Remembering Orlando

A speech in memory of the victims of Orlando, compiled from this moment, and too many other reactions to other moments of violence.

the memorial I designed: meant to move, and to move us

each name of the known lost victims

To My LGBTQ Family:

This memorial isn’t honest without acknowledging our LGBTQ family. Humans died. We’re all human. We all mourn. But our brothers and sisters here were targeted. In their safe space. Because of who they are. They live with the same grief I have, but complicated by fear, and a burden to continue living against the grain of long held biases, myths, lies, judgments and institutionalized languages and structures of exclusion.

To you, my family: You’re tired. I know it. I felt the wind go out of the earth when you sighed, and many of you mourned from the safety of your beds. You’re overstretched. You’re suffering. You’re trying to live your life, but also having to fight to do so. Taking the time to confront your reactions - to lean into your mourning - with the added burden of doing it publicly and representatively adds an exhausting layer of complexity to your grief.

Let me carry this burden with you. Teach me how to pick up the hammer that dismantles the words and institutions putting you outside the family and leaving you vulnerable. Forgive me for perpetuating brokenness, for cowardice in your cause, for not asking you sooner for this education.

To all of us – I have a reminder in the weakness of grief and pain:

Our society doesn't prepare us to live in the weakness of the time for mourning. We act. We opine. We argue... We escape. We make decisions without the wisdom of deep experience. We deny our suffering, bending our impaired hearts and minds toward superficial interpretations. Rhetoric and arguments lend us a false sense of control and power in the relative helplessness of suffering.

But, by refusing the journey of grief, we stave off healing.

Our task for this time is to mourn. To weep. To grieve. To be present to our suffering. To select symbols that remind us why our hearts feel burdened even in times of levity. To connect. To validate the weeping and grieving of our neighbors.

We mine the depth of our brokenness over the loss of these people. 

We reject the tendency to let fear drive us to positions of power, anger, violence, judgment, and war.

Instead, we choose presence. It takes courage to face the darkness of these nights and acts. It takes community and intimacy and love to overpower them. 

Reach out. Bring in. Blend. Open.

Take comfort in knowing this time belongs to itself. The time of laughter will follow. That time is not our concern. Live this moment, now. It enriches and informs the time to come. 

May we aspire to a love that sows words and behaviors of peace and connectedness – a love of self-giving and self-sacrifice. May we love lavishly, and be willing to share our power with those more in need. May honesty in failing and suffering and loving and living knit our world more closely together, and create a safer space for us all.

Hello you. You're lovely.

This is the fifth and final part in a series on self-care for care-givers. Physicians, nurses, mommas, pastors, teachers and unsung care-givers of every stripe I hope you find something restorative here. Post 1, Caregiver, Love Thyself, Post 2, Thick Line in the Sand, Part 1, Post 3, Thick Line in the Sand, Part 2, Post 4, But...The Lord Told Me To, Post 5, Tapped Out.

As we wrap up this series, I want to pose a few questions all caregivers need to face. The answers to these questions help you know/see yourself more fully, and that makes your work most meaningful and fulfilling.

Question 1: Why do I want to be a _________?
Knowing why you're a caregiver is critical to how you do that work. In counseling school they made us write out our answer to "why do you want to be a counselor." I think every caregiving profession should make this a requisite. The truth is, an honest assessment of yourself will reveal some altruistic motives, and some deep personal needs. You need to know both. Unacknowledged needs drive us. They take over our actions. It's no crime. It's entirely human to be helping others for personal reasons. However, when we have no way of owning that truth, and understanding those motivators, they undermine us and put an unfair pressure on the recipient of our care to perform in ways they can't know, and we may not even be able to articulate.

Owning the truth of our needs helps us put an emotional check in place when we see ourselves place those demands on others. All of us have places that need healing. Sometimes we use our work to keep from confronting that pain.  

Tapped Out -- Compassion Fatigue

This post is the fourth part in a series on self-care for care-givers. Physicians, nurses, mommas, pastors, teachers and unsung care-givers of every stripe I hope you find something restorative here. Post 1, Caregiver, Love Thyself, Post 2, Thick Line in the Sand, Part 1, Post 3, Thick Line in the Sand, Part 2, Post 4, But...The Lord Told Me To.


This post most closely fits those of you working in caregiving fields. Any work placing you frequently in the middle of others' traumas and problems puts you at risk for something called Compassion Fatigue (CF). Essentially, compassion fatigue is the caregiver's version of burn out. While many caring for children or aging parents experience elements of exhaustion related to that work, this syndrome particularly strikes caregivers who repeatedly encounter others, often at the hardest moments of their lives. Nurses, physicians, pastors & chaplains, counselors, I hope to reach you.

A story
I drove up on a fatal accident this Labor Day. Medical help not yet arrived, I jumped out of the car and approached a red Honda in the center of the road. The man inside needed no medical help. He was dead. I panned the four corners of the intersection, each littered with bystanders, looking for victims. The man's wife was covered in blood, crying in the grass. A quick assessment showed she had no external injuries. The blood was his. She called out for him. I could do absolutely nothing but crawl behind her on the hillside, hold her, and whisper things I don't remember in her ear. When medical services arrived, they took the same path as me. By the car -- help not possible; see bloody victim, approach. And then, as she screamed and cried out information about herself and her fears they yelled, "Ma'am, I need you to calm down." Over and over with this asinine phrase.

I understand the need in chaotic situations to create a presence of assuredness and authority. But this medical professional's response to the tragedy did not create calm. She exuded a detachment beyond that needed to perform her job safely. She demonstrated a need to protect herself from the gory mess on that roadside.

My guess is, she's encountered lots of tragedies that confront her with the fragility and mortality of our species, and the depth of our capacity to ache and grieve. She entered the medical field ready to pour compassion into these circumstances, and having poured it all out long ago, is now going through the motions of a job.

But... The Lord Told Me To

This post is the third in a series on self-care for care-givers. Physicians, nurses, mommas, pastors, teachers and unsung care-givers of every stripe I hope you find something restorative here. Post 1, Caregiver, Love Thyself, Post 2, Thick Line in the Sand, Part 1, Post 3, Thick Line in the Sand, Part 2.
 

Ironic timing: I'm preparing a series of posts on how religion reinforces a lack of boundaries and self-care and my teenage sister sends me a meme saying: "Always remember God added another day in your life... not because you need it, but because someone else needs you."

I'm tempted to drop the mic... er... keyboard, and walk away.

This thinking typifies the unhealthy Other focus that religion can propagate. Your life isn't about you. It's about Others. Burn out for God, for The Lost, for a Dying World. Words like these make too much sense to caregivers. They fit our default position of other-centeredness, and we run with them.

Housekeeping
My only religious background is Christianity, so I'll address that perspective.  Also, I'm still a Christian. The form of that identity has changed over the years, but essentially, I believe the radical love of Jesus Christ is the greatest model and hope for humans. This post is about spiritual misguidedness and abuse, not a call to end religion.

Moving On
I experienced mishandled religion perpetuating broken boundaries and broken people in several ways. I learned a poor theology of the person that corroded my ability to see the need to care for myself. I learned to distrust pleasure and rest. I absorbed an ethos of disproportionate focus on others, among other things. I saw basic human limitations labeled as sin and "heart issues."    

Thick Line in the Sand (Part 2)

This post is the third in a series on self-care for care-givers. Physicians, nurses, mommas, pastors, teachers and unsung care-givers of every stripe I hope you find something restorative here. Post 1, Caregiver, Love Thyself, Post 2, Thick Line in the Sand, Part 1.

Life has been busy -- I left my job, had my first public speaking engagement, preached a bit, and followed a baby around the house a thousand times. But, I recognize a reluctance to finish this post. Usually, that means I am still learning and relearning to practice the material I write.  That's a good, human, but humbling thing.

When we left off, you were supposed to breathe, express gratitude for your big heart, and love yourself by indulging in a pleasure. I hope you took the time to do those things. It's the hardest advice I give to caregivers.

It's also a part of learning to set boundaries. For us "Other Specialists," finding a sense of self, and self's desires, pleasures, expressions, helps us differentiate who we are from others.

Caregiver, Love Thyself

Self is a stranger to many people who never met a stranger in their life -- people who sense another's needs across the airport, but have no understanding of their own inner struggles.

These people are experts in the Other. They bore secrets, tended wounds, and ran to rescue starting in childhood. They gravitate toward helping professions like nursing, teaching, pastoring, counseling, mothering etc. So, obviously, I'm one of the people I'm talking about.

I coached a group of nurses on self-care yesterday. I always open the session asking "Why nursing?" so we hear why each chose this profession. Invariably, someone tells how they started caring for others as a kid. This time, to make the group aware of that common bond, I asked them to raise their hands if they had been secret-bearer, soother, bandage-applier, or other caregiver in childhood. Twenty-three nurses in the room -- 18 hands raised (mine too).

When you start doing something as early as childhood, your identity gets all wrapped up in it. Many caregivers don't know themselves without other people to care for. I didn't know who I was, because I built my identity to suit the needs of others.  It seemed natural to go into a profession where my daily work turns on expressions of compassion.

Not knowing myself, I couldn't create boundaries around my identity, capacity, and responsibilities. I never responded "no." I never turned off.

It still hurts to look back at how deeply this type of living wounded me and impacted my family. 

Grieving Our Tragedy (some resources and perspective)

What a terrible, senseless day. We feel rocked, frightened, angry, lost, & broken at the deaths/loss of so many children and adults in the Connecticut elementary school shooting. I felt my reaction in my whole body. Heat. Tears. A need to run--move--help--DO.

Statue of Jesus Weeping, OKC, OK. I took this photo near the Murrah Bombing Memorial Site--across from the actual memorial, built by a church. So many children lost there, as well.

I have no words of comfort or hope, even though I know time may bring those things. Now we mourn. Now we search, and weep, and reach out to each other.

A friend of mine, Sarah Jacks (LPC intern), offered some excellent wisdom I must share. She graduated from the counseling program with me, and is completing her counseling hours toward her licensure.

Sarah says, "Turn your TV off and pray. Connecticut needs out prayers. You do not need consistent, traumatizing coverage." 

Do grieve. Do pray. Do meditate and think. Do not traumatize yourself. These brokenhearted mommas & daddies & friends & lovers need our support and strength. No sliver of information garnered from consistent news watching will ever tell us why.

Sarah also provides resources for talking to children about violence: here &  here. Her blog is awholehearted30.wordpress.com.

I suggest one other thing. Please look into your life, and pay attention to the signs of troubled persons. We in no way bear the blame as victims. My words serve to build bridges, not lay blame.

A personal story. I saw an angry rant on an acquaintance's Facebook page. A military person (not my acquaintance) posted vitriolic, racist words, and threats to kill  members of the community he "serves" in. Unsure what to do, I called local police, who connected me with military intelligence. This occurred after the soldier in Afghanistan shot and killed so many. I don't know where the investigation went. But, I refuse to let politeness, discomfort, or excuses keep me from paying attention to real signs of disordered thinking. I sincerely hope this person received emotional support, psychological treatment, or the attention he needs.   

Today's tragedy moved me to impotent anger, to wordless prayers, and deep sadness. This inhuman act will never make sense. Never be explained. Burrow into your sorrow--we must acknowledge the pain--but do not forget your life, your loved ones. Do not listen to ignorant voices who will parse moments, and attribute human inhumanity to God. Be present to the people you share space with. God be with us.


Addendum--just saw that my mom posted this--may it be so:

The Lord is close to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalms 34:18

Hello's and Such

I guess I finally got around to making a blog. I hereby promise to be inconsistent in posting and wide-ranging in subject matter. You see, I haven't yet fully decided what I wanna be when I grow up. Let's review, shall we?

1990-something (or maybe 80-something): A young Jessica reads a book about nurses, and decides this sounds like an amazing career opportunity.

2000-She starts college to get this degree, takes a detour a couple of years in for a minor in journalism, and graduates in 2005.

2005-Registered Nurse!

2007-Decides to get a master's in counseling--graduates 2010. Detours through theology on the way. Oh, and a marriage license in 2008 (Shout out to Jason! [That's my husband...not some random guy name]).

2011-It's time for a master's in nursing. Anticipated graduation: December 2012.

That's all the boring stuff. Just mile markers. The real story hides behind. The girl who grows up desperately wanting to help people have better lives. The hope of starting a new career and finding out that the hardest thing is wanting to help people when sometimes you're just a body filling a time slot--under-resourced for the task. Oh, and sometimes people don't wanna be helped. The disillusioning experience of going to seminary, and finding out you no longer connect with the judgments or the platitudes you hear all around you.

So, currently, I specialize in pain management nursing. When I can, I do palliative care nursing. Most recently, I discovered that I am ready to try church again. Maybe. I wife. Now, I'm not great at that last bit, but it's my very favorite thing about me. Mostly 'cause my husband rocks. And, for fun, I shop in my closet, my husband's closet, and resale stores to come up with amazing outfits. Don't judge. I look at it like clothes are paint. Painters get respect for being all deep and creative. So, fashion can be too (I feel like a kid sticking their tongue out with that last bit).

So, if you drop by; hello! Welcome. You can expect to read bits of all that stuff, and whatever pops into my crazy head.

chesha 

P.S. I'm all kinds of computer illiterate, so the the first 5 or 6 dozen of these (my, I'm ambitious!) may be ugly. Sorry. This much (---).

P.P.S. I have a long standing love affair with commas, and, they, show, up, everywhere.,, Don't judge. Grammar nuts might want to avert their eyes.