Mrs. Kelly Love

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Note: I drafted this months ago. Are things “better?” I am not sure. But I am alive, and that is no small thing.

*There is no framing of this, a title, or a worthy epitaph.

I think I might be having a teeny-tiny bit of a nervous breakdown. I don’t know what a genuine nervous breakdown would look like: is it thinking the yellow wallpaper is talking to me? Or palming my meds so that Nurse Ratched leaves me alone?

The other evening, I had a text exchange with a very dear friend, and I think I scared her a bit. I didn’t intend to alarm anyone. I have no plans on self-harm, and I’m not going into that gentle night quietly. I have been considering asking three women I trust, in case something happens to me before my spouse, to look after him. Two of the women have more financial means. Because if I die before my spouse, right now or within about the next three years, he’s going to be in deep poverty.

About two and a half years ago, while my father was dying, my spouse was laid off by his last employer. It was bought out by a South Asian company, he trained his replacements, and eventually they closed up shop and moved it back to India. At this time, my father was dying, as was my father-in-law. That was January 2023. My father passed in February, and my father-in-law in May.

I’ve told this story before, but now I want to add the passage of time. Things are not going to get better. There is no job. I am the only one. We are living on a teacher’s salary and meager social security. Our bills have gone up. There is no respite. We have less money and higher expenses. We used much of his 401 K to save us from other unemployment periods, help our sons with living expenses, college, etc. The new state insurance plan, SEBB, changed my life insurance policy from 100K to 35K, and my spouse’s to 10K. Our health insurance is a little over 1200K a month, and doesn’t cover many things. I have a bill for my colonoscopy, which was fully covered ten years ago, for $1500. Our prescriptions are about $250/month. We struggled to pay for our sewage bill and they put a lien on our house (we got it paid, with help). One of my student loans is due but it’s not technically mine” but my name is on it. It’s gone from 5K to 13K these past few years. I keep trying to contact them but the website and UX is horrible. Systems are failing us. The robots are in charge, and their blood is frigidly cold, with glacial water in their veins.

We are all in deep shit right now. Like, deep, hot, boiling shit. Any promise or social contract our government made has been ripped apart by the current regime.

This year, the State legislature threatened to pull the funding for the National Boards certification stipend, money that we use to survive. Not thrive. Not saving toward retirement. Catch up with old bills and live. While many of my acquaintances are on European vacations, licking ice cream surrounded by the blue skies of freer nations than ours, with adorable antiquities and

Why do I feel that Death is chasing me?

green-eyed teacher

TL:DR Yes, I know what I am doing “wrong.” I’m not focused, I’ve got too much on my mind, like — all the time, and I’m in flight/fight/freeze mode. But other folks are, too, and I will not allow myself grace or forgiveness.

This is about a few things, and I realize it will not answer questions about prêt à porter teaching ideas: I have tried, but am usually so busy perfecting the flavor of lessons, I forget to share them.

My confidence is off, and no wonder. The weirdest things just happened with my evaluation, and I have spent the majority of my spring break in three ways: 1. trying not to think about it, 2. thinking about my rebuttal and rehearsing 3. avoiding redoing it out of resentment and injustice. In the big scheme of things, it’s not a big deal, except for me — I am reflective, coachable, and fair, and –stubborn. When I am right about something, it is damn near neurologically impossible for me to not defend myself. And when someone else is wrong, and I am right, the other player (in a power position) will trigger some deep trauma in me.

Basically, the subjective perspective of some administrators regarding the teacher evaluation system is wild. Truly, truly wild.

A friend of mine just said:

“We expect educators to be trauma-informed, culturally responsive, technologically proficient, and skilled data analysts who can pivot and differentiate instruction seamlessly at a moment’s notice, all while being evaluated based on test scores and classroom performance, usually by people who have not taught in over ten years, not taught your subject, and possibly not taught your grade level, and volunteer hours are actually “mandatory”, if we want to get it all done.

Teacher-tired is a whole nother level of tired, which is why I did nothing over break, and am fine with it.”

So no, I didn’t do ‘nothing;’ I worried, I stressed, spent time updating grades, planning lessons for the fourth quarter, etc., and tried to relax, dammit. RELAX.

Now, here’s the thing: I start happy with myself — I think I’m pretty cool, and my exuberance and joy motivate and spark my life; and then– people. People who don’t get me, don’t want what I’ve got, and let me know that they are not going to connect, either explicitly or passively, are like pebbles in my shoes.

My skeptic self will take a little of what Mel has to sell, the ‘let them’ approach, and I’ll keep it in mind. What does play in my head repeatedly is “wild and precious life wild and precious life wild and precious life” like a skip in the Mary Oliver record.

@melrobbins Stop allowing other people's opinions to prevent you from living YOUR life. Let Them. Listen to The Let Them Theory, narrated by yours truly, only on @Audible ♬ original sound – Mel Robbins

Break is almost over. I want to go back refreshed. And only I can do that for myself. So what if I didn’t get to launch my teacher wares like Brian T. did when he joined Creative English Teachers? So what if I don’t make cool TikToks like some of my other friends do? So what? Yeah, so what? Those grapes are sour, Kelly — and life is truly, really, and absolutely too short.

legacy defilement

My burning question, as of this moment, this decade, is: are parents* prepared to explain to their* children why they* sold out our nation to uphold white supremacy and the defilement of our public institutions for one man*?

Of course, not ALL parents. And damn, is that exhausting.

*Yes, I know it’s more than one man.

And while I was asking this question, the ghosts in the machine brought this reel to my attention. And the list of things I studied in late 70s-early 80s high school were bereft of many hard-core truths about our nation, but one thing the teachers did teach was the Holocaust and Nazi Germany. I did not learn about Japanese Internment Camps until my 20s, though.

In high school, I did read The Art of Loving by Eric Fromm, and while I don’t believe I understood its full context at the time, I am grateful for knowing who he was.

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I am not going to list all the horrors now. We know them. Or at least should. But going back to my question: the children, adolescents, and teenagers will become young adults one day, and one day soon. And please: not for one minute do I think “GenZ” or “GenAlpha” will save us. It’s not about being “saved,” which I might argue circles right back vaulting into authoritarianism. Each generation has its own brand of rebelling against its elders, so what will it be now? I have some shadowy predictions, and some of them don’t hold a lot of hope.

This is all from my observations:

There have been the #gamergate generation of young men, and their sons, raising them in toxic, patriarchy, bro culture, which has indoctrinated many. It’s in my classroom, the worship and dismissal of Andrew Tate, Jordan Peterson, Joe Rogan, and the like. These are teenage boys. These are Rolfs.

There are LGTBQ+ children, trying to find their way, and be safe.

There are children from a wide variety of countries, while their parents immigrated here to help them. Many of our schools have met the challenge with language acquisition. I have always been proud to serve students who speak so many languages. And it’s part of the white supremacist playbook to deny others’ their language.

Our nation has terrorized Black children for centuries.

Settler colonialism nearly destroyed Indigenous peoples in this land.

And I am sincerely, genuinely asking the question: when the children are adults, what will be the reckoning of this time? As a teacher, I am censored from sharing opinions, and I would have little issue with that, except these days students, parroting their parents, think that facts are opinions. Holocaust deniers and white supremacist groups appeal to authoritarianism; Ernest Becker’s Denial of Death also spells it out. Religious cults and the submissive, complicit, bending of the knees is terrifying. And no, again, I appreciate those who have faith that is kind, brave, and just.

I mean: what we have now is a tyrant and an oligarch. The oligarch uses his small child as a human meat shield. That is who is in charge of this nation.

So, again, parents: what are you prepared to say when your children’s worlds fall apart? When they don’t have food, jobs, an education, a place to hike/camp, medicine to keep them healthy, or a future? When they’re locked up in a “wellness camp” or put to death because they have pink hair? When they get cervical cancer because you didn’t feel “comfortable” getting them preventative vaccines?

Also: learn a bit more about history:

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TRANSCRIPT: Anat Shenker-Osorio’s *actual* plan to beat fascism by Anand Giridharadas

Read a masterclass from the political sage on how to fight back against Trump II, create “social proof,” mobilize your community, stop waiting for Democrats, and start getting it DONERead on Substack

TRANSCRIPT: Anat Shenker-Osorio’s *actual* plan to beat fascism by Anand Giridharadas

Read a masterclass from the political sage on how to fight back against Trump II, create “social proof,” mobilize your community, stop waiting for Democrats, and start getting it DONE

Read on Substack

Aunt Karen

My Aunt Karen passed away a few days ago. Apparently, she had been ill and refused to get medical care, and died at home, and it took a wellness call to find out she’d been gone a few days.

Understand, when I write this, it’s only my perspective. I am sorry for my cousins. I am sorry for my mom and uncle. I am not sorry for me. I called out her toxicity decades ago before it was even a ‘thing.’

My aunt broke my mom’s heart. They were close in age and reminded me of when television shows in the 60s pulled that goofy trope where a cousin would appear, but wearing a brunette wig, and be a “twin” — think Samantha in Bewitched or Jeannie in I Dream of Jeannie. My aunt was the blonde. She was chaos.

My aunt went through a lot of trauma, as my mother and uncle. And there have been many documented studies about birth order, trauma, and ACES. Somehow, my mom managed to keep it together, and I know there was jealousy because my mom married my dad, who, in all aspects, was a wonderful man and father. My aunt did not marry a “wonderful” man. He was a sociopath, whose wake of destruction and toxicity did not limit his deeds to her and their children. I’ve written about the “one Christmas” before. And no, I haven’t forgotten about the second husband, and the car accident.

The many times my mom has been on the phone and cried.

Like a few days ago.

I think during the 90s, my aunt reconnected with an old boyfriend, who ended up being abusive as well. They lived with my grandmother and ended up pilfering thousands of dollars from my grandmother. They left her, near penniless, for my mother and uncle to take care of, which they did. Whatever inheritance my grandparents would have left was gone. The house was infested with termites and rot. My mother, and I presume my uncle, paid to restore it and sell it, and cleaned up the financial disaster.

After my grandmother passed, I know my mom reached out to my aunt to try to repair the relationship. She tried multiple times. And my aunt shunned her.

I think it was the shame, the deep, unabiding shame. Sometimes, when we witness our loved ones, including friends, in deepest pain and shameful acts, they need to desperately not acknowledge the harm they caused. They will not, cannot, maintain the connections. My mother’s life and all my mother and father worked for and achieved was a painful reminder of how she went down another path, sometimes against her will.

Reading her obituary, I see how her life was reimagined. She transformed into a doting grandmother. And I believe she was.

So, Aunt Karen, rest in peace. I will always be fiercely protective of my mother and do my best to let my heart have peace. We are allowed to revise our pasts or not confront them, I suppose, but there are always storytellers who write truth with love.

PS And I still miss Heidi (my Great Dane).

Updated: Kendrick Lamar

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I am weaving together all kinds of great ideas and paired texts for my American Lit students. Yes, I am certain I am the only one of the four teachers who teach AmLit in my building using Kendrick Lamar as a mentor text.

First, thank you to @heymrsbond for some starting questions

Imagery
Symbolism
Message

Constructive criticism lens

Corporate greed
Exploitation of Black music
Call to action

The students were given a shared Google Doc, in groups of 3-4. They watched the video and responded: NLU with names redacted

The next phase when we return from midwinter break (it’s a Washington State thing, and I love it) is to assemble a set of imagery, allusions, and paired texts and do an annotated illustrated bibliography. Stay tuned!

community

I love to write. I’ve been scribbling since I was tiny.

And it hurts.

And heals.

Creating is a paradox. We read to become better writers and we write to become better readers, all in the service of moving and navigating through this space, this world.

I came across this (at) threads:

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And it hit me hard. I am not Mormon; I do not, and have not, had a community like this outside of my job, except for the rare occasions I worked with the now-defunct Puget Sound Writing Project (National Writing Project). But now I feel isolated, siloed, and micromanaged, and it’s not healthy. It’s not healthy for me or my students, which some folks don’t understand; it’s not healthy for them, either.

At this juncture, I am desperately seeking allies and community. I can count on many friends and family members who support me and my work and others who support the communities around us. Also, my anxiety and pattern recognition of danger is through the emotional cortisol roof. I remarked the other day that I do not understand my district’s culture, or perhaps I do, and I don’t want to see it or speak it out loud.

My ask: if you are interested in building a community with me, a community that supports inclusion, diversity, equity, knowledge, love, and action, don’t hesitate to get in touch with me privately, start your own WordPress blog, come make zines with me, let’s hang out and write our congresspeople, drink coffee and eat snacks. I am open to ideas.

I am promising now: I do not care who you voted for*; I only care about your actions. If your actions harm me and my ability to provide for my family and students, I will gather my community and work to make things right.

This is a boundary. Not a threat.

PS What fresh h e double hockey sticks is this?

And so it begins…

[image or embed]
— Tim Smyth (@historycomics.bsky.social) February 2, 2025 at 9:26 AM

*I care, but I must compartmentalize that and focus on the current situation. Your vote for him is a massive obstacle to peace and love. Either help fix what you broke or get out of the way, please.

memento mori*

I dive into this post, questioning the mood and tone I’m setting.

Let me share something:

never mind

I would post a screenshot of a FB group one of my sweet sisters started when my dad had his first fall, but the thought of trolls trying to find that page and say horrible things, even though it’s a private group, is too much. He passed [redacted] just a few days after my [redacted].

Most of us who have spent any recent time on social media (Meta) know that Mark Zuckerberg has genuinely, deeply, lost his path as a human. I have many notions about why this is and how these billionaires got to this place of unmitigated greed and harm. It’s one thing to be greedy; that’s an old sin, but altogether, an atmospheric disaster of the harm they intend to cause the rest of us scaly humans. I mean, even the student who told me in early November that his mom said Project2025 wasn’t “his” (this pronoun is doing a lot of work): I must admit I said that wasn’t true, I didn’t stay “neutral” in that moment, and tried to recover as quickly as I could and say look it up yourself, but alas, had to have a meeting about it anyway. I would love to know how many teachers have had to have meetings with admin because they believed neutrality is the tool of the oppressor (Wiesel).

[Boy] students who have defended the likes of PewDeeeeeederp, Tate, Peterson, et al., and even one Ukrainian child who defended billionaires. These kids do not have a clue what is happening, but the tragedy is that many of their parents don’t either. (Which begs the question: do any of us?) They don’t know that 1:1000 is one million to one billion. They don’t know how clicks and likes feed the money jar, and it’s all consuming. The struggle to get them to feed into their OWN lives is my all-consuming challenge now.

Teachers (who should know better) on large FB groups fight back with me when I tell them factual information. So, it’s time to leave them. I’m not fighting like this anymore. It doesn’t mean I’m not fighting, but the ground rules and norms are shredded. I am well equipped to take my ball and go home.

And also, on FB, I have met and maintained friendships with some of the most remarkable humans on this planet. I still belong to Tehran American School — think about that miracle for a minute. A place I lived for a short time has a group of connected individuals who also share a time and space with me and my memories. I’ve learned so many things, and connected with friends.

But can anything good grow from salted earth? Zuckerberg started this to rate women on his campus, rooted in misogyny and sexism. Yes, MySpace was there before, and we can all bounce around platforms as they become inhospitable; I’m just trying to return to something that may not exist anymore. A stamp. An address. A “Wish You Were Here” postcard.

I know many widowed women, including my mom and mother-in-law. One friend recently shared a bittersweet and heartbreaking memory of her spouse. Now, I don’t know if I will be a widow or my spouse will be a widower, and I don’t know if I’ll be a grandparent someday or what is going to happen next– no one really does. But I’ll be damned if I don’t figure out a way to go down another path and not archive my own life. So many of us are scrambling now.

A former student who is now a young adult believes that RFK is awesome. And in a few conversations, he mentioned how biased I am. I needed to block him for my mental health because having bad-faith arguments with former students during my current situation isn’t healthy for me. I wish he and other people would understand this. Calling someone ‘biased’ isn’t the flex folks think it is.

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The techdudebrobillionaire dudes are on the launchpad to destroy our federal government, our social safety nets (which were threadbare to begin with), and physically, materially, emotionally, and spiritually harm us. This is what they consider fun.

But — all I ask is that you keep a hold of my hand, be the home we need for one another, and keep creating. That’s what I consider fun. And try as little as possible to play their game.

*Remember we must die

A Case for Reading…

TL:DR teacher friends, if you want to discuss how to get inspired again, I’m here for us all.

This afternoon, I am struggling not to fall into cynicism, and I think I’ve found an answer for myself, at least.

It’s not like we teachers haven’t been sounding the alarm for years: trauma, depression, COVID, misinformation, disinformation, and now the frightening political future that was planted decades ago is now reaching its climatic destiny, and its poison apple fruit is ready for picking. (Well, climatic in the sense of this is our generation’s boss fight, and we’ll either go down in history as just another democracy who caved to fascism or we will get it together.)

Here is where some of my hope lives, the well I’m drawing from: I’m a pretty good teacher.

I’m creative, resourceful, and care about students.

It’s been interesting to see how this care and concern now includes parents who believe, with their whole minds and hearts, the lies and disinformation: I am concerned about these students, and also there is nothing I can directly do. If some students, a small minority, but they exist, even get a whiff that I am sharing my personal political views they will go to their parents.

This is where we are now.

And the best advice when one is lost in the woods, or in this case, my own entanglement with events, is to stay put. And staying put means to look over the metaphorical map, and remember what steps worked in the past:

Creative writing assignments: use RAFTS
“Dogfooding” the lesson: anything you create or try for students, do it with them. Over winter break, I wrote an essay on To Kill A Mockingbird, kind of hated the process, so I came up with another prompt that is related but much more engaging.
Read and write: notice how it feels, and share with students. I’ve shared that reading has been a struggle for me during times of grief, stress, and distractions, and how I’ve gotten out of my slumps. The reading lesson above is what I created for both my American Lit Juniors and will share with the ELA 9th freshmen.

Angela Stockman recently posted this — she is brilliant. Ask students to document and create their own learning journeys.

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A post shared by Angela Stockman | ELA | English (@angela_makewriting)

Book Links:

Give Me Some Truth: https://a.co/d/9ZO9MPp

Stamped: https://a.co/d/74lLgtU

What my students (the boys*) need to hear

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Field Guides for the Apocalypse

I’ve often joked that the reason I love to read dystopian/horror genres is so I have a working guide of how to survive…or at least go out with dignity.

Here is a suggested reading list of some of the novels and stories that shape a slice of my worldview. These are in no order, just impact. I’m sure I’ll think of more after I post.

And yes, I continue to attempt to be an Amazon Associate, but it’s never made me a hot nickel. The book covers are linked.