Yesterday, I met a girl. A Beautiful Girl. I don’t even know her name. But she changed my life. In five minutes, she changed my life. And she doesn’t even know it.
The most extraordinary things happen in this waiting room. The waiting room where my son goes for therapy. I used to dread coming here. It was a reminder of all of the pain and suffering Noah, and I, go through. And maybe it was because it was one more thing on my calendar. While Noah would see his therapist, I used to sit hunched over in the waiting room, pounding away at the keys on my laptop, trying to knock out as much work as I could. Instead, I should’ve been sitting in silence. Recognizing the pain and healing that was taking place around me. An ordinary waiting room, with extraordinary things happening in it.
Now, I sit in silence. Sometimes I read, sometimes I scroll through social media on my phone. But inevitably, I’m actually listening, observing and learning. This may sound kind of creepy. The intention is not that I eavesdrop on the other families in this place, seeking help for their troubles. In fact, it didn’t begin with any intention at all. It all started as a mere accident as I observed and felt something for another parent in the room. I was so compelled by what I felt that day, I wrote the post Hey You… Gorgeous Lady, I See You.
Only yesterday, it wasn’t Gorgeous Lady. Yesterday, it was Beautiful Girl.
Normally we attend therapy on Tuesday afternoons, but due to a conflict we’d moved this week’s session. And I’m so thankful we did. Whatever you want to call it, Fate, Kismet, Serendipity, God’s hand…no matter. I was meant to be there at that time. And so was she.
As Noah and I walked in to find a seat in the waiting room, I noticed a young girl, her body sprawled across the couch behind us, book in hand. I didn’t even look at her face. I was just absorbed in carrying my purse and kindle, trying not to spill my drink and making sure Noah wasn’t doing something he shouldn’t be – like taking every pen out of the pen holder on the receptionist desk, or laying in the middle of the floor.
I sat down, got settled and motioned to Noah to come sit as well, while giving him the mother stare, you know the one with the tilted head, eyes in the corner, and straight lined mouth? Shortly after we settled, Noah’s therapist came out and got him and another therapist came out to get Beautiful Girl’s mom.
I sat there, scrolling through Facebook on my phone, then checking my email when I heard Beautiful Girl say, “Excuse me, have you read this book?” She was holding up a copy of Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.
“Oh…yes, but it was soooooo long ago, I don’t remember much about it. I read it for school, before I really knew how to appreciate good books. But I love to read now, perhaps I should read it again?”
“Oh I love to read,” she said as she sat upright from her laying position, draping her arms casually over the back of the couch to face me, “And I love to write too.”
“Oh really, me too!”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do. See?” I held up the latest copy of Poets & Writers magazine.
“Oh wow, what do you write?”
“I write on my blog. I write about my son who has ADHD, and also struggles with anxiety, depression and a mood disorder.”
“Oh me too,” she says, “I have those too!”
“My hope is that by writing about our experiences, other parents or kids going through something similar will feel less alone. And, for those that aren’t going through something similar, well…hopefully they’ll feel more compassion for those that are and start to learn or understand more about mental illnesses.”
She looks down at her hands, fiddling them a bit, then back up at me, “Yeah, because so many people just think you’re a freak if you have ADHD or anxiety or stuff.”
“There is a lot of stigma attached to mental illness and I’m hopeful that writing and talking about it openly will help people be more understanding. Many people see pictures of my son on Facebook and think he looks so happy, they just have trouble understanding how he could also be struggling. But that’s how it is for so many people, struggling on the inside and no one knows…”
She looks down again, her voice quiet, “Yeah. Exactly,” and when she looks up, her eyes look far away, as if remembering something, “I don’t know why, but I mostly write about death and sadness.”
I looked at her, a new understanding washing over me. This beautiful girl. She’s fighting the demons too. Like Noah, she’s full of torment. Used to feeling different, but the common occurrence of that feeling not making it any easier to stomach, to live with, live through.
My thoughts are interrupted as she looks over at me, “Well, I guess I know why I write about death and sadness a lot. Because I think about it a lot. I’m sad a lot. See?” She thrusts both her arms towards me, the insides bared and turned up to the ceiling.
Red scars, dozens of them, line her arms, from the wrist to the inside of her elbows. Like railroad tracks or a growth chart, each line telling an untold story of her pain, her experience, her reality.
Freak, they call her. But she’s just a girl. A Beautiful Girl. Full of curiosity and eager to connect. Fighting battles unseen to most, warding off attacks of others who feel the need to call out her differences instead of embracing them.
Why is this so hard for us to do, to embrace others differences? Where is our humanity?
Shortly after she shared the history of her agony on her arms to me, her therapist came out to get her. And I sat there, transformed. Changed. In five minutes. Changed. She will likely never know the impact she had on me by simply being herself. Being open and authentic. Sharing her pain. Connecting with me on her love of reading and writing. Her willingness to bare her soul to a stranger sitting near her…and to do so with such courage. Such bravery.
In five minutes, she taught me the importance of sitting in silence, the gravity of being open to the humanity happening around me. When she looks in the mirror, she sees her pain, she sees the labels others call her. And I wish she could see herself as I do.
As a Beautiful Girl, with a deep and connected heart. A Beautiful Girl with the ability to change someone’s life, many people’s lives.
Beautiful Girl with a life of possibility ahead of her.
She stood up, Fahrenheit 451 in her hand, “Well, that’s me,” she said, “Gotta go.”
“Enjoy your book. And keep writing. You can change people’s lives with your writing and your experience. You can help people. Keep writing,” I told her.
And she was gone.
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