I've heard it said that, even more than their lessons, educators teach who they are as people. Students learn about their teachers' passions, annoyances, available buttons to push, and amount of care they hold for their pupils-perhaps even more than they learn about their coursework. As a teacher, I have seen this happen. As a former student, I've learned that the most important person a student can learn about is oneself.
Of course, I recognize that academic lessons in school are necessary. I still remember the pride I felt on the day I mastered spelling that word: necessary. I feel a sense of pride each time I spell it correctly, with only one "c" but a double "s." There are also personal lessons to be learned that have a huge impact on a child's future. Failure is a frustrating but useful tool to guide a student's holistic education.
Growing up, the walls of my classrooms and libraries were covered in motivational posters about how Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team, or how Thomas Edison failed "x" number of times before he successfully lit a lightbulb. The details of those stories may be more myth than truth, but the lesson was clear: "Don't let failure hold you back. Don't give up. Keep trying."
Failures are not fun, but they can be valid and helpful experiences in shaping who a person becomes. Looking back, certain childhood failures might not seem as monumental as they did at the time. However, I certainly learned more from a few notable negative experiences than I did from any lecture. Memorable failures from my school days taught me how to trust my young self and motivated me to grow into the person I hoped to become.
During my adolescence, I experienced one such memorable "failure." It involved a good friend. Those were the days of embroidery thread friendship bracelets and halves of heart necklaces, so she was my best friend. In typical teen fashion, we started to drift apart as she became closer to a different friend who would replace me as "best." I remember feeling confused and a little desperate, willing to do whatever it took to win back my friend. Changing my hairstyle or going to parties didn't help. Laughing at dirty jokes or trying to like sports didn't help. Not even pretending I knew the band Nine Inch Nails helped. Honestly, I was probably pretty unconvincing on that one.
This all seems ridiculous now, but the fact that I couldn't hold onto a best friend made me feel like a gigantic failure. I stupidly loved decades-old music and had hair that was impossible to de-frizz. I couldn't succeed at being a girl or a teen-least of all a friend that people wanted to be with. Most of us remember sad and lonely times like that from school. It felt like I was forever doomed to be friendless and worthless.
One day the alliances of friendship suddenly shifted again. Thankfully, this opened my eyes to the fact that my friendship problem did not rest with who I was as a person. I realized how incredibly unhappy I had been pretending to be someone I wasn't. It didn't work anyway, so what was the point? In time, my world expanded, and I learned that there are many opportunities to make friends. First and foremost, I needed to be comfortable and happy with who I was. It was okay to trust myself to be me. I might not always be happy. I might sometimes be lonely. But I had the freedom and peace of knowing that a fake identity is not satisfying.
Sometime later, I had a much better friend. She was unendingly fun and truly kind. We made mountains of memories that I treasure (although they would be pure nonsense to anyone else). With her I could definitely be my odd-music-loving, frizzy, dorky self. But there was a moment in this friendship that taught me that "being yourself" shouldn't come without warning.
We were both smart, but very silly. She was better at math than I was, but she was a horrible speller. I knew that she was sensitive about her spelling. It had come up in discussion many times. I still cringe a little when I remember the day our group was talking and teasing each other and people started making fun of my friend for a basic word that she had misspelled. "You can't spell worth crap," a friend said. To which I immediately chimed in, "She can't even SPELL crap." Beat.
It wasn't a big deal in the world of insults. I only saw surprise and a tiny bit of hurt on her face for a second before she started laughing with everyone else. It was funny, but that had never before been the tone of our friendship. We didn't talk to each other that way. We told each other that we were beautiful and wonderful.
She might not even remember that moment, but I will never forget it. It was when I realized that I wasn't always "nice." I must have been delusional, but I truly didn't know until that conversation that I could be purposefully unkind to a friend. "Nice, kind, and sweet" was who I was. People had always described me this way. No one had ever said that I would be willing to betray my friend (even in a small way) for a joke. The point really wasn't that I made fun of her spelling. The point was that, in my heart, I knew that I had made this silly joke on purpose for attention to get a laugh. I knew that it would be at the expense of her feelings. I had failed my friend.
Failure is okay. It helps us grow. Michael Jordan and Thomas Edison's experiences attest to this. Teachers believe this. When pressed, even most students will admit that it's true. Frizzy-haired, smart-mouthed girls everywhere should take heart. Failure, though painful at the time, is often beneficial in the long run. I am thankful that I know how to be me. My mouth has gotten me into less trouble than it could have because of the lesson in kindness that I learned. Where would be if we lived our lives free of failure? Perhaps without any great success. Learning from failures helps us to grow in honesty as well as compassion. Those are two of the greatest successes that I can imagine.
Written by Elizabeth Rehwaldt
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Tuesday, March 19, 2019
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
What We Hate Most in Others
"You hate most in others what you hate most in yourself," Mr. Baxter said, as he looked around my seventh-grade class. Then he focused his gaze on one of my fellow students in particular. She knew those words were meant for her.
I saw her tense up. She did not take his words kindly.
Why? Because instead of allowing for her to judge another pupil with impunity, Mr. Baxter turned the tables and pushed her into a moment of honest (and most likely scathing) self-reflection.
You hate most in others what you hate most in yourself. Ouch!
I don't quite remember what it was that my classmate was upset about, or what aspect of her personality Mr. Baxter's words called her to give consideration to, but for me, the quote stuck. In fact, it has become a kind of "life axiom."
Legitimate self-reflection can be hard. It can hurt. It can burn our egos and slight our psyches. In the end, however, using axioms like Mr. Baxter's can help us have a principled view of ourselves and a more grace-filled view of the world.
Mr. Baxter's adage has become that for me. That's why when I find myself critiquing, condemning, or commenting on the shortcomings of others, his words often give me pause.
They interrupt my self-righteous disapproval and judgment of others and invite me to think about what it is that I find so annoying or aggravating about them. Moreover, they guide me into honest self-evaluation and reflection.
When I am upset with someone who I think is overreacting to a situation and stressing everyone else out, I pause to reflect on how I can often be found doing the same with my family and friends. When I think people need to take a "chill pill" and not be so worried, I try to give them some grace and note that I often find my anxiety hard to control and can be a ridiculous stress-ball over some of the simplest things in the world. When I find someone's evaluations of my work objectionable or mean-spirited, I stop and think about how some people feel that way when I level my critique in their direction.
Not letting my reflection end there I try to do a conscious assessment of my attitudes and postures toward colleagues and coworkers and appraise my relationships with friends and family.
In this way, Mr. Baxter's axiom helps me lead a more examined life, which deepens my experience of life in general. Best of all, coming clean about my character flaws, habitual shortcomings, and many missteps helps me learn how to be more merciful toward others and, in the end, more forgiving of myself.
I find this type of self-evaluation truly helpful but be warned: this axiom can be a double-edged sword.
Self-reflection and criticism are healthy disciplines, but they can turn toxic if used as a bludgeon against our own psyches. Self-evaluation and growth can be painful for mere mortals like you and me, especially if we don't give ourselves some grace. Without that, we are only left with the hate. The loathing. The self-criticism and censure. Then we are miserable, endlessly evaluating everything we do and feeling worthless, discouraged, and hopeless.
The trick is to not let valid self-evaluation turn into unfounded self-hate. That is sometimes easier said than done.
After all, with Mr. Baxter's axiom we are evaluating what we hate-in others and, ultimately, in ourselves.
To avoid the trap of self-hate, I try to turn that dislike into energy for change. It motivates me to assess myself honestly, to make a plan for persisting in healthy habits and disciplines to replace the negative ones, and to realize that in the long run wrath against myself isn't a way to wellness.
Instead of letting self-evaluation become a constant barometer of our success or failure in making ourselves a perfect person that we would admire, like, and generally want to be around, it should eventually lead us to be softhearted toward ourselves.
That's really why Mr. Baxter's axiom is so healthy for me. Just like I can't change what I hate in others, I also find it really difficult to change what I hate in myself. I've found some success and made some better choices here and there. Self-improvement is definitely possible.
But, when it comes down to it, wellness is not the same as perfection.
Wellness and healthy self-evaluation mean having an honest, but compassionate, view of others and ourselves-faults, failures, foibles, and all-and letting our hate dissolve in the face of forgiveness and charity.
So, may you use axioms like Mr. Baxter's (or your own collection of truisms) to enter into a process of honest self-appraisal. May this lead you to wholeness and health. But, may you not get caught up in self-hate. Instead, may you change what you can and give yourself grace with the rest.
May you give grace to others as you also give grace to yourself.
Written by Ken Chitwood
The old expression "Hate the sin, love the sinner" can be applied to ourselves as well. Do you find it hard to forgive yourself for past blunders?
Do you find yourself turning the flamethrower on those who commit the same errors you do?
Is there hope for self through the love of Christ?
You can let us know what you think by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
I saw her tense up. She did not take his words kindly.
Why? Because instead of allowing for her to judge another pupil with impunity, Mr. Baxter turned the tables and pushed her into a moment of honest (and most likely scathing) self-reflection.
You hate most in others what you hate most in yourself. Ouch!
I don't quite remember what it was that my classmate was upset about, or what aspect of her personality Mr. Baxter's words called her to give consideration to, but for me, the quote stuck. In fact, it has become a kind of "life axiom."
Legitimate self-reflection can be hard. It can hurt. It can burn our egos and slight our psyches. In the end, however, using axioms like Mr. Baxter's can help us have a principled view of ourselves and a more grace-filled view of the world.
Mr. Baxter's adage has become that for me. That's why when I find myself critiquing, condemning, or commenting on the shortcomings of others, his words often give me pause.
They interrupt my self-righteous disapproval and judgment of others and invite me to think about what it is that I find so annoying or aggravating about them. Moreover, they guide me into honest self-evaluation and reflection.
When I am upset with someone who I think is overreacting to a situation and stressing everyone else out, I pause to reflect on how I can often be found doing the same with my family and friends. When I think people need to take a "chill pill" and not be so worried, I try to give them some grace and note that I often find my anxiety hard to control and can be a ridiculous stress-ball over some of the simplest things in the world. When I find someone's evaluations of my work objectionable or mean-spirited, I stop and think about how some people feel that way when I level my critique in their direction.
Not letting my reflection end there I try to do a conscious assessment of my attitudes and postures toward colleagues and coworkers and appraise my relationships with friends and family.
In this way, Mr. Baxter's axiom helps me lead a more examined life, which deepens my experience of life in general. Best of all, coming clean about my character flaws, habitual shortcomings, and many missteps helps me learn how to be more merciful toward others and, in the end, more forgiving of myself.
I find this type of self-evaluation truly helpful but be warned: this axiom can be a double-edged sword.
Self-reflection and criticism are healthy disciplines, but they can turn toxic if used as a bludgeon against our own psyches. Self-evaluation and growth can be painful for mere mortals like you and me, especially if we don't give ourselves some grace. Without that, we are only left with the hate. The loathing. The self-criticism and censure. Then we are miserable, endlessly evaluating everything we do and feeling worthless, discouraged, and hopeless.
The trick is to not let valid self-evaluation turn into unfounded self-hate. That is sometimes easier said than done.
After all, with Mr. Baxter's axiom we are evaluating what we hate-in others and, ultimately, in ourselves.
To avoid the trap of self-hate, I try to turn that dislike into energy for change. It motivates me to assess myself honestly, to make a plan for persisting in healthy habits and disciplines to replace the negative ones, and to realize that in the long run wrath against myself isn't a way to wellness.
Instead of letting self-evaluation become a constant barometer of our success or failure in making ourselves a perfect person that we would admire, like, and generally want to be around, it should eventually lead us to be softhearted toward ourselves.
That's really why Mr. Baxter's axiom is so healthy for me. Just like I can't change what I hate in others, I also find it really difficult to change what I hate in myself. I've found some success and made some better choices here and there. Self-improvement is definitely possible.
But, when it comes down to it, wellness is not the same as perfection.
Wellness and healthy self-evaluation mean having an honest, but compassionate, view of others and ourselves-faults, failures, foibles, and all-and letting our hate dissolve in the face of forgiveness and charity.
So, may you use axioms like Mr. Baxter's (or your own collection of truisms) to enter into a process of honest self-appraisal. May this lead you to wholeness and health. But, may you not get caught up in self-hate. Instead, may you change what you can and give yourself grace with the rest.
May you give grace to others as you also give grace to yourself.
Written by Ken Chitwood
The old expression "Hate the sin, love the sinner" can be applied to ourselves as well. Do you find it hard to forgive yourself for past blunders?
Do you find yourself turning the flamethrower on those who commit the same errors you do?
Is there hope for self through the love of Christ?
You can let us know what you think by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
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