Little R

Many of you reading have heard my story of little R before. (I may have even posted it on here...hard to keep track! lol) But it's a favorite of mine and I love to tell it so you're going to hear it again. But never fear...there is a point! lol

Years ago, I worked at a summer camp for homeless children from New York City. Little R, 8 years old, was a part of my first group of campers.

R was the type of child that camp counselors dread. Actually, until this camp I wouldn't have known to dread them because I wouldn't have believed that a child like this could actually exist! Harsh, I know, but I'd never seen anything like it. R was outwardly defiant but also inwardly manipulative. She was incredibly smart too. She knew just the right thing to say to any one at any given time in order to get the results she wanted. She knew how to get counselors on her side and pit us against each other or attempt to get us in trouble with supervisors. She knew just what to say to the other girls to make them cry. And these weren't just little things either...she was mean! As time went on I could see that she was absolutely terrified of any level of peace and calm in her life, and therefore made every effort she could to cause chaos around her. Every time we started to have a good moment she would go out of her way to ruin it. No punishment seemed to mean anything to her either. At one point she landed herself the task of cleaning the entire bathroom top to bottom and she barely seemed to notice. My supervisor said she'd never seen anything like her.

I was a new, energetic, and naive counselor. I knew enough to see that R was hurting very badly, and that so much of what she did was out of fear. I knew that she had lived around abuse in her past (she had nightmares at night...she wanted to go home not because she missed it but because she was worried about her mom not having her there to protect her...and the shelter where she and her mom lived was of top security because of the violent situations its residents come from, with only a select few even knowing where it is). I so badly wanted R to know that people cared about her and loved her that I quite literally chased her around camp to tell her these things. In hindsight I can see how this approach failed. But I kept at it and worked my butt off to keep her involved with the group. We had endless group meetings to have the girls give each other compliments, talk about things that were going on, etc. I refused to give up on R, and I did start to actually see some improvements. Every now and then she could be found joining in with the group and apparently having fun. But just when i'd start to relax and let my guard down a little, all hell would break loose once again.

She exhausted me. I remember talking to a fellow counselor one day about how frustrated I was with R. I said, "I just want one good day! Just one day where the girls get along and we don't have any of these major issues! Is that really too much to ask?"

My more experienced and much wiser coworker replied, "Maybe a day is too much for R right now. But maybe you can find some good moments, and maybe some good minutes, or hours."

That statement was world changing to me. Such a simple concept, but it meant that R and I could have success! I realized that what we'd been doing hadn't all been a failure. Instead it was my lack of ability to celebrate and enjoy the times that were good because I just wanted them to be more, or better. Don't get me wrong, R still tested me constantly and pushed my every button, but hope had returned. I could see that I was doing good things, and that R was too. My feelings of desperation and frustration began to lift.

One of my very favorite moments of camp that summer was towards the end of our 19-day session when R allowed me to hold her while she floated on her back. We'd been working on it for a while but the amount of trust it took in both the water and in me were just too much for her. Finally, on almost the last day, she did it. It was just a few seconds, but to me it was magic. An incredible, magical moment I may have missed had I still been looking for days. A similar moment occurred as the kids were loading the bus to head back to the city. I stepped on the bus to give each of my girls a short note that I had written to them. I had written to R that whether she believed it or not, I'd miss her and I was glad she'd come. As I was about to step off the bus I heard her call my name. I turned around and looked back. She was smiling what looked to be a genuine smile and told me bye again. Another magical grouping of seconds. For some reason or another, I'd meant enough to her for her to call me back for a second good bye. Maybe she'd felt a connection the way I had.

I don't know what's happened to R since then. I had no way of keeping in touch with her. But her spirit and our magical moments keep me going and pressing on. When I meet a challenging kid now I I try my best to not put my expectations out of their reach, but instead fight with them for what is achievable.


Now back to today. I've realized recently that the lessons I learned from R and my wise coworker can be applied to my own recovery and healing. The other day I was acknowledging a moment where I was actually on my own, without distraction, and feeling good. That is the eventual goal of all this in my eyes....that I won't need constant distraction or outside influence...that I'll be able to just feel good and be ok. And that is what I was experiencing. But that feeling was fleeting, and mere moments later I heard myself thinking about when would the good days finally outweigh the bad, and how frustrating it was that the good is so limited.

With R I had to learn to allow myself to be rewarded and feel good when those good moments hit. Maybe now I need to learn to let myself be rewarded with the good that comes from these good moments. Instead of, "It's good, but...", more of "It's good, and I like it!" Hmmm now that I write this I'm remembering someone telling me almost exactly this right around the time I went in to the hospital. Funny how I seem to keep realizing that my advice givers I refused to listen to for so long actually did have some idea what they were talking about! lol I also am starting to think that R and my coworker were my first DBT teachers....teaching me how to focus on and fully experience the moment at hand without worrying about what would come later or the what if's.

I still struggle with the difference between goals and expectations. I used to think that I had to have high expectations in order to be successful. After all, if I didn't expect that I was going to heal, what would be the point in fighting? But if I'm expecting to heal, does that set me up to feel crappy about anything short of healed? Obviously that's not a good way to be either. I'm in the midst of what seems to be a very long process of learning how to keep looking ahead but also keep celebrating the successful steps I take.

In the meantime...I'm so so grateful to R. I feel just a little strange saying that, but she taught me so many amazing lessons over that session at camp. I have truly never been the same since. I am thankful to her for letting me see the real her, in all its ugliness and all its beauty. And I'm thankful to her for giving me those moments of her trust, because I understand now just how big that was for her to do. R is in her teens now, and I pray that she is ok and somewhere safe. I pray that she has found some way to express herself and not follow the path of pain and anger she seemed to be headed down. I also, perhaps a bit selfishly, pray that she looks back on her time with me at camp as an 8 year old and can remember or feel something positive or comforting about the time we shared.