Belonging

I woke up this morning thinking about Tyson. 

I never think about Tyson. 

I've never talked about Tyson. 

Oddly. 

Because the impact of him has stayed with me for the last 23 years. 

It was a painful experience that I stuffed way down deep inside of me and don't allow to surface. Once in awhile the memory pops up and I tell myself it's not important, and think about something else. 

As far as I can remember, I haven't even mentioned it to Nosy Nora. 

Today I told J that in the clarity of being stable, it's hard to know the difference between mental health and emotions. That in moments of clarity, emotions surface and we convince ourselves that such emense feelings are due to depression or whatever diagnosis of mental illness we may have been given. When in fact, it is our very stability that allows us to truly feel what we have for so long refused to feel. 

I have many feels right now. I don't think that this is a time of stability or clarity for me. That being said, I am ready to think about (and feel) my feelings around Tyson; what happened to him and subsequently to me ...

In the Spring of grade 9 I was still trying to find my group of friends. My group had decided to stop talking to me. So I was alone and searching. 

After school everyday, a group of self-declared "comic nerds" would walk from school to the main road, about 20 minutes away. There was a coffee shop on the corner and they would sit and have coffee. 

I was invited to join them. I always knew I wasn't really part of their group, but they welcomed me into their coffee dates and through the Spring I went with them and listened to them talk and laugh. 

Tyson was one of them. 

I didn't know him very well. Only as part of that group. I liked him. He was a nice guy. He made me laugh. 

That summer I got a job as a live-in nanny. I hated it. No one should be responsible for 4 children under the age of 6 (one being only 3 weeks old when I started!!) but especially not a 15 year old kid. Being left alone with all 4 of them was terrifying. So when my mom showed up one night saying she was taking me home, I was beyond relieved. 

She said she had something that she needed to tell me. 

The story was that Tyson was walking home along the railroad tracks and had his earphones on so he didn't hear the train coming. And that's why it hit him. 

And killed him. 

I was never entirely convinced that it was an accident. 

It was very sad that Tyson had died. A boy I knew, who went with me to the coffee shop everyday, was no longer alive. It was tragic. And my heart hurt for his family. 

But what hurt me most from his death wasn't actually his death itself. 

My mom took me to the funeral home. We went into the main room where all the adults were. Someone said that his friends were gathered in the side room. So my mom sent me there and she stayed with the adults. 

I made it only a few steps into the room and was stopped by Jeni - supposedly my friend. 

What she said to me was mean. Insensitive. Stinging. And I think it came from a place of grief and the shock of him dying. 

She looked at me and said "what are you doing here? Did you even KNOW him?" 

It stopped me in my tracks. Like a punch in the gut. 

My inner critic (I suppose Hateful Harriet) took over. HAD I known him? Why was I there? What right did I have to be there? I was so stupid to think that I ever belonged to that group. I was never truly a part of their friendship. They simply tolerated me because I was lonely. 

So I turned around, found my mom, and left. 

I didn't go to the funeral. I didn't ever speak of Tyson again. I don't even think I've really thought about him. 

I wasn't allowed to feel grief over a boy I knew who died horribly when I was 15. Because Jeni called into question my right to belong. My right to be part of a community. My right to have feelings. 

The feeling of belonging is essential to the healthy mental state of all people. Belonging is interconnected with self-esteem. If I were to examine Jeni using Tajfel's theory of social identity, I could say that she needed to feel that I was "other" in order for her to have a sense that she belonged in her social group. She needed that sense of "us" and "them" so that she could grieve with her peers. 

As an adult, I can look back and see that Jeni had no idea what impact her questions would have on me. It was mean. It was insensitive. It was cruel and hurtful. And no one thinks about how one thing they say can profoundly affect the self-esteem, the decisions, the internal talk of another person. One off-hand remark can have a profound impact on another human being. 

It puts a whole new perspective on "think before you speak." 

I spent a long time feeling "other". I still feel like an outsider sometimes. And I also know that I have incredible, amazing friends. 

I am part of a vibrant and diverse community. My desire and need to be loved is being met. 

And despite the fact that I am a total and complete head case, I am accepted. I belong. 

Be kind to yourself,

xoxo

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