It was a year ago today that events set into motion the crash of my professional life.
I didn’t think that today was going to be a big deal, really; it’s just another day, nothing has happened that changes my thinking or feelings about the whole mess, and, if anything, I’m more and more glad that I’m out of that deeply broken culture every time I talk to those who are still struggling to stay sane and ethical in it.
I’m finding, though, that I’m wrestling to put down the last of my bitter feelings toward the people who, for whatever reasons, let things happen the way they did. I’m trying to come to some sort of peace with the fact that people looked me in the eye and outright lied to me. I’m trying to find ways to forgive people for their callous disregard for the obvious needs of the students and the staff. I’m trying to let go of the rage against the perfect storm of incompetence and utter failure of ethics that nearly led to the loss of a precious life. I’m working on releasing the anger and disappointment I feel for someone who participated in all of it despite the fact that I just know he wanted no part of it, but did it, anyway. I’m practicing detachment from some people who said that they cared about me – loved me, even – but whose actions were anything but caring and loving.
I am cautiously hopeful that my professional plane is about to taxi down a new runway and this crash was not fatal. Once I’m proverbially ‘wheels-up,’ I think I’ll finally be able to put this experience well and truly behind me. In the meantime, I’m working on focusing on the good that came out of this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad experience; my chosen daughter is healthy and whole and has done nothing to harm herself since that day, and I’m as adamant today as I was a year ago that, even had I known the hell that was to follow, I wouldn’t do a single thing any differently.