If you can't say anything nice...

OK, so first things first.  I have a job!  I have accepted an offer as an assistant teacher at a very reputable preschool.  It is full-time, the hours are firm, I don't have to take work home with me, and I will be eligible for health benefits in 3 months.  The icing on the cake is that my son (I'll be calling him Chatterbox since this is a public, not a private blog) can be in their after-school program and will be in the same building with me every afternoon.  How cool is that?  I start on Monday - woo-hoo!   I have experienced a long period of unemployment in the past (about 8 months to be exact), so I was hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst in this job search.  I feel very, very blessed to have found something quickly that I think I will love doing and that will help me in reaching my eventual life goals - more on that subject later.

I immediately shared the news with two of my best friends, who reacted exactly as best friends should.  Excited, congratulatory, happy.  And, given that a great perk of this job will be brief access to my son each afternoon, I couldn't wait to tell him about this new development too.

I walked into his classroom that day, and he greeted me in his usual fashion...huge smile, screams, "MOMMY!" then takes a running leap into my arms for a bear hug.  It is not an exaggeration to say that this is my favorite moment of every day.

So, I couldn't wait to tell him the news, and I thought that his teacher that he has had for the past year would appreciate the awesomeness of the news as well.  I do want to preface the rest of the story with this:  his teacher (let's call her Debbie Downer in this story) did not know that I have been unemployed for the last two weeks, but she did know that the demands of my job have been extreme over the last year.

"Mommy wants to tell you some great news," I said to Chatterbox as we sat down at one of their little munchkin tables in the classroom.  "And I want Debbie Downer to hear it too." (OK, it sounds weird when I use the alias in context, but go with it).  "Mommy has a new job that starts soon.  I am going to be a teacher at a school like this one, and every day after school, a really cool bus will pick you up from school and then bring you to the school where Mommy works, and you can play there until it's time to go home (as I'm talking, Chatterbox is smiling, trying to put it all together, but clearly happy).  And Mommy will be able to see you when you get off the bus and we'll be able to go home together a little earlier!

Then I looked up at Debbie Downer, expecting the same expression on her face, ready to share my excitement with an adult and mother that has not only made the same career choice, but truly cares about my son.

But her face was not happy.  It was all squinched up, a tad confused and - dare I say - disappointed.

Without even hesitating, she responded, "I don't know if that is going to be good for either of you.  You are really going to have to make some big adjustments financially with that kind of work.  If you are going to be a teacher, it would be so much better if you would do something where he could just come straight home from school instead of going to childcare."

I stared at her for a moment, all the joy sucked out of the moment, and seriously considered a strongly worded response.  Or a right hook.

Instead, I took a deep breath and responded, "Well yes.  That would be better.  But that is not the option I was offered.  Unfortunately, I don't have the luxury of not working full-time right now."

One would think this would end the conversation.  Alas, no.

"I just think this is going to be hard on him.  So much change all at once," said Debbie Downer.

"Well, considering I was let go from my job unexpectedly, I really was in a position to be aggressive about finding something else.  I am actually happy about this change, because if he has to be in an after-school program, at least I can be right there to check on him whenever I want," I said evenly.

"Oh, I didn't realize you had been let go.  Well, I guess that's different."  Even more disapproval on the face of Debbie Downer now as she considered what a loser I must be to get myself fired.

No compassion.  No, "I'm so sorry that happened."  This was just getting more insulting by the minute.


"It's too bad that you didn't apply here.  Then at least he could remain in the after-school program someplace that he knows," responded Debbie Downer.

"Um, actually, this was the first preschool that received my resume.  I was told that there were no openings," I responded.  "But yes, I agree.  That would have been ideal."

Then I stood up to leave, because I was having a hard time not bashing her disapproving face right into the bulletin board behind her.  She backpedaled a little bit as I moved toward the door, mumbling, "Well that really does put things into a little different light.  When one door closes, another one opens..."

But I didn't say anything else as we walked out the door. 

As we made the drive home, I tried to let the anger seep out of my pores.  Then, inevitably, as it should do with any (semi-) emotionally adjusted person, it turned to something else.  The feelings that hide behind anger.

Hurt -- that she somehow doesn't appreciate my intense commitment to weigh every decision in the context of how it will affect my son.  Because how could she say things like that to someone that she believes would do what is in the best interest of her child...anything to make him feel loved, safe, and secure?  Maybe the fact that she could question my decision (after it's already been made, mind you!) shows what she really thinks of my parenting abilities.  And that hurts.

Guilt -- that, despite my good intentions and willingness to make personal sacrifices in order to protect my son or try to reduce the emotional implication of these changes, it's still not enough.  Not "good for him."  Not "ideal."  That cuts especially deep, because it is an echo that started bouncing around the first time I considered leaving my husband and still reverberates powerfully in the dark, quiet corners of my heart.  And sometimes, on an unlucky day, I reap the benefits of someone's careless words ramping up the volume on that particular sentiment.

The people that dole out these words aren't bad people, mind you...they are people that genuinely care for me or my son.  But they do serious damage purely by not thinking before they speak.


I've been watching a new TV series called Falling Skies. I really enjoy it, not just because I am a sci-fi geek, but because one of its main characters is a single dad with three sons who is trying his best to be a good father while helping to lead the human resistance against the aliens.  In the latest episode, he sees his 16-year-old ride off into a battle, tries to comfort his slightly younger son as he grapples with the possibility that he is some sort of alien/human hybrid, AND is trying to decide if it's worse to expose his commanding officer's drug problem or shatter the army's confidence on the eve of battle.  The character is played by Noah Wyle, a great actor.   He beautifully conveys the panic just beneath the surface for his character as a friend asks him what he is going to do, to which he responds something like, "I'm just trying to survive the next 8 hours."

I can totally relate.

There are no choices that I am faced with these days that end in "and they all lived happily ever after."  More often, it involves choosing the lesser of two evils...for instance, the job that puts me in a position to have more quality time with my son versus the job that offers decent pay.  Do I use this extra $20 to replace his shoes that are falling apart or to refill a prescription?  Do I duke it out with my ex-husband in court to ensure some degree of financial stability over the next 13 years or give in to his stubbornness so we can move on more quickly?

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not complaining, truly.  On any given day, I am acutely aware that I am rich when compared to most of the world's population.  I have a wonderful son, a great family and some true friends.  I live in a little house with heat and air-conditioning, and I eat three times a day.  And now I have a job!  So I know how blessed I am.  And I am very thankful.

But I also know what it means to be so battle-worn that you walk around the world like an open wound.  How difficult it is to be strong when all you want to do is put your covers over your head and pray for something else.  It doesn't even matter if it's good...as long as it's different.  To live with the knowledge that your child is hurting and there is not a single decision in the wide world you can make that is going to fix it. 

Thank goodness I've done some healing since those feelings began so many months ago.  I can weigh the words of Debbie Downer and move on.  But it still smarts to have someone say out loud that you're doing a shitty job when you're just doing your best with what you have.

So, I'd like to offer some food for thought.  I'm addressing myself as well, because heaven knows I've put my foot in my mouth more than once or failed to see someone with compassionate eyes.  What if, when we're talking to a person who seems to be floundering...someone who doesn't have it all together or maybe, by our own estimation, maybe even deserves the turmoil they're in...what if we all decided to spare them our words of wisdom?

What if we reserved our responses to this...

Is there anything I can do to help?