Secrets

There are some people who would look at the group I had today and say “Man, what a bad shift.” And in some ways, it was. These girls were somewhat sneaky, passing notes, sneaking hugs, gossiping about each other and the staff, constantly asking me the same questions in a rather rude tone of voice, needing constant redirection, constant supervision. It was exhausting.

And yet.

And yet today I ran a group longer than any I ever have before; for a full two hours, we talked. We talked about secrets, about regrets, about memories. I saw girls, one-by-one, open up their souls and truly look inside. I had girls who drove me crazy the rest of the day tear up in sympathy for another's past. They identified with each other—they were honest with each other.

I had some tell us stories they'd never admitted before; others tell about secrets they once were weighted down by that only recently they had allowed to surface.

I had a few who would not share their secret, but they were quite willing to share why they kept it: fear. They were afraid as to what their parents, their friends, their family, even strangers would think if they were honest. They were afraid of being rejected, of being labeled, of being mocked.

And the devastating reality is, their fears are legitimate. These are the girls who are bullied, who are mocked, who are scorned by their own family and told they are just attempting suicide or harming themselves for attention. Their illnesses are dismissed, degraded, and rejected.

Isn't that horrible? Isn't society horrible, that this is the norm for these wonderful, difficult girls? I want to encourage them to be honest, be open, and yet I cannot bring myself to fully advise them simply because I am painfully aware of the reality that the end result may be more harm than good.

And, of course, we talked about that too.