Catharsis

Silence. Something that has been expected of me in relation to my emotions and beliefs since I was young. Any display of emotion or disagreement was met with accusations of and an assignment of a personality described as ‘overly dramatic’, or ‘exaggerator’. It’s true, I’ve always felt things strongly, I’ve always over analyzed every situation. But I believe this is rooted in an environment that relied on awareness; knowing how to read the room to ask questions at the right time. Knowing how to play the game to get what you want without eliciting a verbal attack targeted at your individuality, instead of at your reasoning.

Now, I’m not writing this for pity, disagreement, or frankly any feedback at all. I’m writing this because I’ve come to realize how this still impacts my everyday life. It impacts my mental health, my current relationships, and even how I handle situations pertaining to my future career. As most of my friends know, I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety which was diagnosed my Freshman year of undergrad, but I have a suspicion it began long before then. This anxiety I think is based in not knowing the reaction I was going to get when I was young, whether it would be acceptance or some sort of aggressive insult on who I am. This anxiety continues into my present day life. I am constantly concerned over whether people like me, and how people in positions of authority perceive me. I am constantly concerned, to the annoyance of my friends, whether or not an interaction with a professor will result in them ‘hating me’. Although I am cognitively aware of the unlikelihood, I think that train of thought is so ingrained in me. Even now, while writing this, I am concerned about what people will think. But honestly, I’ve decided it’s time that I no longer sit silently while my surroundings bother me.

Now, in regards to being labeled as ‘overly dramatic’ or an ‘exaggerator’, it takes insight to understand how I don’t see my behavior as anything other than appropriate. For example, if the first time someone spoke to you in a way that was inappropriate, you’d calmly ask them to stop. But as the years go by and this approach doesn’t work, or is ignored completely, you’re likely to get more agitated. You’re likely to respond quicker and to smaller and smaller infractions against you. Microagressions feel macro, and you lose your tolerance for disrespect. Especially from people who don’t know you.

I’d like to share a story about what happened to me this past weekend. I’ve played it over and over in my head, trying to determine where I went wrong. I’ve been raised to believe that no matter the interaction, I am the ‘crazy one’, I am the one who did something wrong. But in this situation, I firmly disagree. Now, the following may seem trivial to some, but please keep in mind that this is not the first time I have been spoken to this way or treated with such indignance.

People who I do not know, and do not know me, were at my childhood home dropping off wood. They pulled their truck right up alongside my car and needed me to move in order for them to access the yard. Keep in mind they did not provide a time of arrival, but rather showed up at their convenience. Since I did not know when they were coming, I could not quickly locate my keys but I was actively looking when the woman came in and said ‘Hurry up, he has places to be’. Now, this may have been okay, but the tone she used with me was not appropriate, nor would she allow anyone to speak to her this way. I informed her I was looking for my keys and that I would like for her not to speak to me that way, a completely normal and adult request. Next thing I know, I am being screamed at to be quiet and to ‘stop’ and ‘not go there’. At this point, I am getting upset. I asked to not be spoken in such a manner by someone who doesn’t even know me, and yet I am the person who is wrong. Keep in mind I did not swear, I did not yell, I simply asked this stranger to speak to me in a way that wasn’t demeaning or rude.

My keys are located and I go out to move my car. Apparently this man could not wait and had wedged his truck in between my car and the yard light. Immediately people are yelling at me to ‘Move my fucking car’. Again, I asked to not be spoken to this way and the result was the same. I move my car and get out and inform them that I will be leaving today as I don’t tolerate being spoken to that way anymore. As I pack up my stuff and go to leave I am called ‘dramatic’ and saying that I always ‘overreact’. I again inform them that they would not tolerate someone speaking to them that way and why should I allow someone to treat me that way? This is when things get wildly inappropriate.

These strangers start yelling at me to ‘get out of here’ and to ‘shut up’ and the man stands there smirking at me. At this point I will admit I was slightly antagonistic and told him to stop smirking at me because he has no right to treat me this way. He then, in the most redneck voice you can imagine, yells ‘Oh boy, you’re lucky I don’t lay you flat on your back and beat your face again’. Recall, these people don’t know me, have never met me, and yet feel it is appropriate to be treating me this way. I tell the guy that I would love for him to try and touch me, admittedly slightly antagonistic, but as with most macho men, a call to action caused him to retreat to his truck for fear of actually acting on his words.

Now, I go home to St. Paul and stew on this interaction. I know that I will be painted as dramatic and 'psycho', as I’ve been painted many times in the past.  But this time something is different. I am proud of myself. I am proud that I stood up for myself. This may seem like a trivial situation that may have escalated further than it had to, but I am not sorry. I am not sorry that these people who think they can speak to others in this manner were talked back to. I am not sorry that their ignorance and violence was met with my voice telling them to stop. I am not sorry.

I am not sorry and never will be again. I will no longer apologize for standing up for myself, something I feel I’ve long forgotten how to do. I will no longer apologize for having emotions and feeling a certain way.

I know some people will not receive this well, and that is where the problem lies. If you cannot take a moment and see yourself in my shoes, but instead start making excuses and saying ‘oh that’s just that generation’ or ‘that’s just who they are’ then you are part of the problem. I should not have to tolerate or accept certain treatment because that is ‘how someone is’. If reading this makes you uncomfortable, good. It should. This isn’t normal behavior and shouldn’t be accepted. If this doesn’t make you uncomfortable, how would you feel had you experienced that? How would you feel if someone spoke to you that way? Surely you wouldn’t have been silent.

To the people this weekend, all I wish you’d hear and understand is: Remember, you would never allow someone to talk to you, the way you talked to me.

How my First Summer as a CNA Changed Me, for the Better.

It's been a long time since I've taken a moment to myself to reflect upon where I am at in life, and if that present day image is one I am pleased with - or if I need to make adjustments to be nearer to the ever elusive level of self actualization. This past summer, I participated in a Certified Nursing Assistant course and received my certification. It took place at a nursing home that I have worked at for approximately the last four-five years. Prior to the class, my positions included that of a Certified Feeding Assistant, Activities Assistant, Ward Clerk, and for a short period of time, Prep Cook. These positions gave me the chance to fall in love with the residents and their personalities - giving me a glimpse into their playful side, their histories, and their prejudices, not only towards myself, but towards others within the facility. Making the transition to more clinical care, ie. assisting with hygiene, ambulation, transfers, as well as the more menial tasks such as turning on the tv, handing a resident the telephone, or even filling up a water jug, I was allowed to fall in love with them all over again.

I would arrive around 6am, my eyes barely open, starving because  I had slept in and didn't have time to eat breakfast. I generally would work the same wing, taking care of the same group every morning. As all humans do, the residents have routines. They are particular, stubborn, and have a preference for anything and everything you could think of. All the makings to create a frustrating and time consuming situation. But, as I entered the room of my first charge, softly urging them to wake with a pleasant good morning - my energy levels surged as their eyes opened and their voice groaned in a reluctance to get up. I would laugh, encouraging them to get ready with me. Every hair in place, a well chosen outfit, and fresh breath - ready to take on the day, whether it be for a family visit, a group activity, or simply strolling around the facility. Repeat. Four, five, or even six more times, until every resident was awake.

Around 8am, it was time for breakfast - and the residents knew that, yet another routine that had been ingrained and unchangeable. If you were behind, they would notice because their toast and eggs came at 8:10, instead of the usual 8:05. Some residents would console you, saying that it must be a busy morning, while others would chastise. The latter were my favorite, reminding me much of my mother who would yell up at the stairs at me if I hadn't gotten out of bed yet for school - something she still had to do when I was a Senior in High School.

Following breakfast, it was time to make sure all of their biological needs were met. Then lunch, and so on, with napping or an activity in the afternoon and then the culmination of my shift at 2:30pm.

Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.

Now I mention routines, and the repetitive nature of the tasks at hand. This would lead many to assume that every day would be the same, or boring for lack of a better word - especially in comparison to my job as an Activities Assistant, where I constantly got to play games, write progress notes on resident involvement, and even go visit on a individual level. Luckily, it was anything but boring, it was fascinating, challenging, heartbreaking, and rewarding all at the same time.

Waking the residents each morning was one of my favorite parts. I was the first person to welcome them into the new day - a day that I hoped would be full of smiles, laughter, and happiness. I was the first person who got to make them feel good about how they looked. As we age our skin becomes something that is anything but beautiful by societal standards, our hair thins, our teeth become damaged from years of maltreatment, medication, or other diseases. I was the one who got to comb their hair, adjust their clothes, and make them feel attractive. I got to hear them make fun of me as I learned how to put on a bra properly, or adjust a special brace they had been using throughout their lifetime - and this was all before 8am. I got to fall in love with these people, who despite needing my help, were anything but helpless. They had strong personalities, emotions, and opinions. Even those who were unable to respond, unable to aid me in any aspect of their care, were still so full of life, just as important as the ones who could tell me exactly what shirt they wanted and exactly why it was my fault there were wrinkles.

I'm not saying that I got along with every resident, or that every day was a happy and lovely day. There would be times a resident would cry, either from missing their family, from being in pain, or even upset with the situation they have come to be in. But even those days were full of reward. I was the only who got to hug them, or squeeze their hand. I was the one who got to get them an extra dessert, or adjust their bed a little more than I really had to, in an attempt to make them feel more at home. I was the one who got to cry with them and make them know their emotions are valid, that someone in this world still cared about them.

I've touched a lot on what I am capable of doing for the residents, but I don't want to minimize the vast amount the residents do for me. They challenge me everyday, be it with my patience, my compassion, and even my understanding of different backgrounds. They push me to my limits, opening my heart to all of those around me, providing me the opportunity to love someone who can be mean, but also forcing me to understand where that anger and hatred come from. Normally we are so quick to judge and shut out those who raise their voice, or are standoffish. I was forced to look deeper into the situation - assess why they were responding to me this way and discover if there was a situational trigger I could avoid, or find another approach that would aid in our teamwork. Now, of course there are some residents that will not click with every single staff member, but they have taught me not to be so quick to close people off and pass them off to the next, presumably unlucky, fool. The residents would challenge my belief that everything is now or never, and remind me that I have time to make mistakes. That by making mistakes, I will find the place that I belong in. They remind me that no matter what happens to me, I will make it, I will survive. Minor set backs that seem so large in the short 22 years I have been alive, are like passing minutes to them. So many residents took convoluted routes to their dreams and find it humorous that I find a 6 month setback the end of the world.

There is one final thing that I want to mention. Not only did I fall in love with the residents all over again, they made me fall in love with myself. Every day a resident would remind me of how patient I could be, how caring, how kind. Every day, a resident would tell me that I was skinny, that I was beautiful, and had lovely eyes. Their compliments meant the world to me; the residents had no idea that I have constantly and continuously struggled with my body image, be it my weight, my face, my teeth, making their compliments all the more sweet. They said these things not because they cared how I felt, but because they believed them to be true. They allowed me to look at myself in the mirror each morning and night and look for these qualities about myself - the qualities that I was so quick to diminish. I was taught to reevaluate how I treat myself, and questioned why I was able to be so kind and compassionate towards others, but so ruthless and relentless when it came to my own shortcomings. Leaving me to wonder why I was so quick to forgive their faults, but so slow to allow myself to have imperfections.

My capacity to love, not only others, but myself, has grown and expanded, and for that I am truly grateful. You start a job thinking that you are going to be taking care of someone, but when it's all said and done - you took care of each other, no matter if the resident knows it or not.

Different Path, Different Life

As I sit down to write tonight, I realize how much the title of my blog rings true: From Med School, to Whatever. Starting out thinking that medical school was the only way I would ever be happy, and arriving at this time in my life, has been quite the journey. My undergraduate career thus far at the University of Minnesota has been full of twists and turns, emotional wins and losses, and faces that I will never forget - for good or bad reasons, and people that have left a mark on my heart that I will carry with me the rest of my life. I've learned that I have multiple opportunities available to me - and that no matter how many closed doors that seem to appear, I have thousands more that are open. 

I've come to the realization that medical school is out of the question. To many people, this realization is world crushing, but to me, it feels like the cinder blocks dragging me to the bottom of the ocean have been cut off and I'm fear to swim to the surface and breath. Along this journey, I have been afraid to falter, been afraid to change my mind - and yet the more I let myself take back my initial decisions, challenge my path, the more excited I get. Med school was a way for me to prove that I was the best, that I was the smartest person in the room. But these past few months, I have begun to realize that I no longer need that. I don't need to be the 'smartest' and 'best' in the room. I don't need to be perfect and unfaltering. I need to be human. 

Now, that being said, my interest in medicine has not been challenged. As I progress in my biochemistry degree and learn more about the pathways and cell signaling that results in complications, diseases, and ultimately death, I feel a calling to be the person in the way, the person standing guard over those around me. I want to be the one that people can come to crying when their elderly parents are suffering and don't know where to look. I want to be the one that people can bring their feverish child in as they fear the worst, and grant them the comfort that I believe my personality and compassion can provide. After shadowing doctors, I have noticed that there is not always time for this, as they have patient after patient, followed by paperwork and other responsibilities given by the hospital that come with the title of MD. I noticed that those who had the time were ones who didn't quite have the title MD, but knew seemingly just as much: Physician Assistants. 

As I watched the PA's wandering from patient to patient, socializing, comforting, and treating, I felt as though I was looking at myself. Their personalities mirrored mine - they seemed easy going and genuinely compassionate, having the time to form stronger relationship with their patients. This isn't to say that doctors do not have time, nor am I saying that doctors do not form strong and compassionate relationships - that simply isn't true. I am merely saying that it appeared as though PA's had the energy and the lifestyle that I possess and want.

Upon looking more into PA schools, the excitement only grew; I appear to be an ideal candidate with all my experiences, involvement, and even my GPA, which has been a sore spot for me the past few semesters. The length of two years is also more appealing, as I still desire to give back to the education system and children who are not afforded the same opportunities as I have been given, through Teach for America. 

At the start of the summer, my future appeared bleak and terrifying. But now, after corresponding with my Biochem 4332 professor who has not only been supportive, but encouraging of all my endeavors, and researching PA schools, as well as speaking with a TFA recruiter, my future has never looked brighter - and that is what I wanted to share with all of you.

No matter how many times your dreams change, no matter how times you feel like the future is a daunting place, remember there are hundreds of people that are rooting for you and willing to help at every corner, you only need to keep your head up. 

Happiness

After I poured my heart out Monday evening in my first blog post, I have felt substantially lighter. My mind is no longer swimming with mixed emotions, confusing processes, and the frustration of feeling inadequate. Removing the pressure of medical school being the only option, has lifted my spirits and has made me feel like myself again - the self that I lost the second I got a B in my freshman calculus class. I've begun to feel human again, feeling emotions other than stress. I've found myself more engaged in social interactions, actually listening and retaining information others tell me. My mind is no longer cluttered and unable to function. It's free to understand the world around me, rather than being consumed by the constant fear of failure. My body is no longer plagued with dysfunction. My stomach doesn't ache, my head doesn't pound, and my heart beats at a normal pace.

I can allow people to care about me, without fear that they will be there to watch me fall. I can allow people to build me up, without breaking myself back down. I had become so overrun with the idea that medical school was the be all, end all. If I didn't get in, I was nothing. But after stepping back, after reflecting inward, I was able to relieve myself of that nagging thought. It's uplifting to finally feel alive and awake. I no longer need to nap everyday, I no longer struggle to keep my eyes open. I was so mentally exhausted from the constant worry that I know longer appreciated the simple things. The time in between class spent laughing with a friend, or the time spent looking out the window. I was too busy fretting over the fact that I wasn't being 'productive'. I wasn't accomplishing anything while talking to friends or gazing out the window. What I failed to realize was those interactions are crucial to rejuvenation; they are imperative to a healthy mind and body.

By taking a step back and evaluating myself, and all that I am capable of, I finally noticed that I am more than just my grades. I finally accepted that I am not defined by how smart others perceive me. I am defined by my honest, my personality, my compassion towards others. I am defined by how I react to situations and handle problems. There is so much more to who you are than your perceived intelligence, what you can demonstrate on paper.

I am an interesting person, I can carry on conversations, I like to dance around and listen to loud music. I like to go for a run, or just walk around the city, take a bus and just stare out the window. I am so much more than that 50 minutes while I'm taking a physics test, or that 10 point quiz that I just couldn't get right, I'm more than those 5 points lost on a lab report. All of those are not indicative of me, of what I'm capable of. I am not defined by my grade point average, or the experiences I do or do not have. I am defined by what makes me happy, what makes me laugh, or cry. I am defined by all areas of life that are human. Confining your self worth to a small, tangible, and somewhat subjective aspect, is selling yourself short. Just because your teaching assistant decided they didn't like how you presented your point, doesn't mean you didn't present it well. It doesn't mean you weren't right. Just because your professor was looking for a slightly different answer, doesn't mean you don't understand the concept. Once we attach grades, rubrics, and averages, we forget all of the information we do know, and the talents we have. We focus on our shortcomings, instead of successes. We let ourselves drown in our failures instead of swim in our glories. It's unhealthy, it's detrimental, and it serves no one.

I'm done living by what I did wrong, or perceived myself to have done wrong. I'm not going to torture myself over lost points, or the inability to struggle through a homework problem. I'm not going to leave a mark on this world by getting a 4.0, I'm going to leave a mark on this world by sharing myself, by giving myself to all of those around me. I'm going to change the world through my compassion, my soul, not by the comments on a problem set.

Life is so much more than school and I want to start living, breathing, and enjoying the world around me.

Med School to Whatever

As a Junior in college, I finally realized that I've been holding on to a mindset that plagued me all throughout high school and the majority of my first two years of undergrad at the University of Minnesota - Twin Cities. I'm obsessed with external praise - the support and approval of all of those around me. My goal was to show others that I was intelligent, capable, and able to handle anything life threw at me. What better way to do that than getting accepted into medical school. I convinced myself that medical school was what I wanted, that it was my passion. I had rehearsed answers, ready to pull out at any mention of what I wanted to do after my undergraduate years. I'd talk about how I loved the nursing home I worked at through out high school, how I enjoyed improving the lives of others and felt that I connected with the elderly. The more I thought about it, and talked to others, the more I believed it was the only thing that would make me happy.

I didn't start to challenge this belief until my fall semester of Junior year. All of my friends began talking about the MCAT, or those who had already applied were practicing admission interview questions with each other. The interview questions were what sparked me to take an inward look at myself and my desires. The question that stood out the most to me was when on of my fellow teaching assistants asked, 'Why medical school.' My initial thought was to ramble off my rehearsed lines I used through out high school - but then it hit me. What a good question. Why medical school. Why do I want to devote my life to a world of medicine, stress, pressure to perform and succeed each and every day - entrusted by others that I am making the best decisions in regard to their health. To be honest, I couldn't think of one good answer - I couldn't think of a response that I was satisfied with, a response that could fool me, let alone a medical school interviewer who is trained to recognize those unfit for the field.

It may have become apparent in this post, but almost all of it revolves around the use of the word 'I', something that I haven't paid much attention to for the majority of my life. My decisions, my goals, my actions, all relate back to some external need from those around me. I have never once asked myself what will make me happy, what is going to make me excited to get out of bed each and every day. I felt momentarily lost after medical school no longer felt like an option - at least not directly after undergrad, until I realized the one thing I looked forward to, each and every week - the one thing that elevated my mood and made a rough day seem manageable. My position as an undergraduate teaching assistant in a foundational course for other College of Biological Science majors.

Teaching never seemed like an option growing up. It's not regarded by others as prestigious or challenging. No one brags about their child who is a teacher. No one writes articles about a teacher who performed some incredible life altering operation. I saw little value or reward in the field. But the first time I explained the two hybrid system to a student and saw it click, the relief pass over their eyes as they understand a concept that they were sure was impossible - that was the moment I realized all the value the position could hold. I wouldn't have made it this far without teachers and professors who cared about me, who pushed me to succeed, who listened to my complaints when it wasn't even related to their educational topic.

Once I got to thinking about the influence teachers and professors have had on my life, I started thinking about all the children who don't have that opportunity - who don't have driven teachers who are there to help them achieve all of their childhood dreams. I have been graced by being born into a family that never hurt for money, we weren't rich by any means, but we always had what we needed. I was able to succeed academically because I never worried about where my next meal was coming from, or worried about how old and tattered my clothing looked. I was able to succeed because I knew I was going home to a family who had the ability to help me through my math homework and listen to me practice speeches. There are so many children who don't have these same resources. They are born into poverty, into school districts that don't have the funding to keep around motivated teachers, or the funding to supply teachers the tools they need to run a classroom. This situation not only discourages students, but results in jaded teachers who feel the education system does not have everyone in its best interest.

With all of this running through my head, I found myself getting excited, feeling that fire that I presume others feel about medical school. I had heard of programs such as Teach for America, but I never honestly considered them. But now, it's all I can think about. I know, without a doubt, that I want to spend my first two years after undergrad giving back to the academic community. I want to give all of those children who feel underprivileged and forgotten about, the hope for a happy and successful future. I want to cultivate the minds that were just like mine - that are just as capable of mine.

How can I continue with my education, when there are those who don't even have the very foundation they deserve? How can I continue to take advantage of my economic status without giving myself to those who are less fortunate? Why should I be so selfish - when I have the ability to improve the lives of others, in so many other aspects rather than their health?

All of this is what has lead me to my new stance on life, I used to think that medical school was my only option, but now I know that there is so much more the world has to offer me, and I have to offer the world. I have a lot to give and I'm tired of feeling as though I am a failure if it's not through medicine. I'm not saying that I writing medical school off forever, but I am acknowledging the fact that there are so many experiences I have yet to have and so much growing that I need to do. I need to live outside of the safe future that is reserved for those who are born lucky, and help show those who weren't that they are just as capable and deserving of success as the rest of us.

I will learn from them, just as much as they will learn from me. Teach for America, I have my eye on you.