take a sad song and make it better.
My feelings from the previous blog post have not really changed. I’m still numb and haven’t found a renewed joy in teaching. I don’t feel like continuing with my writing, whether it be here or with the book I’ve been trying to draft. Things have really, only worsened since the school year began in August, so I felt the need to just let all my feelings out here to help me decompress. My students, for the most part, have been fabulous; however, the students who have presented me challenges are incredibly apathetic and/or insanely disrespectful. I’ve had objects thrown at me, demands, insults, and negotiations screamed at me, I’ve been recorded without my knowledge for TikTok…
It has been a long, long year.
As I write this post, I have 15 school days left with this group of seventh graders.
15 school days of daily being told by one volatile boy how weird I am and what a shitty teacher I am, just because I asked him to follow a reasonable request.
15 school days of having kids push past the teachers in the hallway as though we are inconveniencing them from their socializing.
15 school days of wondering another fight in the bus loop will break out and result in a student going to the hospital in an ambulance (as what happened just this week).
15 school days of monitoring bathroom passes and essentially, being a glorified babysitter instead of you know, actually teaching history. We’re in one of our best units yet, our Civil Rights unit, and my students could not be bothered.
15 school days of waking up at 5:45 AM so I can get to work on time.
15 school days of simply surviving.
Nothing’s changed with my dad. We argue, we still can’t agree with everything, and any choice I make in my life to him will never the one he wants…the one that will make him happy for me. I go to my parents’ house on Sunday, have lunch, make small talk, and go home. It’s just a routine, really, at this point.
For a brief while in late February, I thought I had a glimmer of hope with a guy I had started seeing. He seemed too good to be true; a bonafide Southern gentleman who took care of me, who didn’t see my faith or my anxiety/depression (and pelvic issues) as a detriment…someone who actually wanted to be seen with me in public. His communication skills were excellent, he took me on dates that I enjoyed, he sent me gorgeous flowers and encouraging texts whenever I was having a bad day…
He thought I was beautiful.
And for someone who has rarely been told she’s beautiful, for someone who struggles so much with her appearance and self-worth…who has dated men who make her feel like she is nothing…who has been with men who only viewed her as a one night stand, rather than commitment worthy…
For the entire month of March, he let me feel like I was his everything.
And the best thing of this man was that, even though there were some ideological differences, we had so much more in common, that I truly believed we could have made it work, as long as we were willing to put in effort.
Then, spring break came along…I was off from work, he wasn’t. He had, so he claimed, some busier days at work due to a coworker being out sick, and wasn’t able to go out with me as much. He still texted me, and I returned his messages…until I started to feel that my return messages were overwhelming him.
So, I gave him space and took a day to not to respond to his messages so he wouldn’t feel like I was being a bother.
When I finally broke my silence and explained to him how I was feeling…he chose to ignore me.
Eventually, we talked it out and I apologized. I thought we were okay; we spent the next week after spring break exchanging messages and planning dates once more.
Until the first Friday in April when I left work with a break-up text from him…explaining that yes, I had been annoying him with messages before I took my voluntary space. Furthermore, he didn’t appreciate the passive aggressiveness of the space I gave him, even though, clearly, he was already bothered by my texts!
There was no way of winning this argument. Either way, in his eyes, I’d messed up. There was no redemption. My texts annoyed him, even though he never actually told me this, and my way of trying to take space also annoyed him. He also claimed that my political ideologies bothered him, but this had already been addressed when we started dating. I never hid my beliefs from him, so I didn’t appreciate him using it as more ammunition to dump me.
I, however, reminded him that I had forgiven him for some awful comments he’d made at my expense…especially one about my race…but yet, he couldn’t forgive me for texting him too much when I wasn’t even aware of it…or for trying to give him space.
So, that was it with the seemingly perfect Southern gentleman. We haven’t spoken in over a month, I’m sure he’s moved on with someone who can, I guess (and hopefully) read his mind…and someone whose race he’s not bothered by. I’ve gone on a few dates here and there…but truly, this encounter has made me realize that no matter who I find, no matter what I do…
I’m still scared to fall in love again.
I’m mortified to make a mistake if I do date, because my mistake will end up not being forgiven.
I’m worried that I’ll meet another guy who will not want to meet my father, accept my belief system, or use my health concerns against me.
I keep telling myself…maybe I shouldn’t date anymore. I ask myself every day…
Isn’t it just easier, then, to live my life on my own? Is it easier? Or am I giving up? Am I settling?
My thoughts are always offered up to God. Sometimes, though, it’s difficult to let God take over…I do have my moments where I wrestle with my faith, but I know He’s protecting and looking out for me. Ultimately, my life is His will.
I would hope I’m not settling if I opt to live this life on my own. Settling would be choosing to be with a man for the sake of being with a man…not because he’s a man who makes my soul happy, respects my belief system, and checks all the “boxes” of what I’m looking for in a relationship.
At least I’m not as lonely as I was in July.
I adopted two cats who were in need of a home, and even though the tortoiseshell female, named Mamie (after President Eisenhower’s wife) is legitimately psychotic, she and her furry black haired brother, Ike (named after Eisenhower himself), have brought so much love into my heart again. I don’t feel as empty when I get home, knowing that they are waiting for me to be with them. Just this morning, I woke up with Ike, safely cuddled away in my arms, enjoying the fact that his “mama” was able to sleep in with him after an especially long and exhausting work week.
The love from these two cats may not be the type of love I’m hoping and praying for, but it’s love nonetheless, and I’m blessed they came into my life when I was really struggling back in July.
And as for my friend who fell off the face of the earth?
Well, for reasons still unknown, he decided to come back to the planet.
On Christmas Eve, I went to mass with my family. I remember kneeling on the pew and adoring the altar, decorated with fresh red and white poinsettias…and the offertory candles lit and luminous…
(Christmas is always my favorite time of year at church, not Easter. I chalk it up to being born in December; the Advent season is always so special to me for that reason, especially when the church is decorated and prepared for the birth of our Savior).
I started my prayers and thought of my friend and his daughter.
How the previous year, we’d been on speaking terms and I’d sent them Christmas gifts…
Oh, how things can change in a year, I thought, as I prayed and prepared my heart for a Christmas without being able to wish them good tidings and cheer. I wondered how they were celebrating Christmas that year and hoped they were doing well. I was focused so much on my thoughts and the beautiful altar that I didn’t even notice I’d started crying during my prayers.
I composed myself, wiped away my tears, and ended my prayers with a sign of the cross. I sat back in the pew and smiled at my family…because in that moment, despite my tensions with my father…I was with them, we were together and at peace, and I wasn’t alone.
We all spent Christmas Day as a family as well. I came over to my parents’ house armed with Starbucks iced coffees for myself and my sister, and the last few gifts I’d needed to wrap. My mama and I made breakfast tacos, we prayed a rosary as a a family after we ate, and then we exchanged gifts. I sent text messages all morning to all of my friends, but not to him, and truly had a joyous and blessed day. I went home that same night so Ike and Mamie weren’t alone, put my new Christmas gifts away, and settled in for the evening.
Then - a familiar, but unsaved number appeared in my iMessage app.
A simple “Merry Christmas.”
From him.
I was texting my friend Julie on and off that day and I told her what message I’d received.
She advised me not to text him back. To just enjoy whatever remained of my Christmas with the people who actually, you know, wanted to stay in my life.
But, I didn’t want to be a jerk. I returned his text with the same energy - two words.
Merry Christmas.
I didn’t hear anything from him for a few days and then he reached out again. We chatted casually on and off about what we’d been up to over the year; apparently, he and his daughter had also adopted a cat, so of course, I had to tell him all about Ike and Mamie. By that Saturday, he’d asked if we could grab lunch…the three of us…and I agreed.
Lunch started a little awkward, but his daughter was happy to see me (and vice versa). We then grabbed some ice cream and conversation kept flowing. The tension started to melt. It felt as though an entire year hadn’t even passed since the last time we’d spoken. When we parted, he explained why he’d ghosted…that he didn’t like that I’d called him out on him standing me up last minute when we were supposed to hang out…in January…that I’d come off as “bitchy.” I offered my rebuttal - when you’re not given any indication on the day we’d planned to get together that you couldn’t make it…and you’re the one who had to reach out to ask if everything was okay…only to find out that the reason he stood me up was because he didn’t feel like driving out…of course I’d come off as “bitchy.”
He apologized, and I did too, if my frustration had been perceived as bitchiness - however, I then asked him:
Why now, why after a year?
And to this day, I still never received a clear answer.
We’re back to our routine; we hang out, we grab lunch or dinner, we have a nice time. I feel though, like I’m still the one making the effort to reach out/text more and make the plans. Before he’d ghosted, he’d been more diligent in coordinating our hang outs and I also feel like he’d been more communicative via text.
I’m grateful and happy we’re friends again. I truly am. But right now, I am also still wondering what his motivation was in coming back after a year. If you recall from my July post…I was perfectly fine with his choice to forget about me. It wasn’t easy processing the fact that he decided to cut me off, but I spent the entire part of 2023 embracing my life with my friends who accept me…all of me…and my shortcomings. Not a day went by in 2023 when I didn’t think of him and his daughter, especially, praying that she didn’t think I just forgot about her. So to have him come back, and still not clarify and be honest about why he chose to come back…is so confusing. I don’t want to ask him or push the issue because I’m scared that’ll be license for him to walk away again.
Part of me has been living with a fear since his return that he’ll ghost me once more and I don’t want to lose them a second time. Oddly enough, despite the way we ended in 2021, he has become a dear friend, and his daughter means the world to me. He’s in my life for some reason, and although I may not know why, I do know that God put him, and his daughter, in my life (and God keeps having them come back into my life so I pray that they stay in my life) for good. I pray that we continue to be friends…that we don’t let pettiness, communication struggles, and potential significant others, get in the way of our strange, but fruitful, friendship. I just hope he’s able to make the same efforts that I do so we can continue to cultivate our friendship in the years to come.
So, life is pretty much the same as it was before July. He’s back, my dad and I can’t get along, and teaching is still stressing me out. But at least, over the course of the year, I made some new friends at work, I’ve kept true to my faith, I’ve adopted two little furry friends who bring me a joy I’ve never known, and on a brighter note:
My passport was renewed, and Lisa and I, along with one of our amazing friends from school, Michelle, are about to embark on the most epic trip of our lives.
We’re going to Europe, and I’m going to be in Normandy, France for the 80th Anniversary of the D-Day landings this summer. My bucket list item…the one that I dreamed would happen with a husband by my side…is finally being fulfilled in a way I never expected…
And like I always say, God works in mysterious ways, so I wouldn’t now want this bucket list item planned out in any other fashion. Husband who? Going to Normandy with Lisa and Michelle is how He has made my bucket list item come true, so…
Stay tuned, because I pray that while I’m in France, my joy of learning and teaching history will revive itself…and I can find momentum to truly continue my career, as well as this blog, for good.
Brace yourselves and be ready for the insanely nerdy historical posts!
many happy returns…
-kate.
