She puts on a smile. But she really aches inside; well, outside too. She has scars and marks--some healed and terrible, some fresh and on the surface--from where she tried to feel her hurt that ravages within her soul. She just wants to be loved, accepted. Being pretty would be nice too. She sees that ugly face and body, standing there, unclothed, in front of the full-length mirror behind the door in her bedroom that is her safe haven away from family dysfunction and, simultaneously, her lair of dark thoughts and unrest, hot streams of eternal tears, and secrets that no one asks her to tell. Each morning she spends one hour preparing her mask--steaming shower to attempt washing away that dirty, disgusting feeling, using various tools and products to tame her mane of hair into dissatisfying submission, painting every inch of her face possible to hide any blemish and smooth over any imperfection, and clothing her body that disgusts her in the trendiest clothes possible she could beg her parents into purchasing for her when you live on welfare.
Her body. It was gross in every way. Eating less, or not eating at all, sometimes helped over time to shed away some pounds and help her slide into some skinny jeans or leggings without struggling to button them up or stretching the material too thin. She knows she has to eat something in the mornings to prevent her bulging stomach from lurching in revenge when she takes that pill, the one that's supposed to make life better for her, but just makes her feel like she's crazy, weird, or dependent on something other than true happiness to give her joy. Her arms feel like they are squeezing out of her skin, so she wears hoodies to hide the displeasurable flesh. Those legs seem to be one long sausage of fat that she tries not to look at as she hangs her head, walking through the halls.
"Fake it 'til you make it", the therapist told her. 'Right', she thinks. 'I don't remember how real happiness feels, or maybe I never knew it, so how can I pretend to be something I am not?' But somehow she does with her painted face that has lips of shimmery pink that crack frequent smiles at the crude jokes her unkind friends make. She wants to look happy, so she watches how her friends laugh and she tries her own mysterious smile on. It works. They think she's feeling good. Sometimes she does. A little weed helps that. Or a drink. Maybe even messing around with a few guys can tease her into thinking she's good and ok. It's not true, but she can pretend. She's gotta be good at something and this might be it. But, even when she's surrounded by friends thinking that what she's having is fun, watching one of her favorite movies, or careening down a slide swirling with water at Wild Waves, she doesn't really feel real happy. There's a dullness and a layer of numbness that keeps her from getting through to the core of her heart and experiencing raw happiness.
This was written to represent what I see in so many teenage girls who enter my office. It's the overall picture of unhappiness, dysfunction, and families who don't help or don't know how. It seems so hopeless and desperate. Perhaps this is why I sometimes question my career. I love that those who enter my office can discover answers, hope, and some peace over time, but where are those things coming from? Parenting classes and advice, discpline techniques, rewards systems, etc. I cannot speak the life-giving words of Christ with my clients ethically or I will lose my license. I am unable to utter a calming, peace-filled prayer to intercede for their pain. The truth that cuts through the darkness with power like a sword is not an option for where to turn in painful moments as I offer wisdom to teens and families.
I can be a haven for them to talk about things that they never have before, to learn to encourage one another and speak words of love, to lay burdens on someone so that they do not have to hold them alone. We need that--in human form. Not that I can then offer a hug or wipe a big tear from a cheek, but we do need that relationship with another human who can not judge us or punish us or use what is in our heart to hurt us later. However, we need Jesus too because He can so tenderly and beautifully be that to His children as well and He wants to if we will let Him.
It gets to me that I cannot offer the ultimate Answer to the hopeless who enter my workplace. My heart aches for that. I want to tell them the Solution to all their difficulties. I cannot. Therefore, I wrestle. I love my job. I love how I can see changes and growth and transformation, sometimes in just a few short weeks or months. But, how can I possibly reconcile that my sweet Jesus is not the healing balm for their wounds or the immense arms to hold them in a comforting hug and scoop up their worries on His shoulders? My wrestle will go on. Until then, I do thank Jesus for the honor to share in pain and be a wounded healer myself so that I can emanate peace and hope and love and acceptance that Jesus, my Savior, has given and shown me. I can hope that they can learn from my unspoken words and unexplained actions that Jesus is here to heal, to love, to hold.
2 comments:
I just randomly thought of reading your blog since I haven't in a long time. And your post gets me. Not necessarily the first part about your perspective of teenage girls, though I agree, but the part about you. Your heart. Wanting to share Christ, the Answer, with the lost clients you see. What a struggle, I agree. I have to admit, I shared Christ with a few students who were open and asked me questions about it in my job at the high school. Only a small few, though I wanted to share with more. It is a struggle, and a challenge to say the least. But I would pray for opportunity - for students to ask questions about my faith or their faith. Lo and behold, there were a few who did. I just praise God for those few opportunities and pray that for the rest, they saw something different in me - hopefully something that pointed to Christ. I love you and your heart, dear friend. Sometimes I think, is a license worth not sharing the life-giving Answer with the lost? I don't know. Have you considered looking for a job with a Christian organization or agency that would permit you to engage others in Christian "talk" if the client was willing? Oh the sad irony of this lost world - their spirits are starving, but spirituality/religion/God is taboo. Lord, send laborers into the harvest! Give dear D the strength, wisdom, and opportunities to encourage others and share You with the lost.
I know. Crazy. What we most long to give we cannot. But who else is going to tell/show people like this? It's a torn place I am in right now, but it's not an unhappy place. Just a time of trying to settle into where I'm at or figure out how to do it right. I think you are more than right though...prayer for opportunities. I very much think that it's important to be purposeful in all we do and perhaps that is where I must make some changes. I remember as an intern I prayed for my clients by name. It was easy when there were only 6, 8, or 10 kids, but now with 40-50 kids swimming in my mind that change from week to week, by name for EACH one is next to impossible, but a simple breath prayer as I walk out to the lobby to retrieve them would be so worth the meaningfulness and ability to ask Christ to prompt them to ask questions or discuss it with me. Thank you for that encouragement and reminder. This has been my online journal that I didn't think anyone read, so I am glad you can randomly peruse the thoughts and provide some new motivation. Thank you again, friend of my heart.
Post a Comment