Real, Not Ideal

 I think the word “should” is my enemy. In my vulnerable moments, this is where I start those spirals.                 I should be able to find balance . . .                 I should be able to handle this . . .                 I should feel like I’m more prepared . . .                 I should be making more time for myself . . .                 I should be spending more time with the people I love . . .                 I should reach out to that person . . .                 I should be finding this easier . . .                 I should . . . I should . . . I should. And then I end up feeling like I’m not good enough.                   Not a good friend.                 Not a good teacher.                 Not a good daughter.                 Not a good person. Not worthy enough to feel happiness. But none of that is true, is it? It’s all because that word gets to me. It snakes its way into my thoughts. It becomes the most pervasive brain wave that makes

               I find myself tearing up a lot. I can watch a movie knowing exactly what happens and when but still end up a sobbing mess. There are quite a few songs that I cannot listen to while I’m driving because my vision will quickly become obscured by tears. Voting makes me emotional because I think about the women preceding me that would be overjoyed that I can cast a ballot. I also think about the fact that my own grandmother couldn’t vote because she was Indigenous. When a friend tells me something exciting in their life, my heart and eyes swell with pride. Sometimes, thinking about a happy memory makes me tear up out of pure nostalgia. You see, I’m a sensitive person who has a great capacity for empathy. I feel deeply. My sense of connection and loyalty to the people around me opens me up to crescendos of emotion. Whether it’s my students, my family, or my friends, I feel those feelings as if they are my own. Their stories become a part of me. They are woven int