LJ Idol Week #2: Tuesdays with Tenniel
Jul. 11th, 2024 09:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chasing_silverMy favourite therapist retired two years ago.
I was, of course, absolutely devastated. When you find a therapist that really fits, it's almost like you make a friend that knows all of the dark things about you ... and judges you in really healthy and helpful ways. Losing Tenniel suddenly was like losing a friend.
Therapy hasn't always worked for me. I find myself always lacking something. They may be spot-on when it comes to my OCD, but they're missing why that OCD ticks like it does. They are really good listeners, but we never move to the next step. And lastly, they don't understand what it's like to be mixed race. In my case, I'm mixed: Indigenous Canadian, and white.
I met Tenniel through a truly terrible job that sucked my soul dry. The one good thing about it was a mandatory anti-oppression training. This training basically followed any Diversity, Equity, Inclusion-type training, but it was taught by a vibrant Afro-Caribbean Canadian woman who I was drawn to instantly. Tenniel has the warmest smile. She also isn't afraid to call you on your bullshit. It isn't everyone who can answer questions that are generally considered taboo in the workplace with humour and wit, while still holding you to account.
I got lucky in that when I emailed her afterwards to thank her for the training, she mentioned she also offered one-on-one anti-oppressive therapy sessions on Tuesdays only. It was like we were meant to be together; well, in a therapeutic sense. (I'm happily married, and so is she.)
Being mixed sucks. I'll be real; it pretty much means you fit nowhere. I'm too white to be Indigenous for most folks, except when they need a token Native to do their land acknowledgements at events or they have an ignorant question about fry bread. I'm consistently pigeon-holed and scrutinized. Do my Ojibwe cheeks make me look more Native to you? What even is "Indigenous hair"? I haven't grown up on the rez, no. However, I am learning Ojibwe, and its soft and sweet vowels sound like a song through the tops of pine trees.
So, Tenniel and I started therapy. I told her how hard it is to even exist. I am denied culture by other Indigenous people, for fuck's sake. How the hell can I reclaim what was ripped from me and my family by the colonizing government of Canada when not even my own people are okay with the way I look and sound?
So every Tuesday, she broke it down, piece by piece. And I started to heal, piece by piece.
See, what Tenniel taught me was that it doesn't actually matter. Am I Indigenous? Do I serve my community, in whatever way I've been gifted to do? I told her the stories. My grandfather attended an Indian Day School. This is like a residential school, but you got to go home at night, if you were lucky. I told her that he refused to speak about being Native to any of my family members, except me. I told her it's an honour and a curse to be the only one in my entire family who is able to speak about things he taught me, because they simultaneously hate me and love me for being the knowledge keeper.
And being the token Native in every job is the same damn thing, because I'm condescended to about it, but hey, can you please have this version of the district land acknowledgement edited and submitted by five? Oh, and the white CEO is going to read it. You don't mind, do you?
And then Tenniel decided she needed a break from therapy. I mean, who could blame her? This is hard work. Listening to some white-passing lady complain about her identity is already hard. Now let's think about what else she does - listen to more people complain about how hard it is to be inclusive, period.
But I couldn't find anyone else after she left. We promised to write for big occasions; it's not ethical nor professional to continue contact with your therapist after you end your work with them. But we promised we'd do just that. In another life, Tenniel and I may just have been friends.
I have gone two years without therapy, and two years with the lessons and knowledge she's given me. I have carried it forward, through immigrating to the USA, to marrying into a white Republican family, to working in a school district that is over 70% children of colour, many of whom are Hispanic and Indigenous. I struggle with how to serve them and remain myself. How not to project. How to be the adult in their life that I didn't get to have, and how to be supportive.
And then last month, Tenniel sent out an email. She's accepting patients again. Was I interested in continuing therapy?
I sat at my computer, staring at her words, and then I smiled.
"How about next Tuesday?"
This has been an entry for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
therealljidol. The prompt this week was "Sankofa", which is an African word from the Akan tribe in Ghana. The literal translation of the word and the symbol is “it is not taboo to fetch what is at risk of being left behind." Thank you for reading and voting!
I was, of course, absolutely devastated. When you find a therapist that really fits, it's almost like you make a friend that knows all of the dark things about you ... and judges you in really healthy and helpful ways. Losing Tenniel suddenly was like losing a friend.
Therapy hasn't always worked for me. I find myself always lacking something. They may be spot-on when it comes to my OCD, but they're missing why that OCD ticks like it does. They are really good listeners, but we never move to the next step. And lastly, they don't understand what it's like to be mixed race. In my case, I'm mixed: Indigenous Canadian, and white.
I met Tenniel through a truly terrible job that sucked my soul dry. The one good thing about it was a mandatory anti-oppression training. This training basically followed any Diversity, Equity, Inclusion-type training, but it was taught by a vibrant Afro-Caribbean Canadian woman who I was drawn to instantly. Tenniel has the warmest smile. She also isn't afraid to call you on your bullshit. It isn't everyone who can answer questions that are generally considered taboo in the workplace with humour and wit, while still holding you to account.
I got lucky in that when I emailed her afterwards to thank her for the training, she mentioned she also offered one-on-one anti-oppressive therapy sessions on Tuesdays only. It was like we were meant to be together; well, in a therapeutic sense. (I'm happily married, and so is she.)
Being mixed sucks. I'll be real; it pretty much means you fit nowhere. I'm too white to be Indigenous for most folks, except when they need a token Native to do their land acknowledgements at events or they have an ignorant question about fry bread. I'm consistently pigeon-holed and scrutinized. Do my Ojibwe cheeks make me look more Native to you? What even is "Indigenous hair"? I haven't grown up on the rez, no. However, I am learning Ojibwe, and its soft and sweet vowels sound like a song through the tops of pine trees.
So, Tenniel and I started therapy. I told her how hard it is to even exist. I am denied culture by other Indigenous people, for fuck's sake. How the hell can I reclaim what was ripped from me and my family by the colonizing government of Canada when not even my own people are okay with the way I look and sound?
So every Tuesday, she broke it down, piece by piece. And I started to heal, piece by piece.
See, what Tenniel taught me was that it doesn't actually matter. Am I Indigenous? Do I serve my community, in whatever way I've been gifted to do? I told her the stories. My grandfather attended an Indian Day School. This is like a residential school, but you got to go home at night, if you were lucky. I told her that he refused to speak about being Native to any of my family members, except me. I told her it's an honour and a curse to be the only one in my entire family who is able to speak about things he taught me, because they simultaneously hate me and love me for being the knowledge keeper.
And being the token Native in every job is the same damn thing, because I'm condescended to about it, but hey, can you please have this version of the district land acknowledgement edited and submitted by five? Oh, and the white CEO is going to read it. You don't mind, do you?
And then Tenniel decided she needed a break from therapy. I mean, who could blame her? This is hard work. Listening to some white-passing lady complain about her identity is already hard. Now let's think about what else she does - listen to more people complain about how hard it is to be inclusive, period.
But I couldn't find anyone else after she left. We promised to write for big occasions; it's not ethical nor professional to continue contact with your therapist after you end your work with them. But we promised we'd do just that. In another life, Tenniel and I may just have been friends.
I have gone two years without therapy, and two years with the lessons and knowledge she's given me. I have carried it forward, through immigrating to the USA, to marrying into a white Republican family, to working in a school district that is over 70% children of colour, many of whom are Hispanic and Indigenous. I struggle with how to serve them and remain myself. How not to project. How to be the adult in their life that I didn't get to have, and how to be supportive.
And then last month, Tenniel sent out an email. She's accepting patients again. Was I interested in continuing therapy?
I sat at my computer, staring at her words, and then I smiled.
"How about next Tuesday?"
This has been an entry for
therealljidol. The prompt this week was "Sankofa", which is an African word from the Akan tribe in Ghana. The literal translation of the word and the symbol is “it is not taboo to fetch what is at risk of being left behind." Thank you for reading and voting!
no subject
Date: 2024-07-13 02:27 pm (UTC)