This parsha is a famous one. We cross the Red Sea and rejoice that God has brought us out of Egypt and drowned the Egyptians with their horses who were pursuing us. But I want to pull three things out of this very famous portion that is only really known in broad strokes around Passover: carrying those who have passed away with us, God's guidance, and joy.
At the beginning of the portion, when the Israelites are preparing to leave Egypt, Moses takes Joseph's bones out of the ground so that Joseph can leave Egypt with his people as it was meant to be from the oath that he swore. And we can take our ancestors and those we have lost with us as well. There's a quote, from Harry Potter, of course, that says that the "ones who love us never really leave us, you can always find them," so whether you believe that those we have loved and lost are looking down on us from some sort of afterlife or if they are held in our hearts and in our actions and in the love that we give others, as Moses took Joseph's bones, the core essence of him, with the Israelites as they left slavery, we can take those people with us as we march, as we love, and as we live our every day lives.
Second, in a world that seems a little bit messy (okay, maybe a little is a tad bit of an understatement), it's hard to think about God guiding us in a simple way as God does in this parsha. God "goes before" them as a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, so that the Israelites never lose their way in the wilderness. There doesn't seem to be so much of a guiding cloud or light at this moment, so I think we have to find that guidance in ourselves, in our prayers, in our friends, our mentors. I know that for me, many of the people I look up to have been my guiding pillars: they have shown me that it is possible to go the way that I want to go coming from the place I was afraid would close that door. So maybe God is showing Godself by guiding us, we just aren't looking for it in the right place. In my opinion, we should be looking for God in each other because after all, aren't we all made in the image of God?
A few weeks ago, a few days before the inauguration of our 45th president, I watched a video that was entitled Joy is a form of Protest, made by a lovely Youtuber who was struggling, as many of us are, to figure out how to take care of ourselves in this new world, and this parsha, especially the Song of the Sea, Shirat HaYam, reminded me of this idea of joy. Joy seems pretty hard to find these days. Turn on any news network, open any social media feed, it's all bad news, but I think we need to start looking for the joy, looking for the small Yitziot Mitzrayim, exoduses from Egypt. Celebrating the small victories like finishing a paper or helping a friend with a problem or getting to spend Shabbat free of all the bad news and just celebrating with those around us. I don't know if we are going to get an Exodus on the scale of the Torah anytime soon, all I know is that we have to try to find some joy while we fight for freedom.
Saturday, February 11, 2017
Monday, February 6, 2017
Yad Vashem, Har Herzl, and How We Think About Memory
Human memories are not always the most accurate. We idealize the past often, but we also sometimes tend to horrorize it, especially those times that are times of tragedy. On one of our last days in Israel, we went to Yad Vashem, the Israeli Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem which triggered a longer train of thought for me: How do we remember the Holocaust (or other deaths or tragedies for that matter) without forgetting to celebrate life? One of the things that I like about The Kaddish Yatom, the Mourner's Kaddish, is that it does not mention death. Instead, it is all about celebrating life and praising God for life.
And that's what I learned in the first room of Yad Vashem. We need to remember that the people who were killed in this horrific tragedy were people just like you and me. They had their own cultures, music, food, tradition, and relationships. They are not the bodies found at Auschwitz or the emaciated people in the camps. We collectively decide what we want to remember about these people. Most Holocaust museums show more of the death and less of the life, and I don't know how I feel about that.
Later that same afternoon, we visited Har Herzl, Israel's military cemetery which, at the top of the hill, the Har, has the grave of Theodore Herzl, a man who was incredibly significant in the imagining of the state of Israel. But as one walks down the hill, passing the graves of past prime ministers, one comes to the graves of the ordinary people who were killed in battle, and there are a lot of them, and more and more are added. Sometimes, when we are not confronted with these kind of things, instead of with just the numbers on a page. Only we forget about the complexity of the lives of every single person. I just think we should think long and hard about who and what we remember and why. And we must not forget to remember not only those in our own lives, but those who are in danger of being forgotten.
And that's what I learned in the first room of Yad Vashem. We need to remember that the people who were killed in this horrific tragedy were people just like you and me. They had their own cultures, music, food, tradition, and relationships. They are not the bodies found at Auschwitz or the emaciated people in the camps. We collectively decide what we want to remember about these people. Most Holocaust museums show more of the death and less of the life, and I don't know how I feel about that.
Later that same afternoon, we visited Har Herzl, Israel's military cemetery which, at the top of the hill, the Har, has the grave of Theodore Herzl, a man who was incredibly significant in the imagining of the state of Israel. But as one walks down the hill, passing the graves of past prime ministers, one comes to the graves of the ordinary people who were killed in battle, and there are a lot of them, and more and more are added. Sometimes, when we are not confronted with these kind of things, instead of with just the numbers on a page. Only we forget about the complexity of the lives of every single person. I just think we should think long and hard about who and what we remember and why. And we must not forget to remember not only those in our own lives, but those who are in danger of being forgotten.
Saturday, January 28, 2017
Don't Tell Me How To Feel: What Not to Say: Mental Health Edition
"Of course it is happening in your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"
-Albus Dumbledore
A few months ago, I wrote a blog post about what not to say to people with chronic illness. You can go read that here if you missed it, but here, I want to talk about mental illness more specifically. Now I'm not a psychologist, but I've been living with mental illness for a quite a few years now, and I have a couple of things to say(and not to say).
1. Don't Say: "That doesn't make sense; your meeting/presentation will go fine. Don't worry about it"
Anxiety is a green little monster (why green I have no idea) that claws its way around my body especially during times of transition or anticipation. It doesn't matter how many times the logical part of my brain tells the monster that nothing is wrong. I don't need you to tell me that nothing is actually wrong or that I will get my work done because I know that. I am very well aware that I am freaking out over nothing, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm freaking out. Also, I'm going to hazard a guess that the person hat you are talking to knows that even if they don't finish the research paper or embarrass themselves at a meeting, things will turn out okay in the end. The problem is convince the green little monster of that.
Say: "Your feelings are valid. I know that the anticipation is the hardest part."
Anxiety and depression are mean. They are monsters inside of your body, controlling your thoughts, coopting your brain as you try to fight them back with every coping skill that you have. Anxiety also feeds on uncertainty, so the certainty of having a friend/mentor/colleague who is validating is unbelievable helpful. It is positively terrifying to feel as if you are not in control of your own brain; if fact, it makes you feel like you belong in an insane asylum. Recognizing the validity of someone's feelings can make all the difference.
2. Don't Say: "Wow, you really have it all. There's no way you could have depression/anxiety/panic disorder. "
I might be too good at hiding the fact that I struggle with mental illness. So good in fact that a lot of people don't believe me when I talk about, and this may be because I tend to talk about it with a smile on my face, but I AM NOT SUPERWOMAN. Noone is. On the outside, I work very hard, but some of that hard work is fueled by anxiety and insomnia. Everyone including the one with the sparkly eyeshadow and beautiful planner can still be hurting inside. Telling someone that they "have it all" takes away their ability to have a "bad day" and feel okay about staying home from work.
Say: "Great job on that program/presentation. I'm really impressed with how you got so much done."
Complimenting one tangible thing is nice, and it removes the pressure of every part of me having to be "pretty to the public." I can run a great program, and then go home and cry for no reason. Sure, that's not the most pleasant experience, but it's better than feeling like a fraud because everyone thinks that you are perfect.
3. Don't Say: "I don't think I can handle talking to you about this. Are you talking to a professional about this?"
First of all, I know that this one almost always comes from someone who loves me. I assume that it is said out of fear of losing me or whoever you are talking to. These things are scary to talk about, but even scarier to feel. And yes, if the person is a danger to themselves or others, by all means, get them professional help. But, if the person who you were talking to felt alone beforehand (which, spoiler alert, they probably did because mental illness tends to do that), you just made them feel even more isolated. This one especially irks me when it is said by those in caring professions or who have offered to "be there no matter what."
Note: This one can also be communicated in uncomfortable looks or body language. These things are just as bad.
Say: "I don't know how to be most helpful in this situation. What would be best for you?"
Professional help is important, for me as well as many people who struggle with mental illness; non-professional help or help in a different context is also super important because it makes me feel like you care. Having these kinds of people in my life is what has kept me here. They are the ones who were shoulders for me to cry on or sounding boards at the end of a crappy day.
It's okay to not know what to do. It's just not okay to make me, or anyone else who is struggling feel more alone. So ask. It's as simple as that. Maybe all the person needs is a cup of coffee or a hug, or someone to sit there and tell them that they made it this far and they should be proud of themselves.
4. Don't Say: "That happened weeks ago. Why are you still thinking about it?"
Have you ever tried to control your thoughts? It's freaking hard, and if I could, I would. Now imagine doing so with little monsters running around trying to make you think about all of your mistakes or losses or problems that happened in the past. Pain is pain. It takes time, and you can never know what underlying issues the person has that are affecting how they are feeling. There is no timer on feelings--although oh my goodness, that would be amazing.
Say: "I know it still hurts. I'm here for you with whatever you need."
It hurts because it mattered. I can't change how I feel about whatever happened. It still hurts. The validation of my feelings is really helpful in and of itself. Additionally, some mental illness characterizes itself with repetitive thinking patterns, so I will have the same thoughts over and over again against my will, no matter how hard I try to stop them.
Thank you so much for reading. Please leave your thoughts in the comments below.
-Albus Dumbledore
A few months ago, I wrote a blog post about what not to say to people with chronic illness. You can go read that here if you missed it, but here, I want to talk about mental illness more specifically. Now I'm not a psychologist, but I've been living with mental illness for a quite a few years now, and I have a couple of things to say(and not to say).
1. Don't Say: "That doesn't make sense; your meeting/presentation will go fine. Don't worry about it"
Anxiety is a green little monster (why green I have no idea) that claws its way around my body especially during times of transition or anticipation. It doesn't matter how many times the logical part of my brain tells the monster that nothing is wrong. I don't need you to tell me that nothing is actually wrong or that I will get my work done because I know that. I am very well aware that I am freaking out over nothing, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm freaking out. Also, I'm going to hazard a guess that the person hat you are talking to knows that even if they don't finish the research paper or embarrass themselves at a meeting, things will turn out okay in the end. The problem is convince the green little monster of that.
Say: "Your feelings are valid. I know that the anticipation is the hardest part."
Anxiety and depression are mean. They are monsters inside of your body, controlling your thoughts, coopting your brain as you try to fight them back with every coping skill that you have. Anxiety also feeds on uncertainty, so the certainty of having a friend/mentor/colleague who is validating is unbelievable helpful. It is positively terrifying to feel as if you are not in control of your own brain; if fact, it makes you feel like you belong in an insane asylum. Recognizing the validity of someone's feelings can make all the difference.
2. Don't Say: "Wow, you really have it all. There's no way you could have depression/anxiety/panic disorder. "
I might be too good at hiding the fact that I struggle with mental illness. So good in fact that a lot of people don't believe me when I talk about, and this may be because I tend to talk about it with a smile on my face, but I AM NOT SUPERWOMAN. Noone is. On the outside, I work very hard, but some of that hard work is fueled by anxiety and insomnia. Everyone including the one with the sparkly eyeshadow and beautiful planner can still be hurting inside. Telling someone that they "have it all" takes away their ability to have a "bad day" and feel okay about staying home from work.
Say: "Great job on that program/presentation. I'm really impressed with how you got so much done."
Complimenting one tangible thing is nice, and it removes the pressure of every part of me having to be "pretty to the public." I can run a great program, and then go home and cry for no reason. Sure, that's not the most pleasant experience, but it's better than feeling like a fraud because everyone thinks that you are perfect.
3. Don't Say: "I don't think I can handle talking to you about this. Are you talking to a professional about this?"
First of all, I know that this one almost always comes from someone who loves me. I assume that it is said out of fear of losing me or whoever you are talking to. These things are scary to talk about, but even scarier to feel. And yes, if the person is a danger to themselves or others, by all means, get them professional help. But, if the person who you were talking to felt alone beforehand (which, spoiler alert, they probably did because mental illness tends to do that), you just made them feel even more isolated. This one especially irks me when it is said by those in caring professions or who have offered to "be there no matter what."
Note: This one can also be communicated in uncomfortable looks or body language. These things are just as bad.
Say: "I don't know how to be most helpful in this situation. What would be best for you?"
Professional help is important, for me as well as many people who struggle with mental illness; non-professional help or help in a different context is also super important because it makes me feel like you care. Having these kinds of people in my life is what has kept me here. They are the ones who were shoulders for me to cry on or sounding boards at the end of a crappy day.
It's okay to not know what to do. It's just not okay to make me, or anyone else who is struggling feel more alone. So ask. It's as simple as that. Maybe all the person needs is a cup of coffee or a hug, or someone to sit there and tell them that they made it this far and they should be proud of themselves.
4. Don't Say: "That happened weeks ago. Why are you still thinking about it?"
Have you ever tried to control your thoughts? It's freaking hard, and if I could, I would. Now imagine doing so with little monsters running around trying to make you think about all of your mistakes or losses or problems that happened in the past. Pain is pain. It takes time, and you can never know what underlying issues the person has that are affecting how they are feeling. There is no timer on feelings--although oh my goodness, that would be amazing.
Say: "I know it still hurts. I'm here for you with whatever you need."
It hurts because it mattered. I can't change how I feel about whatever happened. It still hurts. The validation of my feelings is really helpful in and of itself. Additionally, some mental illness characterizes itself with repetitive thinking patterns, so I will have the same thoughts over and over again against my will, no matter how hard I try to stop them.
Thank you so much for reading. Please leave your thoughts in the comments below.
Monday, January 16, 2017
On Freedom: Thinking about Religion and Race
Every year, I struggle with what to think or do on MLK Day. This day is not about me. It has never been. Posting MLK quotes on Facebook seems inconsequential. So I do my best to listen to those around me, and to stand with Black Lives Matter and other organizations that are fighting for freedom. On Friday night, I listened to my Rabbi talk about the fight for freedom that MLK strived for. I listened to rabbis speak about social justice, but none of it felt right. But when I was cleaning my room when I came back to school, I happened upon my copy of Religion and Race, an essay by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, written in 1963. Before I even got to the essay, I saw a quote from Ruth Messinger that I had written at the top: "We cannot retreat to the convenience of being overwhelmed. " We do not have the luxury of being overwhelmed. I kept reading.
And as I reread this essay, having only looked at it a few months prior, I found greater meaning. Perhaps it is because we are about to swear in a president who was endorsed by the Ku Klux Klan. Heschel speaks of the responsibility that we, as religious people, have to right racism which he equates to satanism. He asks the question of "How many disasters do we have to go through in order to realize that all of humanity has a stake in the liberty of one person; whenever one person is offended, we are all hurt." And I found myself asking, how many? How many shootings? How many have to die before we start paying attention and fighting for justice? We are taught in Judaism that we shall not stand idly by the blood of our neighbors, so why aren't we fighting? Heschel speaks about a "leap of action," a move in the exact opposite direction of what is easy to do what is right. We must push the arc of the world toward justice as much as we can.
I thought about empowerment and remembered something a rabbi said about telling people to pull themselves up by their bootstraps after they have lost faith in themselves and lost hope. I think about how to empower by listening, to empower in a way that is not patronizing or condescending. And in terms of this, I want other peoples' input. I am here. I am present, but I don't know what to do. Heschel was writing a long time ago, making his words about religion and race more and more potent. I will continue to pursue justice and to keep my eyes and ears open, and I will do my best, in a world that feels broken beyond repair, to build this world from love.
And as I reread this essay, having only looked at it a few months prior, I found greater meaning. Perhaps it is because we are about to swear in a president who was endorsed by the Ku Klux Klan. Heschel speaks of the responsibility that we, as religious people, have to right racism which he equates to satanism. He asks the question of "How many disasters do we have to go through in order to realize that all of humanity has a stake in the liberty of one person; whenever one person is offended, we are all hurt." And I found myself asking, how many? How many shootings? How many have to die before we start paying attention and fighting for justice? We are taught in Judaism that we shall not stand idly by the blood of our neighbors, so why aren't we fighting? Heschel speaks about a "leap of action," a move in the exact opposite direction of what is easy to do what is right. We must push the arc of the world toward justice as much as we can.
I thought about empowerment and remembered something a rabbi said about telling people to pull themselves up by their bootstraps after they have lost faith in themselves and lost hope. I think about how to empower by listening, to empower in a way that is not patronizing or condescending. And in terms of this, I want other peoples' input. I am here. I am present, but I don't know what to do. Heschel was writing a long time ago, making his words about religion and race more and more potent. I will continue to pursue justice and to keep my eyes and ears open, and I will do my best, in a world that feels broken beyond repair, to build this world from love.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Wincing My Way Down Masada: Chronic Illness in Israel
Day 2 of the 10 day trip: I got up in the morning, screwed around on my phone because the kibbutz we were staying on at that point had good internet, took a shower, taped my feet to protect the sores on the bottoms of them, went to breakfast, stood up, felt a sharp pain in my left hip, sat back down, took Advil and continued with my day. When someone asked me if I was okay, all I said was this: "That's just what decided to hurt today." I did Birthright Israel, a ten day trip for Jewish 18-25 year olds, and I did it with chronic pain.
I want to make a point of saying this: I didn't have any pain-free days on this trip, although some were certainly easier than others. And I haven't had any pain-free days at any point in the past (that I can remember at least). I am not saying this to ask for your pity; I am saying this because I want to make it clear that I am writing this blog post to be open about my own life with the hope that this might make someone who is considering not going on Birthright due to a chronic illness reconsider their decision. It was by no means easy, but it was absolutely worth it.
Chronic illness, especially while traveling with a large group of people, is complicated. You don't have much time to yourself, meaning that it's very hard to hide how you are feeling, and you get a lot of questions if you wear any of the signs of pain on the outside. Additionally, there is a constant struggle between the desire to take in every experience and push yourself to have as much fun as possible in the limited time that you have and the need to take care of yourself and not end up crying on a park bench due to pain, mental or physical. And I am by no means an expert at balancing these two things, although I am a little bit proud that I didn't actually sit out of anything substantial on this trip due to pain. In some ways, I was lucky that I only had to deal with chronic pain. I know how to deal with chronic pain (at least that's what I tell myself), but a large amount of my trip did get the flu and have to sit out of things. I think it comes down to this: the pain you can deal with is also the pain that you have gotten used to. I don't like having to deal with chronic pain, but it's a fact of my life, and I now know, that if I can make it down Masada, I can make it through anything with my beautiful, broken body.
End Note: Thank you thank you thank you to Tamar Brendzel and Cindy Spungin, the chaperones on my trip for bearing with me when the pain was too bad to walk, for asking how I was doing at periodic intervals and just making sure that I felt supported and okay with how I was feeling for the whole trip. I can't thank either of you enough.
I want to make a point of saying this: I didn't have any pain-free days on this trip, although some were certainly easier than others. And I haven't had any pain-free days at any point in the past (that I can remember at least). I am not saying this to ask for your pity; I am saying this because I want to make it clear that I am writing this blog post to be open about my own life with the hope that this might make someone who is considering not going on Birthright due to a chronic illness reconsider their decision. It was by no means easy, but it was absolutely worth it.
Chronic illness, especially while traveling with a large group of people, is complicated. You don't have much time to yourself, meaning that it's very hard to hide how you are feeling, and you get a lot of questions if you wear any of the signs of pain on the outside. Additionally, there is a constant struggle between the desire to take in every experience and push yourself to have as much fun as possible in the limited time that you have and the need to take care of yourself and not end up crying on a park bench due to pain, mental or physical. And I am by no means an expert at balancing these two things, although I am a little bit proud that I didn't actually sit out of anything substantial on this trip due to pain. In some ways, I was lucky that I only had to deal with chronic pain. I know how to deal with chronic pain (at least that's what I tell myself), but a large amount of my trip did get the flu and have to sit out of things. I think it comes down to this: the pain you can deal with is also the pain that you have gotten used to. I don't like having to deal with chronic pain, but it's a fact of my life, and I now know, that if I can make it down Masada, I can make it through anything with my beautiful, broken body.
End Note: Thank you thank you thank you to Tamar Brendzel and Cindy Spungin, the chaperones on my trip for bearing with me when the pain was too bad to walk, for asking how I was doing at periodic intervals and just making sure that I felt supported and okay with how I was feeling for the whole trip. I can't thank either of you enough.
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
Fantastic Beasts and How to See Them: Harry Potter and Mental Illness
I was listening to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix the other day, and I was thinking about ways that Harry Potter could be connected to mental illness. It's common knowledge in the Harry Potter fan community that JK Rowling wrote the dementors as an allegory for depression, they suck the soul out of you, leaving you alive, but without the ability to feel and they make you remember all of your worst memories.
But I think other comparisons between magical creatures and mental illness can be drawn. Thestrals, the winged horses that pull the carriages up to Hogwarts, are analogous to trauma. One can only see them if they have seen someone die, so in the beginning of Order of the Phoenix, Harry can see the thestrals for the first time, and he feels like he is going mad because only Luna Lovegood can see them as well. Trauma often leaves a mental or emotional mark on a person, making signs of said trauma visible very clearly to the person who has suffered, but not to anyone around them. Sometimes, people are able to relate to each other, as Harry and Luna are in this passage, because they have shared similar trauma, and they can both "see" and "understand" it, just as the thestrals seem very real to them.
The second connection that I noticed, and that my therapist has pointed out to me many a time is the idea of the boggart, introduced in Prisoner of Azkaban, as a metaphor for anxiety. The boggart is a shape-shifting creature that transforms itself into whatever the viewer is the most afraid of. For example, Ron's boggart turns into a giant spider because he is afraid of spiders. The instance of the boggart that is most akin to anxiety is Molly's boggart in Order of the Phoenix though. She sees all of her family members dying one by one, becoming more and more distraught as she continues to see the worst case scenarios. The only way that one can get rid of a boggart is by using the Riddikulus spell, a spell that turns the boggart into a humorous version of the thing that you are afraid of, and sometimes, the only way to conquer anxiety is by laughing. It's really hard to continue to be anxious if you are laughing. Trust me, I've tried. I'm sure that there are connections that I have missed, so I'd love it if you could leave them in comments, and I'm looking forward to doing more posts like this in the future.
But I think other comparisons between magical creatures and mental illness can be drawn. Thestrals, the winged horses that pull the carriages up to Hogwarts, are analogous to trauma. One can only see them if they have seen someone die, so in the beginning of Order of the Phoenix, Harry can see the thestrals for the first time, and he feels like he is going mad because only Luna Lovegood can see them as well. Trauma often leaves a mental or emotional mark on a person, making signs of said trauma visible very clearly to the person who has suffered, but not to anyone around them. Sometimes, people are able to relate to each other, as Harry and Luna are in this passage, because they have shared similar trauma, and they can both "see" and "understand" it, just as the thestrals seem very real to them.
The second connection that I noticed, and that my therapist has pointed out to me many a time is the idea of the boggart, introduced in Prisoner of Azkaban, as a metaphor for anxiety. The boggart is a shape-shifting creature that transforms itself into whatever the viewer is the most afraid of. For example, Ron's boggart turns into a giant spider because he is afraid of spiders. The instance of the boggart that is most akin to anxiety is Molly's boggart in Order of the Phoenix though. She sees all of her family members dying one by one, becoming more and more distraught as she continues to see the worst case scenarios. The only way that one can get rid of a boggart is by using the Riddikulus spell, a spell that turns the boggart into a humorous version of the thing that you are afraid of, and sometimes, the only way to conquer anxiety is by laughing. It's really hard to continue to be anxious if you are laughing. Trust me, I've tried. I'm sure that there are connections that I have missed, so I'd love it if you could leave them in comments, and I'm looking forward to doing more posts like this in the future.
Monday, December 5, 2016
Finals Week: I Think We're Doing It Wrong
It's finals week here in college, and the atmosphere of stress is palpable. But here's the thing: people seem to spend much more time talking about how much they have to do and how stressed they are then they do working. And it seems to be a competition of who has more work to do or who got less sleep last night (I don't sleep often anyways, but that's besides the point). And I can't help but feeling like we're doing it wrong. It's almost gotten to the point where I'm afraid to ask people how they are.
First of all, come on people, take care of yourselves. Eat meals, not just popcorn, ramen, and nutella from the jar. Try to get some sleep. Take a shower. Hang out with your friends. Go to the gym. Take a breath and watch some youtube videos. Do the things that make you feel like a person. Your work will get done much more efficiently if you spend small amounts of time working instead of 5 hour study sessions where you don't actually get that much done.
Second, plan your day. Then you can be less stressed and get things done. I'm not good at explaining this, but this video is, so go watch that if you have a few minutes.
We need to stop jumping on one another. Stress is not a competition. Don't blame people for not having their work done. Don't blame people for being stressed. Don't blame people for getting their work done. Try to remember that learning is the point of all of this. All of us are just doing the best we can.
On a related note, I've been struggling a little bit over the last few weeks (I am open about my struggles with chronic illness, you can read more about that here), and there have been days when I haven't been able to get out of bed. This, as you can imagine, is very frustrating for someone like me who loves to plan because I can never know whether or not I'm going to be able to get work done. And I recognize that this is not my fault, but when you ask me why I'm not more stressed or why I haven't finished some piece of work, I feel guilty for having illnesses that keep me down.
This competitive stressful atmosphere is hurting us all, despite the fact that I am very happy to be at Brandeis where this only happens for one to two weeks a year as opposed to all the time, and we need to work to take care of ourselves, to forgive ourselves for our faults and wasted time and to love one another. Best of luck to all of you if you are taking finals, and have a great week even if you're not!
First of all, come on people, take care of yourselves. Eat meals, not just popcorn, ramen, and nutella from the jar. Try to get some sleep. Take a shower. Hang out with your friends. Go to the gym. Take a breath and watch some youtube videos. Do the things that make you feel like a person. Your work will get done much more efficiently if you spend small amounts of time working instead of 5 hour study sessions where you don't actually get that much done.
Second, plan your day. Then you can be less stressed and get things done. I'm not good at explaining this, but this video is, so go watch that if you have a few minutes.
We need to stop jumping on one another. Stress is not a competition. Don't blame people for not having their work done. Don't blame people for being stressed. Don't blame people for getting their work done. Try to remember that learning is the point of all of this. All of us are just doing the best we can.
On a related note, I've been struggling a little bit over the last few weeks (I am open about my struggles with chronic illness, you can read more about that here), and there have been days when I haven't been able to get out of bed. This, as you can imagine, is very frustrating for someone like me who loves to plan because I can never know whether or not I'm going to be able to get work done. And I recognize that this is not my fault, but when you ask me why I'm not more stressed or why I haven't finished some piece of work, I feel guilty for having illnesses that keep me down.
This competitive stressful atmosphere is hurting us all, despite the fact that I am very happy to be at Brandeis where this only happens for one to two weeks a year as opposed to all the time, and we need to work to take care of ourselves, to forgive ourselves for our faults and wasted time and to love one another. Best of luck to all of you if you are taking finals, and have a great week even if you're not!
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