Wonder Wall: Teen age wisdom

The office they provided me at the high school was large enough to allow group counseling sessions. The windowless, cinder block walls had been used once as a classroom but, before me, was the office of a therapist who like I, had worked with teens with emotional problems. She had encouraged the kids to write on the painted concretre using marker pens, naming it the "Wonder wall." They had left their creations, sometimes signed, for posterity. I wasn't too impressed, at first, with the mostly positive aphorisms, but when the students I was seeing insisted on continuing the practice, I grudgingly obliged.

The group, originally structured to deal with anxiety disorders by teaching evidence based strategies for cooping with anxiety,grew rapidly and evolved in directions I had not anticipated. I stopped accepting referrals after the enrollment had grown to about fifteen kids, mostly girls (boys are less willing to express their feelings in a group.) The members seemed driven to reveal their family backgrounds and histories. Stories of rejection, abuse, criticism, and, often, poor parenting became commonplace. Shared experiences of parents in prison, separations and divorce, moms on the street, alcoholism and substance abuse drew these kids together. The group, vowed to secrecy (what is said in group remains in group), bonded with each other. Tears were abundant, followed by group hugs and support. They resisted my attempts at structure and were generally successful in using the group the way they needed. I also bonded with them and learned to respect their attempts at survival. They agreed that that all wore masks to school, hiding their pain. Originally labeled the "anxiety group", I acknowledged that they had many other issues. Anger and drepression were ever present. I allowed them to use any language they need to express themselves and learned their vernacular. They could call me by name. They trusted me to maintain confidentialy when they described their involvement with drugs, boyfriends, bad decisions, fights with their parents, and sex. Many of the students used cutting as a way of turning their emoptional pain physical. They used razor blades to punish themselves. Most were embarrassed by their scars. One girl was proud of them and could identify the circumstances leading to each slash. The only exception to the confidentiality rule was if I believed they were in danger or posed a threat to others. We changed the name of the weekly meetings to the "Resilience Group."
The one period a week allotted to the meetings was insufficient and, over my weak protests, the meetings stretched to two periods. Some of the teachers were annoyed. I didn't care. I began to read their wall etchings more closely.

"I got soul but I'm not a soldier."

"You can be sad that they are gone or you can smile that they lived."

"Tomorrow is another day."

"The only time success comes before work is in the dictionary."

"You got haters? It means you stood for something in life."

"We may make it through the war if we make it through the night."

"Leave the past in the past and find your future."

"I believe things fall apart so better things can take their place."

"I guess it's gonna' have to hurt; I guess I'm gonna' have to cry and let go some things I loved to get to the other side."

"In the end it will be okay. If it's not okay, it's not the end."

"It's better to count the things that aren't wrong than to count the things that are."

"Some day, somehow we're gona' make things right but not right now."

"Everything that matters is life."

"Don't wait for the storm to pass. Learn to dance in the rain."

"Life is like a mirror. You get the best results when you smile."

I tried one day to explain optimism and pessimism in psychological terms.
"That's bulls--t," they said. Let us do this our way.

Stormy weather

A recent 6:00 PM TV news spot dealt with elderly persons taking multiple medications and often confusing which pill needed to be taken. An over-90 year old man who took 10 pills each day mistakenly took 10 pills from the same bottle. His somewhat, but not much, younger wife, when asked about her husband's health replied, "No so hotsy totsy."

I had to smile because that is an expression my Uncle Julie would use during the final years of his life, confined to a wheelchair and often mentally confused.
His docs copuldn't decide whether he was suffering from Parkinson's or Alzheimers.
An expensive and erudite neuropsychological was of little help in making a diagnosis.

Although I was amused by Uncle Julie's expression at the time, now, several years later and battling with my own increasing physical infirmaties, I understand fully. Things aren't so hotsy totsy today for most people. The recession, officially but not really over, a ceaseless record-breaking winter, worldwide political unrest, and, for me, various family problems are, indeed, not so hotsy totsy. Psychiatrist Rollo May in the 1940s called this the "age of anxiety." Uncle Julie, less clinically sophisticated, would call it the "age of not so hotsy totsy."