Fifty Years Sheila Rae!

Dear 14 Year Old Joceile,

Fifty years ago. You were brave. It didn’t feel like it at the time. Then, it felt like extreme survival. “How to Keep Living in a Situation of Immense Adversity.” No guide books. “This is What to Do When Parents Abuse. Steps 1, 2, 3, etc.” Nothing like that. 

“This is What a Child Should Do When Feeling Suicidal.”

“This is What a Child Should Do When Thinking They’re Crazy.”

“The Modern Guide to Running Away and Accessing Social Resources.”

“Who to Talk to When You’re Terrified.”

“What to Do When a Parent Says They’ll Kill You if You Tell.”

There was no such bibliography. If you told the wrong person, it was worse than telling no one. Adults could not be relied on to do what they said they would do. 

“What to Do if You’re Hearing a Voice in Your Head.”

“What to Do if You Think You Might be Hallucinating.”

“What to Do When It’s Not Safe to go Home.”

“How to Recognize What is Safe.”

There were no obvious paths, only destructive ones and less destructive ones. But you navigated them complete with pitfalls and false starts. I’m so proud of you. I stand next to you, holding your hand, hugging you. I look in the mirror and still see your troubled eyes. They don’t scare me anymore. I see their compassion and ability to love. I see your heart. 

I remember the internal conversations. How do I get away? Prison or mental hospital? What are the ramifications of each?

Arm cutting was not yet a common thing. You stumbled on it because you weren’t sure you could kill yourself by cutting your wrists. The first cut was just a test. You found it gave relief. It was both a troubling and course setting activity that narrowed your choice to mental hospital. No guidebook for navigating the mental hospital setting. 

“How to Cope with Hospitalization from Day One.” No orientation guide. You learned by doing. All of life is like that. It’s still nice to get hints. There’s no “Surviving Life Without Getting Killed for Dummies.” Regardless, we navigated and have thrived despite it. 

You did that. You entered Western State Hospital. You bobbed and weaved while you contemplated discharge options that had even a sliver of hope for success.  It was an act of great bravery and perseverance when all looked hopeless. You found guardian angels along the way. Counselors, teachers, staff, and grandparents. There were 14 other girls. Few of them succeeded. Some have died. You wrote down their names along with what you learned from them. You were the youngest. I’ll wager none were quite as lucky as we have been. 

It would take a book to write all the twists and turns of your success leading to my success. I want to celebrate what you did fifty years ago and what I’ve done in the fifty years since. As Sheila Rae, The Brave, says in her book by Kevin Henke, “‘I am brave. I am fearless.’ She stepped on every crack. She walked backwards with her eyes closed. She growled at stray dogs, and bared her teeth at stray cats. And she pretended that the trees were evil creatures. She climbed up them and broke their fingers off. Snap, snap, snap.”

With all due respect to trees, you are Sheila Rae, The Brave. You are on the Broadway stage receiving my standing ovation.  May all enjoy such applause in life.

In celebrating Life’s Magic with you, I’m grateful. 

Love,

64 Year Old Joceile

3.8.22

[Picture: Book cover of Sheila Rae, The Brave, by Kevin Henkes, with Sheila Rae as a mouse-being wearing a lavender jumper with yellow top striding confidently carrying a banner with her name on it.]