I inhaled the earthy, fresh aroma of icey pavement and grass. My feet squished through half frozen mud until I penguin walked on thin crackling puddles, not quite ready to let go of winter’s chill.

The best thing about my walk was the birds and animals I could hear. Chirping, whistling and chattering. I always wonder what they are communicating about. Are they warning each other that I’m near or are they fighting over food? Maybe an egg has fallen out of the nest, though I quickly shake that thought away.

I eventually reached the park at the end of my street and couldn’t make it very far before two Canadian geese starting honking and crossing my path. I smile at them, shamelessly and naively believing they understand that I’m not a human they have to be nerbous around. I give them their space, and start leaning on a tree.

The tree is smaller than most others at the park but it is strong and sturdy and moving in the light breeze. I examine the tree and feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude to live so close to such beautiful things in the natural world.

I thank the tree for allowing me to lean on it and head back for my house.

This moment of gratitude and connection was what made me feel alive this week. Remembering and honouring all living things was the quickest way to do so.

xo

Teag

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Salve e benvenuti al mio primo articolo scritto solo in Italiano. Naturalmente questo scritto sara semplice e breve, ma spero di migliore con il passare del tempo.

Ho studiato lingua Italiano all’universita nel 2015-2017. Nel 2017, ho deciso di diventare un Au Pair. Incontrato una famiglia sul sito Au Pair World. La famiglia è stata gentile, disponibile e ci ha supportato nella richiesta del visto.

Sono rimasto con la famiglia per tre mesi, finché non ho commesso un errore davvero grave. Non ho chiesto visite a casa prima che la mia famiglia partisse per le vacanze. Ho portato il mio ragazzo a casa per una notte, solo per dormire. Ma il posto in cui vivevo era vicino a un aeroporto e a una scuola di aeronautica militare… la famiglia e il capo del mio padre ospitante lo scoprirono e chiesero il mio licenziamento.

Ero devastato ma comprensivo. Quella settimana ho imparato una lezione davvero importante sull’onestà, il rispetto e la responsabilità. Era ho 20 anni solo. Ho fatto cose stupide. Ma, imparato dai miei errori. Ora, non mi sognerei mai di far entrare di nascosto un fidanzato in casa di qualcuno. Mi rendo conto di quanto la mia prima famiglia ospitante sia stata gentile e meravigliosa con me. Sono profondamente dispiaciuto per il disagio e il dolore che ho indubbiamente causato loro. La mia madre ospitante, Francesca, mi ha insegnato l’importanza della famiglia in Italia e la cultura del caffè. Mi ha insegnato a guidare un’auto con il cambio manuale, anche se con riluttanza, ma me l’ha insegnato comunque. Sarò per sempre grato a loro,la famiglia che mi ha aiutato a realizzare il mio sogno in Italia.

Fortunatamente, un’altra famiglia mi ha chiesto di fargli da tata e mi sono trasferita più vicino al centro di Roma. In realtà, questa è stata una benedizione sotto mentite spoglie. Questa famiglia era più adatta a me, avevano tre cani e due gatti, che belli. Gli canni Zoe, Ciro e Nina and i gatti Matteo and Amelie. Amavo così tanto questi animali e mi mancano ancora. I bambini erano divertenti, intelligenti e parlavano molto bene l’inglese. Amavano giocare a Fortnite e giocare a calcio. Vivevano molto vicino al Vaticano e questa è stata un’esperienza fantastica. Ho trascorso il resto del tempo a Roma visitando diverse città con gli amici, bevendo nei bar e rilassandomi in spiaggia.

Naturalmente la mia comprensione della lingua italiana è migliorata moltissimo, ma ero ancora troppo timido per pronunciare più di 5 parole alla volta. Tutto questo per dire che spero che questo articolo sia l’inizio di un nuovo capitolo della mia vita. un capitolo in cui finalmente parlo fluentemente l’italiano e visito di nuovo Roma dopo 10 anni. Sembra che nulla sia cambiato, eppure è cambiato tutto.

Se siete interessati a seguirmi in questo viaggio, perché non vi iscrivete o non mi offrite un caffè?

Help out in anyway you can :)

Ogni piccolo supporto è più prezioso di quanto possa mai esprimere. Grazie per aver letto o ascoltato e spero di vedervi presto!

Con tutto il mio affetto,

Teag ❤︎⁠

xo

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Most of us grow up with lingering unsolicited and sometimes necessary expectations and demands placed upon us.

For me it started with my parents, “listen to what I tell you and do what I ask of you.”

“Don’t stare. Don’t slouch. Suck in your tummy.”

“Be careful.”

“Don’t talk back to me.”

“Quit being so dramatic. You’re so stubborn.”

These phrases hit me like a paper cut. Unassuming at first but the longer I let the words fester, the more self-doubt and questioning came flooding into my brain. So naturally next came my questions, and I had so so many.

Why wouldn’t I be able to look at people who look different than me? Why can’t I talk to you?

Why do I have to listen to you even when what you say hurts my feelings?

What’s wrong with my tummy?

I know my parents only ever said things out of love and a duty to guide and protect me. As a 28 year old woman, I undoubtedly know their love for me was and always will be steadfast, strong and everlasting. But without knowing it, they placed rigid expectations and unneccessary restricitions and demands on my developing brain, that to this day I am still processing. These expectations placed labels on me that I never agreed to and made me feel forced into corners that were often too small for me, the real me. Be a good girl. Be a hard worker. Get good grade. Be polite, even when you’re mad. Don’t yell.

Today this looks like supressing concerns and strong emotions in fear of being labeled dramatic, or uncoorporative. It also looks like tip toeing, a lot of it, around hard conversations even if they could lead to positive change. Today, it looks like burn out from giving my everything to a job and having to go on a medical leave. But, I digress.

As I sift through these thoughts today, I have to wonder about the parts of my childhood that did feel unrestricted, authentic and joyus. When I think of my younger self or when I connect with my inner child, I hear laughing so hard it turns into a screech. I see chubby, rosy cheeks and golden curly hair with doll-like ringlets. I feel warm sun on my arms, and smell grass and trees and then I think of my bike. I absolutely loved riding that bike and I was never really interested in any physical activity besides that.

Reflecting now on my love for this two-wheeled vessel, I realize it was a tool that helped me escape. I was allowed to be alone, which was rare. This alone time was sacred and helped me escape the expectations of my parents and school. Most importantly, I was free from the expectation to uphold a life that looked a certain way. When I rode my bike it was a rare moment of true alone time, I felt so free. Free from expectations to stand up straighter, appear skinnier, work harder in school, or be more polite. Free from the outside world’s opinion. When I was alone on that bike, it was finally quiet enough to hear my own thoughts and ask myself, “what do I actually like?” Not what I was told I’m good at or what I should like, but “what actually piques my interest?”

“Who actually am I?” Not dramatic, not stubborn. but a sensitive, creative, loving person.

“Where do I want to go and what do I want to do?” everywhere, anywhere, often.

“What should life feel like according to me?” Happy, free, gentle.

Since temporarily stepping away from work, I’m getting better at nurturing the parts of me that haven’t seen the light of day in years due to the expecations and obligations of being a self-sacrificing, overcompensating, hardworking employee in the care industry. I wasn’t living a life that allowed my true sensitivity and creativity to shine. But it’s truly a disservice to myself not to honour all of my parts. Surpressing my senstivity, strong sense of justice, and need to create, while temporarily makes me feel like i’m accepted by the world, is not a sustainable way of living and I refuse to do it anymore. These parts of me are essential to my peace and wellbeing and I vow to never neglect them again.

I used to be ashamed to admit it, because handling other’s expectations feels like such a normal thing that everyone does with such ease. But I know I have nothing to be ashamed of, I know I’m just a human doing my best.

So if any of these thoughts sound familiar and are rising up in you, remember who you are. Remember what you were good at before school, parental and work expectations became the only motivation for being. Remember you are and always have been good enough. Remember what you needed as a child and were not given, because now you can give it to yourself. ♡

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡｡

If you enjoyed this piece or anything else I write, I’d love for you to subscribe! I try to put out articles once a week but am hoping to get up to 2 or 3 in a week in the future.

Thanks for reading or listening,

xoxo

Teag

I wouldn’t be here without your support. Every bit helps me keep creating, and I appreciate it more than words can say! If you feel like it, Buy me a coffee :)

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I’m well aware there are way more physically and mentally tasking jobs than mine, but this is just my experience and from personal conversations with ECEs, I’m not alone in my experience. In saying all of this, truly this is one of the best jobs I have ever had and done.

But I’d be lying if I said that being an educator was ‘easy’. I’d be lying if I said that I don’t come home everyday after work and either binge eat, cry or sleep. I’ve been in denial for a long time about these habits that I’ve picked up in order to cope with my job. Over the last 6 months I have not been my self which includes not being the quality educator that I know that I am. This has weighed on me because it is never the children’s fault. So I kept telling myself it was unfair of me to keep showing up miserable, unrested, dysregulated and short fused.

Then it got me thinking about whose fault it really was. Me? for not being more proactive and nurturing my mental and physical health/wellbeing? Was it work? For being so lovely in most aspects but still quite ableist and unaccommodating in others. Or was it my parents who despite their best efforts didn’t teach me to become a tough kid who could just “suck it up”.

Capitalism? Patriarchy? The stars, planets, aliens?!

Ok maybe aliens aren’t the reason for my inevitable burn out, but seriously when you need to make money to survive and have nothing left to give within yourself, you start putting blame on literally anything, feasible or not. It made me realize that placing blame for my inner battles isn’t what I want to do or who I want to be. I want to take control of what I can take control of and let go of what I cannot. Which is easier said than done of course and it’s why I’m writing on substack.

I can’t control my work schedule, which if I could by the way I think that would heal parts of me that are so deeply burried I would have a healing hayday, but that’s for another post. What I can control is how I perceive the lack of control in my schedule. I can choose to see it as an opportunity for challenge and growth. But what if even the positive spin doesn’t work? What if my nervous system can’t handle anymore challenge or growth right now, which leads me to my next point.

I struggle with my mental health in the best of times and I’ve worked really hard to sort through some of these issues and heavy feelings. But for the last little while, it felt to me that work kept ripping open these wounds I worked so hard to close up and protect. When the challenge of working undesired hours, following rules/regulations that I don’t agree with or value, and constantly being told to "Push through” or “tough it out” with little to no rest, recognition or recooperation, there is going to be burn out. For some people (me included) this burnout can and will last for weeks or even months at a time. So no, 48 hours off (which is more like 32 hours if you calculate the recommended 8 hours of sleep a night) after working 40 hours (more like 48 hours with commutes, preparing for and winding down from work) is not enough time to sustain a life that feels good to me.

Having 2 measly days at home on the weekend to catch up on things that I need and want to do, not just for fun but for my life to stay afloat isn’t realistic anymore. Having only 2 days to squeeze in a fulfilling personal life isn’t sustainable for me, at least for right now. It wasn’t too long ago that I felt this lifestyle was perfectly fine, doable, “Just the way things are.” But I no longer believe that and that’s ok. Yes there has been and will be people who hate that I’ve had this revelation or change of heart. But I’ve let go of the idea that this is shameful or something to be embarrassed about. From now on, I refuse to let anyone make me feel lesser than, or lazy for knowing how and when I work my best and when it’s time to rest. These last few days have just been me listening to my body and doing what it wants. Reading ALOT and writing even more. Taking care and resting looks different for everyone so just do what feels good, which may take time to recognize, so be patient.

Of course this can all come back to privilege, I had the mindset that I didn’t have the privilege to work part time or not at all, which realistically and financially is truth. But I do have the privilege (from all of my hard work in the past) to be able to take a medical leave benefit from work and figure this all out. This is something I will always be grateful to my job for. But should we even need a leave like this in the first place? Maybe if we designed the career/job/work systems to be put humanity first, we’d grow a more sustainable version of this capitalist beast that we just can’t seem to escape. Maybe there would be less need for stress leaves, short term and long term disability and… anyway I’m getting off topic but just some more food for thought.

If you’ve stuck around to the end, thank you thank you thank you ❤︎

please take care of your nervous system, your mental & physical health along with your spiritual wellbeing, before you’re forced to.

❤︎ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ ❤︎❤︎ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ ❤︎❤︎ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ ❤︎❤︎ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ ❤︎❤︎ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ ❤︎❤︎ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ ❤︎

If this resonated with you in any way shape or form, please give yourself a hug from me (if that’s your thing) or reach out and let’s chat! Another aspect of this whole living a fulfilling and healthy life is finding your people. And maybe that’s just what we need right now.

Take care of yourself, shamelessly.

See you next time,

xoxo

Teag

If you enjoy what I do, consider supporting me on Ko-fi! Every little bit means the world!

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I discovered substack 6ish months ago, while watching one of my favourite creators on Youtube Jordan Theresa. She mentioned the platform multiple times in many of her videos. Listening to her speak, it just scratches a part of my brain that desparately needs to be scratched. She lives in London (which might be my most beloved city in the world - more on that in another post) and without a doubt has one of the coolest English accents. The topics covered in her video essays consistently piqued my interest and I tend to agree with most of her stances, so maybe my desire to start writing on substack is a biased endeavour, but an endeavour nonetheless. Jordan isn’t the only creator I follow that either has a substack following or has recommended substack readings, so this has felt like a long time coming.

I started dipping my toes in the substack pool, following different writers whose posts moved me or made me laugh. This was a couple of months ago while stuck at home recovering from carpal tunnel surgery. The posts that I read made me feel like I was listening to a friend. I felt solidarity with strangers and connected to the world in a way that I haven’t in years. I guess I’m saying I kind of gave up thinking these powerful and essential feelings weren’t possible anymore. I probably would’ve continued believing this lie, if some brave and talented writers didn’t just do the damn thing and begin writing on subtack one day.

So, here I am. Doing it. Not just writing it down on a to-do list. Not just telling my friends I’m going to start a new hobby or goal. I’m forcing my brain to connect with my heart and with my fingers, and doing the damn thing.

Be gentle with yourself. See you next time.

xoxo

Teag

Buy me a coffee ❤︎⁠

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