Why Do Bad Things Happen?

Today is the three-year anniversary (I try not to remember, but I haven't forgotten) of the Bad Teaching Day that let me to feel dismayed, and to write about this as an exercise in reflection, and as a service for other teachers of writing.

I was attacked for this (you can't imagine how badly, how horrifically, I was attacked; read my new book and find out) and, ultimately, I lost my job. Unfairly, of course--and after being told over and over that I was fine; I was blameless.

When this first happened, I felt only shock and sadness. I may have been in denial. Then, I was suddenly filled with outrage. How could such an unjust thing happen to me? Me--of all people! I try so hard to be good; I work so hard to help other people. And now this?

Classic, existential questions consumed me. What is the purpose of life? I thought it was, as Vikor Frankl, the famous psychiatrist, noted, to determine what one is meant to do (thus, finding both meaning and and purpose at the same time) and serve other people.  

I thought I was doing that as a teacher.

Why was I suffering now? Why was I driven out of my job? Why was I being publicly vilified for having a social conscience (read: being a Democrat)? I didn't deserve for any of this to happen. 

I couldn't make sense of it. Everywhere I looked, it seemed, I'd see pithy quotes such as, "Everything happens for a reason," or "Pain leads to growth."

How irritatingly inadequate those words are!

Quotes like those are easy to nod your head at until they happen to you. Then, I  guarantee you'll find those same ideas dismissive and offensive. 

It takes a long time to come to terms with traumatic experiences--if, indeed, we ever can. 

Why do bad things happen to good people? We may never know, so let's not pretend that we do. 

So how did I handle things? I wrote about them. I am a writer. I wasn't sure I should, for the sake of my health, write about the Hell I'd experienced, but I did it to rid myself of these painful memories, and I did it, I hoped, for the greater good.

As C.S. Lewis once said: "I have learned that while those who speak about their miseries usually hurt, those who keep silent hurt more."

Deep down, I knew Lewis was correct. And that is one big reason why I would not agree to keep silent and sign (as I was pressured to) any confidentiality agreement. Why should I protect people who'd deliberately, and savagely, hurt me if keeping silent would only hurt me more?

I also didn't sign because muzzling in itself is deeply offensive. I will never agree to be a party to my own oppression. What self-respecting woman would?

Am I still angry about what happened? Not really. Not like I was. I can't say I have "forgiven," but I won't let myself stew about this horrible experience. Nevertheless, I did feel angry all over again when I was writing Too Cool for School: A Memoir.  Not that it's an angry book; it's not. It's just difficult to relive a trauma by writing about it. 

Writing Too Cool re-opened, at times, a wound that had barely closed. The chest pain I felt when I was attacked suddenly returned, as did the headaches, and the outrage. 

One thing I did not feel anymore was hopeless. I knew I had to finish the book and release it to the world.

My story is not about me anymore; it's about other teachers. It's about helping people by sharing my ideas and my experiences. I am not even thinking about this story, for the most part, except when I am reminded what day it is. 

Three years ago, It Happened. 

Three years since It Happened, I am in a good place.

I am getting notes from around the world right now about the usefulness of my memoir, and I am so glad to know that what hurt me can yet help others.

"Thank you for writing this important book," more than one person has said to me.

But I don't care about thank-yous, necessarily. I care about helping, about sharing important ideas.

And by the way--I am teaching again. More than full-time.  My career has certainly grown, and I hope that other teachers' careers grow, too. 

I hope that other people will be inspired by my example (not that I am so perfect; I am definitely not) to take something bad and spin it into something gold. (How Rumplestiltskin, n'est-ce-pas?)

I still don't believe that "bad things happen for a reason." As I wrote in Too Cool, bad things are just bad. There is no lesson attached to the bad. 

The lesson comes later. Can we bounce back after trauma? Can we even get stronger? That's where the real test lies.