"Protons & Electrons!" (Or is it Neutrons?)

Source: www.blurtit.com

Last week was an amalgam of emotions.

Wait.  The last YEAR has been one of the most emotional of my life.  That statement might be a tad dramatic, but that's how I feel right now.  I think of years in terms of academic years, and this academic year is drawing to a close.  My reaction to that news?  GOOD RIDDANCE, 2011-12 academic year.  Don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you.  You ain't got to go home, but you got to get the heck up outta here.  You get the point.

But as the academic year comes to an end, something put a smile on my face and filled my heart to the overflowing.  The students from the classes of 2010 and 2011 decided to converge back to our campus for an unofficial alumni weekend.  It was as if the universe knew what I needed and gave it to me in the form of about 10-15 young men and women with whom I had developed personal relationships that fulfilled me, probably more than I had ever helped them in my profession as a counselor and academic advisor.  I hosted a gathering for them at my apartment, and one of the young women decided we should play a game called Protons and Electrons.  She kept mistaking electrons for neutrons, and after a quick physics lesson from several of her former classmates, we started the game.  The most common proton - or positive comment - was that everyone was happy to be back on campus spending time with their college friends.  The electrons varied. Most of them had to do with a job, whether it was the reality check given at their jobs about how the "real world" functions, or not having a job.  There was a cynicism that had crept into these young people's lives - and these were the ones who wanted to (and still want to) change the world.

At one point, I realized that what they had learned after one or two years post-undergrad, I was really learning now, after almost twenty years working in education.  It's not that I never saw these things.  It's not that I hadn't had terrible experiences in my various jobs.  Believe me, I've had my share.  It's just that this past academic year had such an effect on me that others have mentioned that I've changed, and not necessarily for the better.

Things have changed.  I don't know if it's me, or the students I work with now.  I've been working for the same program for five years.  This was a dream job for me, and I truly loved it until this year.  Yes, I'd started a Ph.D. program.  Yes, I was already coordinating a women's leadership program in addition to my actual counseling/academic advising job.  Yes, half way through the year we lost a staff member who was badly hurt.  And yes, our director had to take time off for educational purposes.  But I'm not sure it was any of those things that made a difference.  In my mind, the biggest difference was the kind of students we now serve.

Case in point.  (Disclaimer: I do really care about my students, sometimes to a fault.)  One of my students came to see me last week, and when I asked about her classes, she said that she knew she wouldn't get a very good grade point average; in fact, she knew she was going to fail at least one class.  I asked if there was any way she could pull off the minimum grade that would keep her in good standing, and she said it wasn't possible because she'd missed every class since the mid-point of the semester.  She had a 3.0 grade point average coming into this semester, and after we estimated and calculated her grades for this semester, I showed her that she would be well below the minimum g.p.a. and could potentially be put on academic probation.  Again, she had a 3.0 g.p.a. in her first semester, which is great, especially at our college.  Since she is interested in the medical field, I asked her what she thought she would need in order to get into med school.  She imagined she would need a 3.7 grade point average, so we calculated how many perfect semesters she would need.  FIVE.  Five semesters of no less than a 4.0 g.p.a.  I gave her that piece of paper to take with her so that she could ponder how ONE semester of letting her academics go will affect the majority of her college career, and her life-long goals.

This year, helping students transition to college became less of a dream job and more emotionally draining.  Along with the personal issues that I had to deal with, including several losses in my family, this work that I'd always enjoyed getting up to do every morning became a chore.  I'd lost my passion and was definitely burned out.  This academic year, for sure, was my ELECTRON.

Last Friday, the women's leadership program I coordinate and advise had its final recognition ceremony.  It was, as always, a beautiful event, with the participants sharing their experiences of the program in a transparent and emotional manner.  As I stood to give an address to the group that was gathered, I mechanically went through the speech I had written, but felt there was more to share.  At that moment, I shared how the organization was now five years old, and how when my nephew was five, I took him to school.  His class would line up in the cafeteria to go to their classroom, and as I moved to take him directly to the cafeteria, he said, "I can go by myself."  I watched as he walked down the hall away from me, and walked confidently towards the cafeteria, and I cried.  I cried because he didn't need me in that moment.

I told the group that this year, the program seemed like my five year old nephew, walking confidently away from me while I stood there mourning how much it didn't need me any more.  And while I am still here, and still find it difficult to let go, I know that one day it will finally move away from me confidently, but I will still be watching it, just as I'd watched my little nephew walk towards his independence.

I only realized it then, in that moment, that the pain I'd experienced with my five year old "baby" - this program - was part of the growth process of an organization and those who run it.  It was my own growth moment; realizing that I could let go and trust that the legacy I'd helped build would continue, especially as the women gave their testimonies about what the program meant to them.  At the end of such a difficult year,  I'd found my PROTON.

Somehow, I couldn't reach this perspective without the alumni sharing their "electrons" and "protons".  Their love, their hugs, their words of comfort and support, opened my heart enough to see what felt like an "electron" in my life as a "proton".  

And if you know me, you know I'm not much of a "neutron" woman.

Boundaries: Honoring Your Self

Whenever I write about a particular topic, I usually like to look up some information about it before starting to write.  I have a habit of wanting to intellectualize whatever it is I'm writing about, even if it's personal and from the heart.  I often share what I've looked up, and I'm famous for quoting the dictionary or Wikipedia.

I started to do that this time, but then I stopped.  What I'm writing about today is too personal and doesn't need to be validated by outside sources.  I reserve the right to create my own discourse about this particular topic.  I'm referring to the concept of boundaries.

Boundaries are personal limitations - the so-called "invisible line" that we draw - that we have decided others may not cross.  The interesting thing about boundaries is that others continually believe they can judge our personal boundaries even though they do not set them for us.  The other interesting thing about boundaries is that we usually don't set them until someone has crossed the "invisible line" within us.

I have worked with students in various capacities throughout my almost-twenty year career, and boundaries are an issue that continuously needs to be addressed.  For example, as a first-year teacher, I made the "mistake" of buying a student a sandwich (with his money) when I went out for lunch.  My assistant principal told me never to do that, because it was unfair to the other students who had to eat school lunch (which is still terrible), and because it was impossible for me to be able to keep up that behavior.  I learned quickly from this mistake, and never did it again.  However, my assistant principal also told me it wasn't a good idea to allow students to spend their lunch period in my classroom, and in that case, I didn't agree with that boundary.  I knew that my classroom was a safe place for some of those students, and it avoided conflicts that could arise in a crowded cafeteria.  Eventually, I had to decide what boundaries needed to be in place and which ones really weren't necessary.  Students were allowed to remain in my classroom during their lunch period, unless I had something else I wanted or needed to do.

After two years at that school, I worked at a small high school where boundaries were much more lax.  Students called us by our first names, and you would often see teachers (or "facilitators", as we were called) and students spending informal moments together during and after school.  My students kissed me on the cheek and hugged me, and I often spent time with them and their families.  It was a loving environment, but I had a difficult time with how flexible the boundaries were.  I didn't know when my work life ended and my personal life began, because it seemed a part of that school's culture to spend time with students outside of school.

I worked in a residence hall for three years.  Can you imagine the difficulty in maintaining boundaries there?  I would have to wake up in the middle of the night to discipline students and write full incident reports in my pajamas while half asleep.  It was truly a blend of my personal and professional lives.

Recently, I experienced a test of both my professional and personal boundaries.  Being a counselor is definitely not an easy vocation.  Counseling is a very personal relationship within the confines of a professional environment.  Over the past year, several students have made the comment that they love our counseling relationship because, and I quote, "It's so personal."  Some of my colleagues don't approach the counseling relationship in the same way.  Some frown upon the fact that some students have my cell phone number, which I only give out for specific work reasons.  If my women's group is holding an event on a Saturday, the students may need to reach me, so the easiest way to do so is to contact me via phone.  Some colleagues choose not to engage in that way, and I respect that.  I learned in my counseling program that I am a counselor; it's not just what I do but who I AM.  Therefore, my counseling style is person-centered, and with the particular population I serve, being intrusive is effective.  In addition, I connect with others on an emotional level, and my empathy for others creates a close, personal relationship.

While I recognize that being authentic and having unconditional positive regard are keys to a good counseling relationship (according to Carl Rogers' Person-Centered Theory), I learned that I can't expect every student to understand my boundaries if I don't make them abundantly clear.  I allow my students to disagree with me, and to challenge and question what I say, however, I experienced a moment when a student went too far.  Both my emotional and physical boundaries felt threatened.  While we had previously had discussions about how this student mistreats, and even abuses, people she cares about (including me), this time I realized that I could no longer engage with her personally or professionally, and suggested that she request a counselor change.  Although I want the student to work through the problem, I also refuse to be emotionally and verbally abused by her.  My hope is that the student learns, through the termination of our counseling relationship, to manage her emotions so as not to alienate others to the point of destroying her most valued relationships.  My lesson is a difficult one to learn.  Most people respond well to my counseling approach, but I will have to make sure that my boundaries are clear - that while I welcome students to question and challenge me, they must do so in a respectful manner, especially because I take great care to show my students respect first.

Personally, I realized that my emotional boundaries were being repeatedly crossed by the same person over the course of the past three years.  This was a pattern with most of my personal relationships with men; I was allowing them to expect more from me than they were willing to give.  This particular person is my "Mr. Biggs" (along the lines of the Ron Isley persona rather than the "Mr. Big" of Sex and the City fame; Mr. Biggs just sounds funnier).  It's obvious that we are strongly connected and that, in the smallest, most pure place in his heart, he loves me very much.  However, much like Mr. Big in Sex and the City, he has a habit of both pulling me into his world and forgetting me at his convenience.  I've spent most of the past three years trying to convince him (and myself) of how we want very different things in life and how love requires commitment, action and follow through.  Most recently, it finally occurred to me that it wasn't him I needed to cut off, despite the veritable choir of voices advising me to do so.  It was ME.  I had to set a boundary within myself that I would no longer allow myself to cross.  As much as my heart wanted to reach out to him to show him I cared, showing him love was an invitation for him to make empty promises and continue to disappoint me.  I had to realize that what I expected of myself - integrity, accountability and authenticity - were exactly what I expect from the person I choose to partner with in life.  Whenever he demonstrated the opposite of those traits, I was allowing him to cross the most valuable boundaries - those I had set up for myself.  Whenever I allowed him to cross those boundaries, I was violating my own boundaries.  Now, because he won't stop contacting me any time soon, and I don't need to be dramatic about it, I can respond to him from a place of empowerment.  The very boundaries I created for myself are those no one else will ever be able to cross.

People will want to see how far they can go, how much they can take you for granted, or how little effort they can put into getting what they want from you.  You can't control them.   It is up to YOU to make clear to yourself what you are willing to tolerate, and what is unacceptable.  Boundaries are very personal.  In the end, you have to live with yourself, and no one else.  I know that I want to live with my self-respect intact, and so I will honor my personal boundaries.  In doing so, I honor my deepest self.