Current music fixation: 90s/early 2000s – Dido, Candlebox, Audioslave, Pearl Jam, Fiona Apple
Book I’m reading: The Perfect Son by Freida McFadden
Thank you all for being a part of my journey with me. I’ve been contributing to this blog for five years now and in that time, I’ve managed to write over 20 posts – an average of a whopping four per year. Not as much as I’d like but a large part of my conscious efforts of healing has been learning to be kinder to myself, especially when I can’t write for pleasure as often as I want. I tend to forget that between working and going to school full-time, I already spend countless hours reading and writing.
Through both work and volunteering, a large portion of my role includes the extension of grace when challenges inevitably show face. The context is mostly delicate, touching on topics such as trauma, vulnerability, despair, motivation, and more – each requiring deep thought and careful navigation. Extending grace to others can be just as difficult as granting it to myself.
In my post, Music for the Soul, Writing for the Mind, I shared how I help facilitate a writing group in a state prison along with a soft mention of also facilitating this group in a juvenile hall.
Working with youth – of any age – is completely new to me. And, to be honest, it’s incredibly intimidating. I’m constantly challenged, uncomfortable, and quite frankly, I feel like I should be the one sitting at a desk – them teaching me. I can feel myself pulling back the curtain of introversion and regressing into what I know as social isolation and awkwardness. My own time in school was rough, and now as an adult, children and adolescents kind of scare me, delinquent or not. They’re not shy about telling you that your outfit is a disaster or “Why do you do your eyebrows like that?”, and to top it off, they easily tower over my 4’11” frame. But here I am, volunteering to be awkward in front of a bunch of kids because really, it’s not about me. It’s about guiding them into thought-provoking messages that come from within, putting those valuable messages on paper, and sharing them with those who feel just as lost as they do. And, they deserve it; they deserve to write and share their stories when often their stories are being told by others.
Choosing to pursue a career in correctional rehabilitation isn’t something I would have ever anticipated I’d do. Working with delinquent youth wasn’t initially part of the plan but each time I visit these kids, the more it makes sense. The importance of creating a sense of value in these youth, giving them grace, and simply meeting them where they’re at may allow for an exceptional opportunity of turning it around so I don’t dare see them as a participant in the adult prison group. Luckily, I’ve got an amazing support system from the guys inside – most of them have been through juvenile hall themselves, and they’ve been instrumental in guiding me along the way.
For the majority of the men in group, contributing to these children (I have a hard time calling them children when most look like grown men) through these writings is another way for them to acknowledge, value, nurture, and heal their own inner child. Never would they have imagined that their current adult versions of themselves would spiritually return to their child-self as the adult entity they so desperately needed to intervene in the devastating trajectory they likely were born into. I hear accountability, humanity, passion, improvement, and hope in a place designed to remove the soul from people who are defined by the biggest mistakes of their lives.
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In the youth groups, it is common for the majority of them to push against participation. Often, just a handful will contribute to the discussion and utilize a prompt to dig deep into their young thoughts and produce something that will hopefully relieve tension from their mind.
I have just one hour in each unit, three all together; plenty of time to be talked over and not listened to. Thankfully for me, the lead facilitator has been doing this for a long time and has that type of teacher’s voice that bellows from wall to ceiling and will get their attention, if only for a minute.
The writings of these youth, from all the juvenile halls the organization serves, are published in a bi-weekly magazine showcasing their stories and artwork alongside those of other juvenile hall residents. It is a chance for them to connect by reading the experience of others who are going through the same struggles. The incentive? Write a piece – get a copy of the magazine. And more often than not, this motivation works.
Writing can be tough, especially when it truly matters to you. I get discouraged because maybe I don’t have all day to perfect it, or maybe my husband will be home soon – exciting the dogs and making the house feel crowded and full of distractions. Most times, I struggle with feelings of unworthiness, asking myself, “Who cares about what I write?” But then I remember that I care and shouldn’t that be enough to write something?
Let’s put it into perspective: if a 16-year-old young man says to me, “I don’t know what to write. Who even cares what I write?” Should I respond with, “Yeah, you’re probably right, no one cares”. OF COURSE NOT. Instead, I’d offer him grace; remembering to do the same for myself.
Sometimes while writing, I find myself expecting someone to read it – even when I’m journaling about private things that will never be public. The emphasis on sounding proper, using correct language, and making sure my handwriting looks nice starts to censor my ability to write exactly what I’m feeling, removing the authenticity. That isn’t fun.
It’s just like the saying, dance like no one’s watching, and you’ll feel free to embrace all of the things. Writing should be the same, write like no one’s going to read it.
The young men have a choice whether they want their writings published or not. They can also remain anonymous if they do. While we would love to publish their work, my focus is to support them in expressing themselves even if they aren’t ready to share. This gives them control, something that has been taken from them.
It has been about six months volunteering in juvenile hall now. Some days, I am mostly invisible, just a fly on the wall while the lead facilitator bellows away. But other days, I find myself having really meaningful conversations with young men who feel a little intimidating. Beneath it all, they have dreams, aspirations, hobbies, loved ones, and a level of resilience that I’ve never seen before and admire completely.
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