I went to visit Mary this evening while Inca was looking into ways to expose Mary’s bullying to the adults in her life. It truly was a pleasure to spend time with her, to learn more about who she is.
Mary is musical. She plays the clarinet, and she loves being in the marching band,[1] even though that often makes her a target for teasing. When she came home from practice, she found some peace in playing a few of her favorite melodies. But she could only play for so long, and while she was struggling through her homework, her mood sank lower and lower. It is not that Mary is unintelligent, but she sometimes has trouble following the concepts that the teachers lay out, and she is too shy—and now, too ashamed—to speak up in class. So she tries to fight through alone, and when she has trouble, she blames herself.
Midway through her algebra, Mary’s mother called her down to dinner. Glad enough to put her work aside, Mary went down to where her mother, still in her work clothes, was laying out a hastily prepared meal.
“Hey, sweetie,” Mrs. Wimmer said, pausing to rub her eyes and in so doing smudging her mascara[2] across her cheeks. “How was school?”
“Fine,” Mary mumbled, dodging around her younger brother with her plate.
“Mom, why do we have to have lasagna again?”
“Because I’m tired and it’s easy, sweetheart.” Mrs. Wimmer sighed. “I’ll make something different tomorrow, I promise.”
Mary took her scoop of lukewarm lasagna and retreated to the window seat in the living room, where she watched her brothers squabble and her mother yawn. Watching her, I could tell that she loves her family, but she also blames them for not seeing how difficult things are for her.
“Your brothers are only children,” I reminded her. “And your mother works so hard. Yes, perhaps she should see your struggle, but can you not see how tired she is?”
This made Mary frown. She got up and went back to the kitchen where her mother was starting to clean up. “I’ll get it, Mom,” she said. “You eat.”
Mrs. Wimmer, who works two jobs to take care of her kids, looked up in surprise. A relieved smile ran across her face, and she kissed Mary’s cheek. “Thank you, baby,” she murmured. “You’re my good girl.”
I expected this to warm Mary, and it did, but the warmth also came with a twist of pain. She began to wash the dishes, but a voice screamed in her mind, I’m not good! Why can’t you see that? Why won’t you help me?
I was about to reassure her when she picked up the knife that Mrs. Wimmer had used to cut the lasagna. Mary looked at the edge, and a hesitant thought started to rise in her mind.
I seized her by both shoulders and squeezed. “No,” I said, the same pain running through me that Lauren had felt for Jonathan.
It startled her so much that she dropped the knife with a splash into the hot water.
Mary’s mother looked up. “You okay?” she asked, getting up from the table. “Did you cut yourself?”
Mary exhaled. “Yeah, no, I’m fine.”
Not satisfied, Mrs. Wimmer took Mary’s hand, wiping away the suds to see for herself that Mary’s fingers were safe.
I closed my wings around both of them, still feeling shaken. “You see?” I whispered to Mary. “Your mother would be devastated if you were hurt in any way. You are not alone, Mary.”
Mrs. Wimmer looked up at Mary’s face and smiled, the relief clear in her face. “Well, be more careful, kiddo,” she said, and she pushed a strand of hair out of Mary’s face.
Tears sprang to Mary’s eyes, and she turned her face away to hide them. She mumbled something, and Mrs. Wimmer went back to her meal, but it was a while before Mary could keep going with the dishes.
I stayed with her throughout the rest of the evening, but she didn’t think about hurting herself again. Maybe I was too quick to react—Inca tells me that many young people think about self-harm, but never actually do it. But I feel that thinking about it is just as bad. It is no comfort to me to know that someone only wishes to hurt themselves, because I know that wish is as harmful to the soul as a knife would be to the body.
She will not be hurt. I will not let her be alone, and I will show her that she is loved and that she can come through this. Any other outcome is unacceptable.
[1] A delightful art form that involves movement, coordination, and outdoor activity as well as music.
[2] A cosmetic that is used to make one’s eyelashes look longer, fuller, and darker. I find it quite attractive, until it gets wet or smudged; then it becomes a greasy shadow on the face.