2014.

I was told just before the commencement of 2015 that I was in for a rough go. “I birthed two children and I’ve run a marathon, and I raised a son with Autism, and my teaching practicum was still  the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” we were told by our coordinator while we were on campus, sinking into our chairs, afraid of what was to come. At that time, I didn’t know where my practicum placement school was. I didn’t know if it would be better or worse than the negative experience I left behind. I didn’t know anything except it was my goal to prove myself wrong and make known that all the disasters that befell my career-to-be in 2013 were unhappy accidents, nothing more.

I almost didn’t make it. For me, “making it” was hard-won. I struggled and fell so deep and so far and so horribly, it was almost impossible to get back up. I almost gave up. I almost didn’t do it. I almost had to throw in the towel and understandably agree and surrender to the fact that this was indeed the hardest thing I had ever done. The coordinator was right. It was hard. It was too hard, and I couldn’t do it. I was alone and stressed and overworked and nervous all the time, and the only thing I needed was someone on the inside who understood what I was going through to believe in me. And I found that person. And I have since fallen in love with him.

2014 was the kind of year where you look back on crucial, wonderful moments and revel in how divinely and comfortably they fell into place as if they were immaculately designed for you. It was the kind of year where you realize that old archaic expression, “God helps those who help themselves” is not only true, but fundamental to your understanding of the world and realizations that you didn’t do before what you did do now. It was the kind of year when you pushed through so much, and gained so much from those pushes. I felt powerful in 2014. I felt like the kind of person I never thought I was.

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