Listen here you little shits. Adults care about you.
During my early teen years, I had a tendancy to believe I was being judged and hated on by most adults. I know a ton of teens believe this. Well, I have some stories I hope will change your attitude, because they change mine.
In grade 9, I had taken a school-wide non-anonymous survey. I had indicated that I have been through forms of self harm. The school counsoler called me in to check up on me. They asked why I don’t try therapy. I looked them straight in their eye and said I don’t want to because I believe most therapists are only in it for the money. And you know what they did? They listened to me. They let me say it to their face. They nodded their head and listened to why I said that. They didn’t get offended, and didn’t defend themself. They let me act out. Because they understood.
In grade 10: I was in an Honers English class that required the students to buy their own books with their own money. At the time, I had very little money in my household. I had expressed to my teacher that I might not have the book within the first few days of reading. A week later, when we were supposed to start reading, the Teacher silently gave me a copy. He bought me the book. With his own money. Because he understood.
In grade 12: I was in Marching Band. Which already costs the extracurricular price of $25. Again, I was in some money troubles… still. There was a $15 fee for cleaning the uniforms. I talked to my director in privacy about my problem, and he told me I can pay it whenever as soon as I could. Because he understood.
Later in the Marching Band season, we were at a college for a competition, and I was crying to myself, having a random meltdown. In order to help me I was offered food by both the director and our bus drivers, because I also didn’t have food on me, and it was past closing time of consessions. They did this for me, because they understood.
My writing teacher had taken me and some other students to a writing contest at a college during grade 11. Grade 12, both he and I wanted my peice I had written to be submited. I never was able to get the admission price. On the last day, my teacher paid my admissions. Thanks to him, that peice won first place in creative non-fiction, and it’s currently being judged in a bigger college competition. Because he understood.
Finally, when I accepted therapy, I was asked of some things I worried about. As you can probably infer, I tend to worry about money. I had told her an example of how my mother and I were trying to get spending money for my school band’s tour to Florida, even after fundraising. Afterwards, she handed me a folded check, stating it was for a CD my mother had gifted her, and she told me to accept it as donation. The therapist donated $600 to me. Because she understood.
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