A part of my journey that needs to be told........because once again God woke me up and said write. Just write the story because this is where the healing begins......
She was a tiny African-American little girl. The youngest of 3. In an intact home in the city. They appeared to have it all together.
She had a secret.
I was a newlywed, young Master Teacher in a self -contained Special Education classroom in the inner city with a suburban lifestyle. Dave and I were DINKS (double income no kids). I was living my teaching dream and actively involved in a tiny church with a charismatic bent. I appeared to have it all together.
I had a secret.
She came to me at just under 3 years old. My program was for 3-5 year olds.
She came to me mute...... but her eyes were alive.
I was always told I was a talker..... but my eyes were often "dead".
She never cried.
I never cried.
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| me before I needed glasses all the time... ..with my most special student (I cannot share her name) this was about 1991 when she was about to turn 4 |
She was labeled "speech and language delayed with possible mental retardation". Her strengths were her obedience/cooperation, her receptive language skills; and her play skills, although about a year younger than what her biological age was, were quiet and structured/organized.
I had a MS in Educational Psychology/ Special Education with a permanent certification in NYS to teach birth-geriatric. My strengths were survival, organization, creativity, flexibility and rebelliousness/risk taking. (are those strengths?)
she came to me quiet. she followed all the classroom directions. she never spoke. from July to late autumn, she never uttered a word.
She didn't like to be touched/hugged/hold hands. She was fiercely independent.
I didn't like to be touched or hugged (unless it was my husband). I was fiercely independent. ....
and I knew in my heart, and going against what the educational team thought (although the child psychologists on my team were in agreement with me), that she was selectively mute. I did not see evidence in our daily language/circle lessons nor in our small group instruction that she had mental retardation. There was no basis for it.
Why did I believe that?
because i, too, was, mute, in a way. I never told my secret. and I sensed she had a powerfully deep secret.
and I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, that not only did I have my work cut out for me.....I had to establish trust in this child......I wanted her to let me hold her, hug her, help her.......give her a chance to be verbal....
but i knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that I also was going to be helped by her ......that we would grow together.......
My classroom program was a play-based curriculum that I wrote myself based on each student's IEP goals and developmental milestones. It's how I got the job....I knew how to teach through play.
I discovered the photo (above) of us when I was going through the basement and walk in closet bins last Saturday. I was supposed to be leading a fun mountain hike but the threat of thunderstorms combined with the 90% humidity and bad air quality (over 150 in the mountains and 165 down here!!) forced me to cancel. Good thing I did because we had pouring rain all last Saturday!
As I pulled out the old Bible I had been searching for, there was the photo of C----- and I. Oh how I teared up. That precious child, now a full grown adult. Am I talking about her or me? I was all of 30 or 31 in that photo. She was almost 4 from what I can remember. I had her in my classroom for 2.5 years and was able to confidently send her off to Kindergarten.
I sat on the basement floor thinking back on that time....remembering.......
the time before my own counseling began for my own childhood se*ual abuse.
I thought about how things progressed with her........
........all that summer we played, learned new concepts, and laughed as a classroom team. Except C. She smiled but she never really laughed. She played. She swam. She had excellent "at age-level" receptive language skills. And I knew.......I knew.......by now she was 3 and thriving in many ways but not verbally. Her play skills were at the parallel play level (mainly because she wasn't talking; think "toddler" typical children parallel play between 18 mo and 2.5 yrs) but she was beginning to engage in the next level (typically ages 3-4) which is called "associative play". I was encouraged....but concerned......she chose to parallel play most of the time.
I explained to my team at our weekly team meeting that I did not think C was M.R. I said I think she has a deep rooted emotional issue possibly stemming from abuse. I was just stared at. But I knew what I was talking about!! I knew.......
and it's in this remembering that it all came back to me......
how I longed for her to trust me...the hours I spent on the floor with her in the dramatic play corner of my classroom, with the dolls and the blocks and all the things......and how she would play next to me yet never crawled into my lap the way the other children did. I had to respect that.....because that is how one builds trust. You respect the boundaries put up even though you long to hold them close.....
how i did that with my own "friends" I would hold them at arm's length....oh yes, I did the whole "Christian hug" thing at church but I was very stilted in my movements and although music moves me to tears sometimes, in those years....my tears refused to fall.......thankfully a few years later, my own counselor understood the concept of not touching until time........not all adults get that......
and finally......one day.......was it late autumn or early winter...I honestly can't remember....but it was at least 4 months since she entered my classroom......that something broke through. Oh the many play therapy sessions I did with her.
I was on the floor with just C----playing with our anatomically correct boy and girl dolls pretending to give them a bath (this is to work on self help skills: order of things, etc). I quietly would say things like "ok it's time to take a bath". "take off your shirt"....basically, I was modeling with my own doll, and verbalizing, what I was playing. Children learn best through play.
3 students were working with my speech therapist in a corner on their speech goals and my small group instruction goals. That left 6 students with my TA over in the fine motor area (legos, puzzles, free art, etc).
C--- and I were alone. I kept modeling how to take a bath with the dolls.
and then boom.
"daddy puts -----------in my mouth". ( I'm sure you can fill in the blank).
My training kicked in. I told myself do.not.react.do.not.screw.this. up.
These were her first spoken words to me other than an occasional "ok" or "bye Faith".
I simply repeated what she said. "Oh, daddy ------in your mouth. I wonder what that looks like". And then I paused. Inside i was praying please God let her talk or show me. This child is suffering.
She picked up those dolls...and boy did she show me.
I told her "that's scary. That's not ok. My job is to keep you safe. You are safe here, C-------"
And she just continued to play, by dressing the dolls and moving on with her life.
Meanwhile? I'm on robot mode. I called Marta's name (my amazing TA who worked so very well with me and we could communicate without even speaking sometimes just by gestures and sign language. I asked her to gather the children onto the circle area and play music and do a movement game. The speech therapist left to go get the social worker. Social worker came into my room, I quietly spoke what just happened...she told me to make the call to CPS.
Friends, that was one of the hardest calls I've ever had to make. I was going to rip apart a family. But I'd be damned if I allowed her to go home to that monster.
Fast forward to a flurry of activity involving police, a restraining order, getting the mom some help and support, and getting dad out of the home.
And guess who crawled into my lap by the end of the week?
I'm telling you this because she had a safe place to crawl to. I had built trust with her and I wasn't gonna let her go. I know this story is hard to read. But sometimes the hard parts of remembering is also healing.
God does that for us. He wants us to crawl to Him and He isn't going to let us go. I believed it then, and I believe it now. It's just so difficult to do sometimes when you don't feel that trust....when you think you're going to fall.
The rest of C----'s story is special. We bonded over the next 2 years and i cried the day she left my classroom for good....graduating into kindergarten, a typical, strong, 5 year old. Her story doesn't end there. I was called into a meeting while out on maternity leave, and...... It's too painful for me to talk about here in this space. But know that many years later, God allowed me to see her. As a young adult. It was truly miraculous. If you are a personal friend of mine, I can share it with you at some point. It will fill you with gratitude for His Grace.
I have placed the little photo of C---and I on the microwave cart that sits by my kitchen door..the entrance from the garage that we use all the time. Next to it is a piece of driftwood; I will share why that's there in another post.
The reason for the photo?
for me to remember that I have a Light to shine......
.......I have a story to tell......(my own).......
And that God can use even broken people, like me, to reach others......
I want to see this photo on my way out of the house to remember that He moves in mysterious ways to get us to a point of healing.......
It's in this remembering that God is softening my heart again.
and maybe I can crawl into His lap once again........
