Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Random Sentences, Powerful Words

"I feel broken."  "I'm afraid I'll be killed [because I'm a black male]" "My dad didn't teach me how to make friends."

I've heard these three statements recently from three different clients and they've given me pause to think.  Each has been a powerful statement that has stuck in my mind.  Without revealing anything that would violate the speakers' confidentiality, I'd like to comment.

"I feel broken."  This from a young man who grew up in a violent home, his parents physically hurting one another and their children.  His parents throwing hurtful comments at one another and the kids.  This young man is smart, quite smart in fact and his diagnosis of Asperger's is not immediately apparent when first meeting him.  Despite his autism, he's struggling with how to establish healthy adult relationships, fearful that any relationship he enters will replicate the pain he experienced as a child.  His pain is palpable and fills our sessions. His strengths are as evident: intelligence, wit, wisdom.  How will he move past his pain and into his strengths?  I look forward to see the course of our discussions and his move through anxiety will allow for repair of what he experiences as broken.

"I'm afraid I'll be killed [because I'm a black male]."  A smart and athletic pre-teen old said this recently in our first meeting.  He's learned of our culture's increased awareness of the violence perpetrated upon black men by the police via the news, what is being said in school and the community.  His fear has turned into anxiety and depression and, as can happen with anxiety and depression, he has sometimes exhibited anger.  Anger, of course, is a touchstone issue for the African American community and AA men in particular.  The stream of anger in response to the black experience is as old as slavery itself, a hurt that is documented in the Bible and continues to plague our society to this day.  The understandable anger of this history, both recent and long past, is the very thing that makes him vulnerable to being "profiled" or identified by the white community as being a danger.  And he knows this.  His parents know this.  His simple plea "I'm afraid I'll be killed" sticks in my mind as the plea of countless generations of people burdened by hate.  Its the historic cry of enslaved people of color, of women enslaved in sexual slavery, of children conscripted in war to kill their neighbors and family, of citizens who walk the street in almost any country fearing a suicide bomber.  How can this beautiful child move into a society where he will be seen in the same light of God as whomever is viewing him?

"My mom didn't teach me how to make friends."  I heard this recently and was amazed at the desperation of the comment.  This was a young woman just out of high school who was floundering, drinking heavily and emotionally struggling and searching.  She's smart, but terribly confused about her burden.  Her mother's contributions to her current status is marginal.  Her hope to successfully blame her mother will fail.  Her first and foremost problem is her episodic but excessive drinking that renders her severely depressed with all of the anticipated results severe depression brings.  Anything else to address has to happen after she stops using alcohol.  I rarely pity someone, but when I heard this desperate statement, a cry of hopelessness, I pitied her.
These statements have impacted me and led to my becoming more introspective, considering the power of the words I say and the words my clients say when considering their existence.  Words are powerful.  I encourage the reader to consider theirs deeply.