The Healing Power of Time

I've written before that I began my blog as my journal and that occasionally there are "just journal" things recorded, entries that are about things I never want to forget and that might not appeal to blog readers. This blog entry is one of those.

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Time heals all wounds.

A cliché, but the thing about clichés is that they are often rooted in truth. 

I ran into a former student yesterday and I was blown away by the confident, mature, and happy young woman she had become.

This student had come into my classroom as a highly traumatized child. About a year prior, her mother had been murdered by her boyfriend in a domestic violence incident, and C had been present during that awful moment.

She and her three half siblings were placed into the custody of the father of one of the half-siblings, and soon all of the four children, including C, were legally adopted by that father and his wife into a blended family of seven kids. 

Her adoptive mom brought her into my classroom a few days before school started so she could meet me, and C expressed concerns that she "did not belong" in my classroom, that she wasn't "smart enough." (I taught the gifted kids.)

Having had one of her new sisters in my class before and knowing her adoptive mom well, I trusted her mom when she privately shared with me that, in her opinion, C did belong in my class. And, test scores had placed her with me, so we had the data that said she should be able to handle the academic load.

So, we asked C to give it a try and told her that, if she found my class too difficult, then she could move to a different classroom.

After some thought, C agreed to try, and by the third day of school, she was no longer feeling like she needed a different class placement.

She was a quiet and dedicated student, and she did well in her studies. Still, evidence of the trauma she had been through were evident. I will never, ever forget how she sat at her desk throughout the day, every single day, that she was in my class.

C would draw her knees up to her chest and hug them close to her body, protecting herself. If she needed to write, she'd turn sideways on her chair, still all wrapped and curled up, to free a hand and complete her work like that. 

I never asked her to change her posture like I might have another student; I knew this was rooted in her trauma and that sitting curled up made her feel safer.

I ran into C a year ago at my optometrist's office. I hadn't seen her since she was my student, and she was a little shy, but she warmed up quickly and seemed glad to see me again. We even had a good laugh when we realized that I had picked out the same pair of eyewear that she had!

Yesterday I saw C again. She stood up and came around the desk, greeting me and giving me a big hug, then asked how I was and what I'd been doing. She even asked about Craig and then told me about her schooling, her boyfriend, the house she'd just bought, and more.

This was a very confident and strong young woman, one who sat up straight in her chair as she worked, could lead a conversation and put the customer at ease, and one who was happy and accomplishing the goals she had set for herself in life.

As I finished, she again came around the desk to give me a hug. She wished me well and said she loved me. I hugged that gal right back and said the same, adding that I was very proud of her and the wonderful woman she had become.  

Has time healed all of C's wounds? Probably not, at least not completely. But clearly C is moving forward with her life and the girl who curled up into herself with her arms wrapped protectively around her legs has blossomed and is finding joy and happiness in her life.

I'd worried about C and the trauma load she carried when she was in my classroom and then wondered about her and how she was doing after she moved on in school. To see the confidence and happiness she exuded yesterday made my heart sing.