The school year starts. At the last minute, a new student is added to my schedule. I’m working in the first full inclusion room the school has had. Within the first week of school starting, I learn that he has been taken from his father.
He is an abuse survivor. He has a Traumatic Brain-injury. He is angry and sad, clingy all rolled into one little package. He is difficult to reach, but I throw all of my energy into listening to what he likes and what he needs so I can reach him, teach him, but mostly so he will heal. Heal, at least, as much as we ever really heal from having those we are most vulnerable with hurt our hearts, bodies, spirit.
A certain strength is born from this harm. I’m a little quieter these days, a little more guarded, but I know that I have survived hell and nothing can break me.