I can feel their eyes before I even see their faces. Acute, sharp, their gazes fix on her as she settles in next to me. Unwavering, unfazed by the bustling action around us, they continue to glare even as the music begins. The stares come from the left, the right, then directly in front of us. Some young, some old, some in between and it feels unending. And surprisingly it seems they feel it’s okay to stare like this, as if it’s their right to gawk and glare- as it’s more than acceptable, it’s expected. This was my idea, I think to myself, to enjoy some Taylor songs played by an orchestra and have a date with my girl. “It’s okay mom, I’m used to it,” she whispers as she can feel me urgently put my arm around her. I pull her in close using my body as a shield. “You look beautiful, darling,” I said in response, “I love you.”
When she was a baby, people would glance for less time and then meet my eyes almost immediately with a slight smile on their lips. Now that she’s eleven, the glances have grown into ogling, and the glares have turned more judgmental, their faces twisting as they cannot look away until they are forced to. She’s a tween girl – mostly made of long legs, with blue eyes and blonde hair. She wears cool Nike high tops and some combination of Zara or Lululemon like all the rest. She’s trendy most days by all accounts, wearing a Taylor Swift denim jacket or t-shirt, hair in a messy bun. And just like the kids doing the staring – she is a quintessential tween- wanting to fit in with her friends while still being herself, with one foot still in her childhood and the other stepping into adolescence. She’s more aware of herself and others, feels all the feelings and she notices it all. And while curiosity is expected, the stares are no longer followed by smiles. It’s as if the kids her age are incapable of looking kindly.
Recently, she told me that she’s only met two friends in her life who have never stared at her. They just started playing and never looked back. And now, every day she goes into this world, this the intense staring happens. It is almost like a veil was over her eyes until this year and now that it’s lifted, she feels like an entire room is turned in her direction. Someone murmured the other day “what’s wrong with her face, was she in an accident?” As if being in middle school wasn’t hard enough. She told me this and then said she was more concerned with being included in her friend group than the awful comments from a stranger. I hate that these are the things on playback in her mind. At eleven, it should be Taylor’s new album, how to climb that tree in the backyard, the next thing she plans to build in Minecraft, or a joke she just heard. And sometimes it is, but this noise… it’s getting louder.
I would carry it all if I could – this discomfort, these questions, the noise in her head about what people are thinking or saying. The same noise stirs in me as well but from a ferocious love and protector perspective. I feel her struggle acutely in my bones and in my stomach. When we’re apart, I dwell there, laying awake throughout the nights trying to plan it all, solve it all, soothe it all.
Recognizing I can’t solve it, can’t fix it, can’t assuage every situation or make the noise stop, we sought some help. And not just any help, art therapy help. Right up her creatively minded, beautifully imaginative alley. It’s early days yet, but so far on those days, the help is helping. She walks out and proclaims that a weight has been lifted and left on the page she drew or created. The deeply empathetic, young therapist meets her where she is and is helping give her tools for what she can control and creating pathways to release that which she cannot. I used to book therapy for her based on specific situations at hand, but much like her mother (and frankly all people I know) everyone can benefit from therapy on an ongoing basis if I’m honest. It’s a release, a place to put it all, to seek peace, and is also someone working with you who is not only a trained professional but is also not related to you. I’m grateful we have the resources to work with her; I’m grateful for a willing, brave and open child who sees what good is ushered in at every appointment. I’m grateful it’s helping one step at a time. So today, instead of dwelling inside the noise, I’ll sit here in gratitude for the good that comes each week with this extra added dose of help, and take comfort we recruited someone else to the team.
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