Things are not always over when they end. The residue of situations can leave a stain on our emotions and the aftermath is often overwhelming. You’re left with feelings that you have to navigate separately from the shame you’ve inflicted on yourself. You’re also left to cope with loss. When you suffer loss, you deal with grief, and you have to reestablish yourself in a new normal that is not what you’re used to. Navigating new things, after dealing with shame comes with its own set of problems. This is the final part of this series on Navigating Shame, and we’ll explore kinda where I am now and what it looks and feels like. 

After the storm, I found myself in a new position that would allow me to still do this work, but have an impact in a very different way. I was excited about the possibility of working in a different capacity, but I had so many other feelings that were fighting with each other to take up space. The biggest one was grief. I had suffered a loss that initially didn’t feel as bad. I was in a state of gratitude and relief for still being employed, but before long, grief started to creep up. Grief is a very weird emotion though. You don’t get to control how or when you feel it. It comes in waves and you have to allow yourself to feel it when it happens. I’ve tried my best to skip grief and move past feelings associated with it. I considered myself handling things very well until the day I went to clean out my former office. I had to go after hours when everyone had gone for the day. Driving up to the school’s parking lot at night and parking in the space I always parked in was eerie. My night porter was still there finishing his cleaning and heard the noise of me unlocking my door and dropping the storage bins I just purchased from Walmart, in the middle of the floor. It was as if time stood still. 

My things were mostly untouched; my wall calendar still mounted and pictures of my nephew still hanging above my computer screen. No one had touched the candy in my small jars on the shelf. The LEGO sets I purchased were still there, as well as my books and other knick knacks I collected. I moved silently through the space remembering what it felt like the last time I was there. I started removing books from my bookshelf, then removing items from the cabinets over the L-shaped desk. In a little under an hour, I took down pictures and loaded everything I had purchased into three storage bins. I sat down at my desk and just reminisced over the short time I walked through the halls, and how I never expected for things to turn out this way. Slowly I gathered myself from the rolling office chair and started walking to load the bins into my car. The things that didn’t fit in bins were on the conference room table. I chose to carry the heaviest bin first and walked to the door, running right into one of my teachers who happened to be “working late” but her car wasn’t there when I arrived. She was conveniently parked behind me, which let me know she saw my car and decided to stop. She offered help, but I declined and continued on my path. 

After about 6 trips (3 bins and 3 handfuls of books that didn’t fit in the bins), I was done. I walked to the teacher resource room and grabbed an envelope. On the envelope, I wrote “Johnson’s Master Key,” and proceeded to slide the key from my keyring. I took the key and placed it inside of the envelope. I sat for a minute and recorded a short video with this sentiment. 

“Tonight, after a month of not being here, I am cleaning out my office. It is clean and rid of every trace of my personal affects… I will go home, eat dinner and I will grieve, and when I wake up in the morning, I will begin my new journey in my new position at central office. It has been a long road. It is now over and all is well.”

I left the envelope with the key on my office manager’s desk and walked through the door for the first time since September 26, and possibly the last time I’d ever grace those doors again. The next day, HR met with staff to officially announce the transition and the newly selected leader. Seeing it in print produced a reaction I was not prepared for, but slightly acknowledging the grieving process allowed me to make it through the rest of the week. I decorated my new space and grew familiar with my new surroundings and new responsibilities. I met with my new supervisor and we outlined possibilities for my new role and where my skill set would be the most helpful with the new team of people I would be working with. I took Friday off and went to Vancouver to meet my twin, which helped me make it through the weekend. Monday came around and I was faced with grief all over again. I couldn’t sleep at all Sunday night, and was exhausted the entire next day. Tuesday came and went, with me out visiting some of our shelter sites and a canceled afternoon meeting, which gave me the evening to prioritize tasks and clear my head.

Then Wednesday came. We had our certificated admin meeting and I joined for my clock hours and the unexpected happened. The new leader was there on camera in my old office. I recognized all the background, the desk, weird green walls, and her new decorations. I started to grieve all over again. I knew that I had made the best decision for myself. Going back to work there would have been an extremely difficult uphill battle, but I was still sad. Again, social media came through in the clutch. I watched a reel on IG and the creator simply said these words:

“Feeling sad after making a decision doesn’t mean that it was the wrong decision. And if we’re honest, a lot of times when we do what’s best for us, it doesn’t feel good in the moment, but it’s best for us. So we gotta trust that.” 

I’ve been working hard on trusting myself and leaning into feeling uncomfortable with this transition that has happened. It has been hard to completely be myself again. I often second guess myself on how I show up. I’ve been overthinking so many aspects of my life, and the tendency to revert back to old ways has been rearing its ugly head. Sadness is a feeling I would often skip, and reconciling this emotion has been quite the battle. It is hard to let yourself be ok with sadness, when joy is one of your core values. I know that the work I’m doing is important and I’m making a huge impact. I am finding purpose everyday and helping reimagine so many things for students and adult learners, but I’m missing the joy of the work. I miss greeting families in the morning as they turn into the parking lot, or as they walk their students through the neighborhood to school; kids on bikes riding down the path, and students with younger siblings holding their hands as they cross the street, while I wave and yell good morning and clench my insulated cup of coffee in the middle of street. I found joy in walking through the halls and students waving and greeting me every time they saw me. There was one particular student who would ask me how my day was going every single time he saw me. I miss recess and the sounds of students laughing because they felt so safe being at school. I miss de-escalating students who were showing big behaviors to communicate their needs. The joy lived in the hallways and the smiles. There are no hallways and classrooms filled with students. There are cubicles and closed office doors. There are baked goods and the beeps of the microwave. There is minimal decor and shelves lined with books on diversity, instruction, cultural competence and social emotional learning. The joy is few and far between. 

I’ve been fighting with myself and working on moving past recognizing sadness, to finding ways to cope. With seasonal depression looming, it’s easy to slip into a negative emotional space. I’m learning to lean into opportunities for joy. I remember writing during the pandemic about snatching joy at every chance I could, so I’m doing what I can to create joyful moments. I’ve been taking time to reinvest in my own art and exploring Seattle. The holidays are quickly approaching, so I’ll be singing in concerts and seeing shows, and spending time with people I love. The biggest mistake I’ve made in the past is trying to rush the healing. As much work as I’ve always done, I still find myself slipping into spaces I said I’d never go back to.  Tabitha Brown had a word for me today, tho. 

Give yourself the space to heal. Take your time and feel all the things, but also find ways to move past feeling and find the tools to cope with what you feel. The healing will come. The grief and sadness will fade. You’ll be fine. All will be well. In the meantime, keep doing the work. 2023 is right on the horizon. Still growing. Still healing.