentation and wholeness.

I am navigating this tension, imperfectly.

In this tension, I am grateful for the love and tenderness, the grace and understanding of those around me, the strength and reminders that I have much to live for and strength to choose.

I will need help. I truly believe that without community, I would not be. I never want to disappoint anyone. I will need to know that the bond we share is not dependent on doing, but on being. Or perhaps I will need to let go of the energy to maintain so many strong bonds and let go of commitment, but remain always with affection.

It is hard. It is a lot. I do not know. I cannot yet feel the answer.

So, I return to this:

What does it mean to dream? What does it mean to pursue the light?

I do not know yet, but I know it cannot be done without space and the courage to come out of the darkness.

Cultivating New Things

Posted on October 10, 2022 by betinahsieh

My dear friend Ale gave me a ginseng plant for my birthday.

When she gave it to me, she laughed because she knew I would be surprised.

I don’t do well with plants.

I support the life of my family and dog, but they also advocate for themselves.

Less so with myself, and even less so with plants.

But she said to me, “It’s low maintenance and it’s symbolic. You water it like once a week, and it can make it for a little bit if you don’t water it enough, but if you over care for it, it will drown.”

Hmmm, symbolic indeed.

I do not know how long my plant will live under my care, but I know that I must move past my fear of cultivating new things.

I have never wanted to do things I’m not naturally good at.

I have more than enough to do, with things I’m fairly competent at, so why try something new that I could fail at?

Except…that this means I hold myself back from things I want (to do, to be, to try) because, “What if?”

What if?

I told my husband the other day that I am struggling with rest. I get the idea, but I am inconsistent, at best, with execution.

He said, “Well you can’t get good at it if you don’t practice.”

This, of course, is logical, but also counterintuitive for me.

I want to magically master rest, after years of hyper-productivity.

It seems silly as I look at the words on the screen. I’m laughing at myself a bit. It’s cute that I’m operating in magical thinking and it’s great that I am being honest about what I want.

But I know that old habits die hard. I know that baby steps are still steps. I know that commitment + accountability + daily progress + not giving up when I take a big step back (but treating it as a reminder & learning experience) will be the key to mastering rest, like I have mastered other things.

I know I will have to slowly let go of things I’ve held on to for so many years, that have been critical to my survival.

I am trying to cultivate something new.

It is scary.

It will take practice.

I will forget and be reminded by those who love me.

But, in the end, I am hoping for something new, something beautiful, a life that may be flawed, but is also full of peace and rest and joy.

Rest as Resistance

Posted on October 9, 2022 by betinahsieh

My survival (like that of many of women of color in, and outside, of academia) has always been about the hustle. I write about this a lot. I wrote about it last week, in fact.

But I am committed to moving beyond survival, towards thriving. And to do so, I have to slow down.

I am consistently reminded, by those who know me best and love me deeply (and even by those who don’t know me so much but can see the hustle in me), that I have to rest.

But rest does not come easy to someone who has lived in perpetual motion.

I went to dinner with my friend Christina a couple weeks ago and she recommended the book Sacred Rest by Dr. Saundra Dalton-Smith to me. I had 4 conversations this week where people said, word for word, “I hope you are creating/taking time to rest.” I was reminded by my Brother Ian’s rendition of Donnie McClurklin, in church this evening, that “after you’ve done all you can, you just stand.”

My body reminds me that I continue to carry things that I need to lay down, that if I choose to return later to pick them back up, these things will still be there, but for now, it is time to put them down.

I am reminded that I can’t give grace to others if I cannot understand the need for grace myself.

I am reminded that rest is resistance in a culture that is built upon exploitive over-productivity.

I am reminded that I want to live a joyful life, and that a life that has no room has no joy.

I am continuing to breathe.

I am resisting the pull to react, to respond immediately.

I am taking moments to be.

Choosing my Humanity

Posted on September 27, 2022 by betinahsieh

Yesterday, I thought to myself, “What does it really mean to choose me?”

Today, on my (very long, traffic-filled) commute home, after a day of meetings and e-mails, I heard the echoes of words I had said at my last meeting of the day, words about how institutions make decisions that are dehumanizing, how they forget the well-being of the humans they ostensibly serve.

And in the remembering, it made sense to me why I am so tired. Why I have been so tired.

I am so very human.

Yet, it is so easy to forget my own humanity within a world, within systems, within situations, that feel so inherently dehumanizing.

I adapt. I always try to make a situation better. So, I throw all my humanity into systems that are not set up to be humane, but are, in fact, set up in ways that steal the humanity of those who are most human, and then toss them to the side for the next expendable body.

But I do not have to choose this.

I can choose my humanity.

This is not a natural choice for me, so I am sure this will be tiring in its own way until it becomes more natural.

But humanity is natural for me, and I find my balance when I am aligned with my own humanity.

It clicks.

It makes sense.

The space opens up.

I feel like I can breathe again.

It is complicated to choose my humanity, but humanity is complicated. It is messy and filled with emotions, particularly for those who are deeply connected with humanity, our own and that of others.

It is exhausting to stand for humanity in the face of so much dehumanization.

But I can choose rest too.

While choosing my humanity, while choosing to stand for humanity, is complicated, it is also simple, in some ways. It is clear.

It clicks.

It makes sense.

The space opens up.

I feel like I can breathe again.

It is sweet to breathe.

It is lovely to have enough energy to write from my heart.

It is good to feel connected to my heart again.

I have missed myself.

But I have been here all the time.

Waiting.

I know, because life goes in cycles, that inevitably, I will run away from my humanity again. That I may well feel disconnected from myself, and lost, trying to find myself in the love of others, in the external affirmation that used to anchor my worth in works.

I forgive myself in advance.

I also know that I can find my way home. I can find my way back. I can find a way to my body, to my breath, to my heart. I can trust myself.

I am learning to trust myself.

I will crawl blindly until I learn to walk until I can run back to myself.

I know it will click.

I know it will make sense.

The space will open up.

I will breathe again.

Like I am breathing now.

If I just remember that…

I am home.

How Do We Care for Ourselves? How Do We Care for One Another?

Posted on August 27, 2022 by betinahsieh

Content Warning: Trauma; multiple possible mental health triggers related to teaching; disordered eating

It has been a long week.

I am tired.

Among a myriad of meetings and getting a semester off the ground in my new role as department chair, this week, I began analyzing a large data set of current and former P-12 US teachers. The question I started analyzing was:

Please explain (in as much detail as you feel comfortable) how teaching has impacted your physical/ mental well-being

There are 514 responses. Early thematic categories: stress/ stress related effects; anxiety; depression; exhaustion/ fatigue/ sleep disorders; PTSD/ trauma; burn out; disordered eating/ weight fluctuation/ digestive issues; addiction; bullying; self-harm/suicidality; blood pressure issues/ hypertension; migraines; respiratory issues; bladder/kidney issues. Most respondents indicated multiple concurrent issues.

The stress of the profession comes up a lot in the data. This stress comes from administration (mentioned often) and chaotic school environments, parents, high stakes testing, challenges balancing the overwhelming demands of teaching with life outside of teaching (including the struggle to prioritize one’s own family and one’s health & well-being), fear of (or actual trauma from) school shootings, high stakes assessments, targeted attacks from the media. Sometimes educators also reported stress from students themselves (although as a source of stress, students were mentioned often in the context of not being able to support/ address their needs).

There are multiple stories of young teachers who are told by health practitioners that it’s unusual for them to have x condition at their age and it’s likely stress-induced or related. Others tell stories of mental or physical health issues that disappear on weekends, over the summer, or post retirement. There are many participants who report taking medication for mental health related illnesses or self-medicating through food or alcohol.

I am only through coding 8 of 28 pages of data.

To pace myself, I can only go through 2 pages of responses a day.

It is a lot to hold.

And it is so relatable, in many ways.

I have always loved teaching.

I only know how to teach with my whole heart.

I constantly push(ed) myself to do everything I could to support my students, work with their families (when I taught middle school) and improve professionally.

My first year of teaching, I would go the entire day without eating or using a restroom, and then be ravenously hungry and pull into one of the fast food drive thrus on the way home, sometimes finishing an entire meal in less than 5 minutes, my first of the day, as I was driving home around 6pm.

I went back to teaching 6 weeks after my son was born. He was tiny in daycare and got really sick almost immediately. We had to rush him to the ER when I was worried he might have meningitis at 2 months old (he didn’t, but it was super scary for our family, as first time newborn parents). I had terrible insurance. I spent the rest of that year trying to pay off the bills from my (and his) hospitalization following his birth and then the subsequent ER visit.

I’ve been in my classroom, with students, under a desk, during a lockdown with an active shooter that was not a drill. (If you’ve read this blog for a long time, you know that I have close connections to multiple mass shootings so active shooter situations are extremely triggering for me) I’ve taken on much secondary trauma, when a popular student at our school died suddenly on our campus, when students have reported abuse (that I have subsequently had to report) to me, when my students have lost friends or family members to violence.

I have struggled with balance. I continue to struggle with a tendency to overwork because there is always more to do. This puts my family behind my work and myself last.

I have had periods of serious disordered eating which has landed me in the hospital, major mental health challenges, been verbally attacked (once while pregnant) by parents, challenged by administrators for advocating for more humanizing grief support for our students and my colleagues. I’ve had multiple oral surgeries due to night grinding because of stress; I had migraines for a period while teaching. I used to get laryngitis every week and get my voice back Sunday night, just to start all over again.

All of this (well, I haven’t seen night grinding yet, but sleep disturbances are there) is in the data. Over and over. And more. Different but the same.

I left one type of teaching (middle school) for another (teacher education). I never have really been able to imagine a time when I wouldn’t teach in some capacity. Even though all of it. Because I love students and I love education, and I believe in the transformative power of learning, particularly in, with and for community.

Then, last year, I took a sabbatical. And had a mid-life crisis. And began unpacking years and years and years of ignoring myself. I had almost forgotten the sound of my own voice. I had forgotten what brought me joy. I had become so much a product of productivity that I lost myself.

The irony of the core of my work being about humanizing education was that I had completely lost touch with my own humanity.

I see this in so many of the responses shared in this survey data. I feel it in my bones. I know it, viscerally.

I know it’s structural, that we have to work to change the systems that demand such labor. I know it. I am working towards it, in multiple ways, with multiple collaborators.

But, I also know (well, I’m learning…I have a ways to go) the power of boundaries, of saying no, and of refusing to put myself last.

So, how do we begin to care for ourselves? How do we begin to care for one another?

I’m not sure about the answer for others, but the answer for me is always found in community. I could not be learning about boundaries without a 7 year old who demands her mother, friends who throw shade at me until I stop taking on more things (and threaten to fly from their homes to mine to say no for me if I don’t say no for myself), office colleagues telling me to go home and stop sending e-mails after hours, and accountability partners who remind me that I am more than my work, that I am loved for who I am, and that I am better when I am really present rather than really productive. I am reminded when I take the time to connect with myself and with those who I really love, when I let go of that one last thing to do, when I breathe deeply, laugh loudly, brew a perfect cup of tea, then I can bring myself to fight for better, to bear witness, to advocate for others, just as I am standing for myself.

If you’re reading this, I hope you have community, and if you don’t, I hope you’ll make it a priority to create community with people who get it, with people who value you and have your back, with people who will call you on your stuff, and remind you that you’re more than (even) the (extremely valuable) work you do, and that you’ll distance yourself from those that drain your energy, as you can.

I know that individual choices don’t solve institutional problems. I know that there must also be real changes to working conditions for teachers, we, as a society, must respect and value the work teachers do, we must invest in schools, transform the ways we structure teacher time, trust, honor & value teacher expertise. We have to pay teachers better, we have to make teaching sustainable. Teachers deserve better. Students deserve better. Our society deserves better.

I know all of this, and that this will not happen (unfortunately) overnight.

But pockets of humanity remind us that there is another way.

There’s a lot more data to sort through, a lot more (formal, published) writing to do, a lot more work to do for my day job, a lot of things to manage for my family.

But tonight, my act of quiet resistance is sitting, in a quiet house, where everyone else is sleeping, with a cup of perfectly brewed jasmine dragon pearl tea while writing this blog, releasing for a moment all of it, breathing, being, and soon going to sleep myself.

We can begin a revolution of care…for ourselves, and one another. We must because what is now will never be sustainable.

Embracing Life

Posted on October 23, 2021 by betinahsieh

I am a hugger.

This week I’ve been at my first in-person conference since the COVID shutdown, a smaller statewide conference, but one that has been a professional home for me since my first years as a teacher educator. It’s been masked, busy, and full. For the first time in a long time, I feel the remnants of my life prior to March 2020 falling back into place, but like pieces of torn paper, not quite being taped together the same way. It’s been exhausting to be back, in person, in a much larger gathering than I’ve been in up to this point.

But also, the hugs.

Human touch is important to me and I pride myself in giving consensual embraces that convey the full affection that I have for people. It’s the best.

I am fortunate that during the pandemic, I have lived with my 6 year-old, who loves good cuddles. I don’t know that I would have made it through without her.

But that is different than reconnecting with friends and fictive kin, including some that I saw regularly on Zoom throughout several months, but never got to know in person.

It has been so restorative to feel the embrace, energy and love of those around me, in human form.

It’s grounding to be truly embraced.

I am taking away from this conference the privilege it is to share space with those you care for, the importance of patience and precautions that honor the humanity of the people you care for, and the power of human connection.

I know that many close friends and colleagues are still not able or ready to hug or be in person yet (or maybe you’re not a hugger or someone who ever wants to be in person), and I am holding extra space for that moment when you are able to do that which fills your soul.

And of course, sending hugs.

The Other Side

Posted on October 5, 2021 by betinahsieh

An Asian American woman standing in front of the Garonne river with the Pont de Pierre behind her

A blurry picture of me in Bordeaux at night

Last week, I went to France.

France is a strange home where I have never been a permanent resident. But it is my heart’s home. It is the place where I am able to most be myself and to be the self that I most want to be. It is the place where the rhythms of life match the rhythms of my spirit. It is the place where my voice finds clarity, and where my full self finds acceptance. It is the place where I feel most free. It is the place where I have experienced the most joy and acceptance in my life.

I had not been to France in 15 years, since my son was just an infant.

I almost did not go last week.

We are still in a pandemic and I’ve had many friends who I love deeply that have been affected by breakthrough COVID who have warned against unnecessary travel. I have all the responsibilities of all the roles that I fill and all of the things that I do, personally and professionally: mother, sister, wife, friend, mentor, professor, church leader, PTSA executive board member. I did not think I could step away from these responsibilities for such a long period of time (even though I’m on sabbatical, recorded videos for my family each day, and planned my schedules around this trip).

I did not want to be irresponsible in my choices, as if I had not considered these things. Taking 8 days to travel to France in the midst of these contexts felt incredibly selfish and impossible.

But I did it.

(Note: I hope that those who love me won’t judge me for it, because honestly, judgment is still a huge fear for me that I’ve only been able to overcome by making peace with the choices that I’ve individually made and the thoughtfulness I’ve tried to put into safety and connections throughout this trip, and by the fact that I have to understand and accept responsibility for my own choices but can’t control the judgment of others.)

The act of choosing to take this trip in and of itself was extraordinary in what it required from me.

It was also an incredible gift of time to reflect, wander, and breathe.

I spent 8 days in museums in Paris, walking for hours in the city, returning to Bordeaux, which is truly the city of my heart, seeing old friends, returning to places that I’ve loved only to find they’ve completely changed, or that they’re still the same. I spent 8 days contemplating what it means to truly be able to love with one’s whole heart, what it means to choose oneself and to choose for oneself, what equilibrium looks like, how unhealthy my life has been for so much of the last 16 years, what it means to be free of obligation and full of choice. I spent 8 days not responding to (many) e-mails, telling people no, actively choosing not to work, and not worrying about what I was running late for (except for the train I almost missed, but that was yesterday’s post). I spent 8 days eating beautiful food, with amazing people who I love with my whole heart (chosen family), being present to the gift of my life.

It was probably the most extraordinary single week of my life.

I realized at multiple points in the week that I had lost touch with some of the best parts of myself, that I had sacrificed them to the gods of overwork in order to prove my worth.

My friend, Carmen, who has been a big sister to me for nearly 25 years, said to me before I left that it’s good to have these realizations while we’re away from our lives, that sometimes we have to get away in order to see what our lives have become, but if we return to our lives as they were then perhaps this respite hasn’t served its greatest purpose.

She’s right, but this means many changes for me.

They are changes that many people who I love who are close to me have urged me to make FOR YEARS: learning to pace myself; reminding myself that just because I can doesn’t mean that I should; not always doing everything at 150%; taking time for myself; not working all the time; learning to say no; guarding my energy.

These are things that I have known for years, that people who love me have been telling me constantly, even more loudly in the last year.

My refusal to choose myself, to listen to these people in my life, has not been intentional.

At first, it was a matter of survival.

Later, it became a matter of habit.

Until, gradually, I forgot who I was, in the process of taking on so many roles that required parts of myself, but that didn’t have room for my full self.

I am beginning to come back to myself.

Because I am who I am, I want to come back to myself all at once, to bring the equilibrium and joy that I found on my trip home with me and to make all the changes tomorrow.

My life is not set up to make these changes all at once though. They are hard changes. They will require time and pacing, grace and growth. They will require the community, locally and globally, that knows my heart and holds space for the parts that are best and worst.

Already, I am changing. I am learning to listen to what I want most in my heart versus what I think I should do. I am learning to honor stability, to choose my boundaries, but not limit myself in ways that come from insecurity. I am learning that sometimes when I want to watch junk television or rest, that these things are not just okay, that they are great. I am learning that if I want to be most present for the people I love, I have to be present to my own desires and my own needs.

I’m learning to choose myself.

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.

Seeking Balance

Posted on May 30, 2021 by betinahsieh

Photo of a bowl of chiriashi with salmon, kampachi and spicy tuna

I made this today. It’s beautiful and nourishing as I hope this next period of my life will be, if I take the time to focus on it.

I am a Libra.

It’s an identity marker.

While I’m really not THAT into the Western (or Eastern) horoscope, I do find that I function better with equilibrium, seek balance, and go to extremes when I’m not doing well. I also try to listen and reconcile multiple sides of an issue, am sociable and capricious. If you look up Libra characteristics, not gonna lie, this is pretty much me.

As a Libra, I’ve been struggling A LOT lately. My life has been all out of sorts for awhile, because there hasn’t been balance…pretty much anywhere.

But, I am finding my way back to equilibrium, and seeking balance.

I want to thank the amazing Lorena & Roberto Germán who posted this entry for #31DaysIBPOC yesterday which got me thinking a lot about joy. I read their entry in the morning and couldn’t get these lines out of my head:

“we need to resist through joy. We feel it deeply. We feel it urgently. None of these people, none of these systems, none of these events can steal our joy.”

While there is such truth in these words, they hit me hard. I felt as though they were an indictment of my own complicity to my suffering. These people, systems and events cannot steal my joy…unless I give it away.

I do not mean to criticize myself or to claim that in the last 15 months, I have not experienced joy. However, the further I have gotten away from my life prior to March 13, 2020, the harder it has been to center joy and to find a balance between joy and advocacy, joy and struggle, joy and obligation.

But now, it is time to resist by centering joy.

This year, I’ve also done a lot of thinking about resistance. Earlier this year, I published a co-authored piece using a framework around coalitional resistance. Part of the central argument of that piece is that resistance doesn’t always look like one might think it “should.”

Yes, sometimes, resistance is direct and visible, particularly in situations where one’s position and privilege allow for direct action to affect change.

Sometimes, however, resistance is behind-the-scenes, hidden from much of the world, but still effective in ways often not celebrated.

Other times, resistance is found in a quiet resolve that may appear to be submissive, but is actually both navigational and future-focused.

Still other times, resistance comes through surviving unjust institutions, in fugitive spaces of solidarity that allow for visions of transformation.

And sometimes, resistance is reclaiming balance, finding and centering joy authentically in a world of injustice, being wholly human, a complex collection of grief, outrage, joy and love.

I am resolving, as I move towards a period of sabbatical, to seek this balance, to affirm a right to rest, to work towards letting go of things and people that are not for me so that I can truly embrace that which is mine, to let myself be poured into so that I can naturally allow for the love in me to be fully expressed, to choose my battles intentionally so that I might also be there to stand alongside those who are fighting their battles with my complete presence.

In balance, I know I will come closer to reclaiming my authentic voice, my joy, myself.

I’m so ready for this journey and what it will bring.

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: Sustainability