...that I could save the world.
But I was wrong. Yes, we are His hands and feet, but only He can save the world.
A Mother's Prayer - Celine Dion
I pray you'll be my eyes
And watch her where she goes
And help her to be wise
Help me to let go
Every mother's prayer
Every child knows
"Lead her to a place
Guide her with your grace
To a place where she'll be safe"
I pray she finds your light
And holds it in her heart
As darkness falls each night
Remind her where you are
Every mother's prayer
Every child knows
"Need to find a place
Guide her with your grace
Give her faith so she'll be safe"
"Lead her to a place
Guide her with your grace
To a place where she'll be safe"
For the ones who I carry not under my heart, but within it.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Safety on the Internet
Woo hoo, look at me everybody, it's another insanely personal post that's hard to share! I'm setting records here.
This is something that's come up a lot in my life lately, and sometimes when things just keep coming up like that, I think it's a message from God, that maybe it's time to share my experiences, for the sake of others... so that's what I'm doing. This is personal and not easy to write or read so please be kind, but every day I see and hear things that scare me more... that some young girl, somebody's daughter... is not going to be as lucky as I was... and I have to do everything in my power to stop that.
I was twelve. The internet wasn't entirely new, but it was still in its infancy. Remember when the internet was basically AOL? Dialup, anyone? Errrr-uh-err-uh-errrr-uh-errrrrrrrrrrgh! Yeah, that's the time period we're in. No facebook, no myspace, no xanga, no twitter, no youtube... okay, there were pictures of cats, but not near as many and they most certainly weren't as funny. The internet had not achieved the social network status it holds today... and people underestimated it - myself included - which turned out to be very dangerous.
It started with a school project. I got to do an independent study on anything I wanted. I wanted to write about the military - especially JAG (yes, lawyers. It was my favorite show.) So I was online, doing research, when I found this message board (the social network of the time) that was ALL about this show! Now even then I'd heard people warn - don't tell anyone where you live or your real name on the internet... don't give out your phone number or any other personal information... but I couldn't resist posting, so I created possibly the most anonymous alias I could think of (okay, it was JAGfan1. I didn't win any points for creativity here, basically). And I posted once, and then again, and then I was hooked, posted all the time. I remember that people panicked when they found out I was only twelve. Perfect strangers worrying about my safety, asking me to have my mom verify that she was okay with me being on this board (she was). I took it all very personally, I was very defensive ("I'm mature for my age! I'm smart, I can handle myself!")... and he saw it.
I have no doubt he knew he was playing on my weakness when a poster named Marco (yes, I'm naming names, because, you bastard, if you're still out there, I want you to know that I see you for what you always were now) came to me and told me that he could see that I was much more mature than most kids my age, and that other people just didn't understand, but he did, and would I like to be friends? He was 35, he was up front about this - no lying about age, which is so often something we warn our kids about today - but sometimes they don't even need to lie.
I said yes, I want to be friends, and we talked via e-mail (side note - remember when people actually sent emails?) and in a chat room for our message board. About a month after I found that board, my parents split up, and it was the second place I went to cry (after calling my best friend). Everyone was supportive and kind... especially him... and I thought he was just being a friend, but now I realize that I had inadvertently given him another weakness to prey on. We talked more... he 'helped me' get through it... and then when he started to share some issues that were bothering him, it didn't alarm me because we were just friends helping each other... but his issues were grown up issues that a twelve year old shouldn't have been dealing with or even hearing about.
And that was when he found the key - my most crucial weakness - the innate want - no, need - to help others. I told you all in another post that I'm a fixer. I always have been. When he spoke of his problems, I wanted to fix them, I wanted to help him. Now, I'm fairly certain that they were all manufactured to gain my trust and sympathy, bond me further to him. He was grooming me. He was slowly teaching me that only he really understood me, and that I was smart and kind and I understood and helped him, that he needed me, that no one else believed in him and I was the only one who saw the good in him. Is this starting to sound like an abusive relationship to anyone else?
Well it was. But it happened so gradually, and I was so young, so naive, that I couldn't see it... and I was so determined to be right - to show everyone that I was smart and mature - that I ignored every piece of good advice I was ever given.
He asked me to share a picture of myself and I hesitated, because I'd been warned about putting pictures on the internet, but finally I relented when he said he'd share his picture too. I shared one of me in a Limited Too hoodie and pigtails. All I remember about his is that he had a goatee. After that, I was 'desensitized' to posting pictures (I did it once and nothing happened!) and I shared many more. He told me I was cute, pretty, which pictures were his favorites... and I took it all as compliments.
I will never forget the day he said "Can I tell you a secret?" He'd been acting off all day. I was nervous, in the pit of my stomach I felt uneasy, like it was going to be a bad secret. My gut was trying to tell me that something was not right with this guy, but I didn't listen to it. I said yes. He said I couldn't tell, even my parents. And then that became the standing rule with all his 'secrets'. And he told me about a (sexual) relationship he'd had with a married woman he met online, who he still 'loved'. He gave me her email and asked me very innocently to contact her. Now I believe that he was using me to continue to stalk and victimize this woman. Over time he started telling me what to say... and I said it. I was his mouthpiece. I regret falling into that trap more than anything else... being a tool of his abuse.
Then, as time went on, he fixated on different women (both famous people and people in our 'online community'), obsessed over them, told me all about it (often in very inappropriate ways), used me to contact them as well, and then ultimately came to me telling me how he'd propositioned one of them and they'd rejected him, and that he was so emotionally hurt that he felt suicidal... and it became my job to talk him down off the ledge. A twelve year old. Today I'm pretty sure there was no ledge, but even if there was, I shouldn't have been the one up there with him.
At one point, in those olden days before the wonders of DVR, I'd gone on vacation with my family once and tried to set a tape to pre-record all the episodes of JAG while I was gone, but it failed and I missed something significant. He offered to send me a tape. I talked it over with my mom. What if I gave him one of my parents' work addresses instead of our home address? That would be safe, right? Or I could get a PO Box. I really wanted to see that episode. After much discussion it was agreed that I could use a work address, and he sent me the tape and a mostly innocuous note. Another hurdle gone - I'd even had him send me something, and it wasn't a bomb or anything like that... so sharing this business address must be safe. Later more mail packages were exchanged - seemingly innocent, but conditioning me slowly to believe that corresponding via US mail was 'okay', that sharing an address was 'okay'. Toward the very end, he even started to push for my home address.
But while all that is a bit creepy, it wasn't the typical sort of 'internet red flag' they told you to watch out for... which is probably why I fell for it. But I shouldn't have fallen for the bit I'm about to tell you about. It should've been a huge red flag... but he'd built up my trust so much that it wasn't.
The summer that I was 13, the air conditioning in our house went out. I took to lying around in my (very first) bikini pretty much all the time, and lacking modesty I shared this fact with him. He asked me what it looked like. After that he started asking me what I was wearing all the time. I told him. He'd tell me what he was wearing. Even if it was nothing. I thought it was just making conversation, and when you're thirteen, talking about stuff like that isn't sexual, it's more like "Heehee, you're naked! That's funny! Naked is funny!" So one day when he told me that he and another friend played a 'game' where they would always tell each other when they were naked, and that maybe we should do it too, I felt a little uneasy, but then that part of me that was desperately trying to prove myself rose up and I thought, "Hey, maybe this is just what grown-ups do, how they talk to each other. Maybe he's just treating me like an adult like he always does. I don't want him to think I'm not mature." So I agreed. He was also always trying to convince me to get a webcam. I probably would have, if I'd had any money. Thank goodness for being broke.
Time passed, and this dysfunctional, scary relationship continued. Today I'm pretty sure he had every intention of making me trust him until I was willing to meet him. He would mention being in my state or a neighboring state and comment that maybe we'd meet someday. Thank the Lord and my parents' gut, that never happened.
Around my 14th birthday, he wanted to send me a gift. I told him he didn't have to, but he said it was special and he picked it out just for me, so I relented. After it was in the mail, he told me he sent a little something else as a birthday gift and he hoped I wouldn't get mad. I was nervous... deep down, in my gut, about what it might be, but I didn't let on. When the package came I opened it alone in my room. A letter, a pin of a gold angel carrying a race flag (that he said reminded him of me) and a $20. I smiled. I thought it was sweet. I told him I wasn't mad.
At dinner that night, my parents asked what he sent. My father still came over on Wednesday nights and ate with us. I told them casually, with a smile, not expecting the reaction, nor the chain of events that came after. I will never forget the look on my father's face. It had me petrified. I can't even describe it. He wasn't just furious, he was... well, I think it was the look that someone gets on their face when they realize that their little girl is well on her way to an episode of 20/20. I never felt so small. That feeling that had been lying surpressed in my gut for so long grew so large it took over. I wanted to vomit. I couldn't finish my meal. I thought - if my parents were so angry about this... what would they think about all the 'secrets'... the things I hadn't told them? My gut had been right and I suddenly knew it.
I threw a typical teenage temper tantrum, but inside I knew they were right. Even though my mom told me I didn't have to, I told him I was cutting off contact with him, I would no longer chat or email or IM, no more mail (except my parents' stipulation that I send the money back). It was his response that absolutely confirmed that my long-ignored gut had been right. I'd lied, told him that my parents were making me cut off contact - it was easier to lie. So he tried to get me to disobey them - deceive them - keep talking to him but tell them I'd stopped. I'd gotten a computer in my room for my birthday, and he knew it. Then he tried to guilt me by saying I was his only friend and he didn't want to live anymore. Playing on my weaknesses. I could've easily kept the secret. But the one thing I knew was that when anyone tried to tell you to secretly disobey your parents (unless it was something like sneaking starbursts after bedtime on Halloween), it was a big, fat, red flag... and that was what I needed to have the strength to walk away... physically, but not emotionally unscathed.
For years I kept his letters, the pin, the tapes. I sent him an e-card every year on his birthday (in hopes that if he knew someone still cared/remembered, he wouldn't end his life)... until I got a little older, a little wiser, and realized that something had been wrong and I wanted to be as far from it as I could. I burned the letters, threw away the tapes, and changed my e-mail address. And then I went on with my life.
It wasn't until college that I realized the extent of what really happened. I was in a psychology seminar where the lecturer was discussing how pedophiles groom their victims, and as I sat there scribbling notes, I realized I didn't need to write this down... I already knew it because it had happened to me. Over the next few days and weeks, the reality of how lucky I'd been, what could've happened if things had gone differently, hit me hard. I struggled with coping and acceptance - five years after the fact. I thought about it all the time. I told no one. I was too ashamed. How could I have been so stupid? When I finally told my mom, then took control back by contacting various authorities (even though I knew nothing could really be done - I was doing it to take my life, my control back)... that was when I could breathe again. But the reality never deserts me.
I was almost a statistic.
I was one of the lucky ones.
I got away.
Not everyone is that lucky. And that's why I'm sharing this tonight. Now and again, I hear people discussing whether or not to put computers in their children's bedrooms, whether to let them access facebook or chat or instant messaging. I hear adults discussing whether or not to add people they don't know to their friends lists on facebook. Because for the most part, people are trusting. We want to see the good. And yes, we want to build those relationships that might start in unconventional ways - I won't tell you that I never made another friend on the internet, because that's not true - but I certainly exercise a lot more caution these days.
I'm sharing this because people don't think it can happen to them. I didn't think it could happen to me. I was too mature, too smart. I wasn't one of those people that things happened to, I wasn't a victim. Until I was.
So forgive me, but if I don't accept your friend request or readily give out my address... this is why. Once you've been burned, you try to stay away from the fire.
And I urge you, all of you, to exercise caution in your online activities and especially in your children's online activities. For all I know, if my parents hadn't intervened, I could be dead. Your kids might hate you. They might scream and yell and slam their doors and tell you you're ruining their lives. I did all those things. Then I grew up... and I said thank you... because my parents didn't ruin my life... they saved it. As an adult, if you want to talk to people you've never met, go for it - but don't put your life on a platter for them. I've met some of my best friends online - rewarding relationships can start there, especially these days, but just like you wouldn't go on a blind date in a dark alley, don't let yourself be lured, unarmed into a trap by the hope of finding something good. Talk on message boards and groups - if you accept a friend request on a social network, set your privacy so that they can only see what you want them to see. Personally, I don't accept requests from anyone I haven't corresponded with extensively in the past. Keep certain things about your life, particularly identifying factors, private from people you haven't met in person. If you decide to meet someone you first became acquainted with online, do it in a public place and tell someone where you're going and when you'll be back. I wouldn't tell you to do these things if I wasn't already doing them myself - which is why I won't tell you, as an adult, not to 'talk to strangers'.
But your kids are a different story. They shouldn't be talking to people they don't know, period. Their judgement, their 'gut feeling', just isn't developed enough to recognize the danger, no matter how smart or mature they are. And that's not an affront to your child, please don't take it that way - remember, I was that child... the smart, mature one... who fell into the trap anyways. Please. Put parental filters on your web browsers. Keep your computer in a public place. If you have a laptop, put a password on it so little fingers can't disappear with it. Talk to your kids about internet safety, about warning signs that may not look like warning signs. Keep an open dialogue about what's going on on the computer. Facebook has an age limit for a reason - adhere to it. When you do decide to let your child have an account, know their password. Monitor their activity. Be up front about it, let them know you'll be checking up on them - don't just read their diary when they leave the door open - but do check up on them. You're not being a helicopter parent, you're being vigilant. I tell M (who is 13, and who I told this story to when she first got facebook) that I don't really care what she says to her friends, what they talk about, if they swear - even if it's not something I'm proud of her doing... whatever, normal teenager things - we all did them. All I care about is that she's safe, that she's not talking to people she doesn't know or people who might be dangerous. And I do monitor her activity - but only for safety - and she knows and (I hope) understands that. But even if she doesn't, it's not going to change, because she's not going to be a statistic either if I can help it.
I know it may not seem like it folks, but we are on the front lines... and sometimes you can't see the enemy until he's already in your camp. We can't stop internet predators from seeking out targets, no more than we can throw every single starfish back into the sea... but we can limit their pool of victims by protecting ourselves and our children the best as we can... and we can do that without putting ourselves in a bubble. That's what my parents did ten years ago, and I can tell you honestly...
It made a difference to this one.
This is something that's come up a lot in my life lately, and sometimes when things just keep coming up like that, I think it's a message from God, that maybe it's time to share my experiences, for the sake of others... so that's what I'm doing. This is personal and not easy to write or read so please be kind, but every day I see and hear things that scare me more... that some young girl, somebody's daughter... is not going to be as lucky as I was... and I have to do everything in my power to stop that.
I was twelve. The internet wasn't entirely new, but it was still in its infancy. Remember when the internet was basically AOL? Dialup, anyone? Errrr-uh-err-uh-errrr-uh-errrrrrrrrrrgh! Yeah, that's the time period we're in. No facebook, no myspace, no xanga, no twitter, no youtube... okay, there were pictures of cats, but not near as many and they most certainly weren't as funny. The internet had not achieved the social network status it holds today... and people underestimated it - myself included - which turned out to be very dangerous.
It started with a school project. I got to do an independent study on anything I wanted. I wanted to write about the military - especially JAG (yes, lawyers. It was my favorite show.) So I was online, doing research, when I found this message board (the social network of the time) that was ALL about this show! Now even then I'd heard people warn - don't tell anyone where you live or your real name on the internet... don't give out your phone number or any other personal information... but I couldn't resist posting, so I created possibly the most anonymous alias I could think of (okay, it was JAGfan1. I didn't win any points for creativity here, basically). And I posted once, and then again, and then I was hooked, posted all the time. I remember that people panicked when they found out I was only twelve. Perfect strangers worrying about my safety, asking me to have my mom verify that she was okay with me being on this board (she was). I took it all very personally, I was very defensive ("I'm mature for my age! I'm smart, I can handle myself!")... and he saw it.
I have no doubt he knew he was playing on my weakness when a poster named Marco (yes, I'm naming names, because, you bastard, if you're still out there, I want you to know that I see you for what you always were now) came to me and told me that he could see that I was much more mature than most kids my age, and that other people just didn't understand, but he did, and would I like to be friends? He was 35, he was up front about this - no lying about age, which is so often something we warn our kids about today - but sometimes they don't even need to lie.
I said yes, I want to be friends, and we talked via e-mail (side note - remember when people actually sent emails?) and in a chat room for our message board. About a month after I found that board, my parents split up, and it was the second place I went to cry (after calling my best friend). Everyone was supportive and kind... especially him... and I thought he was just being a friend, but now I realize that I had inadvertently given him another weakness to prey on. We talked more... he 'helped me' get through it... and then when he started to share some issues that were bothering him, it didn't alarm me because we were just friends helping each other... but his issues were grown up issues that a twelve year old shouldn't have been dealing with or even hearing about.
And that was when he found the key - my most crucial weakness - the innate want - no, need - to help others. I told you all in another post that I'm a fixer. I always have been. When he spoke of his problems, I wanted to fix them, I wanted to help him. Now, I'm fairly certain that they were all manufactured to gain my trust and sympathy, bond me further to him. He was grooming me. He was slowly teaching me that only he really understood me, and that I was smart and kind and I understood and helped him, that he needed me, that no one else believed in him and I was the only one who saw the good in him. Is this starting to sound like an abusive relationship to anyone else?
Well it was. But it happened so gradually, and I was so young, so naive, that I couldn't see it... and I was so determined to be right - to show everyone that I was smart and mature - that I ignored every piece of good advice I was ever given.
He asked me to share a picture of myself and I hesitated, because I'd been warned about putting pictures on the internet, but finally I relented when he said he'd share his picture too. I shared one of me in a Limited Too hoodie and pigtails. All I remember about his is that he had a goatee. After that, I was 'desensitized' to posting pictures (I did it once and nothing happened!) and I shared many more. He told me I was cute, pretty, which pictures were his favorites... and I took it all as compliments.
I will never forget the day he said "Can I tell you a secret?" He'd been acting off all day. I was nervous, in the pit of my stomach I felt uneasy, like it was going to be a bad secret. My gut was trying to tell me that something was not right with this guy, but I didn't listen to it. I said yes. He said I couldn't tell, even my parents. And then that became the standing rule with all his 'secrets'. And he told me about a (sexual) relationship he'd had with a married woman he met online, who he still 'loved'. He gave me her email and asked me very innocently to contact her. Now I believe that he was using me to continue to stalk and victimize this woman. Over time he started telling me what to say... and I said it. I was his mouthpiece. I regret falling into that trap more than anything else... being a tool of his abuse.
Then, as time went on, he fixated on different women (both famous people and people in our 'online community'), obsessed over them, told me all about it (often in very inappropriate ways), used me to contact them as well, and then ultimately came to me telling me how he'd propositioned one of them and they'd rejected him, and that he was so emotionally hurt that he felt suicidal... and it became my job to talk him down off the ledge. A twelve year old. Today I'm pretty sure there was no ledge, but even if there was, I shouldn't have been the one up there with him.
At one point, in those olden days before the wonders of DVR, I'd gone on vacation with my family once and tried to set a tape to pre-record all the episodes of JAG while I was gone, but it failed and I missed something significant. He offered to send me a tape. I talked it over with my mom. What if I gave him one of my parents' work addresses instead of our home address? That would be safe, right? Or I could get a PO Box. I really wanted to see that episode. After much discussion it was agreed that I could use a work address, and he sent me the tape and a mostly innocuous note. Another hurdle gone - I'd even had him send me something, and it wasn't a bomb or anything like that... so sharing this business address must be safe. Later more mail packages were exchanged - seemingly innocent, but conditioning me slowly to believe that corresponding via US mail was 'okay', that sharing an address was 'okay'. Toward the very end, he even started to push for my home address.
But while all that is a bit creepy, it wasn't the typical sort of 'internet red flag' they told you to watch out for... which is probably why I fell for it. But I shouldn't have fallen for the bit I'm about to tell you about. It should've been a huge red flag... but he'd built up my trust so much that it wasn't.
The summer that I was 13, the air conditioning in our house went out. I took to lying around in my (very first) bikini pretty much all the time, and lacking modesty I shared this fact with him. He asked me what it looked like. After that he started asking me what I was wearing all the time. I told him. He'd tell me what he was wearing. Even if it was nothing. I thought it was just making conversation, and when you're thirteen, talking about stuff like that isn't sexual, it's more like "Heehee, you're naked! That's funny! Naked is funny!" So one day when he told me that he and another friend played a 'game' where they would always tell each other when they were naked, and that maybe we should do it too, I felt a little uneasy, but then that part of me that was desperately trying to prove myself rose up and I thought, "Hey, maybe this is just what grown-ups do, how they talk to each other. Maybe he's just treating me like an adult like he always does. I don't want him to think I'm not mature." So I agreed. He was also always trying to convince me to get a webcam. I probably would have, if I'd had any money. Thank goodness for being broke.
Time passed, and this dysfunctional, scary relationship continued. Today I'm pretty sure he had every intention of making me trust him until I was willing to meet him. He would mention being in my state or a neighboring state and comment that maybe we'd meet someday. Thank the Lord and my parents' gut, that never happened.
Around my 14th birthday, he wanted to send me a gift. I told him he didn't have to, but he said it was special and he picked it out just for me, so I relented. After it was in the mail, he told me he sent a little something else as a birthday gift and he hoped I wouldn't get mad. I was nervous... deep down, in my gut, about what it might be, but I didn't let on. When the package came I opened it alone in my room. A letter, a pin of a gold angel carrying a race flag (that he said reminded him of me) and a $20. I smiled. I thought it was sweet. I told him I wasn't mad.
At dinner that night, my parents asked what he sent. My father still came over on Wednesday nights and ate with us. I told them casually, with a smile, not expecting the reaction, nor the chain of events that came after. I will never forget the look on my father's face. It had me petrified. I can't even describe it. He wasn't just furious, he was... well, I think it was the look that someone gets on their face when they realize that their little girl is well on her way to an episode of 20/20. I never felt so small. That feeling that had been lying surpressed in my gut for so long grew so large it took over. I wanted to vomit. I couldn't finish my meal. I thought - if my parents were so angry about this... what would they think about all the 'secrets'... the things I hadn't told them? My gut had been right and I suddenly knew it.
I threw a typical teenage temper tantrum, but inside I knew they were right. Even though my mom told me I didn't have to, I told him I was cutting off contact with him, I would no longer chat or email or IM, no more mail (except my parents' stipulation that I send the money back). It was his response that absolutely confirmed that my long-ignored gut had been right. I'd lied, told him that my parents were making me cut off contact - it was easier to lie. So he tried to get me to disobey them - deceive them - keep talking to him but tell them I'd stopped. I'd gotten a computer in my room for my birthday, and he knew it. Then he tried to guilt me by saying I was his only friend and he didn't want to live anymore. Playing on my weaknesses. I could've easily kept the secret. But the one thing I knew was that when anyone tried to tell you to secretly disobey your parents (unless it was something like sneaking starbursts after bedtime on Halloween), it was a big, fat, red flag... and that was what I needed to have the strength to walk away... physically, but not emotionally unscathed.
For years I kept his letters, the pin, the tapes. I sent him an e-card every year on his birthday (in hopes that if he knew someone still cared/remembered, he wouldn't end his life)... until I got a little older, a little wiser, and realized that something had been wrong and I wanted to be as far from it as I could. I burned the letters, threw away the tapes, and changed my e-mail address. And then I went on with my life.
It wasn't until college that I realized the extent of what really happened. I was in a psychology seminar where the lecturer was discussing how pedophiles groom their victims, and as I sat there scribbling notes, I realized I didn't need to write this down... I already knew it because it had happened to me. Over the next few days and weeks, the reality of how lucky I'd been, what could've happened if things had gone differently, hit me hard. I struggled with coping and acceptance - five years after the fact. I thought about it all the time. I told no one. I was too ashamed. How could I have been so stupid? When I finally told my mom, then took control back by contacting various authorities (even though I knew nothing could really be done - I was doing it to take my life, my control back)... that was when I could breathe again. But the reality never deserts me.
I was almost a statistic.
I was one of the lucky ones.
I got away.
Not everyone is that lucky. And that's why I'm sharing this tonight. Now and again, I hear people discussing whether or not to put computers in their children's bedrooms, whether to let them access facebook or chat or instant messaging. I hear adults discussing whether or not to add people they don't know to their friends lists on facebook. Because for the most part, people are trusting. We want to see the good. And yes, we want to build those relationships that might start in unconventional ways - I won't tell you that I never made another friend on the internet, because that's not true - but I certainly exercise a lot more caution these days.
I'm sharing this because people don't think it can happen to them. I didn't think it could happen to me. I was too mature, too smart. I wasn't one of those people that things happened to, I wasn't a victim. Until I was.
So forgive me, but if I don't accept your friend request or readily give out my address... this is why. Once you've been burned, you try to stay away from the fire.
And I urge you, all of you, to exercise caution in your online activities and especially in your children's online activities. For all I know, if my parents hadn't intervened, I could be dead. Your kids might hate you. They might scream and yell and slam their doors and tell you you're ruining their lives. I did all those things. Then I grew up... and I said thank you... because my parents didn't ruin my life... they saved it. As an adult, if you want to talk to people you've never met, go for it - but don't put your life on a platter for them. I've met some of my best friends online - rewarding relationships can start there, especially these days, but just like you wouldn't go on a blind date in a dark alley, don't let yourself be lured, unarmed into a trap by the hope of finding something good. Talk on message boards and groups - if you accept a friend request on a social network, set your privacy so that they can only see what you want them to see. Personally, I don't accept requests from anyone I haven't corresponded with extensively in the past. Keep certain things about your life, particularly identifying factors, private from people you haven't met in person. If you decide to meet someone you first became acquainted with online, do it in a public place and tell someone where you're going and when you'll be back. I wouldn't tell you to do these things if I wasn't already doing them myself - which is why I won't tell you, as an adult, not to 'talk to strangers'.
But your kids are a different story. They shouldn't be talking to people they don't know, period. Their judgement, their 'gut feeling', just isn't developed enough to recognize the danger, no matter how smart or mature they are. And that's not an affront to your child, please don't take it that way - remember, I was that child... the smart, mature one... who fell into the trap anyways. Please. Put parental filters on your web browsers. Keep your computer in a public place. If you have a laptop, put a password on it so little fingers can't disappear with it. Talk to your kids about internet safety, about warning signs that may not look like warning signs. Keep an open dialogue about what's going on on the computer. Facebook has an age limit for a reason - adhere to it. When you do decide to let your child have an account, know their password. Monitor their activity. Be up front about it, let them know you'll be checking up on them - don't just read their diary when they leave the door open - but do check up on them. You're not being a helicopter parent, you're being vigilant. I tell M (who is 13, and who I told this story to when she first got facebook) that I don't really care what she says to her friends, what they talk about, if they swear - even if it's not something I'm proud of her doing... whatever, normal teenager things - we all did them. All I care about is that she's safe, that she's not talking to people she doesn't know or people who might be dangerous. And I do monitor her activity - but only for safety - and she knows and (I hope) understands that. But even if she doesn't, it's not going to change, because she's not going to be a statistic either if I can help it.
I know it may not seem like it folks, but we are on the front lines... and sometimes you can't see the enemy until he's already in your camp. We can't stop internet predators from seeking out targets, no more than we can throw every single starfish back into the sea... but we can limit their pool of victims by protecting ourselves and our children the best as we can... and we can do that without putting ourselves in a bubble. That's what my parents did ten years ago, and I can tell you honestly...
It made a difference to this one.
 |
| Me - 2002 |
Saturday, February 9, 2013
The Story of Us, Part 3
It's been a while since I've written. After the first two posts two days in a row, I kind of felt I needed a break - especially since I dreamed about A every night after that, for a long time, and then woke up wanting to cry. I want to share our story, but I have to make sure I don't become consumed by the past, or by what ifs, or by could've, should've, would've. So I took a little break. Not from thinking about our story, but from writing it - because in truth, I'm always thinking about my A.
Last time, I posted about some of the fun things A and I used to do together, all the things I had experienced as a child that I wanted to share with her. I actually remember shortly after the day we went sledding, telling her grandma about it, and her grandma said "Oh, wow, Katie, you're doing all these firsts with her!" I started to apologize, thinking perhaps I'd stepped on toes, but she interrupted me and said "No, we just can't always do those things with her, we're glad she has you to do new things with her." I was glad too. Last time, I talked about introducing her to my friends, family, classmates, teachers... and their amusing misconceptions... and how even over time she was still a mystery to me. A tough little egg that couldn't be cracked. I wrote about both the good times and the tough times, because that's what life is - a mix of some of each.
Today I want to talk a little about the improvements I saw in A over the first several months. If you recall, I said that the first day I watched her at her grandparents' house, she was completely nonverbal. Two months later, she proudly announced "Uno, Dos, Tres!" to my Spanish teacher - only she smushed it all together (more like "Unodostres"), because Dora ALWAYS says those three words together! I think she thought it was one word. For a long time when I'd talk to her in the car about what we were seeing, etc, she'd just be sitting back there in her car seat replying "Uno dos tres! Uno dos tres!" Funny, funny girl... always a mystery... lived her whole life in Ohio with family members who spoke only English, and her first words were in Spanish. I suppose we can thank Dora for that.
When her vocabulary started to grow (by leaps and bounds!) I started to wonder why she'd ever been so quiet to begin with. It was just another piece of the mystery. By Christmas she was saying all kinds of words, albeit in a rudimentary way. One of her favorites was "Kee-kee" (Kitty). She mastered "Tee-Whoas" (Cheerios), "Baaw" (Ball), "Pay" (Play), "Skoo" (School), and many more. I remember talking to my mom about why she'd been so quiet for so long, but was suddenly learning at a rapid pace. I'd researched and I knew that there had been cases of kids who seemingly chose not to speak for years and then started spouting full sentences... but that wasn't A. I knew there were cases where children had developmental disabilities, hearing or sensory input problems, and simply couldn't verbalize their thoughts, but I didn't think A was one of those kids either, because of how quickly she seemed to pick up new language after a while, and how well her perceptive hearing functioned. She could hear me and follow directions and understand what was going on, she just couldn't talk about it herself. So why... why no words until she was nearly three, and why on earth were her first words in Spanish?
My mom told me that what I had been doing with A was good for her - narrating what we were doing, naming items as we saw them, talking to her as much as possible. She said that when I was a baby, they encouraged parents to talk to their babies all the time even if they knew they didn't understand, because that was how they would learn to talk. She said that our first words are often the words we hear most often. (I believe mine was 'hot'. I had an affinity for playing in the kitchen, I guess). This made me think back to the conversation I'd had with A's grandmother about the 'situation' that led to A and her mother moving in with them... and to all A's other mysterious behaviors - and suddenly it clicked. A didn't speak because A hadn't been spoken to.
When she did finally start to speak, she mimicked the words she heard often from people who did speak to her... or, as the case may be, cartoon characters like Dora the Explorer. Well, I supposed, that closed the case of why A's speech was so delayed, and also gave me a prescription for exactly what to do about it (the same thing I'd already been doing - talk to her, narrate everything, name everything). It also made me sad, imagining times when there hadn't been someone to speak to her. Because I knew little about A's life before I met her, the only thing I could be sure of was that her grandparents had done their best when she was with them - but clearly, somewhere along the line, this aspect of her development had been neglected. A family member even acknowledged this to me at a later time. A had never been nonverbal because of a developmental disability or a choice not to talk as I first thought. All she needed was someone - no, a few someones, who took the time to talk to her.
After Christmas, A's vocabulary took off even more. She could finally convey to me what she wanted with little help from pointing and grunting. We spent a lot of time around other kids, in the nursery at church especially... at the playground... other children started to talk to her more too, as she became more aware of and interacted with her surroundings.
That January was also when I started watching M. M was six, going on seven, and I'd known her for years - she was the little girl that A reminded me of, that caused me to feel so drawn to A, that first day in the nursery. Her family called me, in dire need of a sitter, and I said yes. I took M on in addition to A on an ongoing basis. It became easier for me to watch both the girls at my home, so that's what I did. I restructured my bedroom so that it was childproof, there was a place for A to nap, if not with me, a toy box, children's DVDs... I bought a booster chair for the dinner table, a few other things, and after a slightly doubtful reception from several people (can you really handle this? Shouldn't you focus on school? What about your own life, your own future?), my friends and family grew to love the girls like I did. M and A were like sisters - people always asked me if they were. No, I'd tell them, but don't they look like it?
Over the next year, A pretty much knocked my socks off with her ability to learn. Some things, she still wasn't grasping. When I tried to introduce the concept of colors to her (in the spring, while we were planting flowers), I would point them all out, tell her the colors, day after day, tell her what color everything was, until finally I said one day on a walk around the neighborhood "A, look at the tree! What color is the tree?"
A's response? "BOO." ie. "blue". It was the only color she said consistantly. Yup. Trees were blue. They stayed blue for a long time, too. Even after she learned 'pik' and 'geen'. Until she went to head start. I'll have to do a whole seperate post on how far she came in head start!
It was also sometime shortly after she turned three that she started picking up more and more language - putting together simple, two word requests. But she shocked me completely one day, by saying a word she'd never said before (at least in my presence).
The first time she said it, we were in the car, taking her mom (who I had started seeing more often) to work. I don't remember exactly what context she said it in, but she said "Mommy!"... and it was clear that she was talking to me. I tried to brush it off for her mom's sake - kids often do that - all adult females are Mommy - but I can imagine it's still hard when you really are Mommy. So I said something like "No, silly girl, Mommy's not driving, Katie's driving! Mommy's over there." And her mom relaxed. Then we dropped her off, drove away, and she said it again. "Mommy, Moo-sik!" Ah. She wanted 'her songs' (Silly Songs from Veggie Tales) on. So she asked me to turn it on.
I started off patiently redirecting her - because, like I said, lots of kids do the 'all adult females are Mommy' thing. "No, sweetie, I'm not Mommy, I'm Katie! Mommy's back there, at work!" And she'd get mad. "MOMMY," she'd insist. I didn't argue with her after that - you didn't win a battle with this kid. I figured the behavior would fade like all other childhood behaviors do.
But as time went on, something became apparent. All adult females were not Mommy. Not my mom, not my friends, not other kids' moms, she even knew that her grandmother, another primary caregiver, was "MaMAW". Only me and her actual mother ever consistently got that designation. I still don't understand what exactly led her to associate the word with me... sure, I took care of her, but so did lots of other people. Her grandma, her grandpa, my mom, nursery workers at church... but no matter how hard I tried to convince her "No, silly, I'm Katie!"... it stuck.
Which left me in a couple of embarrassing situations. At school, at the grocery store, at the park, everywhere we went, I was a seventeen year old toting around a three year old who called me Mommy. I'm sure you can imagine the dirty looks that earned me. I didn't care though, I just laughed, because those people didn't know us or our lives, and I didn't feel I owed them an explanation.
Unfortunately, A didn't have much of a filter, and she used that word for me many more times in her mother's presence, until I started to feel like my explanations weren't really holding water for her anymore. I felt bad. It wasn't until she was four, after over a year of answering "No, I'm *Katie*!" that she amended her verbage to "Mommy Kai." Oh well. It was a step.
Since she was making so much progress, and she was already three, when I got out of school for the Summer I discussed potty training with her grandmother, and we agreed that we'd start working on it.
Haha. Hahahaha. Hahahahahahahahaha.
Easier said than done.
My mom always used to say "Just wait until they're three. It'll make potty training much easier and less stressful." I thought I was doing that. But A was delayed in all other areas - why didn't I expect her to be delayed in this too? It took me nearly the whole summer of sitting in the bathroom, in front of cartoons, reading books, doing whatever it took to get her to sit on the potty, until she actually peed on it. And then, of course, she didn't do it again for weeks. I read everything on potty training, asked everyone for advice... I got her books and videos from the library... one of which featured a song called "She is a Super Duper Pooper" which I will never, ever be able to un-hear... anyways, needless to say, it was not the 'summer project' I'd intended... more like a year and a half long commitment, and then some. Things just didn't come easily to A.
But through it all, that whole year... we played. Just played, had fun... tried to learn at the same time, but mostly we just played. As my senior year of high school approached, I was excited to take Spanish IV, until the school district threatened to remove it from the curriculum. A friend and I went to the school board to ask them to reconsider. I was quoted in the paper.
Then the news came out, that yes, there would be a Spanish IV, because of us. But it came on the heels of the news that students who had met graduation requirements only needed to take five classes, and could be dismissed as early as noon, so long as they didn't have a class 6th, 7th, or 8th period. You could get out earlier if you were looking into post-secondary options, which I was. The way my schedule had come together, I'd be dismissed at 11:40 each day. I was so excited to be able to spend those extra hours with A.
Then we found out that the only period Spanish IV would be offered was 8th period. I'd have to take three study halls in a row to take that class, get out at 3:20, and not have near as much time with A.
Most people would've told me that I still needed to put myself first - I was young, after all, and she wasn't my daughter... and that might've been what I did, if not for one experience I'd just had that broke my heart for A all over again.
I'd gone to her third birthday party... arms full of presents, smile on my face... excited to see her enjoy herself with all her favorite people. It was close to her mom's birthday so her friends were there too, even the ones without kids, which was fine... except that there was no one else with kids. It was a birthday party for a three year old, and there were no other children there. A cried more than once, after being scolded for touching the cake, opening presents too fast, not saying thank you, and then was scolded for crying. Family members argued. Myself and a couple other family members tried to distract A, intervene before she could get upset, but I left in tears. I could see, and I know a few others could see, that it hadn't gone the way it should. Some people in A's life, with whom I hadn't seen her interact much, didn't seem to know how to just let her be a kid... and it made me sad for her... so as I drove home crying, I vowed to do everything I could to just let A enjoy being a kid.
And I didn't sign up for Spanish IV. I decided I'd look into other options, because four hours of time with her every day just wasn't something I was willing to sacrifice.
I never regretted that decision. I still don't.
So Fall came...
Halloween came...
Winter came...
And Christmas came...
And we just kept on having fun - from the moment her mom would drop her off to me, outside my last class at the art complex at 11:40, until we were all exhausted...
And it was the best year of my life.
Last time, I posted about some of the fun things A and I used to do together, all the things I had experienced as a child that I wanted to share with her. I actually remember shortly after the day we went sledding, telling her grandma about it, and her grandma said "Oh, wow, Katie, you're doing all these firsts with her!" I started to apologize, thinking perhaps I'd stepped on toes, but she interrupted me and said "No, we just can't always do those things with her, we're glad she has you to do new things with her." I was glad too. Last time, I talked about introducing her to my friends, family, classmates, teachers... and their amusing misconceptions... and how even over time she was still a mystery to me. A tough little egg that couldn't be cracked. I wrote about both the good times and the tough times, because that's what life is - a mix of some of each.
Today I want to talk a little about the improvements I saw in A over the first several months. If you recall, I said that the first day I watched her at her grandparents' house, she was completely nonverbal. Two months later, she proudly announced "Uno, Dos, Tres!" to my Spanish teacher - only she smushed it all together (more like "Unodostres"), because Dora ALWAYS says those three words together! I think she thought it was one word. For a long time when I'd talk to her in the car about what we were seeing, etc, she'd just be sitting back there in her car seat replying "Uno dos tres! Uno dos tres!" Funny, funny girl... always a mystery... lived her whole life in Ohio with family members who spoke only English, and her first words were in Spanish. I suppose we can thank Dora for that.
When her vocabulary started to grow (by leaps and bounds!) I started to wonder why she'd ever been so quiet to begin with. It was just another piece of the mystery. By Christmas she was saying all kinds of words, albeit in a rudimentary way. One of her favorites was "Kee-kee" (Kitty). She mastered "Tee-Whoas" (Cheerios), "Baaw" (Ball), "Pay" (Play), "Skoo" (School), and many more. I remember talking to my mom about why she'd been so quiet for so long, but was suddenly learning at a rapid pace. I'd researched and I knew that there had been cases of kids who seemingly chose not to speak for years and then started spouting full sentences... but that wasn't A. I knew there were cases where children had developmental disabilities, hearing or sensory input problems, and simply couldn't verbalize their thoughts, but I didn't think A was one of those kids either, because of how quickly she seemed to pick up new language after a while, and how well her perceptive hearing functioned. She could hear me and follow directions and understand what was going on, she just couldn't talk about it herself. So why... why no words until she was nearly three, and why on earth were her first words in Spanish?
My mom told me that what I had been doing with A was good for her - narrating what we were doing, naming items as we saw them, talking to her as much as possible. She said that when I was a baby, they encouraged parents to talk to their babies all the time even if they knew they didn't understand, because that was how they would learn to talk. She said that our first words are often the words we hear most often. (I believe mine was 'hot'. I had an affinity for playing in the kitchen, I guess). This made me think back to the conversation I'd had with A's grandmother about the 'situation' that led to A and her mother moving in with them... and to all A's other mysterious behaviors - and suddenly it clicked. A didn't speak because A hadn't been spoken to.
When she did finally start to speak, she mimicked the words she heard often from people who did speak to her... or, as the case may be, cartoon characters like Dora the Explorer. Well, I supposed, that closed the case of why A's speech was so delayed, and also gave me a prescription for exactly what to do about it (the same thing I'd already been doing - talk to her, narrate everything, name everything). It also made me sad, imagining times when there hadn't been someone to speak to her. Because I knew little about A's life before I met her, the only thing I could be sure of was that her grandparents had done their best when she was with them - but clearly, somewhere along the line, this aspect of her development had been neglected. A family member even acknowledged this to me at a later time. A had never been nonverbal because of a developmental disability or a choice not to talk as I first thought. All she needed was someone - no, a few someones, who took the time to talk to her.
After Christmas, A's vocabulary took off even more. She could finally convey to me what she wanted with little help from pointing and grunting. We spent a lot of time around other kids, in the nursery at church especially... at the playground... other children started to talk to her more too, as she became more aware of and interacted with her surroundings.
That January was also when I started watching M. M was six, going on seven, and I'd known her for years - she was the little girl that A reminded me of, that caused me to feel so drawn to A, that first day in the nursery. Her family called me, in dire need of a sitter, and I said yes. I took M on in addition to A on an ongoing basis. It became easier for me to watch both the girls at my home, so that's what I did. I restructured my bedroom so that it was childproof, there was a place for A to nap, if not with me, a toy box, children's DVDs... I bought a booster chair for the dinner table, a few other things, and after a slightly doubtful reception from several people (can you really handle this? Shouldn't you focus on school? What about your own life, your own future?), my friends and family grew to love the girls like I did. M and A were like sisters - people always asked me if they were. No, I'd tell them, but don't they look like it?
Over the next year, A pretty much knocked my socks off with her ability to learn. Some things, she still wasn't grasping. When I tried to introduce the concept of colors to her (in the spring, while we were planting flowers), I would point them all out, tell her the colors, day after day, tell her what color everything was, until finally I said one day on a walk around the neighborhood "A, look at the tree! What color is the tree?"
A's response? "BOO." ie. "blue". It was the only color she said consistantly. Yup. Trees were blue. They stayed blue for a long time, too. Even after she learned 'pik' and 'geen'. Until she went to head start. I'll have to do a whole seperate post on how far she came in head start!
It was also sometime shortly after she turned three that she started picking up more and more language - putting together simple, two word requests. But she shocked me completely one day, by saying a word she'd never said before (at least in my presence).
The first time she said it, we were in the car, taking her mom (who I had started seeing more often) to work. I don't remember exactly what context she said it in, but she said "Mommy!"... and it was clear that she was talking to me. I tried to brush it off for her mom's sake - kids often do that - all adult females are Mommy - but I can imagine it's still hard when you really are Mommy. So I said something like "No, silly girl, Mommy's not driving, Katie's driving! Mommy's over there." And her mom relaxed. Then we dropped her off, drove away, and she said it again. "Mommy, Moo-sik!" Ah. She wanted 'her songs' (Silly Songs from Veggie Tales) on. So she asked me to turn it on.
I started off patiently redirecting her - because, like I said, lots of kids do the 'all adult females are Mommy' thing. "No, sweetie, I'm not Mommy, I'm Katie! Mommy's back there, at work!" And she'd get mad. "MOMMY," she'd insist. I didn't argue with her after that - you didn't win a battle with this kid. I figured the behavior would fade like all other childhood behaviors do.
But as time went on, something became apparent. All adult females were not Mommy. Not my mom, not my friends, not other kids' moms, she even knew that her grandmother, another primary caregiver, was "MaMAW". Only me and her actual mother ever consistently got that designation. I still don't understand what exactly led her to associate the word with me... sure, I took care of her, but so did lots of other people. Her grandma, her grandpa, my mom, nursery workers at church... but no matter how hard I tried to convince her "No, silly, I'm Katie!"... it stuck.
Which left me in a couple of embarrassing situations. At school, at the grocery store, at the park, everywhere we went, I was a seventeen year old toting around a three year old who called me Mommy. I'm sure you can imagine the dirty looks that earned me. I didn't care though, I just laughed, because those people didn't know us or our lives, and I didn't feel I owed them an explanation.
Unfortunately, A didn't have much of a filter, and she used that word for me many more times in her mother's presence, until I started to feel like my explanations weren't really holding water for her anymore. I felt bad. It wasn't until she was four, after over a year of answering "No, I'm *Katie*!" that she amended her verbage to "Mommy Kai." Oh well. It was a step.
Since she was making so much progress, and she was already three, when I got out of school for the Summer I discussed potty training with her grandmother, and we agreed that we'd start working on it.
Haha. Hahahaha. Hahahahahahahahaha.
Easier said than done.
My mom always used to say "Just wait until they're three. It'll make potty training much easier and less stressful." I thought I was doing that. But A was delayed in all other areas - why didn't I expect her to be delayed in this too? It took me nearly the whole summer of sitting in the bathroom, in front of cartoons, reading books, doing whatever it took to get her to sit on the potty, until she actually peed on it. And then, of course, she didn't do it again for weeks. I read everything on potty training, asked everyone for advice... I got her books and videos from the library... one of which featured a song called "She is a Super Duper Pooper" which I will never, ever be able to un-hear... anyways, needless to say, it was not the 'summer project' I'd intended... more like a year and a half long commitment, and then some. Things just didn't come easily to A.
But through it all, that whole year... we played. Just played, had fun... tried to learn at the same time, but mostly we just played. As my senior year of high school approached, I was excited to take Spanish IV, until the school district threatened to remove it from the curriculum. A friend and I went to the school board to ask them to reconsider. I was quoted in the paper.
Then the news came out, that yes, there would be a Spanish IV, because of us. But it came on the heels of the news that students who had met graduation requirements only needed to take five classes, and could be dismissed as early as noon, so long as they didn't have a class 6th, 7th, or 8th period. You could get out earlier if you were looking into post-secondary options, which I was. The way my schedule had come together, I'd be dismissed at 11:40 each day. I was so excited to be able to spend those extra hours with A.
Then we found out that the only period Spanish IV would be offered was 8th period. I'd have to take three study halls in a row to take that class, get out at 3:20, and not have near as much time with A.
Most people would've told me that I still needed to put myself first - I was young, after all, and she wasn't my daughter... and that might've been what I did, if not for one experience I'd just had that broke my heart for A all over again.
I'd gone to her third birthday party... arms full of presents, smile on my face... excited to see her enjoy herself with all her favorite people. It was close to her mom's birthday so her friends were there too, even the ones without kids, which was fine... except that there was no one else with kids. It was a birthday party for a three year old, and there were no other children there. A cried more than once, after being scolded for touching the cake, opening presents too fast, not saying thank you, and then was scolded for crying. Family members argued. Myself and a couple other family members tried to distract A, intervene before she could get upset, but I left in tears. I could see, and I know a few others could see, that it hadn't gone the way it should. Some people in A's life, with whom I hadn't seen her interact much, didn't seem to know how to just let her be a kid... and it made me sad for her... so as I drove home crying, I vowed to do everything I could to just let A enjoy being a kid.
 |
| COSI Columbus! |
 |
| Mowing my lawn |
 |
| I love this one - like she's sure she can climb it if she tries hard enough. |
And I didn't sign up for Spanish IV. I decided I'd look into other options, because four hours of time with her every day just wasn't something I was willing to sacrifice.
I never regretted that decision. I still don't.
So Fall came...
Halloween came...
 |
| That Halloween sweatshirt used to be mine! |
Winter came...
And Christmas came...
And we just kept on having fun - from the moment her mom would drop her off to me, outside my last class at the art complex at 11:40, until we were all exhausted...
And it was the best year of my life.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Something You May or May Not Know
...about me...
I'm a fixer.
OK, so what does that mean?
It means when something is wrong, when the world is unjust and someone is suffering or struggling, when anyone is sad, sick, or hurting in whatever way... I want to fix it.
And I know I can't, not usually. Life has been slapping me in the face with that fact over and over and over. But somehow I've never been able to change. My first impulse when someone tells me something is wrong is 'how do I fix it?'
'Fixing' things isn't always possible, or even the appropriate thing to do. I know that sometimes all someone needs is a listening ear, a hug, someone to commiserate with. I know they don't usually expect or even want me to 'fix it'. But no matter how many times I remind myself of this, it's still my first impulse, and it still drives me absolutely crazy when I can't fix it.
And I'm not like this because I have a misplaced sense of my own importance, or a savior complex, or anything like that, I'm like this just because I hate to see anyone hurting. Especially people I love - but truly anyone. Ask a friend or family member who's been around my whole life... I'm that person who finds a 9/11 memorial to go to every single year, that person who holds her own personal candlelight vigil every time tragedy hits too close to home. I do those things because whatever has happened... I can't fix it... but in some way, I feel like recognizing it... remembering... is the least I can do.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" people have asked me on occasion. My answer: Because it hurts more not to. It tears me up for something bad to happen and me to just go on like nothing did.
But sometimes I mess up. Royally. Sometimes, when a friend or acquaintance really just needs a listening ear, someone to simply hear what they're saying and how they're feeling, I still find myself trying to fix it, without realizing that no one asked me to. This was actually the impetus that set off the biggest fight I ever had with a friend in high school. There were other things going on, but that particular day, someone she loved was in the hospital, and there I was again, offering to do this or that, trying to "fix" things, when she finally told me that no, there was nothing I could do, and to please stop asking. At sixteen, with much less self-awareness than I have now, I didn't take it well and it set off a whole chain of events that led to me not speaking to someone who was very important to me for a number of years. I thank God today that this person is back in my life and we understand these things about each other; she understands that it's my kneejerk reaction to try to fix things, and I understand how to read the subtle cues that she doesn't expect me to.
I still do this. All the time. Usually I realize it later, but probably not until I've totally annoyed someone. If that person has ever been you, I want to apologize. Sometimes I'm just no good at social situations, and this is one of my biggest issues. Heck - even when someone outright says they just need me to listen, I mess it up, because in my mind I'm trying to figure out if they really mean it, or if they're just saying that... and then I end up driving people crazy because I'm still trying to fix something they already told me I didn't need to fix! Just please know that it is never my intention to offend - I'm just dealing with things the only way I know how. And I don't know how to feel helpless. I'm no good at it. I hate seeing anyone hurting, and so even if there's nothing I can do, I'll sit around racking my brain for ways to make things just a little bit easier.
If you think about it, you can see the evidence yourself. If you've been reading this blog a while, or my other one, you might remember how I commented that after discovering the plight of orphans with special needs around the world in December 2011, I barely slept for two months. Why? Simple - I was up, day and night, torturing myself, trying to figure out how on earth I could help... fix... something going on halfway across the world! It was only when I found an outlet for that need (advocacy) that I was able to rest easy again. At least I was doing something. Unfortunately, I find myself in a similar state of disequilibrium anytime something is wrong for anyone I even know... which leads to that whole foot-in-mouth chain of events I mentioned earlier.
I'm only sharing this because it's been on my mind a lot lately - I've noticed myself doing it, and I've wanted to apologize, and to help those around me understand why I tend to make idiotic social blunders, but I didn't know how... so this is both my apology and my explanation.
And there's something you may or may not have known about me... but you do now!
I'm a fixer.
OK, so what does that mean?
It means when something is wrong, when the world is unjust and someone is suffering or struggling, when anyone is sad, sick, or hurting in whatever way... I want to fix it.
And I know I can't, not usually. Life has been slapping me in the face with that fact over and over and over. But somehow I've never been able to change. My first impulse when someone tells me something is wrong is 'how do I fix it?'
'Fixing' things isn't always possible, or even the appropriate thing to do. I know that sometimes all someone needs is a listening ear, a hug, someone to commiserate with. I know they don't usually expect or even want me to 'fix it'. But no matter how many times I remind myself of this, it's still my first impulse, and it still drives me absolutely crazy when I can't fix it.
And I'm not like this because I have a misplaced sense of my own importance, or a savior complex, or anything like that, I'm like this just because I hate to see anyone hurting. Especially people I love - but truly anyone. Ask a friend or family member who's been around my whole life... I'm that person who finds a 9/11 memorial to go to every single year, that person who holds her own personal candlelight vigil every time tragedy hits too close to home. I do those things because whatever has happened... I can't fix it... but in some way, I feel like recognizing it... remembering... is the least I can do.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" people have asked me on occasion. My answer: Because it hurts more not to. It tears me up for something bad to happen and me to just go on like nothing did.
But sometimes I mess up. Royally. Sometimes, when a friend or acquaintance really just needs a listening ear, someone to simply hear what they're saying and how they're feeling, I still find myself trying to fix it, without realizing that no one asked me to. This was actually the impetus that set off the biggest fight I ever had with a friend in high school. There were other things going on, but that particular day, someone she loved was in the hospital, and there I was again, offering to do this or that, trying to "fix" things, when she finally told me that no, there was nothing I could do, and to please stop asking. At sixteen, with much less self-awareness than I have now, I didn't take it well and it set off a whole chain of events that led to me not speaking to someone who was very important to me for a number of years. I thank God today that this person is back in my life and we understand these things about each other; she understands that it's my kneejerk reaction to try to fix things, and I understand how to read the subtle cues that she doesn't expect me to.
I still do this. All the time. Usually I realize it later, but probably not until I've totally annoyed someone. If that person has ever been you, I want to apologize. Sometimes I'm just no good at social situations, and this is one of my biggest issues. Heck - even when someone outright says they just need me to listen, I mess it up, because in my mind I'm trying to figure out if they really mean it, or if they're just saying that... and then I end up driving people crazy because I'm still trying to fix something they already told me I didn't need to fix! Just please know that it is never my intention to offend - I'm just dealing with things the only way I know how. And I don't know how to feel helpless. I'm no good at it. I hate seeing anyone hurting, and so even if there's nothing I can do, I'll sit around racking my brain for ways to make things just a little bit easier.
If you think about it, you can see the evidence yourself. If you've been reading this blog a while, or my other one, you might remember how I commented that after discovering the plight of orphans with special needs around the world in December 2011, I barely slept for two months. Why? Simple - I was up, day and night, torturing myself, trying to figure out how on earth I could help... fix... something going on halfway across the world! It was only when I found an outlet for that need (advocacy) that I was able to rest easy again. At least I was doing something. Unfortunately, I find myself in a similar state of disequilibrium anytime something is wrong for anyone I even know... which leads to that whole foot-in-mouth chain of events I mentioned earlier.
I'm only sharing this because it's been on my mind a lot lately - I've noticed myself doing it, and I've wanted to apologize, and to help those around me understand why I tend to make idiotic social blunders, but I didn't know how... so this is both my apology and my explanation.
And there's something you may or may not have known about me... but you do now!
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