How to Fall in Love with a Swamp Monster
I’m afraid there won't be a Disney princess here, no dashing prince disguised as a toad. If that's what you're hoping for, I suggest you move along because this tale isn't for the faint-hearted. Some might find it a tale with a happy ending, but most would likely cast it aside, preferring not to confront the darkness it reveals.
You might wonder, why on earth would anyone want to fall in love with a swamp monster? They are filthy and repulsive, and for some peculiar reason, you always seem to encounter the ones you find most grotesque, just when you feel stuck in the swamp and have to slowly slog your way through. Afraid of spiders? Well, you're bound to stumble upon a sticky, ghastly web in the swamp that sends shivers down your spine, knowing that an eight-legged beast is lurking nearby. Maybe your swamp is the high school hallway. In the midst of grappling with a behemoth, you catch a glimpse of the logo tattooed on the crusty, scaly back of your adolescent tormentor, the Uggs, Nike, Jordans, and Abercrombies of the world.
Do you have a current swamp monster plaguing you that can neither be avoided nor domesticated? Is there a nightmarish presence from the past that cannot be banished?
Why bother falling in love with a swamp monster? Because, quite simply, you can't avoid them. That's the tricky universal part about swamps that I observed when I was a palliative care chaplain. When you are a patient or a family member dealing with a
serious illness in a hospital, or if you are a resident doctor doing your first unit in the ICU, or even if you are a dedicated, compassionate nurse with 20 years of experience, you never know what might be lurking around the corner. The waiting rooms can feel oppressively foggy, the air so thick you cannot breathe as you deliver or hear difficult news. All of a sudden family disagreements that were settled long ago rear their ugly heads. Everyone believes they are speaking kindly and
clearly while the person receiving the news only hears guttural growls in a foreign tongue. I was often sent into a room that held vicious beasts locked in mortal combat or sent to confront a terrifying behemoth that wore a hospital badge lurking in the hallway. I learned you have to take it slow. I never suggest that when dealing with swamp monsters you don't need to stop fearing or even hating them. Just pretend to be unafraid.
Now, let me clarify; I'm not asking you to deny your genuine feelings or to waltz into the jaws of a vicious predator. Before you unsheathe your sword or pull the pin on the grenade to annihilate the piranha that’s actually an innocent goldfish, assess the true level of danger. Is the unpleasant creature blocking your path, relentless in its malice; is it an immediate threat to your life? Maybe there’s a better way to defuse the situation, now and in the future.
I began to learn this lesson way before I began chaplaincy. I was in the swamp of the classroom during my first year as a high school English teacher. I learned a classroom management technique that I learned later it had broader applications.
Every class has its "troublemaker," and it was my first year as a teacher, so I was particularly vulnerable to these swamp monsters that relished inflicting pain and humiliation on authority figures. In my third period ninth grade English class, his name was Steven. He was the obnoxious, loudmouthed troublemaker who consistently disrupted our lessons with snarky comments, often at my expense. I did what most teachers would: I sent him to the principal, and he sauntered out,
enjoying the attention. I tried placing him at the front of the classroom, nearest to me, hoping to rein in his behavior and catch his antics early. But it only made things worse. So, in a desperate move, I hatched my own diabolical plan.
First, I moved him to the back of the classroom, an unorthodox choice given that this student clearly had no interest in learning. But the masterstroke was surrounding him with the most earnest, rule-following students I could find. This tactic shielded me from his distractions while the Urkels and Ruth Bader Ginsbergs on his left and right either ignored him or looked at him with disdain. Admittedly, it was a modest attempt at deflecting a true swamp monster, but much later, I gained a new perspective that made me realize that perhaps this had softened my enemy’s defenses and potentially been part of the key that set me up for success.
(This piece of the puzzle clicked into place many years later, when I realized my quiet rule-following daughter seemed to always be placed near Ian or Ahmad in elementary school. On desk clean out days, since her desk was always immaculate, she would help these sweet, overwhelmed boys get their lives in order. Sometimes the teachers would ask her, but often she would come home and tell me that Ahmad’s desk was so
bad he couldn’t find his green folder so she leaned over and grabbed it for him before the teacher walked by for the notebook check, and then in free time they straightened the rest out. She truly did not like to see disorder! While the teachers probably thought of her as just a “good influence” on her hopeless classmates, I thought of Ruth Bader Ginsberg. Perhaps Ruth’s love of justice for the underdog could have started with lending someone a pencil and whispering the directions that had been missed before her companion was embarrassed by his inattention to detail.)
But at the time, this was merely my first weapon, a diversion, while I prepared for a sneak attack from behind, and now I will divulge the heart of the most effective and precise method of mass destruction for any classroom terrorists I encountered: I pretended to like him. I didn't actually like him and I had no idea why I thought this would owrk, but I pretended to by setting a goal to learn one harmless fact about him whenever possible. My goal was one new fact each day, and I took my time to lay my trap. If he arrived a bit early, I'd ask about his weekend, his favorite show, or what he had for lunch. I'd strike up a conversation. He was suspicious at first, so, to appear less conspicuous, I'd often direct my questions to other students and then subtly draw him into the discussion.
This required patience and time, with no instant results. But one day, Steven initiated a conversation about a movie he thought I might like. Something magical happened that day: I began to see Steven for the first time and genuinely like him. He was surprisingly funny, and when his ironic comments coincided with our class discussion, I'd disapprove of his not raising his hand, but then break into laughter, adding another layer to his joke. It was something I never thought possible. And then, in a truly unexpected turn of events, another student interrupted my lesson one day with a snarky remark, and Steven stood up, telling the student to back off. The other boy, ashamed, fell silent, and I resumed my lesson. I felt like I won the war! Or had he? It was so confusing, but I knew for sure, I had real affection for my enemy…I loved Steven. As I had gotten to know his likes, dislikes, fears, and insecurities, I no longer saw a monster but a boy whose bravado concealed his own fears and swampy depths.
I have no illusions that Steven is recounting this story as a pivotal moment in his life. Let’s be honest, I’m not even sure through the fog of memory if he truly liked me at all. For all I know, he is the boss of a crime syndicate and tells his underlings about the day he knew he could get away with anything. In his version, it could be the day he distracted his teacher while his friend stole five dollars out of her purse without her knowing. Does it matter? What I do know is that taking small steps to see him in a different light changed my life. From that point on, my classroom often became the "Island of Misfit Toys" after school or during breaks, but that's a story for another time.
Do you agree that Steven’s Truth is irrelevant to this narrative? Why wouldn’t I want to investigate further? Do you have enlightening experience to share about this or another “monster maneuver”?
My life has been full of “Stevens”, people who I have wrestled with for various reasons in my swampy life. The problem is that I don’t always connect back to the Steven story, or I question its relevance to the villain before me. My anger makes me think that the person doesn’t deserve a “Steven” attempt, my fear prefers a sharper defensive strategy or complete disconnection that keeps me safe.
However, I have to credit my various experiences with swamp monsters for my success as a palliative care chaplain. The more I wrestled and struggled, the easier it was for me to apply the understandings and maneuvers I uncovered to the shadowy creatures that plagued others.
For example, I once used my Steven lesson when I was asked to help a hospital unit which was consistently getting poor reviews on the hospital patient satisfaction survey. I knew many of theprofessionals on that unit as lovely, dedicated professionals, so I was a bit confused. One thing I suggested was for everyone to learn one new fact about each patient they encountered that day. Not a medical fact, but something as simple as a favorite color, sports team, or where they were born. Then they were to pass it on not only to
those working with that patient, but also to their peers at shift change. The next time the surveys came out, their scores went through the roof.
I never knew what would be helpful for myself or worthy to share with others until a situation arose. Part of my experience with disability revealed that the biggest obstacle to smooth swamp navigation was the surprise of the obstacle I never imagined, or how the path I discovered in the past had a new twist that convinced me I was lost, when I actually was quite close to home. The fog got so thick it enveloped me. Listening and feeling my way through the nuance of the soundscape and the depth of the water helped me get my bearings. Other times I just needed to stop and lean on an old lesson learned, before I could trust I knew my way home.
While I could play Scheherazade, with all the villains I encountered, I feel this particular swamp creature I once met holds the key to much of what I use when an SOS flare is launched around me. Once I was pretty sure I was through the worst of the journey and only had to tiptoe by a suspicious clump in the water, when I became mired in the mud. Suddenly, I was terrified as I realized I was trapped with the most hideous monster of them all rising up to destroy me:Malevolent Maria unexpectedly rose from the water, her bellow so close I could smell her putrid breath.I realized I had no escape. I decided to attempt the “Steven Maneuver,” my hail Mary pass. The only path forward through the swamp meant defying conventional wisdom. Instead of taking a deep breath for courage, I held my breath to block out the stench and cautiously asked where she got her hair
done. The menacing beast halted and took a step back, allowing me to breathe again, although I got a closer look at the terrifying snakes writhing in her crown. I squeezed my eyes shut, avoiding her craggy claws coming toward me. As I waited for the impending strike that would end me, it never came. She paused, and asked out loud whether she was using the right conditioner. When I opened my eyes, she was pacing as she spoke, and I slipped by her, unnoticed.
The next time I found myself in the swamp, Malevolent Maria charged at me, screeching that I couldn't escape her this time! I didn't draw my sword in defense or attempt to flee by swinging away through the vines. Instead, I sat down on a decaying tree stump and did something so ridiculously dangerous, it took every ounce of resolve I could muster, to continue on the “Steven” path. I braced myself as I patted the seat beside me. Rather than meeting my eyes and turning me to stone, Malevolent Maria sat down and shared that she struggled with uncontrollable acne that left her feeling isolated. An alligator slithered by, and she gave it a swift kick to prevent any interruptions. When we parted, I promised to look her up the next time I was in the neighborhood.
Have you ever tried to avoid, deny or even lie to monsters in an effort to banish them but in the end it makes things worse?
Actually, I did the opposite and intentionally dodged her whenever possible, but she sensed my avoidance and would menacingly appear. It took me a long time and great skill to learn how to calm her down. So, I started to seek her out to say hello while trudging through the swamp. Even though I was exhausted, I had come to understand that giving her a bit of attention could prevent a catastrophic collision. Over time I became amused by her idiosyncrasies, and her smelly breath seemed to dissipate. Perhaps she started using mouthwash, or maybe I had grown accustomed to the odor, or maybe we had both been unknowingly polluting the landscape with toxic stinky run-off, as I manufactured the weapons I lobbed in her direction while she searched for the right combination of chemicals that would make her worthy of attention. In the swamp I learned that understanding the fears that triggered me as well as the origins of ones that lay behind the monstrous masks, let the fog begin to dissipate and somehow we could both breathe a little easier.
I grew fonder of her and recognized her deep loneliness. I became excited as I thought of ways I could encourage and help her transform her situation. I attempted to convince her to come back with me or at least let me introduce her to the other swamp creatures I was now friendly with. However, for some reason, this always triggered her anger, and she would begin to rage. Malevolent Maria thought there was no reason to befriend those ridiculous beings whose claws weren’t as sharp as hers and whose roars were so weak. How many times would she have to threaten me before I understood her superiority?
Is it possible to have true affection for someone whose perspective is so completely unreasonable and defensive, they can’t even hear how you can help? Do they perhaps feel the same about you?
It finally dawned on me that I was trying to control and manipulate Malevolent Maria out of the swamp because I believed the other side was so much better. Even though I still believe it, I realized that this was my path, and she believed hers to be different. So, I stopped arguing and calmed her down by assuring her that she didn't have to change. I promised that I would visit her, no matter what, and I knew my promise was genuine. I didn't always understand her, and we certainly disagreed, but she was an integral part of the swamp that I started to find comfort in. At that moment, I knew I loved her, and precisely at that particular moment, I turned my head slightly and noticed, for the very
first time, a sturdy bridge that would lead me straight home. As I gave her a hug and said goodbye, I asked her if the bridge had always been there.
She looked at me quizzically and said, "Why, of course, I thought everybody knew about that." Then she shivered a little and added, "But who would ever want to go there? Who knows what you will find on the other side?" And as I walked home, I pondered her words in my heart.
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