Recently, I began re-reading and watching the Harry Potter series for the first time since I lived in Pittsburgh. I decided to do a google search the movie stars of this series to see what they look like now, when it occurred to me that my appearance, in contrast to most of these stars, has not significantly altered whatsoever since high school. I was already 18 when the first Harry Potter movie premiered. I remember thinking these kid stars did a great job, making book characters come to life. The emphasis here being on kids…they are all younger than I am by years. Now most of them look much older than myself and it caused me to experience this revelation- people’s impression of me is fundamentally driven by my appearance and it hurts.
It hurts because I am usually misunderstood, immediately, based upon my appearance. My intelligence, experiences, knowledge, and expertise are often questioned and/or minimized because of how I look. When my appearance causes other to disregard my intelligence and know-how it becomes particularly problematic for me as an assistant professor. However, appearances are inevitable, and are established by genes and the choices we make. Over the past decade, I made choices that altered my appearance, such as a healthy vegan/vegetarian diet and daily exercise. The hues of my skin, short built, dark brown hair and eyes never change. My spirit, soul, self-less drive, mind, morals, values, and beliefs have not changed other than to grow. As such, I try my best to do and think right, so that my being helps, not hurts other people; a core value that solidifies me. In retrospect, I felt misunderstood at every stage of my appearance living in America and less so when I am in Italy. It is impossible for me to communicate each piece of myself on a surface level, which is appearance. I describe appearance as the most superficial point of what makes us individuals. My own experiences with my appearance and the incorrect assumptions people make about me, made me think about what other people experience on a daily basis because of their appearance. More often than not, our society stratifies its people by appearance. In other words, fractions within society are dictated by location, ethnicity, and skin tones. I imagined how some people fear for their lives because of appearance. Others, denied entry to access the benefits to living in a free and for the most part, safe United States. Some people think they are ugly because proposed propaganda spills lies. Very honestly, basing an understanding of a human because of appearances causes the most harm in society. As individuals, we present ourselves initially through our appearances. However, to fully attempt an understanding of another, appearances must be set aside. Truly, everything underneath holds honesty and real beauty. I believe that we must all first examine our appearance, and embrace its essence. When we believe who we are is who we are meant to be and why we are we, then every part, including our appearance simply makes us whole. After, we are able to understand and love ourselves, only then can we love others. When we love others, appearance becomes only one segment of love. When we love, we are able to heal, care, help, conceive, dream, believe, hope, imagine, and create a better world. Appearances are only deceiving when you let them be, so don’t let them be.
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I grew up in Eastmont, a small niche of homes connected by the families we belong to and the community we live and or lived in. Our families became intertwined and tied to Eastmont. My immediate family alone owns four of the houses-my parents, my zia and zio, my sister and family, and my brother-like cousin Brian and his family. The moments we have experienced as gang, resembled lifetimes before we even aged. I remember so many moments where the generations of families in Eastmont came together, always for a good laugh; even in the worst of times we found ways to laugh. I hung around the older generation of Eastmont, and I landed on the periphery between them and my own generation. In reality though, we are really just one large group of people from Eastmont When I think of Eastmont, I think of all of them, my family, everyone I grew up with, everyone who group up before me, the youth growing up now.
We are such a mixture of people tied to a single place, nestled on a hill. Nestled in the woods are secret train tracks, trains whistle in the middle of the night, and I fall asleep to them in my room. In this neighborhood, tucked away are a pattern of houses- some of them with their backs to the trains’ woods or some other woods and others, like my own, backs facing backs of other houses. Next door, I always have my Sun, who is very dear to me. Like Sun, the other people who grew with me in Eastmont are dear. My Zia, another especially dear example, hosts our family and people who have become extended family at her home on the 4th. I've been a picky eater ever since I can remember, and Zia makes sure that there is some sort of vegetable I can eat without cheese. My zia helps make the 4th of July one of my favorite holidays. While I'm at Zia's there is already a lot of people from Eastmont celebrating at Eastmont Park. Every 4th Lisa L. rents out our park for a huge 4th of July party. We eat, drink, and have fun. When I say fun, I mean we have a lot of fun. We always have a ridiculous kickball game, while children throw water balloons at each other. Silly dances break out and we find so many reasons to laugh until it's time to see fireworks. Then everyone crowds together on Hart street, to see a firework spectacle shoot high in the sky from Monroeville Mall. Today since I can’t take part in 4th of July in Eastmont, I decided to write a blog for Eastmont. See it’s not the place that really makes us, it is us that makes the place. As a group we are strong, funny, interesting, intelligent, goofy, and most importantly real. Every person I know from Eastmont is tough and for real. That is what I love most about my genuine Eastmont people...we are authentic. We have been through a lot together, and those experiences are what make us Eastmont. We embrace who we are instead of dining with denial. We get together on the 4th of July to stay connected. On this 4th of July I want to connect with Eastmont, and emphasize the importance of community. My neighborhood prioritizes Eastmont as a group of people joined always by where we grew up. Our losses, our rough times, and even our mistakes solidified us as a group. However, what keeps us together is really the laughs and how much we care about each other. I miss you all and most especially on the 4th of July. Eastmont is like air, food, and sleep- I wouldn’t be here or be me without Eastmont. Community is important and I hope on this 4th of July in 2019, we can stick together and understand that community is everything. Not a single person is the same in Eastmont, and that’s true for everyone in the world. I know that when a group decides to become a community, it leaves a positive impact on people, the world, and especially children. The more we connect the more we love, which makes our lives better. As a community, we can face and overcome any obstacle in our paths. Every 4th we get together to stay connected despite difference and distance. Eastmont is a great teacher. Happy 4th to my Eastmonters and communities all of over. Peace, Love, and Happiness Jess Pray for me
I wish you would Pray for me I used up all my prayers For you Won’t you pray for me Like I prayed for you? You see I prayed so much for you I ran out of prayers So please say Dear God That’s a good start Pray for me the way I pray Sincere, true, and flawless When I pray I say thank you Deep down I know God is sick of I’m sorry From me So I pray for you For me For them For Grace I pray and say Dear God Help me help others Help me be good Help me be grateful After I pray for you But you see I have used up all my prayers To save you I pray Love Frees you from Power Greed Expansion Violence I pray for light to shine When I was afraid of the dark I prayed When I realized me I prayed I change when I pray for forgiveness For you I have no room to pray for you So many people require prayers I pray too much for you on repeat Prayers are precious and I need to pray For them Won’t you pray for me? If you won’t pray for you Won’t you pray for me? If you won’t pray for me Won’t you pray for them? If you won’t pray for them Pray for you I took my prayer off repeat. I wish you would all pray Because I can’t pray for you. Michael Can Sing
It was recently revealed to me that my nephew, Michael, can sing. That within him lies a vocal musical instrument, pleasing to the human ear. Tenor tenacity sweetened by him. Come to think of it, he’s been singing several songs since entering the world. Immediately his newborn face featured wisdom; wrinkled like a senescent man. He sang sagacity. As his face smoothed, his songs amplified. Oceanic eyes drown me in love. A long time ago, I cradled him on stone steps. under the shining moon. Sweet melodies radiated from him, his small hands around my fingers. All of a sudden, his eye-song watered my withering heart and it bloomed. He sings love. Michael can sing, Astonishing I never knew before. Laughter lingered unexpectedly, still remains. Infant, toddler, child, teenager all mimic moments of comic relief- Spaghetti sauce, silly steps, epic impersonations, contorted twists, babbling bottles, mischievous mayhem. Michael sings entertainment. Michael can sing. Feelings engulf him. Radioactive radar senses vibrate within him- ferocious frequencies he feels and fears. Faces them valiantly. Michal sings courage. Michael can sing, Remarkable no one realized until now. Creative and rhythmic percussion resound from skin, wood, metal. His fingers guiding sound through sticks. Coaxed by friends, he is, to drum-drive their dance. Michael sings rhythm. Michael can sing. A growing teenager, so tall he bends to hug me. Filled with talent. Gave John a voice in Peter Pan’s play, flew across the room. Hummed a kiss to his new girlfriend, the audience, and me in Georgia. Michael sings sweet songs on stage. Michael can sing and he sings. He always has and he always will. Michael can sing- a tenacious tenor for all to hear. This is the first time I’ve written in weeks. I don’t remember experiencing a time when writing felt like an enemy. The truth will set you free. Right now, my truth is I am in the worst physical health I’ve ever been in; what is ill is my dearest sense of self. I keep saying I don’t know how Sidney Crosby does it with so many concussions. I am having so much trouble with just this one concussion. I don’t know how he or other athletes continuously persist, despite of permanent danger, horrible sickness, a head that aches as if it’s consuming every bad thought that existed within.
I can say losing my physical health has taught me to value and cherish my mental health. I know it took me 35 years to become, accept, and love me…or not so scientifically speaking- to love the brain that decides my every move. It makes me care, absorb acts, analyze, practice courage, research, enact self-less ambition, and live in a happy humorous manner. My brain developed into intelligence, faith, hope, imagination, culture, mental maps and graphs of what I need to be me. All of it is determined by my dear dear mind and it is that same mind that makes me now have a speech impediment, instigates nausea, and givse me a pounding headache. I am literally without balance or a fully functioning physical body. I’m angry at myself for abusing it or me. I became more acquainted with my mind through missing parts, and I feel severe. I feel severe in many ways, but mostly my selfishness through complaint of my own illness, without considering the aliments of others. I am severe with an unfair socially-constructed system that is stratified, by who knows what. For some reason, people are paid millions to be exposed to violence in sports games. Then there are others, who get sick for no reason and have little to no money for expensive medical costs. Why are we so extremely separated from others, and most importantly ourselves as we exist through each other. Maybe this is scientific thought or maybe not; however, I know that we are all made of the same particles found on the periodic table of elements. If we break who we are down into particles, then we should all be the same, simple stardust particles. The harsh reality is that we are not. This is not a natural occurrence, but a direct consequence of people who vibrate unfair social constructs to intentionally damage others. I am admittedly disappointed with the Game of Thrones’ season 8 writers. I think what burned was a perpetuation of ideals by Dany, which was demolished through an act of love and fury. This would have been a much story line through character development and one bad writer's decision to have her soul friend executed. Thank you for ruining GOT. I want an equal and interesting world without seeing anyone or anything burn. I have become much more acquainted with a beautiful mind through the lessons I have learned,and not what I miss. Luckily, I am writing the story of my life and not simpleton writers, who minimized the complexity of the last 7 seasons. Sorry I am a little mad at the GOT ending and that goes without saying. When I was healthy, besides my own parents, I would only say quick prayers for those who are ill at night. I realize today how wrong it is to be so self consumed. I honestly want the best lesson I learn from my concussion to be this: Give every single last person consideration, send them not only prayers, but love and hope. Thank you to all of my doctors at Metrohealth who made me well enough to finish this blog. I think we can look to my doctors as role-models. They are people who make the effort to consider, care, and heal us. I want to be better at doing what they do everyday. I do not know why I am so hard on myself, and especially who I was as a young adult. Too often, I have judged, blamed, criticized, and even hated a younger version of me. It is hard for me to understand, as a healthy adult how I could be so unhealthy before the age of 23.
I am really harsh with me and would never even think this horribly about another human being other than me. I really hated my life before I found social work. I blamed myself profusely for every blessed and damned thing that happened to me. That is a lot of blame for one person to carry. At this point in my life, instead of blaming or hating young me I choose to honor her. I was a sweet soul, filled with life and curiosity. I was boundless and free. Admittedly, at one point I started to crumble. We all have our emotional limits, and the experience of grief caused me to surpass all of mine. I felt skinless and exposed to pain constantly, but my sweet soul persisted. I enjoyed the best moments fully, breathed fresh spring air, roamed mentally and physically, and worried less. Many mistakes made me learn how to be a competent social worker and healthy human being. I became a doctor, consumed in academic social work pursuits…my thickest layer of skin. “If you don’t deal with it, it kills you little by little”- I am not sorry that I messed up a lot as a young adult. I learned how to deal with some of the worst parts of life at a young age. I maintained thirst for knowledge as my saving grace. I could relate sincerely to clients’ pain throughout all my years of practice. I am genuine and honest. I am me because you, little me, who hurt….healed. Honor, and I honor you who became me. I honor we. Honor Thyself. It has been quite difficult for me to write this blog about my concussion, although I started some form of it a month ago. What I realized each time when I thought about writing my blog was I would have to own that I have permanent changes to my brain. Of all things, my brain, now has significantly changed and I need to permanently adapt. As I adapt, I become frustrated and sad that my mind no longer functions the same. This is a before and after blog, written to make others understand what is explicitly different about me. I am also forcing myself to own that the mental capacity I once had, no longer exists. I own that I need to adapt.
Before Before I had a concussion, my mind was sharp and clear. Even with a full caseload of clients, I could remember every obligation without a planner or reminder. I never forgot an important date and was able to section time according to my three jobs. At school, I would repeat a sentence from a book, tell you the page number, and where it was located on the page. At one point, I designed three or four research studies, not including my dissertation. I could write all night, sleep, wake up to Georgia sun, and then teach. I always had energy, no matter how long I sat in front of a computer. My ability to keep going was endless- I worked as a therapist, taught bachelor students, completed an extensive research study, volunteered, exercised, and would walk Leo for hours every day. I almost never forgot a face or a name association. Not only was my mind sharp as a blade, but it cut through multidimensions. My mind never stopped working. After On the worst days, like most Thursdays, I sleep hours of my life away. I should be recruiting participants for my Cleveland research study on Thursdays, but I am too mentally exhausted. By the time I reach Thursday I have used up most of my mental energy, and I still need to see clients on Fridays. Unlike the past, I can only manage two different professional minds simultaneously. In other words, for me to perform well as a professor and psychotherapist, I must sleep most of the day on Thursdays. I am always frustrated on Thursdays. After I forget just about everything, and I mean just about everything. If I forget to write an obligation in my planner, then I forget about it. I forget what I forgot. I forget belongings at friends place or leave them at home when I need them. I forget important dates, like best friends’ birthdays. I forget where I place things. I forget how to remember. After I often feel like my mind is facing a glass window. On the other side, there are ideas, thoughts, sentences, specific words or phrases all swirling in a circle. In order to frame what I want to say, I have to open the window and sort through information before I can speak or write. I feel like I’m living in the mist at times. I need minutes to find what I need or want to articulate. I frequently get frustrated. I also often repeat myself, forgetting things I have already said. I forget a lot. After I am a tenure-track assistant professor, and time is of the essence. As I am still adapting to life after a concussion, I am unsure if I can meet publication requirements in the time allotted to me. I know that down the road, I only want to be a professor. However, I still need to be a therapist. That means I need to figure out how and when to write. This means I need to collect data this summer and learn how to organize my time better. After a concussion this severe, I would benefit from a time extension on tenure. I know that the clock is working against me now, both externally and internally. After, for me, is all about adaptation. Before and After I have the loving support of family, friends, mentors, and colleagues. I have me. In Dr. King’s book, Strength to Love, he wrote “The strong man holds in a living being strongly marked opposites.” I strongly feel that his quote speaks to the duality that exits within each of us. To accurately establish a true sense of self, one must encounter opposing forces, or opposites. That way we can identify with clarity who we are, and who we are not. The duality that resides within each of us can be categorized in different ways. I choose to label them as good or bad.
We confront what feels bad in new environments, new situations, roads travelled throughout our lives, or just what we do on a daily basis. We get to choose who, how, when, why, and what we learn. Our decisions inform whether we choose good or bad. To travel though life, is to embrace opposites. To live life, we must embrace opposites. Sometimes at night when I cannot fall asleep, I listen to Dr. King’s speeches. I choose to learn from him in those moments about human reality. Not only did he identify our societal problems, he developed and shared strategies to better humankind. Had he been alive today, we would have elected him president. Why? Because he was reasonable and respected every living person. He inspired us to endeavor toward equality. He made us act, and he knew how. Now we use his strategies against causes of good. I see a country becoming bad. I see a country crumbling to pieces, because of over-reactionary tactics caused by the first black president. Think about the many changes that have occurred since his presidency ended? Many of them are discriminatory toward someone or another, depending on the day. Recently, I walked down a street in San Francisco and saw a person hit a crack pipe, a boy stick a needle in his girlfriend’s arm, and multiple people walking around with a meth addiction. This was on my way to the Women’s March in broad daylight. If the argument for the wall is drugs, why is prevention more important than treatment? Why is prevention more important than treatments? Is it really more complicated than that when we are talking about human lives? Do we not want parents who are clean and sober raising kids rather than perpetuating the cycle of addiction? Do not forget the duality: nature v. nurture. I don’t think that our government is identifying, vocalizing, or even exploring alternative solutions. I think that Dr. King would be ashamed of them. “Courage is an inner resolution to go forward in spite of obstacles and frightening situations.” “Fear is mastered through love.” “Hate is rooted in fear, and the only cure for fear-hate is love.” Those are only a few of Dr. King’s quotes. I know for my job I am required to study and allow space for learning. I am only as good as my willingness to listen and learn from others. We all have egos. However, we also have the to ability to silence all the noise our egos make. How? Through love. Many Blessings on Dr. King’s Day. Acceptance… what a beautiful process that transforms how one sees, feels, and receives the world.
Acceptance is the path I chose to take this year, 2019. I accept me. I accept my flaws, eccentricities, limits, and qualities. I accept that I am more than the sum of my mistakes, and especially my flaws. I accept that I am intelligent, which is driven by my thirst for knowledge. I accept that I still have a lot to learn. I accept growing pains. I accept that I am not perfect. I also accept the fact that no one is perfect. I accept that I do not have to like everybody, nor do I want to. I accept that. I accept that I live in a competitive world. I accept that I am the only person I ever compete with. I accept that I am a very fierce competitor. I accept that I place too much pressure on myself, which causes me anxiety. I accept that I have anxiety. I accept that some days are worse than others, but whether I’m actively aware of it or not, I accept that I have anxiety. I accept that I need treatment. I accept that I need my friends, and quite honestly, they are the best form of treatment. I accept that I had severe depression twice in my life. I accept that I will never get that depressed again, not ever. I accept that there are no such things as vampires, werewolves, zombies, or pretend monsters that go bump in the night. I accept that theoretically speaking, the inspiration for these imaginary creatures can be found in an everyday. Mosquitos, rabies, and wolves are all real and I accept that. I accept that I had trauma, and I accept that I overcame it. I accept that I have scars. I accept that I am more than the sum of my emotional battles. I accept that I am stronger because of them. I accept that I am one of many ugly ducklings that became a swan. I accept that I am different. I accept that I am self-conscious, and I lack confidence. I accept that. I accept that most people expect me to be less than smart based on my appearance. I accept that. I also accept that although my physical form has altered, what is on the inside never changed. I accept that I was and am a nerd, before I became a swan. I accept that I am smarter than I look. I accept that I am a combination of Italian and American, which influences how I breathe the air. I accept that my grandma is 100, and that I miss her. I accept that I am always missing someone. I accept that. I accept that I am a professor, social worker, writer, psychotherapist, and researcher. I accept that this is a lot for one person. I accept that I never have enough time to just write. I accept that I am a writer. I accept that I have a lot of responsibilities. I accept all of that. I accept that I have problems. I also accept that I have solutions. I accept that I am love. I accept that I am safe and able to invite in love. I accept that love is infinite. I accept self-love. Recently I was given a card from a deck of positive affirmations that said, “One day she woke up and realized she was enough.” When people accept who they are, they obtain the ability to face fears, overcome obstacles, and enjoy life. I accept all of you. One I hope everybody, including the people that read this blog, come to the realization...."I am enough. I accept me." I accept me. Acceptance… what a beautiful process that transforms how one sees, feels, and receives the world. Recently, I have been listening to this on repeat, “I prefer better, no I prefer you.” It captures how my heart feels now. Cleveland is the home I cannot imagine leaving, and the only home that ever made me feel this way. I remember imagining exotic faraway places. I read religiously about Australia, the Europes, Asia, Brazil, Canada, and other parts of the USA when I was growing up. In my mind, I would write my life in these different places. In Georgia, my mind was too overworked to be elsewhere. However, I knew I never wanted to stay.
Now, I come home to find Sally wrapping garlands around my porch. Her actions are symbolic of how I am treated in Cleveland. Constantly, people in Cleveland do nice things for me. There are too many to mention because it’s just about every day that I get little surprises of friendship. I can say that these gestures of kindness happen more than once daily. For the holidays, I have found my home. What makes a place home are the people who surround you. This is not to negate the many friendships I have cultivated in other places. It was you all that made it home, and not the place itself. I have amazing friends in Cleveland, and all my many other homes. Now Cleveland, makes me feel cherished. I have my ravine, hidden in wooden paths down the street. I can see famous works of art for free. One of the great lakes cradles the city, and makes me feel infinite. I learned how to fall in love, release love with love, and reside in love. I hope that everyone can understand home the way I recently have. I believe that 2019 will be the year where we all shine our brightest. When faced with great turmoil, good-hearted people prevail. May you all feel the love around us, and end the old year experiencing elevated love. The type of love that illuminates the whole world year round. Happy New Year! |
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