Showing all posts in Nurture

In Culture, Nurture, Personal Growth, University

Learning French

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Learning French

This spring, I’m learning to trust the process in my beginner French class. Like the Anthropology class I took last semester, I dreaded having to enrol in a language class. Flailing around and feeling out of my depth is not my strong suit.

Learning a language requires incredible vulnerability. Every class for the first two weeks was like drinking from a fire hydrant. New verbs to conjugate in six different ways. Masculine or feminine nouns. Prepositions that shift and change when you least expect them to. And either a verbal or a written test every week.

My oh my, did I struggle. I know a lot of self-soothing techniques, so I tried saying, “It’s okay, Julianne. You don’t have to get an A+ in every class. You can’t graduate without 2 intro language classes, so all you have to do is get through it.” None of this lovely wisdom sunk in.

Until the third week of my condensed French class (I’m attending 2 classes per week for a total of 6 hours, plus 90 minutes of language lab where we practice conversing in a smaller group). I felt my usual anxiety spike in the lecture when the new words and grammar rules came at me like a slingshot, but suddenly I realized that in a few days it would settle in and I would be fine.

I’d like to get a t-shirt printed with this slogan on it: In a few days this will settle in and you will be fine. I’ve become fooled by the digital immediacy of modern life, where I hit a button and I get an instant result. Our human process does not work like this and will never work like this. When my brain is overwhelmed in French class, it begins to shut down, but a few days later, the information is not so impossible to understand.

There has to be a lesson here for all of us. We must stop confusing real life with digital life. As human beings, we will forever lurch along like cave people when we learn new skills. I’m endlessly working on accepting this. It’s not as pretty or organized as I’d like, but when I’m brave enough to be vulnerable in my mistakes, I actually learn.

I’m astonished at the amount of French I’ve learned in five weeks. But the bigger take-away is improved patience with myself. Trusting the process means that we might not get it NOW, but we will eventually get it. Most days, that’s the best we can hope for. Gentleness and grace works more miracles than stress and blunt force.

One week to go and then I’ve got the summer off from school for the first time in two years! I can hardly wait.

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth

Releasing Those We Love

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

When I practice releasing those I love, I think about Cheryl Strayed’s beautiful phrase, “Acceptance is a small, quiet room.” Those words soothe me, every single time.

Today I need to hold this idea close, as William left this morning with 70 over-excited grade 7 kids on an outdoor ed camping adventure. My son is not a person who enjoys rugged outdoor activities, new culinary tastes, sleeping away from home or doing anything remotely challenging or stressful. These factors all added up to why he desperately needed to go.

When I dropped William off with his sleeping bag, pillow and suitcase in the gym, one of the grade 7 teachers said to me, “These kids are anxious because they think about stuff instead of actually doing it.” I’ve been spouting a version of this for years and intellectually I know it to be true, but the emotional pull of our children’s fear is a powerful magnet for a parent.

When the trip was first discussed at a meeting early in 2019, several parents gasped audibly when the teachers said NO cell phones would be allowed on this outdoor ed trip. We’ve all become accustomed to reaching our kids to check in or help them solve problems. The concept of the kids being on their own for three days is a harder sell in our texting world than it would’ve been in my own childhood thirty-some years ago.

I know he’s going to do fine. They all will. At thirteen, kids need to practice building memories and skills apart from their parents. Jason was willing to sign up as a chaperone, but William insisted he wanted to go on his own. So we took him at his word, even as the trip drew closer and his anxiety began to bloom.

These next three days are a wonderful opportunity for me to release William. He’ll need to solve his own problems, create his own memories, confront his own fears. We’ve helped him get to this point, and we believe he’s ready for this step (even if he’s not entirely sure). I will continue to think about him, wondering how his activities, meals and bedtimes are going, but I will stay in that small, quiet room of acceptance.

As parents, we have to practice for the next stage along with our beloved kids. We cannot hold on, begging them to stay small and dependent. The job is to nurture a dependent baby and turn them into an independent adult. Each step the parent and the child takes toward this goal is important, so that when the day comes for them to pack up and move out, we have all improved at releasing those we love to find their own way.

In Culture, Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking

Use Your Voice

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Use Your Voice


At one of the teachers’ conferences I spoke at in February, I realized the importance of using my voice. It’s not hard to see how valuable it can be to share ideas and resources in a formal workshop setting. I’m all in for that, but the learning I experienced came during a speaker’s luncheon in a beautiful hotel meeting room.

I had finished all of my sessions for this conference and I felt tired, yet elated. My flight home to Vancouver was leaving in a few hours, the sun was shining in Calgary, and my sessions had been productive and stimulating.

The soup, sandwich, potato chips and brownie on my plate were delicious. I chatted casually with the five other people at my table, all wearing “Speaker” badges. We asked about each other’s sessions. One was a math teacher and another ran a foundation and spoke about their charity.

One man explained that he was female at birth but transitioned to a man in early adulthood and now he spoke on his experience as a trans man to promote kindness and acceptance. I told him that I had new material this year called The Future is Female where we brainstormed ways to create a fairer world outside of patriarchal systems with their focus on domination and power.

The two women at the table nodded and looked interested as we ate. The mood at the table was gentle and warm. Then the man to my right spoke up. He said, “We have to go really slow when we talk about change. For older people, societal change is hard and we have to be sensitive to that. These things take a lot of time.”

Years ago, I would’ve agreed or nodded or even stayed silent. It’s certainly what everyone else at the table did. In a split second, I noticed how the air had changed between all of us. Suddenly it felt thicker, heavier, colder.

I thought about the courage of the trans man at our table to invest money and time in procedures to match his outside appearance to how he felt on the inside. He travelled around to conferences to speak to others about his complicated journey, promoting tolerance and acceptance, and still he had to listen to a person advocate for sensitivity to those having a hard time with societal change.

“No,” I said, somewhat forcefully. “The time to be slow and sensitive has passed. I’m a woman, and I want equality now. I can’t wait any longer. And the comfort of white men is no longer a driving concern, particularly when women, the LGBTQ+ community and people of colour have had to bear the incredible pain of sexism and bigotry for far too long. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for men to behave just a little bit better, be a little bit kinder, and work a little bit harder too so that we can have a fairer world for everyone.”

Glancing to my right, I could see that the middle-aged white man who made the comment was now angry. His neck flushed red. He opened his mouth to argue with me, but I didn’t feel interested in debating this with him. Thankfully, my plate was empty. I stood, wished everyone good luck with their afternoon sessions, mentioned I had a plane to catch, and walked out of the lunchroom.

I don’t know if anyone carried on the discussion when I left or if they all breathed a sigh of relief that I was gone and the tension quickly dissipated. It doesn’t really matter to me. I believe that silence is violence. I spent too many years not using my voice when I heard something I disagreed with. I didn’t want to cause trouble or rock the boat. But now I’m teaching on these subjects, and I want my life to look like my workshop sessions. I want to be the change I wish to see in the world.

We all have a voice. It’s time to start using it. Living small is not going to get the work done. Yes, it will be uncomfortable sometimes. That’s okay. Silence is violence. Our collective voices, used together, carry power.

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Speaking

Enough

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Enough

In 2018, I was determined to live into the idea of being enough. To slow down, to settle in, to rest in the notion that more of anything was not the answer to this particular question. What I needed was to look around and appreciate what I already had.

I experienced varying degrees of success with this goal. Overall, when I look back over the last year, I can see that I’ve made progress. Like all growth, it’s slow and messy and often gruesomely ugly. But it’s there.

We were in Victoria last weekend for me to speak at a teachers’ conference, and on the ferry home I watched Jason lean forward to whisper something to Ava. She pushed her headphones back to listen, then she smiled. William stopped whatever he was doing and inched closer to hear the exchange. I didn’t hear what was said and it doesn’t matter, but in that second my priorities shifted and crystallized to reveal to me that I am enough for them and they are enough for me.

Those of us with less-than-stellar childhoods tend to work ourselves to the bone for the approval of others. We can feel like frauds, or like we don’t belong in certain company, and this “otherness” drives us to prove that we belong. In essence, we are constantly striving to earn our keep, but unconditional love doesn’t require a list of our accomplishments. It says, “You are enough, just because you exist. You matter regardless of how thick or thin your resume is. Come in, sit by the fire, get warm and cozy. You are safe here.”

My whole life I’ve been waiting to have those words sink into my soul and remain there. I said them for decades, but failed to believe them. I poured the idea of being enough into a bucket but the bucket was shot through with holes: insecurity, fear, shame, imposter syndrome, competition. It’s taken me a long time and a shitload of effort to plug those holes so the water will hold for a bit in the pail. This is the work of a lifetime, but inching closer feels damn good.

I’m going to turn 46 very soon. Being halfway through life (if I’m fortunate) offers a meaningful perspective. I don’t want to waste more time worrying about what I can’t control. It’s time to  stop incessantly striving toward my goals without pausing to enjoy what I’ve achieved to this point. I want the courage to just be the person I’ve fought so hard to be. And know that this is more than enough.

In Books, Culture, Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking

The Gentleness Cure

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
The Gentleness Cure

I had the privilege of presenting 3 sessions to BC Drama Teachers in Vancouver last week for their annual conference. We talked about building a moral conscience, what we can learn from risk and failure, and developing emotional resilience. These teachers inspired me. Every one of them was willing to dive in with both feet and whole hearts, offering up valuable insights and demonstrating what true courage looks like by being vulnerable.

The world is a dark place in the late stages of 2018, but this simply means our individual lights must burn brighter. When we make it a little farther down the path of growth and development, it’s on us to turn around and shine our flashlight so the next person knows where to step.

I’m working on something new in my own heart. It’s called gentleness. I’m intentionally trying to soften up my hard edges toward people I don’t understand and don’t like. In my conference sessions I talk a lot about holding the dignity of every person as a top priority in every interaction. I say, “Every person is worthy of love and has someone who loves them.” When a person drives me bananas, I work on seeing them as a vulnerable and defenceless child, trying to reach a toy on their tiptoes and accepting help from a caring adult.

In theory, this gentle approach works to dampen down my frustration and round out my harsh, judgemental edges. In reality, I often fail at this. I am meaner than I would like to be. We live in a polarized culture, where people take a position and hammer one another over the heads with it. I long to opt out of this cycle, but far too often I get on Twitter or Facebook and my heart begins to harden instead of soften.

Those teachers inspired me because they are in the trenches every day with students and parents. They walk a fine line of trying to mentor the students in a healthy manner while recognizing that their own lives and schedules need fine tuning. We are all struggling, in one way or another, and kindness is a better balm than criticism.

Perhaps it comes down to the oxygen mask philosophy (yet again). If I don’t look after myself, I cannot help you, because I’m passed out on the floor while the plane loses altitude. It feels a bit like our collective societal decency plane is rapidly descending to the ground, but the answer is not found in despair. It’s found when we commit to the tools we need to help ourselves, and then others, rise up.

I wish there was an easy way to manage this, but of course there isn’t. Easy doesn’t produce long-term, real results. Only struggle does that. Our fast-paced, wait-for-nothing modern existence has truly failed us when it comes to personal development and maturity. These things need time, failure, heartbreak, support and frustration. We have to change our expectations for immediate results in these areas. We need to wait, and hurt a bit, and these things are incredibly healthy for us.

I love speaking at conferences because it forces me to put my own fancy words into practice. Instruction is meaningless unless it is backed up with action. If I’m not living what I’m advising, no one should listen or care. But when we honestly live out our struggles, naming them to one another in a safe space, our authentic experiences provide a strong foundation to live from.

Gentleness, friends. To ourselves first, and then to others. Make sure you have enough oxygen. Rest this weekend. Read a good book (I recommend Dare to Lead by Brene Brown and Almost Everything: Notes on Hope by Anne Lamott). Turn off social media with all of its hand-wringing and doomsday predictions. Eat some Halloween candy. Hold the dignity of every person you interact with as a holy sacrament. Practice the courage of vulnerability and authenticity. Find a cure in being gentle.