Support - How Much Does It Matter?

I was a ten-year-old girl, and my parents had just gotten a divorce. My mom moved my two little sisters, ages 7 and 4, and me to a new state away from our father…and our sense of safety and normalcy. 

She then moved us to a trailer park in a different state. Now enter her extremely abusive new boyfriend who beat my mom and all of us girls. Life was so unpredictable and so scary. I laid on my sisters to take whatever beating that he felt he needed to dish out. I was a sad, lonely, and horrified little girl. 

I did not fit in at school because I did not have cute clothes or cute things. I was behind academically because of the severe trauma I endured plus coming from a smaller school. 

In the middle of that 5th grade year, I began stabbing myself in the stomach, cutting, and burning myself. I felt numb, but when I did those things to myself, I knew at least I could feel something and that I was still alive, which I felt was both good and bad. 

Support for Little Me

My teacher’s name that year was Mrs. George. Let me tell you about this teacher. I was shy, I would keep to myself, and often, my head was hung. I didn’t want my teacher to notice because I was scared. My mom and her boyfriend had put the fear in me that if I talked to her or told her anything that we would be taken away and separated, and I would never see her or my sisters again. But Mrs. George did see me, she did approach me, and she asked me on several different occasions if everything was ok in my home life. With my head hung, over and over again, I stated, “Yes, it’s good.” But she knew, she knew, she knew, but she had no proof. 

This is what she did: she would give me and my sisters coats and items that were never claimed from the lost and found, she smiled and greeted me, she treated me just like everyone else in the class, and she made sure we got a hot lunch. The most important thing she did was she made me feel safe and wanted for seven hours, five days a week, unless I stayed home due to bruises. 

One day, Mrs. George told me about a program called The Good News Club. She told me that my little sisters and I would be able to stay there after school until 6:30. She asked me if I would be interested in doing that. “Oh, yes!” I exclaimed. She then gave me a permission slip that my mom would have to sign and I would have to bring back to school. Walking home from school that day, I had never prayed so hard in my life that I could make this happen for mostly my little sisters but me too. Finally, something went right: she signed it!! The next Tuesday when that final school bell rang, I ran to my sister’s class, got her, and we walked across the street to this nice, light blue house. We were greeted by the sweetest lady, and there were kids peeking behind the door to see who the new kids were. I remember feeling so shy and nervous but through the roof excited. There were toys everywhere, we got a snack, and the kids were so nice to us. My heart swelled with joy as I saw how happy my baby sissy was.

So how much does it matter? This is how much: that teacher took the time to care, she kept us warm with our new coats, she showed us that we mattered, she made us feel safe, and now, we got to go to this special house and be a part of the Good News Club. Oh my gosh, we got to be a 7-year-old and a 10-year-old. It was glorious…the crafts, the snacks, the friendships, and the love. Mrs. George did that for us. We got to go there an entire year. I stopped stabbing, cutting, and burning myself for that entire time, and I protected my little sister. I would often dream what my life would be like if my sisters and I lived at the Good News Club.

Life happened from there, with lots more trauma surrounded by some good times. Years later, I looked up Mrs. George and sent her an email about my story and the incredible impact that she had on me and my sisters. Mrs. George wrote back and stated that she wept so hard when she learned of my situation, and she said felt bad that she did not do more. I reassured her that all that she did for me truly mattered more than she could probably imagine. I then told her that she would forever have the lifetime teacher award.

Help in Crisis as an Adult

30 years later, I found myself with a substance abuse disorder and homeless on the streets of Olympia. My son’s father, my abuser, was released from jail and was looking for me. Well, he found me crossing the street, and he beat me in such a way that my check bones were fractured, and I was blinded in my eye for six months. 

The paramedics were called, but I refused treatment because I did not want to be released from the hospital late at night which often happened and let loose on the streets with someone trying to kill me, so I yelled for a member of my street family to run and get the director of the homeless shelter where I stayed sometimes. He ran and got her, and she brought me back to the shelter where she called a nurse who provided free medical services to the shelter. She asked if she could come and keep an eye on me because of the severity of the injuries. The nurse lived in Tacoma, which is 39 miles from Olympia, but she agreed to come. 

Not only did she stay and treat me, but she stayed all night, oftentimes sitting by the mat on the floor that was my bed. I would wake up so scared and in pain, and every time I woke up, she was there to comfort me. Wow! She did that for a complete stranger, and she wanted nothing in return. 

So, when I came to and was told what that special nurse named Nikki did for me that cold January day in 2015, I was floored by her generosity and kindness. I called her, and I wept on that phone line, and then I went to the dollar store and bought her a “certificate of greatness,” filled it out, framed it, and presented it to her. She acted grateful, but I also remember how humble she was.

So how much did that matter? Well, nurse Nikki kept me safe from my abuser, I had a warm safe place to stay, the director of the shelter was able to get me a spot in a domestic violence shelter, and all this support made me feel, if just for a bit, I was going to be ok.

Find a Way to Be There

What would it take if we could all just take a little bit of extra time to extend ourselves and care about a stranger? I cannot stress this enough that when I was out there on the streets when someone would look me in the eyes and smile or do any act of kindness, how much that simple thing affected me for a while.

We are in the holiday season right now. Let's all see if we can find a way to be there for someone else because the little kindness that you put out in the universe will affect someone more than you could ever think or imagine.