I have launched a new series with a variety of tips, tricks and hints which might be helpful to other teachers. Please have a look, and share with others if you find them useful.
A letter to my unfinished business, aka my research career,
We first met in 2002. I was a dual degree student, studying science and education.
You were the Advanced Study Program in Science, a course “for high-achieving students interested in pursuing a career in scientific research”.
I reminisce about our year together fondly. You were interesting and enjoyable, we learned so much, and met many great people.
I was in another relationship at the time, and was quite open about it. I wanted to teach.
We were a great threesome – I loved science – I loved doing it, learning about it, showing it; but deep down I saw myself exploring the scientific world with students, rather than spending my days with you in the lab or field.
My piece published today in Overland entitled Survivors of abuse are failed by the legal system.
The Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse has been inundated with thousands of Australians sharing their stories of abuse. Over 5500 people have attended a private session and a further 1500 are scheduled. Repeatedly, survivors have told not just the heinous stories about their abuse, but about the systems which allowed abuse to flourish. Despite all this, the processes for seeking redress frequently put survivors in an invidious position and the barriers to substantive compensation are overwhelming. Read more…
I’m guessing at ages here – a ten year old kid was slowly riding his bike while half on, half off, in no distinct direction, but with definite purpose. Two young men sat in their cars, engines running, near the top of the bikepath. Half a dozen 12 year olds walked around the steps of the overpass with a teacher looking on – a boarding house outing I suspect. A young woman was slowly riding a fold up bike she must have purchased extremely recently, since the barcode label was still attached to the basket. Three 11 year olds had Macgyvered-up phone holders with duct tape and wood offcuts on their bikes for better screen visibility. One very tall and obese man – tummy hanging out from under his shirt, cigarette balanced on his bottom lip, stood next to his svelte, dark haired companion, both staring at their phones. Two Grade Nine girls from the local rich private school in full uniform, including Panama hats and brown leather shoes, were on skateboards while holding golf umbrellas for the rain. A couple in their 20s, clad in active wear and cuddling, stood near the path. All were meandering, but constantly checking their phones, so I assume they were playing Pokemon Go. They were hunting the geocached pocket monsters – all around us, but visible only through the smartphone screen.
In the same park someone lovingly tends some fairy doors and fairy gardens. There is a little grove where the trees don’t let much light through. It’s dark and mossy like a rain forests. No bikes are allowed on that part of the path.
The fairy house are beautifully decorated. Miniature tea sets and flowers in tiny vases sit near the fairy doors, sprinkled with glitter. Minute framed pictures carefully hung on the tree add to the décor.
I’ve lived near this park for the better part of two decades. I’ve never seen anyone tending the fairy parties, and yet I can’t remember them ever not being there. I’ve often thought about who is cultivating them, and why? They are never unkempt.
My hunch is that is that someone who has lost a child is tending the fairy gardens in memory of her little lost one. How many fairies, how many lost children, dwell among the greenery?
As well as invisible fairies, lost children and unseen pokemon exist around us, what other spectres concealed? Are the ghosts of all the choices we didn’t make, floating amongst the trees? Are there diaphanous angels of abandoned dreams moving about unseen? If there was an app to find lost children and abandoned hopes, what would we see floating around us? Would we be able to Catch Them All?
Could we bear it, if we did?
I returned home from yet another hospital visit today to see that my ABC Open piece on ‘Advice’ had been published.
Ensure that you have a supportive and loving spouse, family, friends and employer. Navigating mental illness without this is unthinkable.
Don’t expect that if you present to the emergency department that you will get to see a doctor. If you get concerned about this, expect to be offered prescription sedatives, but you still won’t get to talk to a psychiatrist.
Expect to be scolded if you insist on this – being proactive in seeking medical care is generally frowned upon as ‘rudeness’. Don’t feel relieved when you finally get an appointment; tomorrow they’ll decide you live in the wrong suburb and will cancel.
When admitted, an allied health professional may occasionally visit. Sporadically you’ll get to see a doctor, but she’ll contradict the registrar and scold you for following her advice.
“You stupid, stupid idiot. It’s not ok to make mistakes like that. You should be better at this.”
That scolding was served with venom in a present-day Australian school and for many students and teachers alike, vile self talk of this nature is an uncontrolled epidemic.
In a therapy session with a graduate psychologist, he asked me what would it look like if I showed compassion to myself. I was dumbstruck, flabbergasted, flummoxed. I could not think of a single thought or endeavour which could possibly meet that ridiculous specification. I racked the foreign frontiers of my brain looking for a skerrick of an idea which might answer my therapist’s question, but still nothing.
To say that it’s been a dreadful year for my husband and me is quite an understatement. Trauma crippled us. Trying to rectify the situation hammered us again, repeatedly. The darkness has threatened to pull us both under – sometimes at the same time.
The trauma and distress has been unbearable, with precious little relief. When your lives are decimated, but the demands do not cease, the impact of careless discourtesy – and the power of kindness – can be profound. Read more…