Part 1: Circle of Wounds

Monday’s Mindful Moments are an invitation to contemplate the human journey of life with me. My wish is that these writings ignite a spark of thoughtful intention as you welcome this new week. With all my love & gratitude, Chelsea

I don't want to go. I shouldn't have said yes. But I am just a young girl; I haven't learned to say no. My exterior appears more confident than my internal truth. I look like a girl with the ability to say no.

I am tall for my age. Eleven years old with a slender, muscular build. My light blonde hair is shiny from aqua net hairspray. My bangs are teased up high, accentuating my mid-length crunchy permed curls. I dress in the trend of fluorescent-colored clothing and black biker shorts. My favorite outfit is a long hot pink tank top with sides cut too low. I like to coordinate my outfit thoughtfully, so I pair the oversized tank with a smaller black fitted tank worn underneath; it matches my black biker shorts. To top it off, I have fat, thick slouch socks paired perfectly with my double-tongue high-top Reeboks. 

NB has strawberry blonde hair and freckles and is one of the cool kids in our grade. He is good at sports, and most girls have a crush on him. But he has a crush on me. I have little interest in him, but he's always been kind, friendly, and sweet. Plus, he's good at kickball, which we have in common. NB is often picked first to be one of the two the captains of the kickball teams. The teacher always picks the best athletes and the rest of the kids are spread out in a line for each captain to chose one by one who they want on their team, kid by kid. Every kid hopes they will be picked sooner rather than later. I always feel terrible for the unskilled kids who get picked last. I am a better-than-average kickball player, so even though I fear being last, this has never happened to me, I like the safety of this kid liking me because it guarantees I'll be picked first. 

It is Saturday morning. I live at my grandmother's house and know I cannot honor my words. I cannot go.  Every bone in my body is shouting no. I am in tears, angry with myself, frightened for no good reason, and need to say no. I am brave enough to pick up the rotary phone and dial his number. His mother answers cheerfully. I have no idea what I said. I only remember being flooded with emotions and her seeming caught off guard. The only message I could convey was that I would not meet her son at the movies. 

I feel terrible when I imagined this young kid, this 11-year-old 5th grader, getting ready to have his mom drive him to the movies where we are supposed to have our date only for his date, me, to have called his mother to flake. I am embarrassed about being a flake. Even at this young age, I am the type of kid who follows through. I am sick over my avoidance, paralyzed in my body, and stuck. My response has nothing to do with him. It is my little girl brain, fearful of being alone in the dark with a boy. 

The memories of my young body being violated have intruded my sleep. I've been waking up in tears. My heart racing, covered in disgust fighting to be anywhere that isn' my mind. The visual is as though I'm watching from above. A young girl, asleep on the living room floor with other kids. The visual that, that if witnessed by another, would be nostalgic, sweet, a common kids slumber party. The image that children all hope to have and one that adults feel warm when they remember. Camping out with friends home on the floor.

But that image is quickly tainted when I watch from above what has happened to the 1st-grade child that is me. It wasn't violent or cruel. It wasn't something that left marks physically, though my body remembers it and has stored it in a way that now, in 5th grade, I cannot be alone in the movies in the dark with a boy. 

Monday comes too quickly. I know I will have to face this boy. There is no avoiding it. I am already quite shy, and this, combined with my traumatic reactivity, causes me to shut down instinctively. He sees me before class starts and confronts me. I can see how angered and hurt he is. I don't have any words, so my voice says nothing. My eyes look like deer in the headlights, and my body feels everything. I have deep empathy for him. Sadness for hurting him. Embarrassment for myself. Shame. There is something wrong with me. 

During recess, he gets revenge. He pulls the back of my shirt and drops a caterpillar down my back. It's so quick, and I am completely caught off guard as he starts slapping my back with the risk of smashing this caterpillar that is down my shirt and on my bare back. My legs work before my mind can do anything. I am running as fast as I can. The girl's restroom is my safe landing pad where I can save myself and hopefully, this caterpillar if it isn't too late. I rip off my tank top in the closest bathroom stall. The caterpillar isn't there. There is no smashed residual of its existence and the tears of relief flow into a sob that shakes my entire body to its bones. I am okay, but that little caterpillar likely fell out while I ran. 

I don't know how long I stayed in that stall, what happened afterward, or what it was like when I returned to class. I only know that after this incident, I took the gift that NB had given to me, and I changed. My no’s became fierce. It was as though overnight, I stopped being a girl who could be easily pushed around and became fiercely protective of myself and those I was loyal to and loved. 

Sometimes, this meant verbal conflicts, and other times, it meant physical altercations. I am reminded of this each time I put on earrings and one piercing is scarred with a line where my earring was ripped out of my ear, tearing my lobe. This is another core memory of 5th grade. It's the reason why I can only wear light stud earrings; the lobe is close to fully tearing.

I wonder how my life would have been had I remained passive, shy and easily able to be taken advantage of. I reflect on that inner change that came with big outer behaviors rooted in big feelings that I didn’t express in a healthy way.

I think of how many times the defensive part of brain has taken over and protected me. I think of the flip side of when my own behaviors have hurt someone else. I own those less-than-desirable moments. Moments that could be another humans core, traumatic memory. For that, I am so very sorry. The circle of untreated wounds between humans that hopefully resolves with maturity, insight and healing of our own hurts and losses..….

Stay Tuned for Part 2: Circle of Wounds

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