I just have to run away

Grace has been having some challenges at school lately with friends and belonging.  Last night she dissolved into tears, for no reason at all, and when I asked her if something was on her mind her fears and hurt just spilled out of her.  I sat next to hear, listening, holding her little hand in mine.  I asked who she played with at recess, knowing that the playground, with its Lord of the Flies-esque lack of rules, was often where these issues manifested.  She looked at me, cheeks wet with tears, and said, without hesitating,

“Well, recess is actually okay.  I usually play tag, so I don’t have to worry about anyone else hurting me or being mean.  I just have to run away.”

My own tears rose and, coughing, I excused myself so as not to scare her with the ferocity of my identification, response, empathy.  In the bathroom, door closed, I wept.  For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face.  That kept running through my head.

I know, Gracie, I know, how seductive it is to run away.  Oh, I know.

16 thoughts on “I just have to run away”

  3. This breaks my heart. I am dreading the day that my 5 & 2 1/2 year-olds have to deal with this. I’m so sorry.

  4. I love this quote, “But then we will see face to face.” I know. I know.

    Thank you for excusing yourself. I think it’s important that our children not see, and thus not be forced to carry, our pain inside of theirs.

    Perhaps she is wise to run away. Perhaps she knows something we don’t know. Perhaps, like you, she is running from something she should face. Or am I misunderstanding you? Life is complicated sometimes.

    I love that you meet your daughter’s tears, you let her say more. And I think that is our gift to our children. “Say more,” and then we see them for who they are. We make them visible. We love them. We let them feel they need not run away.

    Today I feel seen less dimly because of your writing.

  6. Oh I’m sorry your girl is going through this cruel “rite of passage.” I *so* remember kickball during recess and being the last person (literally!) picked for the team b/c I was just awful at the sport. I dreaded recess and would have much preferred to have burrowed away under a tree with a good Judy Blume book. Alas, I survived. It was painful but I still feel sick thinking of recess!

  7. I really think one of the most important gifts we can give our kids is to listen and acknowledge their feelings when they’re in pain, and not shut them down or hurry them back to happy.

    The side benefit in all this is that we learn so much about ourselves from the wise perceptions of our kids.

  8. We’re just now seeing the beginnings of this in my daughter’s second year of pre-school. I’m not sure I can endure it.

    My daughter is my heart that I wear on the outside and am sometimes parted from. It is unbearable to thing of that heart wounded, but it’s bound to happen. *sigh*

    Paul

  12. Oh this is so hard! It’s awful to be so powerless over our children, to let them loose into this world of ours. She’s luckier than most that you listen and don’t fix and that you let her be sad and feel what she feels. She sounds like a very special little girl.

    xoxo

  13. From the moment my daughter was born, 6 1/2 years ago, I have been fearful of this. It is a pain I remember vividly, and try as I might to NOT, I envision it will come true for my girl too.

    Grade 2 was my personal hell – one day I was “in”, the next day, I was the target. Attacked with words, then more brutally ignored. My well-intending parents never really had the words to make it all go away, and yet…their hugs and support were what they had to give and I took them all in. Thirstily and hungrily. That and the knowledge that they had me…and my back.

    In retrospect, I wonder if learning then that my mother had endured the same (and turned out to be the paragon of “cool”) might have helped more. I’m really not sure she had that to give at the time. Which may be why those hugs were mostly silent, but for the sounds of our combined sobs.

    You are right where Grace needs you to be – full heart, full hugs, fully there. Not running away from her pain.

    Strength and oh so much love to you, L.
    TG

    PS – and now for the process-y piece. I’ve thought a lot about this, and in a way, I believed that I went through these horrendous moments at just the right time. Had I had my first experience with shitty mean people when I was 16…too cool for my mother’s warm hugs…I don’t know where I would have landed.

    And none of that helps either of you right now.

  14. I remember these days so well, Lindsey; for myself but also for both of my daughters. Beyond painful, aching, wrenching.

    Your repeated phrase “now we see in a mirror dimly…” compelled me to the words that follow just after:

    “…these three endure, faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love.”

    In the midst of Grace’s pain, it is your faith, your hope, and ultimately your love that make all the difference, that will be where she runs to, and ultimately will be what enables her to stand and stay.

    Your love shows up, Lindsey. Boldly. And Grace sees it like “shining shook foil.”

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