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 Identity, Personal Growth, University, Writing

Accomplishments

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Accomplishments

It can be tempting to downplay our accomplishments, particularly for women. No one wants to be a blowhard, as we’ve all met our share of those insufferable types who crow on about every little thing. The older I get, the more I appreciate quiet humility and privacy.

Having said all that, these last few weeks have brought several awards in my academic journey, and I’m reminded of how satisfying it feels to achieve a desired goal. Years ago I would’ve brushed aside my own achievements, believing that no one else would be interested in them (although I suspect the issue was mostly a lack of confidence in myself).

Over time, I’ve come to understand that part of self-care is owning my own accomplishments. Not to brag about them or hold them over anyone else, but simply to celebrate the sheer joy of hard work being recognized and honoured by someone else. When you are a writer, and the bulk of what you face is rejection, the successful moments are like stars in a cloudy sky.

For the last six months, I’ve been assembling a large portfolio for Prior Learning Assessment Recognition (PLAR). My Arts advisor identified me as a potential candidate to earn university credits for my career up to this point. PLAR involved a mountain of work, writing about learning in a variety of core competency areas plus amassing nine folders full of evidence to support that learning.

The process concluded with an hour-long phone interview with PLAR assessors right before we went on a ten-day vacation to San Jose del Cabo in Mexico for spring break. I haven’t been on a formal job interview since 1999, but I could measure how far my confidence has come in this phone call. It’s a beautiful experience to live as your authentic self all the time. I feel so certain in myself and my answers now compared to when I was younger, not because I have everything figured out but because I’m not hampered by so many disguises. I know now that vulnerability is a strength and not a weakness. To be real is my biggest goal, and it makes life so much better.

I asked for 48 credits in total toward my BA in Creative Writing and the PLAR committee awarded me 45. This significantly reduces the years I will be in university in order to complete my degree. I began in the fall of 2017, going part-time, and with this award it’s conceivable I’ll be able to graduate in the next two to three years. I find this mind-blowing, as I assumed I’d be attending for a decade.

Then this week I heard I was shortlisted as a finalist for a Creative Writing Scholarship at KPU. I applied for writing scholarships last year and didn’t place at all. This year, I applied again for three different awards and I knew my writing was stronger but I’ve also met many other writers in my program so I knew there would be stiff competition.

At the awards ceremony this week, I was astonished to hear my name read as the winner for the Creative Writing Scholarship (and later on as a finalist for an award designated for students over the age of 30). The scholarship is $1,000 in tuition but even more than that it’s a large step forward for the quality of the work I’m able to produce at this stage of my life and career. Going back to school has helped my confidence and my craft in more ways than I can even count.

And THAT is worth celebrating.

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 Uncategorized

Science Class

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Science Class

This month, I’m embarking on something I’ve never wanted to do but as it is required for my degree, I have no choice. I’m taking a science class.

I’ve decided to try Biological Anthropology, since I went to a Christian School and basically learned that the earth is around a hundred years old and God lovingly created each one of us by hand. Evolution and the origin of species are foreign concepts to me, but it feels like it’s time to pursue them.

Doing something new can be terrifying. I’m determined to push through this fear and go ahead in spite of the nervous twitches I experience in my stomach. I’m not looking forward to this class. I have a stellar GPA in my second year back to university and I don’t want to mess with it, but the point of this return to school is to learn, not to show off my shiny grades.

I spent a lot of time relaxing over the two-week Christmas break. I slept in, watched TV, indulged in delicious food and wine, read lots of books (if you haven’t read Liane Moriarty’s Nine Perfect Strangers, please go get it now and start. You can thank me later). The benefit of this downtime is a renewed energy for what’s ahead. A sense of hopefulness, even when I’m afraid, for getting on with it instead of bowing to my fear and staying in the same spot.

Treading water doesn’t get us where we want to go. Saying yes to what seems impossible is the growing edge. I’m learning to stand up and take my turn. I’d rather put something out there in the world than hang back and wish I had. Even when it doesn’t work out. Especially then, for the important lessons are usually gift-wrapped in the packaging of failure.

What are you trying for this January? What scares you? Lean in. Feel the butterflies and keep going anyway. Learn what there is to learn. I’m going to my first science class this afternoon with a brick of a textbook and a gaping hole where any evolutionary knowledge should be. But today I begin to fill that space, word by word and concept by concept, knowing that I’ll likely flounder and worry about looking like an idiot, but in the end I’ll have challenged myself and that is worth something.

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.