Humility, Humiliation

I can almost not write this because of the tears that threaten to fall down my cheeks; it's almost not worth the risk of the inevitable explosion when tears meet keyboard... but while I am so exhausted and frustrated I might melt at any moment, the story is funny in a way that one can only find humor in a situation that doesn't happen to them (so, sure, laugh if you want) and blogging is like therapy for me... counseling for the school counselor, if you will.

Tonight's class: Multicultural Diversity in Counseling (didn't I warn you about this class?)
Tonight's first article: Cultural Competence vs. Cultural Humility

My professor has written on the board a sort of equation: client's cultural parts + [blank] + [blank] = cultural competence.
My friend and classmate Laura is brilliant. She has a clinical mind due to years working in a psychiatric office, which also blessed her with the ability to speak Psychobabble, a language I am familiar with but unable to speak fluently. Dr. H's eyes alight on Laura for Blank #1. Laura, of course, gives a brilliant, immediate answer. "Bueno! Bueno!" in the words of Dr. H (she later told Laura she had an opening in her department, if that tells you how Bueno Laura really is).

Dr. H: And blank #2? Anyone? Anyone have any thoughts? How about.... LINDSEY.
Lindsey: Um, I really don't know.
Dr. H: Guess.
Lindsey: I'm sorry. I'm just really drawing a blank.
Dr. H: We'll wait.

Thanks, Doc. Because, while my thought process was initially frustrated by your question, thinking here in pressured silence has really got my brain waves moving.

Lindsey: Um, experience?
Dr. H: Mmmkay... anyone else?

Glad we could share that moment, class. Progress was made, I'm sure, by my mortification within the first five minutes of class. Need a scapegoat, classmates? I'm your girl.

To prevent further embarrassment, I decide to speak up about something I DO know the answer to. And what a swell decision that turned out to be! I give her one answer to her question, and she says, "Good, what about another reason?" I bumble my way through a second reason, which is truly a different version of my first (read: only) reason. "Okay, what about a third reason?" Look, lady. I had one- ONE- reason. Not two, definitely not three. This is not the Dead Poets Society. You are not going to push me to some beautiful breakthrough here in the College of Education.

When Backrow Becky says, "I don't know," we poll another member of our audience. When Lindsey says, "I'm really not sure," let's just think on it, please. Let's just all stare at Lindsey until she breaks. Maybe, just maybe, she'll cry.

If I had just come to class unprepared, I'd claim my embarrassment and move on- my bad. But no. Not tonight. In preparation for this class, I spent hours and hours of time reading articles and book chapters. Literally, one article took me two hours to read. I was as prepared as I could have been, so this entire incident was nearly unbearable to me.

I thought I would throw up. I genuinely wondered if I should leave the class to vomit. During our 9-minute break (9-minute break for a 3-hour class... totally reasonable....), I considered going to the hallway for a quick cry and phone call to my mommy. But I didn't. I sweated it out. Literally. For three hours, I sat stone still in my chair and sweat bullets. When I finally got back to my car, I realized that for three hours the muscles in my back had been so tense I hadn't sat back in my chair once but sat hunched over my desk for the entire class. My mind feels tired and slow and my eyes ache, so I might as well have cried.

I don't want to give the wrong impression: I'm really not some huge cry baby. I am not easily moved to tears; in fact, I'm often the only dry eye in the house at an emotional event. But I don't handle embarrassment well, especially when I don't have the opportunity to laugh it off. This class is extremely intense-- there is no laughing, ever. Cultural issues are no laughing matter, and don't you forget it.

So tonight I'm heavy-hearted. Tonight I'm wondering if this is worth it. Tonight visions of Europe dance through my head, and I'm wondering if I can't just put this whole grad school thing on hold. Can I go through 15 more weeks of three-hour torture sessions only to run home and sob in my bubble bath? I am so mentally exhausted from all the reading and in-class scrambling that I can't think... I don't want to watch TV, I don't want to read, I don't want to check Facebook (can you see the seriousness of the situation yet?). I just want to stare. And ponder. And maybe cry.