Dr. Elizabeth Green

Instructional Designer, Writer, and Free Spirit

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Experiencing Shame and Compassion

October 16, 2016 by Elizabeth 4 Comments

My husband, Stewart and I went to Germany. Since I didn’t want to be a rude foreigner expecting everyone to speak MY native language, I learned enough German phrases to order in a restaurant, navigate the train systems, and translate local weather reports. Overall, the German people were warm, inviting, and friendly whether or not we spoke their language.

We travelled by train to Hamburg and schlepped our luggage from the station to our hotel. I was dreaming of soaking in a hot bath, drinking bottled water that wasn’t carbonated. Many European restaurants serve carbonated water as the beverage of choice.

We offloaded our luggage and walked to a neighborhood supermarket. As we readied for checkout, I pulled out my credit card to pay. Stewart grimaced. Germany had already switched from the magnetic swipe system I used at home to the chip system. He had seen me struggle navigating the card reader directions written in German. I explained I wanted to save my Euros for our final cab ride to the airport. I studied the person in front of me using the chip reader, trying to memorize the steps in the process.

I spoke the usual greeting, “Guten tag” to the clerk at the checkout stand. The harried 20-something woman didn’t smile back as the check-out line began to lengthen during this busy part of the day.

As she scanned my items, I inserted my card in the chip reader. I couldn’t read the German directions telling me when to remove the card or submit my PIN. My panicked brain would not retrieve the practiced German phrases. I pulled my card from the machine and handed the clerk cash. She yanked the card from my hand and barked something in German. I don’t know what she said, but it wasn’t, “Welcome to our beautiful country. May I help you?” She pushed the card back into the machine and pounded codes into the keypad.

The kind-looking man behind me gave a sympathetic half-smile. The clerk continued, louder this time. She paused. I assumed she was awaiting my response. Flustered, I could only say, “Sprechen sie English?” (Do you speak English?)

She rolled her eyes. There are some gestures that are international. Feeling the stares of those waiting in line behind me, I kept my eyes on the transation.

Stewart’s footsteps said, I told you so, as he walked toward the exit. I considered leaving my items behind and following him, but the promise of non-fizzy water and a hot bath with epsom salt changed my mind. I muttered an apology to a kind-looking man behind me, picked up the water, salt, and German chocolates, and headed for the peace and comfort of our hotel room. The week of trying to navigate a foreign culture and language was taking a toll. There was a LOT of noise going on in my head.

During the quiet of my evening salt-bath soak, I thought about the hundreds of public school students I taught who were learning a new language and culture as immigrants. I hope I was always patient and kind. But I’m sure there are times I wasn’t was overwhelmed, tired, and impatient. Like the clerk, I expected newcomers to adhere to my rigid classroom expectations. Some of my students might have taken a risk like I did to learn something new in a short time period and frustrated their classmates who huffed their impatience under their breath or rolled their eyes. I thought of the thousands of students in the schools I coach. Some of the schools educate students with as many as 50 different dialects. Considering everyone’s needs, learning styles, abilities, and language acquisition is a daunting task!

Young girl sitting on the streetJust like my experience of learning to use a credit card chip system in another language, students learning new skills, such as mathematics, computer coding, cooking, playing an instrument, or welding while practicing a new language is over-the-top difficult. Fortunate students have teachers who understand mastery takes extra time, extra practice for students and extra patience for teachers. Less fortunate students sometimes experience public shaming.

I wonder what might have happened if someone who spoke fluent German called out the clerk for her behavior? What if someone who knew both languages stepped up to help me navigate the card reader? What if someone quietly said a few softspoken, kind words to the stressed clerk? Would a small act of courage and kindness help?

The experience reminded me to be an encourager by speaking a gentle reminder when someone rolls her eyes or sneers at the teen who doesn’t fit in. I can practice courage when someone tells a racial or ethnic joke. I can model compassion to speak up for the those outside the mainstream culture; the LGBTQ student or friend struggling to fit in; the shy obese girl; the child with special needs; or the immigrant.

Have someone ever shamed you because you were an outsider?

How did your experience help you practice compassion?

Leaving Shame Behind

May 22, 2016 by Elizabeth 5 Comments

photo iPhone lost in snow

Leaving Shame Behind

I never lose my cell phone. Never. Since I work from a home office and travel frequently, my phone connects me to the office and clients. I need it for my livelihood. While travelling, I keep it close by and check it obsessively for time, flight updates, and messages from home or the office. I keep multiple chargers, one in my travel bag, one in my car, and several at home to keep the juice flowing. I never want to be out of touch when on the road. I never lose my phone until I lost my phone.

I was on my way to a family ski trip. As usual, I checked my phone multiple times while waiting to board. As the plane landed, I reached to turn my phone on to check messages. It wasn’t in the usual places, my pocket, purse, or my laptop case outer pocket. After deplaning, I searched every inch of my laptop bag without success. Since this trip was only for a long weekend, I wanted to spend every moment enjoying the family and the beautiful Rocky Mountains, not trying to locate or disabling a phone. I spent much of the evening contacting the airline lost and found department and the phone company. At bedtime, I shopped online for a new phone and made arrangements to pick it up the following morning at the phone store.

The following morning, the family took the car to the mountain to ski and I called a cab for a ride to pick up my phone, so I could enjoy the rest of the vacation. My cab driver, I’ll call him Luis to protect his privacy, slumped low in the cab, hiding his face behind his dark hoodie. I gave him the destination address for the 15-minute trip and started the usual small talk.

Me: “This is a beautiful city. How do you like living here?”

Luis: “I don’t feel like talking.”

Me: “That’s fine. I understand.”

I remained quiet. Before we reached the end of the block he said, “I thought this would be a good place to live, but I was wrong. It hasn’t been good to me.”  He began pouring out his distress about his health. He had gastrointestinal problems. He had been to multiple doctors, had a colonoscopy, and still no answers. He was sick, miserable, and discouraged.

I told him I had GI issues as well, so much so that I had surgery to remove a portion of my colon. I explained that traditional doctors saved my life, but I had to use functional medicine specialists to find the right help with my diet to get well. Luis said that he was out of money for doctors he spent it all on the tests. He used to be a happy and fun person to be around. Now, he is sick and he is a drag to everyone around him. He said his friends and family would be better off without him.

His words concerned me greatly and I knew I had only a few minutes to talk with him before arriving at our destination. Besides the time constraints, I knew Luis could not hear much chatter, as he was in depression’s pit.  Why I lost my phone became clear to me. I knew I could not hold back telling him about my son’s suicide and there was no time to gently ease into Jay’s story.

I don’t talk to strangers about something as sacred as Jay’s passing. I learned better from watching the horror on peoples faces and experiencing the uncomfortable silence that follows.  When an acquaintance makes small talk about my family, I say we have four children.   Most people don’t want to know details about our large blended-family brood. They don’t ask questions and move the conversation to something else.  I’m relieved.

I told Luis I knew something about depression, as I had been depressed myself and that my son took his own life when he was 16. I further explained, Jay was a school shooter, holding his classmates hostage with a gun, before taking his own life. Luis sat up a little straighter in his seat and lowered his hoodie to hear. He asked questions about my son’s death. I tried to express in a few words the magnitude of grief and guilt a suicide leaves behind for the family, especially the mother.

I told him there was help for his GI issues. There is evidence that the gut creates much of the serotonin, the chemical responsible for depression or feeling good. When the gut is out of balance, some people become depressed. I learned this through my recovery to better health through functional medicine specialists.

Luis asked more questions. He said he was trying to eat right and explained in explicit detail his GI distress. He spoke without embarrassment as someone would to a physician or with another human who understood his distress and the intimate intricacies of a very personal body function. Luis was discouraged because he didn’t have any money left for seeking other types of help.

I asked him if he told the doctors about his depression. He said no. I suggested he go to the emergency room and to explain how he was feeling. They could help. That was the immediate need. He wondered how they could help with depression when the issue was his gut.

Luis:  “They (the doctors) told me there was nothing wrong with me.”

Me: “You are not crazy.  Depression and GI issues are related. The traditional doctors you saw might not know this. The immediate need is to deal with depression and you didn’t tell them about this.”

Louis’ tone turned angry.

Luis: “I went to bed last night and asked for a miracle. Jesus could do a miracle. He could heal me. I asked for a miracle and expected one when I woke up this morning. Jesus could do a miracle and heal me, but he won’t.”

I felt the short ride’s time ticking away.

Me: “You wanted a miracle. Here’s your miracle. I never lose my phone. Never. But I lost my phone yesterday on the way to this city. I did not want to catch a cab this morning and spend my vacation at the phone store. I wanted to enjoy the city and the mountains. Because I lost my phone I am riding in your cab. Who else in this city would understand GI issues like I do, someone who has been there?”

Luis: “No one”

Me: “Who else would ride in your cab that understands GI problems and depression?”

Luis: “No one”

Me: “So there’s your miracle. It doesn’t look like you thought it would. It’s not an immediate healing, but losing my phone and me being in this cab with you is a miracle. Now pray for the next miracle. Look for the next small miracle. Go to the ER. Tell them you are depressed. Ask them to help you. Ask God to send the next right person to you. Sometimes miracles are one small step at a time or the right person at the right time. I know you can get well. I did.”

The cab pulled into the parking lot. I touched Luis’s shoulder and the next miracle was he didn’t recoil. I gave him a card with my contact information. I told him I would have a new phone within an hour and he could call me anytime he needed me. I would listen. I said, “I will pray for you and pray for your next miracle. Please go to the ER today.”

God used my lost phone to connect me with Luis and influence him to seek treatment.  But God also used Luis to speak to me.  I am hesitant to speak about Jay’s passing with those outside my very small circle of friends and family.  There is shame associated with mental illness and suicide. As the parent of a school shooter, I experienced this in a exaggerated way.  The media frenzy, the comments from well-meaning yet ignorant people, and the verbal attacks from just plain mean people left scars.

Most parents of school shooters go into hiding.  However, I was a self-supporting single parent when Jay died.  I couldn’t hide physically.  I had to keep my remaining family afloat financially and emotionally. I continued to work the following years as a teacher, administrator, and instructional specialists.  My fear of public shame and ridicule were compounded by concern of losing my livelihood.  So in a way, my silence was a hiding place. Meeting Luis was my divine cue to speak up.  I’m leaving my shame behind along with my lost cell phone. The new model is better anyway.

Self-care for Teachers: A Lesson from my Peach Tree

August 3, 2015 by Elizabeth 3 Comments

2010-01-01 00.00.00-312Some years the single peach tree in our garden produces so much fruit that I make enough jelly for our extended family and close friends. Other years, drought, warm winters, or a late freeze prevents the tree from bearing. Early this spring, we were delighted to see hundreds of pink blossoms turn into tiny fuzzy peaches. The bumper crop was due to the right number of cool winter nights and plenty of winter and spring rains. I counted the days until the flesh would ripen and the green fruit would morph to peach and cream, fuzzy, deliciousness. I imagined the first bite of the fully ripe fruit so juicy that the nectar would dribble down my chin. I purchased half-pint jelly jars from the local dollar store, envisioning the delight of my family and friends as we presented homemade jelly as gifts.

This year, the tree produced hundreds of peaches no larger than a golf ball. The tree dropped most of its leaves and looked sickly. I researched gardening websites to figure out what we had done wrong. Did we need more fertilizer or water? The answer was that we should have pruned some of the fruit. To be exact, we should have clipped away much of the small fruit allowing each peach six to eight inches of space on the tree. The gardening experts state that the tree cannot provide enough nutrients and water to grow the fruit the proper size. I’m concerned that our tree might not survive the remainder of the hot Texas summer and fall.
My fruit tree taught me a lesson in self-care. While I’s counterintuitive to prune and discard what looks like perfectly good fruit, sometimes I need to do so. Sometimes I do so many things that I don’t do any of them well. Pruning my schedule and my to-do list helps me focus on quality rather than quantity. What do you need to prune from your life and teaching practice?

Reasons to be Thankful for the American Education System

November 27, 2014 by Elizabeth 3 Comments

I am thankful that all children have access to an education.  It wasn’t long ago in American history that only white male children of landowners had the right to an education.  I am thankful to live in a country in which all students regardless of gender, religion, race, or ethnicity has a right for an education.

I am thankful that all children regardless of ability, disability, or handicapping condition have the right to an education.  The American system includes everyone and provides special assistance to those with physical, intellectual, or emotional challenges.

I am thankful that children in public schools may practice any religion of their choice, their family’s choice, or even practice no religion at all.  The American system does not force any individual to adopt a state-selected religion.  I am grateful for the wisdom of the leaders to set up a system that prohibits indoctrinating children and allows families freedom to choose their own faith or spirituality.

I am thankful for the homeschooling moms and dads have the freedom to choose to serve as their child’s teachers.

I am thankful that schools provide food to those students who might not have anything to eat.  I am grateful for the individuals that prepare and serve the food with kindness.

I am thankful that many communities make education a priority by providing resources for buildings, utilities, transportation systems, and personnel.

I am thankful for the arts and music programs in schools that help students find beauty and meaning in school and in life.

I am thankful for modern technology that makes the world a bigger place for students.  Students no longer have to rely on teachers, textbooks, and the school library as the primary source of information.  By using modern technology, students have a world of information available.  Student empowerment changes everything!

I am thankful that conscientious teachers even take time during the holidays for planning and creating engaging learning techniques for their students.

I am thankful that even on holidays dedicated teachers think about their students.  They hope that they are well and worry about those who do not have enough to eat or a warm bed.  While many teachers are enjoying time with family and getting some much-needed rest, a piece of their heart is with their students.

Banishing the Boogieman

October 15, 2014 by Elizabeth Leave a Comment

Boogieman (640x452)

After reading my last blog, My Son Would Have Turned 30 Today, several blog readers sent private messages to me sharing their struggles with their children who have depression or other brain chemistry imbalances. I’m honored when someone trusts me enough to share personal struggles.  It’s tough for a parent to watch their child that they love more than life itself suffer, self-medicate, get in trouble with the law, or self-destruct in some other way.

After Jay’s suicide, I received an overwhelming amount of love and support from my family, my church family, friends, colleagues from the district I worked in, and from colleagues from the school where I taught the previous school year. I received some type of sympathy message via phone call, email, card, letter, or flowers every day for a full year after Jay died.  It is such a blessing to be a recipient of unconditional love.  It’s not the norm for the parent of a school shooter.  Most go into hiding due to the negative media attention and hostility from individuals.

Since Jay’s death was so public, our family’s private life became transparent. There were camera crews covering the events as they unfolded at the school.  They were at my son’s funeral filming our family and other mourners.  My life and my son’s death were food for ratings-hungry media outlets.  Our family was not perfect by any means.  This became clear to anyone who watched or read the news.

Others knowing my frailties and failures liberate me. It was exhausting to pretend I had a perfect life, perfect marriage, and perfect children.  Having the worst happen in public allowed me to see the worst in people and survive.  Consequently, I learned that I was stronger than public ridicule, betrayal, and my own guilt.  I also learned how to forgive in a way I never thought possible.

Once my private pain became public, friends, acquaintances, and sometimes complete strangers felt it was okay to share their very personal problems with me. My life’s events made me seem human and vulnerable.  Like them, I had and still have personal heartaches and struggles.  Some individuals shared that they were in unhappy marriages.  Others confided their worries about their children’s, addictions, legal issues, suicide attempts, depression, or episodes of domestic abuse.  It’s remarkable how those who seem to have charmed lives have more going on than one can see by looking from the outside.

I learned that no one has a perfect life. Marriage partners have conflicts and sometimes divorce.  Families sometimes have job or financial difficulties.  Most families have members with addictions, brain chemistry imbalances, eating disorders, health issues, or simply a child who is more difficult to rear than the others.  Those who go to the greatest lengths to hide life’s imperfections typically have the most to hide.  They are also the ones who hurt the most.

People keep secrets because of guilt and shame. Hiding the secret gives it power.  It is like the boogieman that hides in a child’s closet or under the bed.  He is unknown and unexamined.  He grows in the dark spaces of one’s mind and disappears in the light.  Likewise, guilt and shame gain power in secrecy and lose their power when one turns on the light by sharing the secret with the right person or people.

At one time, polite society members did not talk about certain illnesses, such as breast cancer openly. As a result, women needlessly died from inability to recognize the symptoms or from fear of seeking treatment due to embarrassment or shame.  Mental illness and/or addictions are still taboo subjects.  Those who are sick suffer more than necessary because they are afraid of the sigma of mental illness.  When the pain is too much to bear, some take their own lives.  It is time for discussions about mental health to become as ordinary as discussions about any other illness.  The stigma, shame, fear, and guilt diminish in the light of frank discussions.

What do you think? When is it okay to ask to help?  What should remain private?  

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Hi! I'm Elizabeth. ...a researcher, educator, instructional designer, writer, mom, activist, and optimist, and this is my personal blog.  I mostly write about educational issues, but can get sidetracked into issues that I find interesting or timely.   Disclaimer This is my personal … Read More...

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Hi! I'm Elizabeth. ...a researcher, educator, instructional designer, writer, mom, activist, and optimist, and this is my personal blog.  I mostly write about educational issues, but can get … Read More...

From the Blog

  • Experiencing Shame and Compassion
  • Leaving Shame Behind
  • Avoiding Burnout – Getting Real About Your Schedule
  • Self-care for Teachers: A Lesson from my Peach Tree
  • Insist on Educational Excellence

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