I have freely admitted I am sensitive. And I will also admit that I don’t always see things the way other people do. I also have a very strange memory- can’t remember names, but never forget a face. I will forget things most people deem important, yet never forget words spoken to me or random numbers. So there, you know I am a weirdo.
I was a preschool teacher for several years and I think I was OK at that job, although others might disagree. Parents and kids loved me, but I am not so sure about the other teachers. I tended to want to play with the kids, not just watch them while chatting with colleagues. I would get wrapped up in coloring with the kids and not want to stop to follow the schedule. I let kids work some things out for themselves instead of swooping in and solving all of their disagreements for them. I taught them to love learning and that pink cows colored outside of the lines were just as valid as brown, perfectly done cows. And more than anything I loved to read to the kids, using silly voices and movements to help tell the story.
I can remember kids coming to me to tell me that another child had used a bad word. Sometimes they were words we have deemed curse words, sometimes they were words their parents had told them not to use like “shut-up” or “stupid”. I usually tried to find out why the words were used, what the intent was. Even with three year olds I tried to convey my belief that there really aren’t bad words (a few exceptions) but that the intent behind the use of a word could make any word bad.
Recently, I was hurt by words. (Refer to the first sentence of this blog to know that I get hurt pretty easily, and I know that!) However, this time I didn’t just cry in my soup, I took action. I felt humiliated, angry and sad from the words, but I consulted my husband, my best friend, and finally my calm, even tempered son to see if I was overreacting as usual. Each person was equally incensed.
I have continued to think about the incident, mainly because I usually get so upset when I am hurt, insulted or faulted. But not this time- I took action and I have felt empowered. I felt like for once I stood up not only for myself, but my creativity, my time and my passion. I have felt free, not the usual feeling of dread and uncertainty over confrontation.
There is a song out this summer, and like most summer anthems it has been over used. It is on commercials, TV shows, and the radio constantly. I had decided that even though it is a catchy tune and I liked it at first, I am sick of it now. Today, on another TV show, the singer-songwriter of this song was a guest. I was working out, so I just listened. After hearing the story behind the song, seeing the children who are ill and have taken this song as their fight song, and then listened, REALLY LISTENED to the words, I burst into tears.
Words can have a strong impact and it behooves us all to think before we speak or write. We can use words that build people up, give sick children a boost of courage to carry on, make a sad person happy, an insecure person feel more positive. Or we can tear people down, make them feel less than, or promote anger and hate. Words are powerful.
Once in college, a professor told me I should think before I send an email. I asked him what email he was referring to. When he told me, I explained that I meant every word I had said. When I write, I try to read and then proofread several times anything and everything (including texts, unless in a dire situation. And I use full words and sentences in texts!) to make sure I say exactly what I mean, and in proper grammar. A post like this will take me hours with all of the rewrites and thoughts that go into it. My reviews take even longer because I really want to be honest, but not hurtful or insincere.
Now I make mistakes, I am human. I use the wrong word or say something thoughtless, but it isn’t from lack of trying to say the right thing. I remember in class thinking over what I wanted to say so many times that the topic had changed and my observation was no longer timely. I miss many an opportunity to speak because of rethinking my words. But the old saying of it being better to stay silent and have people think you are ignorant, than open your mouth and prove that you are, is one I try to live by.
So when I speak, I try to be sure that I really know and/ or believe what I say. And even then I often stay silent. When I do speak up, I will question what I have said for days, wondering if I could have been misunderstood or if I could have hurt someone with what I said. So when I talked back last week, and had no residual worries, just relief, I knew I had done the right thing.
Maybe, slowly but surely, I am growing up! It is about damn time! Oops, was that a bad word??!
