Existence

Sometimes, on good days, I will sit my girls in a circle, and for an hour we will talk. It is rare to get them to go for that long; they are so guarded, so suspicious. But today was not one of those days. Today, we talked, and talked, and talked. We talked about secrets, about regrets, about things that they blame themselves for that really aren't their fault. And, eventually, we talked about memories buried so deep that they'd nearly convinced themselves it was just a dream.

I had three girls share about stories of molestations that they had never told a soul. Their faces pale, struggling to find words, they managed, phrase by phrase, to tell their stories. And we all listened.

To have earned the trust of these suspicious and weary young women is a great honor. To listen to their tales is difficult, but rewarding. This is how I can make a difference. And, for those girls who have not experienced this horror, it opens their eyes to the cruel reality of other lives. It makes them think, to realize how wrong it is that so many of the the girls that they consider their friends have suffered incredible injustices in silence.

Sometimes, I am fortunate to have a patient who understands this, who encourages others to share, who is open and patient and, honestly, they do more good than some of the staff. But those girls, as wonderful as they are, worry me too. They are so focused on encouraging others that they forget about their own problems, or shove them aside, deeming them “not that important.” But their feelings are so important; they are the ones who will encourage the world, but until they learn to take time for themselves too, they will burn out.

I try to pull these children (and adults) aside and talk to them, to share this. Sometimes they listen, sometimes they ignore me. But I hope that one day, maybe when they're a little older or a little wiser, they'll remember what I said.

And maybe then they'll turn off their phones, shut off the computer, go outside, and simply be.