Dude.
Bruh . [or, Bro,]
That’s what the kids say these days when they just. can’t.
I think we used to say, “Ok, Ok!” And maybe our parents said, “Uncle!”
It’s what we say when we just don’t have a response because we are at the end of our rope.
Recently, one of my seniors, who was supposed to have written a personal narrative about a time that he learned a hard lesson, grew up a little bit, or had a “coming of age moment,” instead submitted a description of a video game he had found online.
I’ve been a writing instructor for a long time, so I can spot these types of things with both of my eyes closed, so I sent my standard Academic Integrity Violation email with a screen shot of his writing and a screen shot of the site where he found it, which was super easy for me to locate. It’s not hard. I mean, we have Google.
Anyway, he was upset that I had caught him and replied that he didn’t like writing about himself. I didn’t have any right to know about his life. Could I give him an alternate assignment?
I didn’t respond right away.
“Alternate assignment please,” he messaged.
Still no response from me.
“Bro.” His last response when he was finally out of gas.
“The assignment is the assignment,” I replied finally. “You can do it. Try.”
He didn’t. He had reached “Bro.” He was done with the conversation.
I was trying to think of what to write today after several weeks of posting nothing, and all I could think was….
Dude.
Been there?
Have you been in those seasons when life is coming at you from all directions and you just. can’t. even?
I mean, this is definitely not the worst season of my life. In fact, the roughest seasons have given me so many tools that I am using to navigate this one — therapy, self-care, boundaries, yoga, music, laughter, and Netflix. [By the way, if you need something to carry you through difficulty, I have often recommended The Great British Baking Show; I now add to that Somebody Feed Phil (Netflix) and The Reluctant Traveler (Apple).]
But guys, there’s a lot going on right now. Some of it is great — my work, my husband’s new role as a private practice therapist, the fact that Spring is now here, our kids are doing great things and really stepping into their adulthood– but much of it is hard — the death of an extended family member, the cancer journeys of two others, and the uncovering of hidden realities that will need to be faced in the very near future.
And all I can say is…
Bruh.
It’s a lot.
It’s nothing uncommon to the human experience to be sure. Anyone reading this has navigated similar — illness, addiction, failure to communicate, and the accumulation of it all that someone eventually has to deal with.
And sometimes the ones who have to deal with it are the adult children of those who kept putting off the difficult.
Here’s the thing, though. The difficult doesn’t go away just because you don’t talk about it.
In fact, if you bury the difficult, keep it in a dark place, and even continue to water it from time to time, the damn thing grows. And often, it devours the beneficial, the beautiful, the healthy, the wonderful.
It just eats the good up and continues to grow until it bursts into the open — often at the most difficult of times — and somebody, finally, has to look it in the face, call it what it is, and give it its reckoning.
Dude.
I have been training for this moment my whole adult life, and still, I don’t wanna do it!
Just like my student didn’t wanna write a simple 300-600 word retelling of a day of his life where he learned a hard truth, I don’t want to look the difficult in the face.
But guys, the difficult thing has already surfaced. It’s sitting in the middle of the room, and everyone is trying to avert their eyes for just a little bit longer.
Fine. Look away if you must, but the difficult is not going anywhere.
It will not get easier to look at in a day or a week or a month.
My student came in the next day. After the “Bro.” message.
“Mrs. Rathje, I’m not gonna write this thing.”
“Ok. Let’s look at the impact of you not writing this thing.”
I opened the grade book, put in a zero for the missing assignment, and recalculated his quarter grade.
“Don’t do it, and you’ll have a C minus for the quarter. Are you willing to live with that?”
“A C minus?”
“Yup.”
“I can live with that.”
“Done.”
He looked it in the face, made a decision, and we both moved on.
It really wasn’t that hard.
However, the difficult thing I’m alluding to here was not merely a writing assignment. It’s a series of bad decisions that have been buried for quite some time. I think the bury-er was hoping the difficult would stay underground.
I have been there.
Thing is, most things surface over time. Some of us learn this the hard way.
I’m not scared to look this thing in the face, but it’s not mine.
If it was mine, I might be throwing extra dirt on it right this minute.
But that would not keep it buried.
Nope.
It’s just a matter of time until all things surface.
So, here’s the thing. I have no judgment for the bury-er. Some anger, yes, but not judgment. I have no idea what led to the development of this difficulty. I don’t know the full story. I don’t even need to or want to. That is not my business.
It is truly none of my business to know about a “coming of age” moment that my student may or may not have had, but I always give the opportunity to students to tell their story, because telling about the difficult is where transformation happens.
But that kind of vulnerability is not for everyone. It can be downright terrifying to look the difficult in the eye.
But here’s the thing — once you have stared down the difficult, called it by name, navigated the ugly, grieved the devastating, and realized the freedom that comes with the uncovering, once you have tasted the power of transformation —
Dude.
You won’t wanna bury anything ever again.
I can almost guarantee it.
Next Chapter 