The Broken and Unloved

"The children who need love the most will show it in the most unloving of ways."

A quote so simple, yet so deeply profound.

Today, I told the kids I work with that I was leaving and Friday will be my very last day. I don't know if they really grasped the concept, because they just sat there in stunned silence - an impressive feat actually, since nine little boys are never truly silent. We will see how it sinks in.

Over the last two years, I've had several people ask me what I actually do. I always take a moment to pause and consider what people actually want to hear when they ask about my work. Do they want the truth? Or do they want a quick and easy box to stick my job in? There are two very different answers.

For the people who want quick and easy, I answer simply, "I work with kids." And they go about their merry way, confident in their ability to engage in small talk with another human being without getting into messy details.

But for those wanting to truly know, I tell them this, "I work at a psychiatric residential treatment facility for kids that have suffered abuse and trauma. Most of my kids are diagnosed with anger and behavior disorders and we [the staff] work to stabilize and rehabilitate them to go home. I'm essentially a pseudo-parent. "

People tend to shy away from that second answer. It's messy. It's ugly. It forces them to acknowledge some of the horrible things in life.

Fact: There are thousands of children in "the system" that have gone through the most horrible things either at the hands of their biological or adoptive families. These children are damaged and broken and need the stability of a safe and loving home to survive, yet have no where to go. Because no one wants the "bad kids."

Real talk. I'm gonna tell you about my job. Brace yourself. 

I work with kids who watched their parents and siblings get beaten to death. A kid who was found by CPS sitting naked on the floor of his mother's bedroom while she was in bed with a client, earning drug money. A kid that found his father's body after his dad committed suicide in the hotel bathroom. Kids that have been neglected, abused, held hostage, beaten, broken, molested, manipulated, and worse... the list of atrocities never ends. I've seen kids have PTSD flashbacks and cower in the corner as they remember what happened to them. I've held a kid tight as he sobbed over an absent mother. I have worked with kids that attacked their siblings, set the dog on fire, hid knives under the pillows, assaulted their parents, fought at school, killed sheep, were sexual predators to younger kids, that have been raped, that harm themselves in an effort to feel something. I work with kids society calls monsters, and claims there is no hope for them. I have been on the recieving end of their hatred and anger on a daily basis, because I was the one that was there.

I have been called every name in the book, plus a few more imaginative titles that haven't been mainstreamed. I have been hit, kicked, punched, bitten, scratched, spit on, pooped on, peed on, assaulted, threatened, and stabbed with a fork. I've had every single curse word known to man thrown in my face. I've been called bitch, whore, cunt, cocksucker, asshole, mother-fucker, and more by six and seven year-olds. I have come home with bruises and fallen into bed completely drained by the events of the day.

I have wrestled with my conscience, for wanting to be done and give up. To be just another person that has walked out on them. For thinking horrible things about them. And for brief moments, even hating them. I have cried in the bathroom, behind a locked door, due to stress. I have shouted in anger. I have been quick to judge. I have made a list of names I can never use for my future children due to particularly horrible experiences with certain kids.

But I have been there.

I was there. I saw the goodness. I saw the hope. I saw how beautifully resilient and transformative these kids can be. I let these "little monsters" into my life and gave them stability and safety. I showed them I cared. I cooked, cleaned, clothed, fed, taught, disciplined, and loved them. I held tiny hands, wiped runny noses, took temperatures, hemmed pants, checked homework, read stories, did crafts, laughed, played, sang, danced, and built forts. I took the pain and anger that was thrown in my face and told them it was okay. I was never perfect, but I was always there, and the kids knew it. They knew I would be there for them, no matter what. In the end, that's what matters.

This job will be one I never forget.

I know that the time has come to move on, but I also know - beyond a shadow of a doubt - that I was meant to be in this place for this time.

And despite all the things I've been through, after I broke the news that I was leaving, one of the kids did something I never expected. A kid who has hated me from the start, and who has done nothing but be rude and spiteful to me just because he could, called me to his room before I left, and handed me this...

For those that cannot make it out, it says this,
"Dear Ms Alsen, I am going to miss you. And I wish that I could have a new start with you but I can't. I am sorrey for evrey thang that I had done to you and now I relise that you or not mean - you or strict so you can help us and no matter what I will always remember you and I can't frgeve my self for wait i had done to you. i love you. Love for ever..." and the last page has bubbles with "You love us, You care, You ar nice, I will never frget you, I love you" and "You ar the star".

I would be lying if I said I didn't take this letter into the office, and immediately burst into tears. I went back after composing myself and hugged the kid. I told him I forgave him, and thanked him for the letter. Then we fist bumped on a promise to have a good last two days.

To all my kiddos at Uspiritus - thank you for being the amazing and incredible people that you are, and for giving me the opportunity to be part of your life, even if only for a short while. I will miss you. I will never forget you.

You changed my life.