Awareness

Part I: Preparing for your First Century Ride, Respect the Process

Arielle Miller / Accountability, Adventure, Athlete, Awareness, Bike Riding, Celebration, Century Ride, Challenges, Cycling, Female Athlete, Fitness, Fitness Life, Goal Setting, Goals, Lifestyle, Road Cycling, Roadie, Sports, Sports Training, Training, Women in Sports / Bike riding, Century Ride, Cycling, Cyclist, female athletes, Female cyclist, Girls who ride bikes, Hard work, road cycling, we can do hard things / 0 comments

December 30, 2020

On December 20, 2020, I rode my very first century ride—100 miles.

One hundred miles. WOW. Honestly, even days after accomplishing this feat, I still haven’t been able to wrap my head around the fact that I did something like that—ME.

I pedaled, on a bike for 7 hours and 20 minutes through the desert with my good friend Lizzy Picardi, unsupported with just the water and food we could carry and WE DID IT.

Lizzy and I gearing up to head out for our Century Ride!

We did it without the help of anyone else and that’s not to say it wouldn’t have been nice or that we were unprepared by any means. Being able to do something like an unsupported century ride in the desert where the first 50 miles were literally in the middle of nowhere takes a great deal of planning, conditioning, confidence, and what I would like to say is a respect for the process.

And that is exactly what I want to focus on here—a respect and reverence of the process when embarking upon an endeavor like this. First, riding 100 miles IS A BIG DEAL. When I started riding my road bike in late June, early July of 2020, the thought of being able to ride that far for that long was so abstract I couldn’t comprehend it. Like I saw people doing these rides, or heard from friends about ‘the century they did once and how horrible it was’ and I nodded, then responded with, “Wow, that’s so cool” but not only did I not truly understand it, what baffled me the most was how people seemed to brag about how unprepared physically they were to ride 100 miles. Almost like a badge of honor, I continue to hear and learn about how many people have rode 100 miles without riding more than 20 miles. And sure, I applaud your can-do attitude, but it’s like the student in my class who does zero work the entire semester then during the last two weeks of class, asks how they can raise their grade and if they can make up all the work.

The day I bought my bike, “Best Girl” on June 27, 2020

Ummmm, NO, you cannot condense my four-month course to two weeks; and the fact that you think you can is insulting, devaluing the work of others, minimizes the planning I’ve invested in your education, and is a blatant lack of respect for the time, effort, and perseverance that comes with navigating through content and projects for an extended period of time.

The same is with endurance sports like running and cycling. The training IS the process. The training IS the journey, not the race day. Anyone can show up and run 26.2 miles and ride 100 miles. But what kind of showing are you putting up? How do you feel during the race? How do you feel after the race? The purpose of sport is not to wreck yourself and proudly brag about that time you didn’t train for a marathon but ran one anyway. If the aim is to gloat about how tough you are for doing these things, I implore you to look a little closer and dig a little deeper with the lens of looking to respect the process.

The Angeles Crest, with 4k+ of elevation on December 26, 2020

Respecting the process means putting in the work, the daily work; the real training which is the grind of being athlete that sets you up for success. Anyone can show up for one day, but I dare you to train and show up 6 days a week, sometimes for two-a-days when life is hitting you hard, when you are tired, when you are simply not feeling it; but alas you do it anyway.

Respecting the process means you look at those 100 miles the way I did: Something I want to do, but I want to do it well. Because the way I see it, if I am going to do something in this world, I cannot and will not show up and embarrass myself. Period.

But, respecting the process is about tapping into your WHY. Why do you want to run a marathon? Why do you want to ride 100 miles? Knowing and understanding your why becomes your North Star, your guidance on those days when you don’t want to train and show up. I have found that a fierce conviction and anchoring in my ‘Why’ is what drives me to train to the best of my ability. So, what’s my ‘Why’?

I like working hard to show myself that I’m strong and capable. I like doing hard things I’ve earned through my hard work. And through my hard work, I hope that I inspire other people to do things that are unfamiliar.

That’s my ‘Why’, take some time to think about yours. Like reallllllly think about it beyond the surface of needing accolades and likes on an Instagram post. Because the truth of the matter is this: When you are hitting the pavement, there is no one there alongside you. It is just you, your body, your thoughts, your training and preparation, and that’s it. It is during those parts of your competition where your want becomes a must. Therefore, respecting the process is about respecting yourself enough to know that you are worth investing the time into your physical and mental self so that you can be your best self for that race or ride.

Stay tuned for Part II: Preparing for your First Century Ride, Ensure Your Success!

Ventura to Ojai, through Lake Casitas for 60 miles of beautiful roads!

My Healing Journey, Part I

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Acceptance, Accountability, Adversity, Autoimmune Disease, Awareness, balance, Challenges, Chronic Illness, Diet, Diet and Exercise, Fitness, Hard Work, Holistic Nutrition, Keto, Ketogenic Diet, mindfulness, Nutrition, Strength Training, Updates / Autoimmune, Autoimmune Disease, Autoimmunity, Fitness, Healing Journey, Health, Health and Wellness, Seeking answers, Unexplained weight gain, Weight / 2 comments

November 13, 2018

Over the last year I have struggled tremendously. If you follow me on any of my social media outlets, especially on Instagram—you have watched my unraveling as my weight spiraled out of control without any discernable cause or explanation. I became more and more lethargic, depressed, anxious, frustrated, and more crippled by my inability to focus as a result of debilitating brain fog with each passing day.

Every day I’d wake up, walk to my closet and sift through my clothes, “Nope. No. Not that. That doesn’t fit. Not that either. Nope. No. No. No.” Which finally always culminated in a breakdown of tears in frustration because I literally couldn’t get dressed for work. Absolutely NOTHING I owned fit me any longer. Even my stretchy clothes and my sports bras were almost too tight to wear, and as it was, there were already some stretchy clothes I could no longer fit into. Demoralized, enraged, broken down I spent the last few months seeking answers.

I spent my entire summer in and out of doctor’s offices. Prior to this point, as my body and energy level started to change I sought out the help of a Registered Dietician. I was Crossfitting 4-5 days a week, counting macros, adding in rest days, adjusted my sleep schedule and in the end; the RD I was working with finally said to me she could no longer accept my money because in spite of everything she did to help me lean out and build some muscle, we were making zero progress.

Then, I saw a rheumatologist and she tested me for nearly every possible thing known to man, including my hormones. My blood work all came back normal with the exception of a positive ANA (Antinuclear Antibodies) which is the marker for autoimmunity and positive Thyroid antibodies, AKA Thyroid Peroxidase Antibodies. This meant that my body was showing signs of an autoimmune condition called Hashimoto’s Disease, but since I still had normal Thyroid function; these tests did not indicate I was suffering from an autoimmune disease. Since I was not quite sick enough to be treated, the doctor told me this could be reversed with lifestyle changes.

Lifestyle changes…?

Yoga, meditation, not working out, self-care, therapy, de-stressing, and generally just slowing down.

Lifestyle changes?! What do you mean? I eat well, workout, just got promoted, have a great apartment, in a city I love, where I get to share my life with an incredible husband, I have great friends, a wonderful family—what possible changes do I need to make to my life?!

I felt like this was fucking bullshit. But nonetheless, begrudgingly I made all the changes the doctor told me to make. I revamped my daily meditation practice, cut out the weight lifting, started walking, doing more yoga, resting, and trying to slow down.

In June 2018, I went Keto (short for the Ketogenic Diet), which in my last post at one week into the diet raved about how it was changing my life. However, what I failed to do was update that post. Because after my first week on Keto where it appeared that I had lost some weight at week two, I was UP three pounds, then four, then five and before I knew it—by summer’s end I had gained 13 pounds and increased my body fat by 10%! While I did not know this at the time, even as I phased out a Ketogenic lifestyle, alllllll the healthy fats from avocados, Primal Kitchen dressings, nuts, oils, and nut butters were LITERALLY TURNING MY BODY INTO FAT. While Keto aficionados will vehemently oppose this, do your research. There is a small amount of the population that Keto:

– Doesn’t work

– Actually promotes fat gain because the body’s systems, specifically the liver are so taxed that it cannot metabolize the fat. So, the fat is NEVER actually used as fuel and is well, just fat

This was clearly the case for me. Keto wasn’t The Magic Pill and I was devastated.

In July 2018, I saw an endocrinologist. My blood panels were all normal and that was the end of my treatment. What treatment? Yea, my thoughts exactly. Western medicine nowadays is comprised of running blood tests, discerning whether the results are within the normal range or not, then sending an email with the results. Today’s medicine practitioners aren’t actually concerned with identifying root causes, just prescribing a pill and calling it a day. But I digress.

In August 2018, my husband and I spent $1,000 of money we did not have at Bulletproof Labs, a Biohacking facility in Santa Monica to aide in my recovery. We were hoping that this fringe science was the answer to our prayers. It wasn’t, as it did not work.

In late August into September 2018, I started working with a naturopath. I saw her weekly where she conducted ‘Muscle Testing’ to determine the dosing of herbs and supplements I would take that week. During this time, despite her attempts to stop or slow my weight gain, I kept gaining about 1.5-2 pounds a week. Finally, after 5 weeks, she referred me to someone with more experience to help me because after spending nearly $100/week to seek treatment from her, I wasn’t getting any better.

During this time, I also saw a gynecologist. She biopsied my uterus to rule out Uterine cancer since she believed I wasn’t ovulating; nor had been doing so for the past 10 years. So, just to be safe, what was supposed to be a routine visit to dig deeper into my hormonal issues; she biopsied my uterus. Gentleman, you have NO IDEA what this entails nor could possibly feel like. Ladies, if you’ve had a LEEP procedure you can infer how this felt—and I had a LEEP in my 20’s. THIS WAS NOTHING LIKE THAT. It was HORRIBLY painful and uncomfortable. I mean we are talking about taking a chunk out of someone’s flesh and I will just stop there.

Thankfully, the biopsy was negative, but I was directed to a fertility specialist to delve deeper into my ovulation, or lack thereof. Table this—more on this later.

Why this long case history of my last few months? I felt it vital to understanding my last year was filled with counting macros, The Whole30, intuitive eating, going Keto, reverting back to my body building diet; all while pushing myself harder and harder in the gym and at Crossfit and making no gains. Over the last year, I was so devoid of energy that workouts wiped me out. More specifically, during intense exertion, I crumbled and couldn’t perform. I had an entire year without one Personal Record, no competitions or meets, and nothing to show for my hard work other than severe depression and anxiety, a thickening waistline with 25 pounds added to my barely 5’1 frame, fatigue, no menses, and yet according the doctors I was ‘healthy.’

I refused to accept that this life was my new normal. What’s more, I couldn’t fathom how the medical world wasn’t boggled nor concerned as to how and why I was exponentially gaining weight.

Thankfully in early fall, salvation was delivered in the form of a chance meeting at a Reiki healing event with my husband that our amazing rheumatologist had organized. Mona, a gorgeous woman with radiant skin, lush brown hair, magnetic energy, and an adorable baby just so happened to know Greg AND our rheumatologist! What a small world and in the vastness of LA, an even smaller city. Turns out, Mona is a Holistic Nutritionist and so, so, so much more.

After meeting Mona, a few weeks passed before Greg suggested I reach out to her. I mean, what did I have to lose [pun intended]? Mona called me and we spoke for about an hour. She asked me questions about my health and goals, shared some personal anecdotes about her own struggles, and her process to help people regain their health. Our conversation was effortless. Mona is infectiously likeable, genuine, caring, and INSANELY knowledgeable. I knew the moment I ended that call that help had arrived.

Mona sent along her client intake forms and a host of other materials for me to complete. I couldn’t get them back to her fast enough. I was ready to heal and get this journey going already! Over the two weeks to come, Mona poured over my forms and all of my extensive blood panels from the last 2 months. And when I say poured over them, she texted, emailed, and called to gather more information and ask more questions. At the end of the two weeks, we had a 2-hour phone call where she went over the data and a 10-page treatment plan.

Answers.

FINALLY.

Stay tuned for my second installment, My Healing Journey, Part II next week. If you do not subscribe to my blog, make sure you do so ensuring you don’t ever miss a post. Until then, stay healthy my friends.

Dear Teacher, a Letter for You

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Acceptance, Awareness, Build connections, Challenges, Community, Giving Back, Motivation Monday, Teacher Life, Teaching / A Letter to My Teacher, Dear Teacher, High school, Middle School, School, Stay the Course, Student Teacher, Student Teaching, Students. Los Angeles, Teacher, Teaching / 3 comments

February 12, 2018

I have been spending a lot of time thinking about my work as a public educator. This recent introspection has been brought on but the fact that currently I am mentoring a student teacher. And it wasn’t until these last few months in working with him that I had a new reverence for my profession. As a matter of fact, this recent experience has shown me that the work I do day in and day out cannot be quantified. On a daily basis my work is all-consuming. From the constant adjustments to my lessons based on the needs of my students, to grading paper after paper, to the tedious documentation of student interventions in our district-mandated system, to meeting with and calling parents in my free time, to making copies, grading more papers, and finally doing it all with a smile and grace–I am simply amazed at how demanding ‘just being a teacher’ really is!

Now, even though I have mentored several student teachers throughout my career; it is right now in this very moment and school year that I feel I am at my very-best self. The nuances of how I run my class truly are all-encompassing. At any given time, I am navigating 2-3 different novels, facilitating individual and group projects, creating and giving assessments, and preparing for what’s to come next. Wow, being a teacher is HARD, especially when you write your own curriculum. So, you can imagine just how difficult it is to help guide someone in their quest to become a teacher then layer on your discipline policies, grading scale, organizational techniques, and classroom management approach. Ugh, it is beyond me why people still devalue the teaching profession and why we pay our educators so little…but I digress.

But the reason I wrote this piece was not to tell you how friggen awesome I am. Trust me, I am fully aware of my gifts as an educator and there is no shortage of self-confidence. I wrote a letter to new and struggling teachers and I wanted to share it with the world.

Recently, another student teacher at my school, (not under my guidance) abruptly pulled out of her teaching placement. After 6 months of being in the classroom, she just couldn’t do it anymore. She reached her breaking point, citing not being supported in her classroom, and ultimately the needs of our students being too much, ultimately causing her to crumble under the weight of our work.

My heart hurts for this young woman and for all the others whom have come into this profession and given up before her. This job is not just a job, nor career. Teachers are charged with the greatest task of all, sculpting today’s youth into tomorrow’s leaders, doctors, lawyers, mechanics, writers, painters, innovators, movers, shakers and more! My brain struggles to make sense of how we demand so much of teachers, yet compensate them so poorly while allowing them to be disrespected by multiple entities such as administration, lawmakers, the press, parents, and more. But for me, out of all this darkness must come light—it always does.

To my fellow educators, new and veteran, from far and wide; this is for you.

Remember you matter and have a place here.

Thank you for all that you do in shaping young hearts and minds.

Dearest Teacher,

This work is HARD. It is soulful and soulless at the same time.

You are expected to be everything to everyone at all times—while being your best self, day in and day out regardless of what may be going on in your personal life; all while delivering culturally relevant and rigorous content to the masses.

The demands are never-ending. The stakes are high and the cost to you and your soul is heavy.

It takes a strong person, almost one with a hardened heart to do the work we do in urban schools, but also someone with a soft-gooey center to let the kids in. To love them when they need it most, yet also just hard enough to push them to reach beyond themselves into the vast unknown.

This job and this work isn’t for everyone. It demands a ferocity of heart and soul that can fizzle out faster than a candle without oxygen IF you do not take care of yourself FIRST and FOREMOST, always. Cardinal rule number one of leading a life of service is to serve yourself FIRST. You must always remain number one in your life. For in order to be a great leader, to guide these children; you must ensure you are protecting your head and heart at all costs.

As a teacher, your heart and soul is boundless. You see the good and untapped potential in every child that walks through your door. Your unbounding positivity is precisely what sets you apart from others and why you sought out this profession. But doing this work, being of such great importance to so many people comes at a price and often times, since we do not protect ourselves from such vulnerabilities, it is us whom must pay the toll. However, you must learn how to adapt, how to survives, and above all how to preserve yourself. And while you do not see it now in the midst of all the trials of your day, and trust me you cannot—what you do and what you say matters to these kids.

California Science Center Field Trip January 2018 with my 7th graders

Take it from someone who routinely is branded “The Mean Teacher” because I have high standards and push my students to produce meaningful work. What the kids say about me hurts. It hurts in ways I cannot convey. BUT, I am the teacher they never forget. I am the teacher they know would do anything for them. I am the teacher they come back to see years later, contact, and herald as the person who helped get them to college. So, while it’s hard to see the light now…You are igniting the spark to a fire that will burn brightly for many, many, many years to come.

Stay the course and keep fighting the good fight.

Yours in Solidarity,

Arielle Miller AKA as my students call me “Miss”

When Given the Choice Between Being Right or Being Kind, Choose Kind

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Acceptance, Adversity, Autoimmune Disease, Awareness, Build connections, Challenges, Chronic Illness, Community, Giving Back, Gratitude, Hard Work, Married Life, Scleroderma, Teacher Life, Updates, Yoga / 2018, Autoimmunity, Choose Kind, Fitness, Helping Others, Holiday Season, New Year, New Years Resolution, Scleroderma, Sclerosis, Wellness, Yoga / 2 comments

December 30, 2017

As the New Year rapidly approaches many of us turn our gaze inward for our annual forced introspection and goal setting. For me though, I like to check in with myself periodically to hold myself accountable to the things I love in an effort to live my best life; but like many of us, I too cannot help but feel that same pull as 12:00am on December 31^st inches ever closer.

This year for me has been filled with unforeseen trials, tragedies, and triumphs. From competing in my first ever powerlifting meet, to taking a hiatus from teaching yoga after 5 incredible years, to sharing a blissful 2^nd wedding anniversary with my love, to my sister’s engagement (it only took long enough!), to sadly my grandmother suffering multiple strokes and landing in a nursing home, to coaching at Orangetheory Fitness [then quitting], to gaining 22 pounds, and so, so, so much more.

But also amidst 2017, I was voted onto various committees at my school where I started assuming more responsibilities in pseudo-leadership roles. This year, I have thrived in my classroom as a middle school teacher, and experienced a rejuvenation for my craft I haven’t felt in YEARS. It seemed that my life, while filled with challenges was [finally] falling, no—it was settling into place.

My second life and career in the fitness world teaching cycling, yoga, and other fitness formats for One Down Dog and Equinox was coming full circle. I was being sent to trainings, teaching more formats, and getting recognition in being selected to participate in high-profile events through Equinox like Cycle for Survival and Cycle for Heroes. It seemed that my life was hurling right ahead in all the positive directions I had intended until one fateful April morning when my husband Gregory was diagnosed with Limited Systemic Sclerosis, more commonly known as Scleroderma.

As I have previously written, those early days are hard to recall. They are kind of a blacked out blur. And to be completely honest, much of what I take away is the fear in my husband’s eyes and the ceaseless crying. Just flirting with 2 years of marriage…my beloved husband was delivered earth-shattering news that would forever alter both our lives…

Would Greg die?

What would happen to his body?

How would I assume the role care-taker?

The questions didn’t stop and they haven’t stopped—that’s one of my husband Greg’s greatest and most irksome qualities: His ability to ask incessant, albeit mostly great questions.

We mobilized immediately and jumped head first into the Scleroderma community meeting new people, touched by their stories and strength, making life-long friends, attending galas, donating money, but above all—giving back. Together, side-by-side, Greg and I held a fundraiser at One Down Dog where we got our yoga on and auctioned off donated goods from community partners in raffles and a silent auction for the Scleroderma Foundation of Southern California. Jessica Rosen, One Down Dog’s owner graciously donated the space, matched donations, and helped us do something great for others for no reason other than it was the right thing to do–help those in need.

Inspired by the success of our first fundraiser, Greg and I set our sights on a second fundraiser, but as fate would have it; Greg was promoted to Group Fitness Manager at an Equinox club out of the initial proposed location—putting the fundraiser on hold for the moment. Again, so much darn good this year—that’s for sure.

Look at that smile! Michael, a Scleroderma Warrior!

The holiday season rounded the corner and Greg stumbled upon someone’s Instagram page that piqued his interest. It was of a mother sharing photos and the story of her 9-year-old son Michael fighting Scleroderma (click HERE to visit Tiffany’s Instagram). Immediately, Greg and Tiffany started talking via social media. We came to learn much about Michael’s struggles and bravery. At just 9-years-old, Michael had been battling Scleroderma since he was 3-years-old! Additionally, Micheal’s condition was further complicated by his Parry-Romberg Syndrome, (also known as progressive hemifacial atrophy) which is a rare disease characterized by progressive shrinkage and degeneration of the tissues beneath the skin, usually on only one side of the face (hemifacial atrophy) but occasionally extending to other parts of the body (Wikipedia.com). Needless to say, Michael’s story touched our hearts deeply.

Both Greg and I repeatedly poured over Tiffany’s Instagram…our hearts aching for poor Michael. At times, I even felt ashamed of myself for having the audacity to pity myself by calling myself fat, or ruminating on the 22 pounds I put on—I mean, c’mon. There are people who have REAL struggles and my biggest issue in my life is at times I think I am fat?! What in the actual hell is wrong with me?!

Michael’s mother posted to her Instagram about his upcoming surgery—a fat transplant procedure that would help restore some symmetry to Michael’s face. She discussed an online giveaway she had entered with the hopes of winning a Nintendo Switch to give Michael for Christmas. Tiffany went on to discuss in her post that her husband was trying to work overtime to afford the pricey console. It was then when Greg turned to me and said, “I want to buy Michael the Nintendo Switch.”

The Brave Michael pre-surgery

There was no hesitation, and no discussion needed. Immediately, I responded, “Great. So buy it.”

Greg reminded me that we’d be spending money on a complete stranger and that spending this kind of money would have its repercussions; but we both didn’t care. This was the right thing to do, just like the many others that have done the right thing/s for us. Finally, it was our turn to pay it forward.

To me, money is just that—money. If something I have can alleviate the pain and suffering of someone else, then so be it. Seeing Michael open his Nintendo Switch on Christmas…knowing that Greg and I were able to do something truly altruistic this holiday season was all the thanks we both needed. We knew buying Michael that Nintendo Switch was money well spent.

In looking back, to say I lived a lifetime this year would be an understatement. Filled with lots of good, some bad, and few very ugly parts; I need to say that Greg’s diagnosis has come as a blessing in disguise. Greg has been entrusted to be the face of this little-talked about and very rare autoimmune disease. Greg’s diagnosis inspired him to head back to school for a Master’s in Public Health so that he can help others afflicted with autoimmune conditions. We have collectively fundraised thousands of dollars to help in Scleroderma research and patient advocacy. And as of yesterday, Greg officially registered for the LA Marathon and will be running to raise awareness and funds for Scleroderma!

Yes, there isn’t a day that doesn’t pass that I do not look at my husband and worry about his health. There are times where my eyes well with tears in a collective sadness, lamenting for my husband’s lack of mobility, range of motion, and incredible discomfort in his body. Nothing about Greg’s daily life, or mine for that matter is, nor will remain easy—and that’s ok! Personally, I wouldn’t have it any other way. For it is only through trials and tribulations does one truly cultivate perseverance, wherewithal, and character.

So, while we may not have had a choice in what 2017 dealt us when Scleroderma chose us; in 2018 it will not define us. There is no time to be sad, worry, and feel bad for ourselves as that won’t change anything. The only way I see my year and moving grandly into 2018 is by taking action. We won’t stop, and can’t stop.

Wishing you all a very happy and healthy New Year, here’s you my friends and family as we rise up together to live our lives as our best selves.

#MeToo

Arielle Miller / Accountability, Adversity, Awareness, Challenges, Current Events, News, Teacher Life, Teaching / #MeToo, Current Events, Equality, Harvey Weinstein, LAUSD, Me Too, Me Too Movement, Mistreatment of Women, Public Education, Reblog, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Harassment, Teacher, Women's Rights / 0 comments

October 16, 2017

As the “Me Too” movement sweeps the worldwide web, I am compelled to retell an experience that was particularly harrowing for me to endure a public school teacher. Almost exactly 2 years ago to the date, I was sexually harassed by a group of male students while walking to my car after staying late at school to grade papers. For me, it wasn’t so much the verbal abuse I suffered, so much as the way I was treated when I reported it [and by a woman no less!].

My supervisor Mrs. Jones*, a petite and attractive woman sat across from me in her office and leaned across the desk before speaking, “Are you sure Ms. Miller that the boys weren’t 9^th graders?”

She paused waiting for me to respond, then continued “Because, well you know how these 9^th graders are…”

Mrs. Jones paused again, then sighed before laboring on, “Look, I’ve been where you are Ms. Miller. It even continued to happen to me when I was pregnant! It’s just how these things are. Boys will be boys.”

Stunned, I am certain my face wore the look of shock and terror as I flatly retorted, “It doesn’t matter how old the boys were. What matters is what they said, how they said it, and to whom they said it. I want to make a report. These boys need to know this kind of behavior and language will not be tolerated and is wrong.”

“Well, Ms. Miller we can consult School Police” she said, “but since the boys who harassed you won’t admit who made the comments, we cannot punish them.”

“So, punish them all!” I firmly stated.

My administrator called the School Police officer into her office. The officer didn’t bother to sit down, shake my hand, nor introduce himself. Instantly, I felt like I was a burden and could sense his annoyance with being summoned to meet with me. I hurriedly rehashed my story. There was hardly a pause between when my story ended and the officer’s response, “Yea, so there isn’t anything we can do here since we cannot confirm the origin of the comments.”

“Again” I began, then continued, “Like I told Mrs. Jones I do not see why we cannot discipline all students involved. If anything this is an opportunity to educate these boys. I mean, is that not what we do here?!”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not how we do things, Ms. Miller” replied the officer, before turning his back to me and leaving.

I vividly recall that conversation and moment in time. I felt let down by the very systems I represent and uphold. I felt like as the victim, my claims were diminished and I was bothering the people to which I was attempting to report my harassment to. And yet even some few years later, I still cannot fully wrap my head around what happened or even why I didn’t speak up. Why didn’t I fight for myself and all those other women? Why did I allow this situation to be so grossly mismanaged?

All I can say and speak to is what I know, and what I know about survivors of abuse, sexual harassment, and rape is that we are failing these people—we make them feel like they are wrong. We shame the victims. We ask them what they were wearing, question their choices, and even say ridiculous things like “boys will be boys”. So, it’s no wonder people remain silent and quietly accept the abuse [or report it years later]. It’s no wonder that my newsfeed on social media is an outpouring of #METOO. We simply do not take sexual misconduct seriously and it disgusts me.

In an effort to bring further light to this issue, I am reminding you of my tale. Sadly, this is only one snapshot, an anecdote, a quick glimpse into my life and work…I have so many other stories to tell…

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of the people mentioned in this piece

To Be a Woman: Originally posted on October 2, 2015

While working in the professional world I’ve learned that as a woman with a well-developed derrière and what society likes to call “curves,” I must not wear any sort of form-fitting clothing to work. Society has conditioned others to view my body as sexy when in reality my physical-self is just that; a shell that warehouses my mental, social, and emotional-self, but the world doesn’t see any of that. The world or shall I say men, only see a short girl with a fat ass and for some reason that’s carte blanche for men to comment, heckle, and harass me and other women alike.

While leaving campus today at around 4:15pm, I saw a group of young men congregating near the only exit available to me to leave. Throughout my years in education, I have become increasingly aware of my body and sadly uncomfortable by it. Walking the crowded halls of a campus through throngs of adolescent men has taught me to walk briskly, head down, and at all costs; avoid groups of young men if I want to minimize the onslaught of unwelcomed sexual advances, comments, and cat-calling. Today was no different.

Grab your phone.

Look down.

Appear busy.

Move deftly.

Do not make eye contact.

Must get to car as fast as possible.

As I approached the circle of boys, I recognized a few faces from the halls but I didn’t know any of their names. A boy sharply shouted, “MIZZZZ MILLER!”

I pretended to ignore them as they weren’t my students and I didn’t know them.

Grab your phone.

Look down.

Appear busy.

Move deftly.

Do not make eye contact.

Must get to car as fast as possible.

Finally, an anonymous male voice from the crowd:

“Look at all that booty.”

Immediately, the words accosted my ears. And right then and there every single fiber of my being tightened, my face reddened, and I felt naked and completely exposed. Time seemed to slow and halt in a stillness that felt like eons as I ruminated over my response and how to react.

I contemplated mouthing off to the boys, demanding who was responsible, and asserting my teacher-ness but alas, I did not. Instead, I felt intense shame for my body. I was embarrassed and hyper aware of my butt—was it jiggling? Can they see it? What are they thinking as they watch me walk to my car?

Was this really happening to me?! Again?!

Hot with shame, and feeling grossly exposed, I didn’t stand up for myself. I was paralyzed. My body and my mind couldn’t respond.

By the time I got to my car, I was crying. I opened my car door and sat sobbing in the stale warm air of my car while I replayed the incident in my head. I felt disgusted with myself, and my body all because I am a woman.

What the fuck has happened here?! How is it that as the victim of sexual harassment I am blaming myself?! Wrought with guilt for what may appear to someone as not a big deal, I skipped my workout, and cried the entire 20-minute drive back to my house.

There is something seriously wrong with how women are perceived in our culture. For years, I have made sure that I do not wear anything to work that alludes to my womanly figure because women with bodies are considered ‘voluptuous’, sexy, and temptresses. First off, that’s bullshit. Second, I work hard for my body. It’s lean, muscular, and something I shouldn’t be made to feel guilty about. But when skinny, tall, and lanky women wear fitted clothes, they’re not seen as sex objects. I don’t get it. It really doesn’t make any sense to me—we emulate the model-like body in beauty magazines and Hollywood, but somehow a curvy woman’s physique is considered sensual??? Someone PLEASE explain this to me.

Here’s what I know: I am not letting what happened today on campus die with me.

My silence would only affirm that if women do not stand up and speak up for themselves, nothing is going to change. While I may not have spoken up for myself at the time, I refuse to stand idly by to misogyny and sexual harassment at my school or in society.

Together we must take a stand and speak out against such verbal assaults against women. And while I may have been silenced once by my own insecurities, I am stronger now.

I am ready.

America, The Time for Reform is NOW

Arielle Miller / Accountability, Adversity, anger, Awareness, Challenges, Community, Hard Work, School, Teacher Life, Top Stories, World / Addiction, Columbine, Education, Government, Gun Control, Internet and social media addiction, Las Vegas, Mass Shootings, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Psychology, Public Education, Reform, Restorative Justice, School Shootings, Social Media, System, Teacher Life, Teachers, Video Game Addiction / 2 comments

October 3, 2017

In the wake of the mass shooting that occurred in Las Vegas late Sunday night on October 1, 2017, we are a nation in mourning. Overwhelmed by sadness, why’s, knee-jerk responses, passionate social media posts, cries for gun reform, and blame; we are desperately searching for answers. Where does one even really being to process such a senseless act of violence and tragic loss of life? How do we explain the world in which we reside to our children? Who is responsible? Why did this happen? And how on earth did this happen?! Our questions are endless and sadly, many of them will remain unanswered. However, I would like to offer my insight to mass shootings in this country.

Growing up, I lived Columbine and other school shootings. Not lived through or experienced in the literal sense but the fear I felt, worrying if my idle Long Island town would be rocked by such violence was very, very real.

It was a terrifying time to be a teen. The media had dubbed the time period surrounding Columbine ‘Shooting Season’. Daily, my peers and I came to school and walked the halls with trepidation…

Wondering…

Watching…

Alert.

Anonymous notes flooded in to our counselors reporting any signs of odd behavior, depression, Goth kids, and anyone we considered to possibly perpetrate violence on a grand scale. It was a scary time coming to age during this era, all while the world was also on the brink of a cyber revolution.

According to MarketWatch, the break down for reasons the 10 Most Deadly Mass Shootings in U.S. History are as is follows: Both Mental Health Issues and Terrorism/Crimes of hate each account for 8/10 crimes committed. The remaining 2 acts of violence cite work place revenge and most recently; the massacre in Las Vegas is still a mystery as the motive is currently unknown.

What I am about to unearth are my theories regarding mass shootings in America. Some of my theories are deduced from my own experience, some research, and anecdotal evidence garnered as a public educator for 13 years. Much of the lens I am examining this problem is though the current youth, our education system, and other problems that I have identified in American society. You may very well not agree with me, but all I ask is that you keep an open mind and are receptive to my points. I aim merely to offer perspective and insight in a time when lucidity gets muddied as our emotions get the better of us.

1. Inability to Appropriately Address and Treat Mental Health Issues Properly

The mental health crisis in this country is one of great concern. It is truly an abomination how we recognize, treat, and care for our mentally ill. Depression, anxiety, and personality disorders are stigmatized, not talked about, and presented as if some dirty secret.

Additionally, health care is not readily available nor affordable to much of the population; therefore, compounding the issue for people trying to seek help.

Social workers and other mental health providers are over worked and underpaid. Schools often have only one social worker, who is shared between multiple school sites. Students are shuffled in and out of the system quickly because it’s overloaded and as if that weren’t enough, our society criminalizes the mentally ill!

As a public school teacher, I have read countless journals from my students about depression, self-harming behavior, and bullying. I have also observed/been privy to information regarding many disturbing behaviors in children from sexually assaulting other children with foreign objects, to children killing their pets and gloating about it. I have seen these problems get swept under the rug, dismissed, or not adequately addressed because we simply do not have the man power or resources to treat these children.

Every adult that has carried out mass shootings, was once a child—a student in someone’s classroom. Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris were teens who wrote disturbing pieces in their English classes, maintained online websites, and personal journals all leading up to the horrific Columbine Shooting in Littleton, Colorado on April 20, 1999.

Where were the teachers? Why weren’t services offered to these boys? But really what I am talking about here, or wondering rather, is why haven’t we learned? Why can’t we have a real conversation about real issues and real things that matter? Who really gives a shit about Keeping Up with The Kardashians?! We have people who need our help and we are too busy distracting ourselves and cannot see the real issues deserving of our attention.

2. Cyber Revolution: Social Media and Instant Gratification

In 2000, as the millennium rapidly approached, accessibility to the internet, email, and a super highway of information was unleashed on the world. It is a known fact that Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris used the internet as a means to conduct research to acquire weapons, build homemade bombs, and publically post their dark stories of death and murder. What we saw at Columbine, sadly would not be the end of the internet’s role in influencing mass shooter’s mindsets. Whether from exposure to Islamic radicalism, to self-imposed isolation/reclusiveness, or compounding depression and other mental deficiencies; the internet and access to information anywhere, anytime is certainly a factor in such violence.

According to the American Psychological Association, people toggling between 3 or more social media platforms are at greater risk for depression, anxiety, poorer concentration, and changes in mood. Other risk factors associated with extended use of various social media are the effects of cyber bullying, and the pressures of keeping up with the culture of various sites, etc. Ultimately, studies found that these kind of factors lead users to ruminate over their time on social media even when not using it, eventually leading users to negative thoughts about self and low self-esteem.

Our current world is one of instantaneous gratification. Our youth are accustomed to getting answers and communicating in real time. They send texts, direct messages, emails, and Snaps as a means of what they believe to acceptable forms of communication. All too often my students will send me direct messages on Instagram inquiring about class or homework as opposed to emailing me. Read receipts allow people to see when messages were viewed and if a response isn’t rendered immediately, hostility and anger brew within the sender. We are in dangerous water, living in this digital landscape. People expect, no, they demand a double tap on their Instagram photo, a follow for follow, unfollowing on Instagram is a personal affront, texts need to be answered instantaneously, and emails responded to in mere minutes.

Our thought processes are rash and impulsive. Keyboard warriors are hitting send and eagerly anticipating a response as they wage war on others and engage in discussions online in their efforts to communicate. So, as far as I am concerned, people’s ability to wait for things—anything, no longer exists. Science has continued to prove that the internet, social media, [and excessive gaming] have countless negative effects on the brain, social development, and mood.

Why are people so violent? So angry? So quick to act? Simple. Because in the world that exists between their thumbs, life plays out every time you slide your screen down to refresh your feed.

3. No Failure Mechanism in the Face of Moral & Societal Decay

Every generation looks back at their childhood and wonders what in the actual fuck happened to society in their adulthood. At present, I am in my mid-thirties and I find myself looking back at my youth thinking “Ahhhhh, it was a better time” AND the music was a helluva lot better. But perhaps it’s not that things were even better back in my childhood, so much as adulting seriously sucks when you realize the shit storm in which you reside.

We live in an era where words no longer have the meaning they used to. Everyone is overly sensitive, offended, triggered, or incapable of functioning ‘because their feelings were hurt’. Our society has completely and utterly degraded to the point where feelings take precedence over job and academic performance. People are rewarded not for winning or demonstrating mastery, but merely because they tried. Children are given participation awards—no more do we have winners, but everyone who showed up is a winner! Hooray! I do hope you are sensing my sarcasm here. We’ve bred a society of children, young adults, and millennials with zero coping skills and no ability to take feedback to improve because their feelings may get hurt. So when things don’t workout, or go their way; these young people are unable to unpack, cope, and process situations which ultimately culminate with poor behavior, violence, or depression.

Our culture of Nice has produced a bevy of people unwilling to honestly reflect, strive for excellence, and maintain a sense of integrity. In my 13 years in the classroom, I have personally witnessed accountability fall by the wayside as parents, students, and even administrators point fingers to assign blame rather than teach ownership. No one assumes any sort of responsibility; hence, failing to teach people consequences. Cause and effect are shadows of a bygone period. Schools no longer suspend and rarely, if ever expel students. Instead, Restorative Justice is offered as an alternative to Deans of Discipline. Students and teachers sit in a circle and share their feelings with the goal of ‘repairing harm’.

In our society, we are failing miserably at instilling character in our youth. We are not guiding or leading people and showing them how grit and determination will get you far in life. And conversely, we are not showing our youth what happens when you make poor decisions.

Friends. Family. Students. Fellow Americans. We must stand together and make positive change to see this nation soar again and prevent any more violence on such a large scale. Sure, compassion and love are part of the answer. But so is structure, taking care of people’s health, unplugging from social media, and putting an end to unjustly rewarding people/students.

Isn’t it clear that what we are doing isn’t working?

Isn’t it clear that we are failing one another tremendously?

Isn’t it clear that we can do better by those that are suffering?

Isn’t it clear that we need less time on our devices and more time making eye contact?

Isn’t it clear that our country needs radical change that isn’t just legislation?

The time for reform is now before more tragedy unfolds in our country.

The Advocate I Should Have Always Been

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Acceptance, Accountability, Adversity, anger, Autoimmune Disease, Awareness, Blog, Build connections, Celebrate, Celebration, Challenges, Chronic Illness, Community, Confidence In Movement, Fitness, Gratitude, mindfulness, Motivation Monday, Scleroderma / Autoimmune Disease, Awareness, Charity, Chronic Illness, Family, Gratitude, Love, Lupus, Mother, Mother Daughter, Scleroderma / 0 comments

July 31, 2017

Over the years I have encountered my fair share of friends raising money for AIDS, Breast Cancer, and so on. Often times their reasons for involvement were obvious; but I always still wondered, why people got involved, how they got involved, and what kept them involved. So when I could, I happily donated.

Just this past year, I was bestowed the incredible honor of being able to ride (as a support cycling instructor) on stage at Equinox’s annual Cycle for Survival event which raises millions of dollars a year to fund rare cancer research at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. I cried while listening to the harrowing tales of sadness, but I was struck by the strength of our community. Cancer or no cancer in my life, my heart felt deeply for every family that lost a mother, father, friend, daughter, son, niece, nephew and so on. Cancer affects us all. Sadly, cancer and cancer-related deaths are on the rise; thus its visibility and diagnoses at this point are not a matter of if cancer will strike a family, but when.

The big ‘C’ or ‘FUCK CANCER’, like so many say, rightfully so garners a serious reaction from people. You mention cancer and people instantly give you their attention and sympathies. Cancer is something we talk about, know about, and are much more public about. It is something we are more comfortable discussing because tragically cancer has become so commonplace in our world as a result of environmental factors, diet, industrialization, and more.

But this post isn’t about cancer.

And this post certainly isn’t about devaluing anyone’s battle or struggles either. My problems are not bigger than yours, and we are not in competition with one another with respects to whom has been dealt a shittier hand of cards. This post is merely about my life and experience with respects to growing up with my mother, someone afflicted with an autoimmune disease.

For me, this is about drawing awareness to chronic illness. It has been my experience that when I encounter people afflicted with autoimmune conditions, they down play them or very quickly mention it as an afterthought. Usually, the thought is then followed up with, ‘Well, you probably haven’t heard of it…’ before changing the subject. And maybe, no—I haven’t. All of us haven’t because when it comes to chronic illness, there is no cure or potential cure, and in the interest of being completely candid—we just do not know what to say or how to react to something we do not know, nor understand. We all fight our own battles and choose to wage war differently. For me, the way I wage a war is to strike straight to the heart and make you feel something in order to stimulate action. I openly discuss the happenings of my life with the hopes that somehow, somewhere, my story is touching a life…

My amazing mother and I. This pic is from September 2016 when she flew out to LA to support me in my first body building show!

My mother has lived with an autoimmune disease virtually her entire life. At 19 years old her youthful body was fatigued and rundown. She was diagnosed with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis (JRA). However, as my mother aged, her symptoms worsened and did not subside. It wouldn’t be until almost 20 years later when my mother would be diagnosed with Lupus. I was in middle school at the time (though my mom seems to think elementary school) and this was well before the internet, so all we had to work with was from what the doctors told us. Still, the gravity of my mother’s Lupus never truly made sense nor hit home. I think this happened because as a pre-teen one’s only thoughts and focus are on and of oneself.

As I moved into my teenage years, I was a nightmare to deal with. I was not only unruly, but a raging mess of hormones. I was violent, aggressive, and my moods erratic. I spent much of my high school years grounded and bitching to my boyfriend Josh how much I hated ‘them’. During our family blowouts, my father would scream at me, “YOU ARE KILLING YOUR MOTHER!”

That was the only time my mother’s illness ever came into play or conversation—when I upset her or the status quo at home, which trust me, was a daily occurrence.

We never changed our diets; my parents remained relatively sedentary outside of commuting to and from their jobs in New York City, and life rolled on. However, yearly we attended the Lupus Walk to raise money for research. The impression though that I got from my parents was it was a half-assed effort. Something they did because they felt obligated to; as opposed compelled to participate in because of a deep seeded want to help their cause. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing either—to each his or her own. Just because someone is afflicted with something doesn’t call for instant and complete mobilization of charity events, fundraisers, and involvement. The difference between my parents and their approach to my mother’s illness when compared to my husband and his disease is vast. People like myself and my husband Greg rally our community around our passions and causes. Albeit, the world we reside in is immensely different than the world of yesteryear with things like crowdfunding and social media; but we are public and visible with our successes and our struggles.

My beloved family at our wedding in LA

My mother never complained, asked ‘why me?’, or even demanded special treatment. As a matter of fact, my mother retired from her work at Con Edison after 41 years of service never even informing her employers of her condition or filing for FMLA (Family and Medical Leave Act). To say my mother, whom is this sweet and kind soul is tough, is an understatement. She’s a quiet kind of fierce. The kind you never saw coming—a woman that in her retirement took up yoga and water aerobics after YEARS of inactivity. My mother, as she ages is getting super weird as ‘old people do’—doesn’t miss a thing. Observant and thoughtful, she thinks of others first. Two days after I got my braces on, a package arrived at my house from Costco. My mother sent me a waterpik to ease my efforts in trying to keep my [new] braces clean. She is and always has been that behind-the-scenes kind of woman who deserved more from this life. Hell, from me. More on that in a bit.

My mother, now 61 years old lives with her Lupus and thankfully it doesn’t appear to be an issue. Granted, as with any disease these things manifest enormously different from person to person and can take a turn for the worse at anytime. My mom does take medication for various things and has throughout the years, but aside from minor hiccups here and there; she’s earned a relatively clean bill of health. I am convinced part of my mother’s longevity and relatively healthy life is a direct result of her mindset when it came to her illness. Granted, both she and my father could certainly eat better and be more active (yes, I am totally throwing you both under the bus here); but her mental state is precisely what’s correlated to her overall well-being. My mother chose to define life on her terms as opposed to letting her illness define her. Similarly, my husband Greg recently wrote about this topic on his blog. You can read his post by clicking HERE. I cannot emphasize enough the power of a positive mindset. We cannot control the things that happen to us in this life [like I mentioned in my last post, click HERE to read it], but we can consciously decide how we proceed forward.

Now as a woman now of 35, I feel deep sadness that I didn’t invest in my mother’s health and illness sooner. As my mother and my father age, I worry incessantly about their health and well-being. But more than that, I feel selfish that only now with my husband’s own chronic illness (Scleroderma) I am using my voice. I am embarrassed to say that my uncle has diabetes, my cousin breast cancer, and many of my friends are living with debilitating illnesses and NOW—now I am using my voice?! At times I grapple with feeling like I am not good enough to lobby for a cause, this cause in particular for I have willing sat idly for so long…And then I step back and realize that I need to be kinder to myself. Beating myself up to rally around and for every cause is not only not possible, but the timing wasn’t right for me.

The time is now.

I am grateful to have such inspirational people in my life to model how to gracefully approach adversity. Moreover, I am inspired by their strength to use my voice as a rallying cry to direct more funding towards autoimmune disease research, treatment, and spread awareness. I cannot look back at what I didn’t do but I can look ahead to the future and know what I can and will do.