Tag Archives: high school

2020 Seniors, You Can Do This

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I’ve enjoyed looking at everyone’s senior photos from back in the day trending on social media. I also understand that although the intent is to encourage the Class of 2020 amidst the coronavirus quarantine, with a laugh at our expense, it could end up hurting as well as helping. In an effort to help, I’m adding my senior photo to the worldwide yearbook to offer hope for today’s graduating seniors.

Seniors, you can do this. You can graduate (however that looks) and go on to live a full and productive life reaching your goals and realizing your dreams.

Looking at myself in the photo, I don’t even remember my senior year — or 10th or 11th grade. I never attended one high school dance, including prom, due to crippling social anxiety. Pep rallies, extra-curricular activities, field trips, and basically anything outside of structured class time sent my anxiety into a tailspin.

Bucking tradition, I did not attend my high school graduation. Rather, I walked into the school office that summer and picked it up from the secretary who found it tucked away in a file cabinet.

Why did I skip it? I could not emotionally handle hearing classmates’ family and friends clap for them as they walked the stage; or seeing everyone take photos afterwards and enjoy parties for themselves and their friends knowing I didn’t have an audience for me. I was merely trying to find the strength to get out of bed and take a shower every day.

My mom was dying of breast cancer my entire junior year. I spent as much time at the hospital as I did in class. She passed away the summer before senior year, and twice divorced, there was no father in my life.

My grandparents and sister were grieving the loss of my mom as much as I was in their own ways. Frankly, I spent any extra energy apart from daily survival on trying not to fail math.

Years later, I found a letter from the principal congratulating me on my academic success of my senior year. I have zero memory of those days, so seeing I made honor roll was a shock. The letter was addressed and written to “The parents of…”

I was one of those students who fell through the cracks. The school evidently did not realize I had no parents and that my grandparents signed on as legal guardians to keep me out of foster care my senior year since I didn’t turn 18 until August after graduation.

My boyfriend broke up with me to date my best friend during my mom’s illness. Within a week of her death, life began to free fall and all I could do was watch frozen in horror.

As a minor, I had to legally vacate my childhood home and our belongings had to be sold in an estate sale to pay off family debt. I was forced to put down my 13 year-old dog (my 4th birthday present and BFF) because the stress of everything caused her to starve herself. She was emaciated beyond help and having to end her suffering was one of the worst moments of my life. My cat ran away, and the only mentor I had in the whole world announced they were moving out-of-state for a new job. Friends told me my life was a trainwreck and they didn’t know what to do with me.

I totaled my ’74 car (which had been my grandmother’s, then my mom’s, then mine), which meant losing my driver’s license and gaining a probation officer with community service hours to work off — the night before my mom’s funeral.

All of this happened the summer before senior year. I had nothing and no one except Christ, my sister’s hand-me-downs, and ironically, an empty hope chest.

I was devastatingly lonely, had no college fund to rely on, and began to struggle with an eating disorder as a result my mom’s death — with which I still wrestle.

There is always a story behind the smile.

I read a Facebook post regarding ancient senior photos floating around the world wide web which said today’s seniors don’t want to see others’ senior years in tact. *In tact* is a huge assumption.

No life is perfect. Every life has a story. It’s what we do with our story that paves our journey forward.

2020 Seniors, your grief is real. Your feelings are valid. Do not deny yourself working through the loss of your senior year. In your grieving, I encourage you to stay there only as long as necessary to heal.

Use grieving to help you take the next step forward. 

From someone who spent more time wanting to die than live because of trauma upon trauma, with no coping skills or outside help, I can tell you that you get to choose what you do with this senior season.

You can let it destroy you, or you can tap into strength you did not know you have and lean on God in ways you did not think possible.
Not only can you make it through this, but you can emerge stronger, more determined and more focused than you ever imagined on what you want for your next chapter.

Want to know what I chose to do instead of attending my graduation? I got on an airplane with my (then) boyfriend and flew from Florida to New York to meet his family. Four years my senior, he served in the Air Force and his mandated leave time overlapped with my graduation.

I had a choice. I could either attend graduation, which highlighted what I didn’t have while unresolved grief & social anxiety swallowed me alive walking across a silent stage, or forego tradition and take a leap into my future to meet a family who I already knew would be my future family.

He and I celebrated 30 years of marriage last month. My decision then was absolutely the right call and I would make the same decision a million times again. They welcomed me into their family when I was 17 and I married at 19.

We worked hard. He worked day, swing, and midshifts full-time with full class loads and I worked two jobs and took day and night classes. We put ourselves through college debt-free with every cent we had plus scholarships and grants we earned. I completed my B.A. four years later. He completed his B.S. the year after.

We bought our first home when I was 21. A tiny foreclosure on a cul-de-sac, our nicotine-drenched, ripped wallpaper, nasty bathrooms, abandoned house needed a lot of love. It was our little nest, and we slowly remodeled it room-by-room while working and going to school.

If someone had told me only four years earlier at 17, when I didn’t know what home address to put on my high school contact card, that I would own my own home — I wouldn’t have believed it.

If someone had told me when I skipped my high school graduation that I would go on to earn my bachelor’s degree and graduate on time — I couldn’t have believed it.

What I knew that night, donning a black silky robe and balancing a mortar board on my head, as I waited to take my turn to walk the university stage with my husband, grandparents, sister and her then boyfriend (now husband) and our best friends cheering for me in the stands, is that God can most certainly redeem what was lost.

The loss may be irreplaceable — as nothing could bring back my mom or replace everyone and everything ripped from my life — but if we stay in a posture of being willing to receive the gifts God has planned for us, and we continue to take a new step forward each day, then our hearts and lives can be genuinely full to overflowing with good things. Soul-filling, goal-accomplishing, dream-realizing things. Things beyond what we could ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20).

An awesome, fulfilling and rewarding life is possible after traumatic loss. 

During my junior year of college, someone I highly respected flat out told me that I would never graduate. They genuinely did not believe in me and it broke my heart in ways that silently hemorrhaged for years. I chose to extend forgiveness toward that person, and felt a personal cathartic release proving them wrong, as I shook hands with faculty on the stage that night.

Moving my tassel from right to left was a symbol that I did it. God gave me the strength and work ethic and I used all of it to run through that finish line.

I skipped my high school graduation because I was embarrassed and overwhelmed that I didn’t have a traditional posse cheering for me. One thing I’ve since learned is me cheering for me was enough. Accomplishing a goal is personal. And when I walked the stage to receive my college diploma, I was eternally grateful for those who came to cheer me on, but most of all I looked to heaven and gave thanks to God that he completed a work in me and we did it together. (Phil. 1:6)

Everyone’s journeys looks different. My husband and I were blessed to rear three kids who have grown into amazing adult children whom I highly admire. They have my heart.

One out-of-state move, three houses, multiple jobs, and being blessed to live out our heartbeat for international missions and relief work, I never could have dreamed that God would raise up beauty from ashes in the brokenness of my life. All glory goes to him.

He is absolutely the God of the impossible and only asks we trust him and take the next step that he puts in front of us.

2020 Seniors, I know inconsolable grief. Overwhelming loss. Desperate disappointment. Uncertain futures. Gripping fear. Unquenchable loneliness. Paralyzing hopelessness. Catastrophic helplessness.

I also know that you have the choice to allow how much this surreal season affects your present and future. I know there is purpose for you. I know there is an entire world waiting for you. A world who needs you to do what you were born to do. And I know that you have the power to choose whether this season breaks or benefits you.

If you’re quarantining in your home with those you call family; food in your pantry; an education to continue online or otherwise; and you have one friend who misses you; and a sport, club, volunteering or work that you miss, then you already have everything you need to graduate abundantly blessed.

Embrace what you have. Trust God that he can work for your good if you give it all to him, including your grief. Choose to let this season make you better, not bitter.

Keep looking ahead. Keep stepping forward. Take Bruce Lee’s advice and “Be water, my friend.” You can do all things through Christ who strengthens you. (Phil. 4:13) And keep smiling, knowing the best is yet to come.

Untangle the web of lies – loss & labels (re-posted from April 14, 2012)

Per request, this blog entry is being re-posted.

May God use it for his glory. ~ Kristi

**********************************************

Labels.  We all wear them.  Some labels make us feel like we’re on top of the world.  Others plunge us into an endless abyss.  Teens are among the hardest hit by labels.  In middle school, (what I affectionately call The Cannibalism Years) guys and girls spend their energy jockeying for a position of acceptance at least and popular at best.  In high school, labels are still clearly present, but for those who have survived the “lord of the flies” experience of middle school, teens emerge with a little more knowledge of who they are and what they want. Scars may be internal, external, or both, but I wildly applaud those who graduate middle school and are still standing when the first day of high school hits – as long as they haven’t left a trail of casualties leading to their success.

Labels during these years change like the wind.  Popular, freak, cute, funny, smart, nerd, jock, quiet, dweeb, stupid, pretty, weird, shy, daring, promiscuous (the nicer word), and  invisible – are a few off the top of my head. Depending on the day’s events, some of those labels are encouraging and uplifting.  Others push teens to the brink of wanting to end their life.  Oh the power peers have over each other.  (sigh)

Other labels aren’t so easily gained or lost.  Some are branded onto teens without their consent or permission.  Divorce, poor, orphan, and victim are a few.  I remember a teen in my high school that looked as though every day was his last. He was always dirty, his clothes were way too small, greasy hair, and he wore shoes that barely held together.  I cannot remember his name.  He was invisible.  He was poor.  He was never given a chance.  I often wonder what became of him.  I wanted to say something to him like, hello, but never found the courage because I didn’t know what to say after hello.  He wore his label on the outside. Everyone knew it and ostracized him for it.

My labels were internal, but just as isolating.  I was a product of two divorces, sub-par family finances, and a mom who was dying.  What do teens say to that?  You’re a train wreck and we don’t know what to do with you, was one encounter I vividly remember.  I went to a large public high school filled with people who had more money than we did.  It wasn’t just that we were a single family trying to survive on a secretary’s salary, it was that my mom spent my entire junior year in and out of the hospital with cancer. Unable to work during portions of the year, I really have no idea how our bills were paid – my grandparents helped, I assume, and debt accumulated.

While many classmates had predictable schedules, homes, extra-curricular activities and parents to buy them poster board needed for a project or sign a permission slip or drive them around to friends’ homes and parties, my day went something like this: Sleep at my grandparents’ house, get up, go back to my house, shower, get dressed, go to school, leave school and go straight to the hospital to be with my mom.  There, I made great friends with the stiff, cold vinyl chair in her room in which I did my homework and watched tv while she slept.  One night, with books opened on my chest as I was slumped back in the chair, the nurse came in, tapped me on the shoulder and woke me up.  She said in a soft voice, Honey, go home.  Get some rest.  She doesn’t even know you are here. Although I appreciated her kindness, her words pierced my soul.  All of this is for nothing? I asked myself.  I gathered my books and drove back to my grandparent’s house in a sleepy daze just to start it all over again the next day.

Nobody knew this because nobody asked.  All I looked like was a disheveled mess.  There wasn’t a parent to tell me, You need a hair cut, or Your shoes need replacing, or You don’t look so good, do you feel okay?  My mom was simply trying to stay alive.  She told me once after a hard chemo treatment, The only reason I am alive is for you girls.  You are my reason for living.  

At a time when I didn’t know if she was going to live, and if not, what would happen to me, I was still straddling a world of teenageness where I needed to absorb academic material for tests, not be tardy for school, and keep from falling asleep in class.  I got so angry at other classmates when I overheard their whining about boys, cars, parties, and the latest gossip.  I thought, You don’t have a clue what life is about.  Your stupid little problems are NOTHING on the scale of life.  Get over yourself.  I kept those thoughts to myself so I wasn’t run out of town – or at least out of school.  I was completely unable to identify with anyone at my school – but desperately, secretly wanted to.  If others were having similar life-threatening problems at home, they didn’t share them.  None of us did.  Why?  Because who wants to be around high-maintenance teens?  No one.  In this age of life, teens are incredibly self-absorbed.  It’s normal in their development.  But “freaks” (as I saw myself) like me had a daily inner struggle with wanting to be a typical teenager, but at the same time being forced to be an adult – handling grown-up problems on my own with no dad and a dying mom. (breathe)

I remember at the end of my junior year, everyone was talking about prom.  Oh good grief, I thought.  Can this issue just please go away?  Is there any other high school event that singles out social groups, money and popularity more than prom?  My first limo ride (and only limo ride to date) was to my mom’s funeral barely after my junior year ended.  In the limo I thought, While everyone is taking their first limo ride to prom, I’m taking mine to my mom’s funeral.  

Since we’re being honest about feelings, which is what this blog is about, I’ll mention another extremely painful memory that may surprise some who haven’t walked this road.  The end of summer before my senior year.  Why?  That’s when moms (or dads) take their girls shopping for school clothes.  I can still smell the stale mall air as if it were yesterday, and I remember watching the girls that went to my school walk the mall with their moms and their shopping bags while I sat numb on a bench sipping a Sprite.  As a girl, this hurt almost as much as not having been validated by the male influences in my life in yesterday’s blog.  It seems like such a superficial thing, but digging deeper, to me it was more about not being able to spend time with my mom, ask her opinion on what looked good on my insecure body, and such a time would be a sort of send-off to my senior year that would have been affirmed by my mom.  This one step would have felt like a natural progression toward the beginnings of her letting me go.  Instead, she was ripped from my life by a horrific disease, and I had to let her go.

My mom had died just 2 months before, and I was now living with my grandparents to avoid foster care.  They loved me.  I loved them.  But, it was their daughter who they just buried.  We were all broken and didn’t know how to fix each other, so we just went to our own corners and licked our wounds.  They were from the Depression Era.  They were frugal and financially wise.  A senior in high school is not.  Whether it be they had no concept of buying school clothes because they A: were too deep in their grief; B: too frugal to see the physical need; C: too out of touch to see the social need; or D: a combination of these – the bottom line was I began my senior year in my older sister’s hand-me-downs.  Yes, I am thankful I had clothes to wear at all, but these were nothing to brag about.  They were old and tired.  I didn’t have the nerve to ask my grandparents for new ones, so I wore them without a word.

In high school, when you don’t look the part, you don’t get the part.  It’s really hard to be accepted into social groups where you stick out like a sore thumb.  I didn’t dress right; I didn’t have the right car (I drove my grandmother’s 1972 Cadillac which was defaulted to me from my mom when she died); I didn’t have a home to invite people over to, and I didn’t have parents to take my friends and me to fun places like to the beach or a music concert like others had.

Did I feel sorry for myself?  No.  I couldn’t go there.  If I had stopped for one second to think about the enormity of what was happening to my life, it would have swallowed me whole.  My life felt more like a Jason Bourne movie, where one thing happens after the next and you can’t blink or even go to the bathroom because if you turn away for a second, there is something around the corner that’s going to get you.  In many ways, I felt like it already had.

Today’s blog is dedicated to all of the BRAVE young men and women who are fighting for their lives, or a loved one’s life, today.  I want you to hear the Truth – circumstances do NOT define you.  Don’t believe the thoughts or people that tell you they do.  You are not a label.  You are a person – loved by God.  

By God’s grace, you CAN get through this.  People asked me, When are you going to get over your mother’s death and move on?  I was so offended!  If you love someone, you don’t “get over” their loss, but you can get through it.  It’s too much to handle alone.  Seek trusted help to confide in.

There is more to say on how to deal with teen labels of loss and trauma, and on this blog we’re not afraid to talk about it, ask tough questions, or simply admit I don’t know.  This issue is real for a lot of teens, and every single one of you count.  You are important.  You are loved.  Your feelings are valid, and you need to know you are not alone.

<<Check out the companion song to this blog on my Tunes page!>>

Untangle the web of lies – loss & labels

Labels.  We all wear them.  Some labels make us feel like we’re on top of the world.  Others plunge us into an endless abyss.  Teens are among the hardest hit by labels.  In middle school, (what I affectionately call The Cannibalism Years) guys and girls spend their energy jockeying for a position of acceptance at least and popular at best.  In high school, labels are still clearly present, but for those who have survived the “lord of the flies” experience of middle school, teens emerge with a little more knowledge of who they are and what they want. Scars may be internal, external, or both, but I wildly applaud those who graduate middle school and are still standing when the first day of high school hits – as long as they haven’t left a trail of casualties leading to their success.

Labels during these years change like the wind.  Popular, freak, cute, funny, smart, nerd, jock, quiet, dweeb, stupid, pretty, weird, shy, daring, promiscuous (the nicer word), and  invisible – are a few off the top of my head. Depending on the day’s events, some of those labels are encouraging and uplifting.  Others push teens to the brink of wanting to end their life.  Oh the power peers have over each other.  (sigh)

Other labels aren’t so easily gained or lost.  Some are branded onto teens without their consent or permission.  Divorce, poor, orphan, and victim are a few.  I remember a teen in my high school that looked as though every day was his last. He was always dirty, his clothes were way too small, greasy hair, and he wore shoes that barely held together.  I cannot remember his name.  He was invisible.  He was poor.  He was never given a chance.  I often wonder what became of him.  I wanted to say something to him like, hello, but never found the courage because I didn’t know what to say after hello.  He wore his label on the outside. Everyone knew it and ostracized him for it.

My labels were internal, but just as isolating.  I was a product of two divorces, sub-par family finances, and a mom who was dying.  What do teens say to that?  You’re a train wreck and we don’t know what to do with you, was one encounter I vividly remember.  I went to a large public high school filled with people who had more money than we did.  It wasn’t just that we were a single family trying to survive on a secretary’s salary, it was that my mom spent my entire junior year in and out of the hospital with cancer. Unable to work during portions of the year, I really have no idea how our bills were paid – my grandparents helped, I assume, and debt accumulated.

While many classmates had predictable schedules, homes, extra-curricular activities and parents to buy them poster board needed for a project or sign a permission slip or drive them around to friends’ homes and parties, my day went something like this: Sleep at my grandparents’ house, get up, go back to my house, shower, get dressed, go to school, leave school and go straight to the hospital to be with my mom.  There, I made great friends with the stiff, cold vinyl chair in her room in which I did my homework and watched tv while she slept.  One night, with books opened on my chest as I was slumped back in the chair, the nurse came in, tapped me on the shoulder and woke me up.  She said in a soft voice, Honey, go home.  Get some rest.  She doesn’t even know you are here. Although I appreciated her kindness, her words pierced my soul.  All of this is for nothing? I asked myself.  I gathered my books and drove back to my grandparent’s house in a sleepy daze just to start it all over again the next day.

Nobody knew this because nobody asked.  All I looked like was a disheveled mess.  There wasn’t a parent to tell me, You need a hair cut, or Your shoes need replacing, or You don’t look so good, do you feel okay?  My mom was simply trying to stay alive.  She told me once after a hard chemo treatment, The only reason I am alive is for you girls.  You are my reason for living.  

At a time when I didn’t know if she was going to live, and if not, what would happen to me, I was still straddling a world of teenageness where I needed to absorb academic material for tests, not be tardy for school, and keep from falling asleep in class.  I got so angry at other classmates when I overheard their whining about boys, cars, parties, and the latest gossip.  I thought, You don’t have a clue what life is about.  Your stupid little problems are NOTHING on the scale of life.  Get over yourself.  I kept those thoughts to myself so I wasn’t run out of town – or at least out of school.  I was completely unable to identify with anyone at my school – but desperately, secretly wanted to.  If others were having similar life-threatening problems at home, they didn’t share them.  None of us did.  Why?  Because who wants to be around high-maintenance teens?  No one.  In this age of life, teens are incredibly self-absorbed.  It’s normal in their development.  But “freaks” (as I saw myself) like me had a daily inner struggle with wanting to be a typical teenager, but at the same time being forced to be an adult – handling grown-up problems on my own with no dad and a dying mom. (breathe)

I remember at the end of my junior year, everyone was talking about prom.  Oh good grief, I thought.  Can this issue just please go away?  Is there any other high school event that singles out social groups, money and popularity more than prom?  My first limo ride (and only limo ride to date) was to my mom’s funeral barely after my junior year ended.  In the limo I thought, While everyone is taking their first limo ride to prom, I’m taking mine to my mom’s funeral.  

Since we’re being honest about feelings, which is what this blog is about, I’ll mention another extremely painful memory that may surprise some who haven’t walked this road.  The end of summer before my senior year.  Why?  That’s when moms (or dads) take their girls shopping for school clothes.  I can still smell the stale mall air as if it were yesterday, and I remember watching the girls that went to my school walk the mall with their moms and their shopping bags while I sat numb on a bench sipping a Sprite.  As a girl, this hurt almost as much as not having been validated by the male influences in my life in yesterday’s blog.  It seems like such a superficial thing, but digging deeper, to me it was more about not being able to spend time with my mom, ask her opinion on what looked good on my insecure body, and such a time would be a sort of send-off to my senior year that would have been affirmed by my mom.  This one step would have felt like a natural progression toward the beginnings of her letting me go.  Instead, she was ripped from my life by a horrific disease, and I had to let her go.

My mom had died just 2 months before, and I was now living with my grandparents to avoid foster care.  They loved me.  I loved them.  But, it was their daughter who they just buried.  We were all broken and didn’t know how to fix each other, so we just went to our own corners and licked our wounds.  They were from the Depression Era.  They were frugal and financially wise.  A senior in high school is not.  Whether it be they had no concept of buying school clothes because they A: were too deep in their grief; B: too frugal to see the physical need; C: too out of touch to see the social need; or D: a combination of these – the bottom line was I began my senior year in my older sister’s hand-me-downs.  Yes, I am thankful I had clothes to wear at all, but these were nothing to brag about.  They were old and tired.  I didn’t have the nerve to ask my grandparents for new ones, so I wore them without a word.

In high school, when you don’t look the part, you don’t get the part.  It’s really hard to be accepted into social groups where you stick out like a sore thumb.  I didn’t dress right; I didn’t have the right car (I drove my grandmother’s 1972 Cadillac which was defaulted to me from my mom when she died); I didn’t have a home to invite people over to, and I didn’t have parents to take my friends and me to fun places like to the beach or a music concert like others had.

Did I feel sorry for myself?  No.  I couldn’t go there.  If I had stopped for one second to think about the enormity of what was happening to my life, it would have swallowed me whole.  My life felt more like a Jason Bourne movie, where one thing happens after the next and you can’t blink or even go to the bathroom because if you turn away for a second, there is something around the corner that’s going to get you.  In many ways, I felt like it already had.

Today’s blog is dedicated to all of the BRAVE young men and women who are fighting for their lives, or a loved one’s life, today.  I want you to hear the Truth – circumstances do NOT define you.  Don’t believe the thoughts or people that tell you they do.  You are not a label.  You are a person – loved by God.  

By God’s grace, you CAN get through this.  People asked me, When are you going to get over your mother’s death and move on?  I was so offended!  If you love someone, you don’t “get over” their loss, but you can get through it.  It’s too much to handle alone.  Seek trusted help to confide in.

There is more to say on how to deal with teen labels of loss and trauma, and on this blog we’re not afraid to talk about it, ask tough questions, or simply admit I don’t know.  This issue is real for a lot of teens, and every single one of you count.  You are important.  You are loved.  Your feelings are valid, and you need to know you are not alone.

<<Check out the companion song to this blog on my Tunes page!>>