How “Calm Corner” Spaces Build Social / Emotional Skills for Children

We’ve all got that comfy spot we throw ourselves into when we need to relax, be it lounging on the sofa, sprawling out on the bed, or kicking back in a patio chair. Adults and children need breaks to decompress every now and then.

While working at a preschool for children with special needs, the teachers and I created a cozy space for regulating emotion–aptly dubbed the “calm corner.”

Read about how calm corners in the classroom and home setting are pivotal to child social/emotional development in my most recent article for my school’s website.

P.S. OMG I’ve written so many articles about emotions.

How Animals Help Children Learn

The first decade of my adult life–i.e. the first decade of my career–I dedicated to animals. I of course dabbled in acting and writing, often merging the three, but I also dabbled in education as a private tutor and environmental educator.

To kick off the second decade of my adulthood, I switched careers, focusing full-time on education (and of course still dabbling with acting and writing and trying to teach kids about animals every chance that I get).

Yes, those are all drawings from my students who still can’t stop talking about my guinea pig even though she visited them months ago.

My end goal is still to open a sanctuary for animals with disabilities helping people with disabilities. I’ve seen first-hand in and out of the classroom how children connect with animals and come out of their shell.

Read about my experiences with animal therapy for children with disabilities in this article on my school’s website.

Happy Pride: Seattle, This Is What I’m Most Grateful For

Happy pride month, peopleeeee!

I’ve lived in Seattle three-and-a-half years now, the longest my adult self has ever lived in a place. I’m grateful for the mountain ranges dotting the horizon every which way I look. I’m grateful for the smell of pine trees in urban parks. I’m grateful for the abundance of bike lanes (and less grateful for the abundance of hills).

But what I’m most grateful for is how Seattle has taught me to be more open-minded than I thought I was.

I grew up in small white suburbia, and, perhaps due to my love of the Spanish language and dreams of the Amazon rainforest, nurtured a taste for culture and landscapes outside my sheltered bubble. In all my travels, I have witnessed poverty first-hand, lived in developing countries, and experienced religious ceremonies vastly different from my Catholic upbringing.

I thought that my eyes had been opened enough to accept and love people for all that they are–poor or rich, black or white, gay or straight, overweight or skinny, liberal or conservative. I thought that I saw people for their personalities, not for what they looked like or how they aligned their beliefs or orientations.

Then I moved to Seattle.

Seattle is the first place (other than a brief unplanned viewing of a drag show in Cardiff, Wales), that I met a trans person–many trans people. Seattle is the first place where I walked into a restroom marked “all genders”–and pretty much do on a daily basis when I’m out and about the city. It’s the first place I learned to ask people their preferred pronoun and a place where I use “they” instead of “he/she” frequently for people I meet.

One of my best friends out here is covered in tattoos, wears all black, and has a half shaved head. She identifies as pansexual. She is someone I honestly probably would not have felt comfortable approaching all those moons ago when I thought I was open-minded but really had a great deal to learn. I’m ashamed to admit that but you all know how I feel about being real and true, and it shows that growth is always attainable. This friend has taught me so much about the queer community, one that she is so open about and so actively supporting. And for her guidance and patience and friendship, I’m forever grateful.

I still make mistakes. I sometimes slip up because my mind sees a non-binary individual as outwardly female and I subconsciously associate this person with the “she” pronoun. But when I make mistakes, I am so often corrected with love and respect and understanding.

I’m still learning. I’m learning what it means to be anything other than cisgendered or my straight ally identity. As in literally, I’ve had to educate myself on the ever-evolving LGBTQIA acronym. (We all should, really.)

But most of all, what I’m learning is that we are all human, and instead of festering hate and disrespect, we should embrace the uniqueness of the evolution of humanity. We should actually start living by that Pride motto that’s hashtagged so often but perhaps not fully understood by people like my 18-year-old sheltered self: Love is (like really is) love.

 

7 Life Lessons I’ve Learned from Preschoolers with Special Needs

I’ve been working with children at a special education preschool for the past 4 months, and the students have taught me a thing or two about being an adult and, quite simply, a human being.

 1. Have your own feelings, and let others have theirs.

Instead of describing someone as “overly sensitive,” use the words “more sensitive.” Instead of saying, “You made me sad…,” say, “I felt sad when…” Society has normalized only certain degrees of feelings, boxing us into a limited array of “appropriate” emotions, when, in fact, emotions have been and always will be individualized.

 2. Communication is key.

Facilitating peer-to-peer repair is an important aspect of teaching special education. In life, you are going to have thoughts and feelings that you cannot control. It is important to communicate them to those around you instead of bottling them up. You can explain what happened to make you feel or think that way and in return, you’ll probably receive some empathy from a listening ear. Most everyone has empathy on some basic level, and so much of our negative thoughts and emotions are the result of accidents or misunderstanding.

3. Behavior tells a story.

Sometimes, our mouths get dammed up and we don’t know how to put into words what we’re feeling. Body language and reactions are communications in their own right. For children with special needs who lack the language to express what they want or what they’re feeling, we teachers strengthen their trust by reading, understanding, and appropriately–compassionately–responding to their non-verbal cues.

 4. Be an active listener.

Though many of my kiddos struggle with making eye contact, they still know whether or not they are being heard based on eye contact from others and general interest in their words. Because the children are building their language skills, we routinely model sentence structures for them, but only after giving them a chance to tell us the story in their own words. We give them our full attention, concentrating and then responding directly to what they just said. This not only improves upon their communication skills, but also gives them a sense of value.

 5. Goals are best accomplished one step at a time.

Scaffolding is an important aspect of special education teaching which involves breaking down lessons into smaller, more manageable steps. Goals should be set high but they should also be attainable. Learning–whether in school or in life–is best achieved when we slow down, take a step back, and look things over an extra time or two.

 6. You have more patience than you realize.

Special education requires an incredible amount of patience, especially in a room full of energetic preschoolers. I honestly did not know I had this much of an inner calm inside me. My patience is tried literally every thirty seconds throughout the six-hour school day, but I very rarely ever find it stretching too thin. (Though I do want to fall asleep by 8 PM. 🙂 ) This is hugely based on the effort I have put into building relationships with these mini humans, the time I have taken to understand them, with or without their words. Moments that seem trying are usually just a misunderstood child trying to be understood.

 7. Everyone deserves to be loved.

When I worked in the animal world, I fell in love with patients that struggled the most–a three-legged sheep, turtles missing flippers–and clients that perhaps carried a lot of baggage–crotchety old men, socially awkward folks. I’ve always been drawn to those who are misunderstood (#pitbullsarethegreatest), and children with special needs too often are. It’s such a privilege to be working at a school where cochlear implants and hearing aids are the norm, where listening and equipment checks are part of our morning routine. Even when a student is screaming in my face or punching my arm, I still have an overwhelming desire to help them learn how to process their feelings–and I remind them that it’s okay to have these feelings, because that’s what makes them who they are. They’re not different; they’re all just tiny humans finding their way in the world, and needing a little extra help along the path.

What are some life lessons you’ve learned from children? Share in the comments below!

The Doney Clinic: A Free Vet Clinic for Homeless People & Their Pets

This is Angel. She lives on the streets of Seattle with her dad. When I met Angel, I told her dad he named her perfectly because she was a real sweetheart. He looked at me without a beat and said, “She is my best friend.”

Last Saturday was my first day volunteering with the Doney Clinic, a free vet clinic for homeless and low-income people to bring their pets. Every other Saturday, two dozen volunteers set up mobile veterinary services and a pet supply donation center in the basement of the Union Gospel Mission Men’s Shelter. Angel and her dad were the first pet-parent couple I met. They were near the front of the line that stretched all the way down and around the block. They had been waiting in the cold for six hours so that Angel could get free winter clothes, food, toys, a harness, and a check-up.

Angel was one of a hundred dogs and cats that came through the doors that Saturday. Amidst the chaos, we clipped nails, cleaned ears, drew blood, gave vaccines, and more. I helped a homeless woman bundle her long-haired Dachshund back up in his winter coats. She instructed me that the clothes were put on in a specific order. The pink jacket was the first of the six coats to go on her furry companion. It would drop below freezing that night.

Every single person that came through the clinic was extremely grateful for our services—I mean extremely grateful. But I found myself thanking them for coming in, for being such caring and doting pet parents, and for helping to restore some of my own faith in humanity.

Admittedly, volunteering here for me isn’t a selfless endeavor. I’m trying to fill a void in my heart that’s calling for me to give back more to this wonderful planet and amazing community that has done so much for me. I’m trying to understand the individuals behind the homeless epidemic, trying to find a channel for my compassion that doesn’t compromise my safety.

I will be journaling about my experiences with the Doney Clinic every month in an effort to help the clinic continue its services and to share my own transformative journey looking in the eye  people and animals that too often are passed by.

Under the streets of Pioneer Square in the heart of downtown Seattle in a bustling basement on a cold winter day, I saw hope and a reciprocated love that, between man and his best friend, remains unconditional.

I Feared For My Life & This Is What I Learned

October 2017 will be two years since I lived through Hurricane Joaquin, the historic perfect storm that I remember as the two longest days of my life. I have never known time to stand so still, during which I prayed constantly that my family and friends knew how much I loved them.

Effectively isolated after the storm on a remote island in the Caribbean, it would be eight days before I could hunt down a satellite phone to let the people who mean the most to me know I loved them, I was breathing but far from okay, and please send donations because the island was devastated. I didn’t know when I’d be able to reach my family again.

In the months following Joaquin in which an overseas, across-the-country move took place, I was a mess. Trauma from the storm unlocked trauma from my past until, nearly a year later when I thought I was healed, another window opened that my mind had bolted shut. I started seeing a therapist in the immediate aftermath of the storm who diagnosed me with PTSD on top of PTSD on top of PTSD.

But this post isn’t about fearing for my life. This post isn’t about my PTSD. It isn’t about my past (though that story begs to be told at a later time, when I’m ready).

This post is about my recovery. This post is about me, now.

So, you ask, how am I now?

The short answer: Freaking fantastic.

The long answer: I’m working on it.

My wounds will always be scabs turned scars that make me who I am. I would never in a million years wish any of these hardships upon someone. But I cannot change my past, so instead, I decided to see how my past could shape my future.

Breaking apart the most harrowing experiences of my life, I made a list of what I gained from them.

Here is that list:

• Empathy & compassion. Sometimes life has to beat you up to give you empathy and compassion you didn’t know you were lacking.
• Perspective. My eyes were further opened to the existence of poverty and racism in the world today.
• Strength in vulnerability. Turning to others for help did not make me weak; it takes a great deal of courage to bare one’s heart and mind so openly.
• Cultural enlightenment. I mean, I did get to live on a remote island in the Bahamas living the real island life and making lifelong friends turned family. So there’s that.
• Dreams. I needed to start following my dreams NOW, and never ever stop.
• Relationship knowledge. I learned what I want, need, and deserve in a relationship.
• Self-awareness. In order to heal, I had to fully know myself. It was an isolating road to travel down, but necessary.
• Peace within myself. Knowing who I am meant accepting all of me, including my flaws, quirks, and neuroses. Better yet, it meant embracing them.

Despite having just emerged from the darkest period of my life–and, admittedly, still having moments in which I feel like I take a step back–I am the happiest I have ever been.

My path of healing from PTSD threw me under the self-reflection bus, and I am eternally grateful to it for that. But I don’t think you need to claw your way out of the lion’s den in order to begin this journey.

The three experiences that led to my struggle had a common thread: I felt small, helpless, and insignificant. I have spent the last twenty-four months fighting to be strong, confident, and significant. I have worked hard at believing in myself, taking risks and viewing subsequent failures as successes.

Now, most days, I wear that cheesy ear-to-ear grin on my face that everyone who knew me before I moved to Seattle remembers. But I’ve changed. I have so many layers to me now. Good layers. Deep layers. Real layers.

One of my friends from the Florida Keys, who has always praised me for my positive and uninhibited energy, recently told me, “Stacey, you’re not the same person you were when you left here, and I mean that as the highest compliment.”

As I’ve begun reconnecting with college friends, they say the same thing. I still dance my crazy dance moves in the middle of the grocery store, but there’s more than a zest for life behind those crazy legs. There’s understanding. There’s a profound appreciation for it.

 

My Favorite Part About the Solar Eclipse Wasn’t the Eclipse

Here in Seattle, we skirted the line of totality capturing a 92 percent partial eclipse. It’s nothing like the two-and-a-half minutes of daylight darkness that consumed Madras, Oregon just south of us, but it was enough to warrant stepping outside of the office to look at the sky.

I didn’t have any eclipse glasses of my own, but I stumbled upon a crowd outside the hilltop library just down the street from me. The community had gathered to pass around homemade cereal box viewers and pin hole paper plate designs, as well as the coveted certified eclipse glasses that sold out from stores weeks ago.

I watched shadows get crisper. I marveled at the little crescent moons on the sidewalk from the leafy trees. I saw the orange sun nearly obscured.

Watching this phenomenon was a memorable experience, but it wasn’t this magnificence in nature that astounded me so. It was the people taking it all in.

The crowd was filled with young and old, future budding scientists and grandparents who told of the eclipses they’d seen in their lifetime. It was filled with sharing and small talk and a genuine appreciation for Mother Nature.

Science–my career, my passion–is under so much attack in this country. People are filled with so much rage and hate in this world. But here was a moment where everyone for miles stopped what they were doing and looked toward the sun.

As I rode my bike to work, the sidewalks were still flowing with faces turned upward, brief moments taking in the sun and the moon as time seemed to stand still. As people passed their eclipse glasses from stranger to stranger and explained–educated–to the curious just exactly how this celestial marvel was possible, a sense of unity overwhelmed me.

You’ll notice I didn’t take any photos of the eclipse. Some experiences are meant to only be captured in our hearts and our minds. For me, the calming feeling that surrounded me couldn’t be captured through a lens, yet that is the part I’ll remember most.

Humans + Minds + Mother Nature

My friend Sarah snapped this candid shot last weekend on my birthday hike as four of us caught the last magic of winter before it fades softly into summer. When she got my attention, she asked me what I was thinking about.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t really thinking about anything. I was just listening, to the chirping birds and the rushing waterfalls. I was just existing, a mote of bones and flesh in a breathing cosmic arena.

So much has happened in 29 years. So much has happened since I moved to Seattle. I have met incredible, diverse, and creative friends. I starred in my first film. I wrote a frigging book. I pulled 80-hour weeks. I went to Ikea and Costco for the first time (!). I learned how to wear a sari. And I’ve done it all while being shaken by a past that I knew and a past that my mind had blocked out.

The mind is a powerful tool, a wonderful and equally fascinating and disturbing gift. The human mind is unique.
We will never be as big and vast in our existence as Mother Nature. But we can lead meaningful, significant lives. We can use the power of our minds to create, to engage, to learn, to protect, and to really, truly live.

Sometimes I turn to the beauty of this planet when I am feeling broken. And sometimes I turn to it for no reason at all other than to stop and smell the flowers. But I always appreciate this planet, this life, and my role in it.

Goat Yoga: I Did It & I Loved It

A goat yoga craze is sweeping the country, and I snatched up an opportunity to try it in action.

I participated in Washington state’s only known goat yoga phenomenon on its inaugural weekend debut. Naturally, I wrote an article about it, which included interviews with the 10 curious and rambunctious four-legged animals, all of which were rescued.

The article turned out to be nothing short of adorable, inspiring and entertaining… because, goats.

Read about my goat yoga experience at The Wobbly Ranch here.

Happy Spring!

“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.” -Anne Bradstreet

Although I do like me my snow.

The sun is shining, cherry blossoms, irises and daffodils are blooming, and tulips are on their way! I don’t know what I would do without my seasons.

Enjoy today, for with spring comes new growth!