I was 12 years old standing at the microphone in front of the entire school.
We were assembled to practice for the visit of the Mother Superior.
She was kind of like the Pope of nuns.
I had started to read the speech I had been given to read.
Stop,
Said Sister Kathy.
Sister Kathy was our principal at the school.
You're going too fast.
Go slower.
So I started over.
She interrupted again.
No,
Still too fast.
Now this was by no means my first time reading in front of a large crowd,
But our head nun was super anxious about everything going well for the Mother Superior's visit.
She interrupted me several times before I could even get through the first sentence.
Kids started to think this was funny,
Except for the one standing at the microphone,
Namely me.
Every time she interrupted me,
Laughter from the crowd would get a little louder.
And after several minutes of this and the building humiliation and frustration,
I threw the paper and stormed out of the gym.
Two of the teachers,
Two of my teachers,
Ran out of the gym right behind me.
I think about this event and I often wonder why didn't that wound me or negatively impact me more than it could have,
More than other events that were maybe even a little less humiliating did impact me.
I think about that all the time.
I was just a kid.
I was 12,
Standing in front of an entire school of children,
Laughing at me as I stood there and attempted to practice over and over again.
Yet I can retell the story and even chuckle at the nun,
Our principal,
Being so worked up about the Mother Superior coming.
And when I think about it,
The thing that comes to mind is that this didn't wound me the way it could have because of the way the two teachers who followed me out of the gym witnessed me.
They ran out right behind me,
Almost as if they were scooping me up.
They held space for me and my emotions.
They said I had every right to walk out.
I had every right to be embarrassed and furious.
And that Sister Kathy should have practiced alone with me if she wanted me to read in a different way than I normally would have.
They flat out said she was wrong.
They did not side with the woman in power.
They saw the struggling 12-year-old Julie and stood behind me.
That is what compassionate witnessing looks like.
They did not make excuses for her.
They did not tell me that she was just nervous and not to mind her.
They did not say I was wrong for walking out on the principal.
And they did not tell me I needed to go back in there.
They let me feel all of my natural and intelligent reactions.
12-year-old Julie knew she needed to get the hell out of there,
Which was really bold for a girl who followed all the rules and always stayed in line.
Part of me,
I can't even believe I let myself do it.
But in a way,
I think my emotions didn't give me any choice.
They sent me running out.
Go Julie.
Compassionate witnessing is a missing medicine in so many places.
It certainly,
It was certainly missing in some horrible situations in my life that did very much wound me.
People are too often told not to feel what they feel.
They are being too sensitive.
They need to toughen up,
That the other person did not mean to hurt them,
And a variety of other shaming statements.
They are even told that their hurt is often their own fault.
And in some of the most egregious situations,
They are told not to tell anyone.
And that kind of witnessing is shaming.
It's shaming because it implies the person struggling shouldn't feel the way they feel.
That they in essence are wrong.
That this part of their experience should be hidden in the shadows for no one to see.
And that creates some of the biggest wounds.
They are taught not to trust themselves and their feeling responses and reactions.
The shame,
That kind of shame,
Then gets internalized and when we feel uncomfortable things,
We don't trust it.
We try to immediately talk ourselves out of it and we tell ourselves the person did not mean it.
We say to ourselves what was said to us,
Not realizing that we are in a way shaming ourselves.
Not realizing that we are not taking our own side and that we are in some ways abandoning ourselves.
Compassion helps us hold tension and difficult feelings with care.
It helps us stand up for ourselves and trust our responses.
It strengthens us.
It helps our bodies to relax and it helps us get clearer.
It grounds us.
So how do you?
How do you witness yourself when you struggle?
Do you respond like the teachers that witnessed me with compassion and assurance?
Or were you taught a more shaming way that makes you doubt your feelings and responses?
Which one is more familiar to you?
And please,
Whatever your answer is,
Please don't judge yourself for that.
This is about raising awareness and growing compassion and learning how to be compassionate toward our struggles.
Compassionate in a deep way that trusts our feelings,
Responses,
And knows how to hold space for them with care and attention.
