Resilience

So I'm a couple months into my last year of grad school. It's been a pretty crazy ride. I've been put in situations I never thought I'd be in. My beliefs have been challenged on every level possible, and I've questioned more of myself than I knew there was. But it's the questioning... and the not being afraid of the questioning, that has made me grow.

This past week was the hardest yet at my internship. I'm placed at a youth crisis center. We focus on runaways and homeless kids ages 7-17, with smaller programs to help kids aging out of foster care. It's a seriously amazing program, but that's not what I want to talk about right now. I want to talk about the kids. The soldiers. The fighters. The ones that get dealt the hard hand in life for no reason at all, and they're left on their own to pick up the pieces. I met some girls this past week, 5 girls from 13-16. I'm pretty sure if I were to look up resilience in the dictionary right now, their pictures would be beside it. Abused by parents, looked over, not as preferred as the younger sister. Beaten by the boyfriend. Taken advantage of by someone almost 3 times her age.

Blamed.

                                                            Despised.

                             Rejected.

Broken
                Into
                          Pieces.


                                     They have to be hard so the world doesn't kill them.

                  Invisible so they can be

                                                                      SAFE.

On Tuesday I had to ask one of them if she really meant it when she told me she had wanted to jump off a bridge before. "Do you want to hurt yourself? Do you want to hurt anyone else? Do you have plans for either?"

I try to put myself in these girls shoes, no matter how long its been since I was their age. I try to imagine what it would feel like to truly know and feel like "my mother loves my little sister more than me"... "Why don't my parents want me? Why don't they love me? What did I do wrong...?"

            "Why?"


I had the chance to speak truth over the two most difficult girls before the week was over.

                                       As she walked out the door, more than likely to go back to her abuser boyfriend, I looked at her and said, "We can't make you stay here. It's your choice to go if that's what you want. But please, please know... we care about you here. We all care about you... and you know where to find us."
                 As she sat in front of me with tears streaming down her face pleading for the love and approval of her mother, yet feeling such strong disdain and anger for the abuse, I was able to tell her what I saw when I looked past the frustration. "You are strong. You're a survivor. You lived this and you made it through. And whether or not you see it, you are stronger because of it, in a way that no one else will be because they have not walked in your shoes. You will  make it through this and you will be okay. You will.
                                          Because you are strong.
                                                                                   You are resilient."

Raw

My parents got a divorce a couple months ago after being married for 37 years. They were my "go-to" marriage, my role models. I knew marriage could work because they'd had hard times and had worked through it.

And yet here we are...

How do you grieve the loss of what you always believed something to be? I, personally, have no idea...

So under the rug it goes. Or maybe on top, and I roll up the rug and put it in the attic. Out of sight, out of mind, out of my heart. And yet, as things always do, it caught up to me. The rug rolled itself right over to that pull down ladder, which fell open... on my head, and my heart.

The hard part is that I understand why they got a divorce. I get it. It makes total sense to me, and I'm not angry at them. But I am angry. I'm hurting. I don't know how to grieve.

So many defenses have kicked in. I don't want to deal with it. Not that it'll make it go away, cause it won't. But I cannot make my heart understand the logic in my head. And maybe one of the worst things about all this is how disillusioned I've become. Cynical, jaded. For now, I refuse to go through what they went through. I'd rather be single than put myself in a situation where I'd end up getting a divorce. (As my therapist said, "Wouldn't we all?" Isn't that just a given? If we knew the outcome of everything, we would choose not to go through most of life for fear of hurt.)

My point is this... I know in my head that I am not my parents. I know my experiences are not and will not be the same as theirs. But try telling that to my heart right now.

I went to my therapist a couple days ago for the first time in almost a year. I didn't resolve anything, and now instead of not feeling anything, I feel raw and vulnerable... As if someone's ripped the bandaid off the gaping wound to flush it out, dry it out. I know healing takes time. Time and pain. This is just a pain that doesn't go away. Even in the best and happiest of moods, it lingers in the background whispering to my insecurities and cynicism.

But as healing also goes, however, I know with time the pain will lessen. It won't go away, I'll just become accustomed to it.