Who am I?
“Finding Myself.” That is the subject of Fara’s first email. That email comes after a blitz visit from our JAC to her class. It’s the final push she needs to reach out.
‘The only question she has is asking for a chat. Preferably via chat.’
It is a very short email. The only question she has is asking for a chat. Preferably via chat.
We meet up and a few days later we are both sitting at our computers, ready to chat. I ask what it’s like. She burns out. She talks about the burden she has with school and studying, that her divorced parents often argue and that she thinks she is too fat. That other girls and boys are already angling for a sweetheart and they… they aren’t.
She feels bad about herself and absolutely doesn’t know what she can do about it. The paralyzing feeling of being inferior attacks her every day. It hides in small, almost invisible corners and attacks at the most inappropriate moments. Preferably when the entire class or playground is watching her (she thinks).
High School Drama
“I hate life, I feel so alone. I wonder why I’m alive, why I’m so alone, why I’m so sad…”
These are messages that my colleagues and I often hear. Young people’s monkey years bring with them a whole mess. While the hormones are in full swing, that unruly and stubborn brain doesn’t make it any easier.
I could easily file that whole thing under the heading “High School Drama.” After all, it looks a lot like that. But I remain on my guard. Experience shows that wild and destructive undercurrents sometimes rage beneath that calm sea surface.
Fara live
It took some chatting and emails to convince Fara to come by for a ‘live’ conversation at the JAC. Once the present fit of nervousness has been laughed away, the conversation starts.
‘Fara is a beautiful sixteen-year-old young lady, but she does everything she can to hide that.’
She has some additional information she would like to share. Her Moroccan roots, her parents’ divorce, her dad who lives back in his homeland… Her younger sister who is doing everything she can to become an influencer and shows off her body and fancy cars online…
Fara herself is a beautiful sixteen-year-old young lady, but she does everything she can to hide that. She is smart, incredibly sympathetic, thoughtful and immensely modest.
I sense something is bothering her, but it’s very hard to untangle what. Tears come when she talks about her father. She misses him very much and is really looking forward to traveling with him to Morocco soon. Mom is now working and studying to support the offspring. Dad has an important job in Morocco and helps out financially. The children are not short of anything.
I’m through! A certificate received!
We have already made some progress in the guidance. As stated above, Fara can move from fourth to fifth grade. I would like to say with peace of mind, but unfortunately that is not the case.
‘In the fourth year, Fara bounced around a few boys. Very innocent, but very happy.’
After the brief burst of joy, Fara is mostly scared. Afraid that the fifth year will kill her. Afraid that it will all be too much for her. She is slowly drowning in the socially oppressive straitjacket of the prison that is high school. The contents of the compartments start to weigh in, while other unnamed weight prevents her from fully spreading her wings.
In the fourth year, Fara played around with a few boys. Very innocent, but very happy. And then very sad. She is no match for the so-called friends who set her back and drop her like a stone. Add to that the boys who also butterfly back and forth and the sum of it all falls hard on Fara’s head like a heavy anvil.
Back to being alone. Back to that miserable feeling of inferiority. Belonging… that’s what Fara tried to do by boosting her damaged and fragile self-image through an excess of sports and a dangerously poor diet. In vain. She was outside for a moment and started enjoying herself. Just for a little while.
Iwein Unplugged
“No, I don’t do that or anything, but if I scratch myself and you find out, do you have to tell someone?” Fara is not doing well, but I am not doing well either.
I drag myself from appointment to appointment, with a smile on my face. Or what did you think? The final blow will come in January 2020. The GP thoroughly schedules me – she’s right. I am – rightly – being written to at home for a few months.
“I feel fucking guilty.”
It’s the first time in my career that it’s been so deep. It is the result of very intense work and a very intense period full of renovations at home. The plug needs to be unplugged or the machine is in danger of ruining itself.
I think about myself, but I also think about Fara and a lot of other young people who are not doing well. They are struggling with all kinds of things. They feel bad and they see no way out. I’m struggling. I feel bad and I don’t see a way out for a while.
And I feel fucking guilty. It’s a feeling I’ve struggled with for a few weeks, but I’m learning to put an end to it. I now come first, so that I can soon help Fara & co with my heart and soul. I fervently wish that they will take my words to heart, help themselves and call on my colleagues when necessary.
Corona in the building
A few months later I am back to work in a world with mouth masks and applause for healthcare. A world that cannot remain silent about “the new normal”. I am annoyed by people who fight over toilet paper, come up with stupid theories and endanger their vulnerable fellow human beings.
“We talk about school (things aren’t going too well), about boys (high school drama) and about home (daddy is missed and mommy is just rambling on).”
As JAC we continue to work, in the most creative ways. There is even more email than usual, video calling is a daily occurrence. Conversations are possible, but with a chunk of plexiglass between our faces. If possible, we go for a walk with guests.
“You have the scoop Fara! My first appointment since January! Woohoo!” Fara regularly asks for video calls. She then goes for a walk in her neighborhood, because her family knows nothing about her contact with the JAC. She would like to keep it that way.
We talk about school (things aren’t going too well), about boys (high school drama) and about home (daddy is missed and mommy is just rambling on). Ordinary. Or not? Only Fara knows that.
First time sex
A few weeks later. It is a phenomenal thunderclap from a blindingly clear sky when Fara quickly lets me know in an email that she has had sex for the first time. She writes that she doesn’t really care, that it hurt a bit and that she feels a bit guilty because of her faith.
‘I’m incredibly worried. I don’t think I’ve ever responded to an email so quickly.’
I. Fall. Almost. By. Mine. Chair. Which train did I miss? How? What? Who? Why?
Is it I who was absent? Is it the damn pandemic? Why are all the brakes now suddenly released?
I don’t think I’ve ever responded to an email so quickly. I am incredibly concerned, not least about the cursory fait-divers style of her message. I ask her why this is such a seemingly insignificant event. But I also say that it is a bit reassuring that she wants to tell someone about this.
Her answer does not alleviate my concerns. On the contrary. “Who knows, we might not be together next week.” “He doesn’t protect himself.” “I don’t know if I really want to have sex with him.” “I’m going to the dentist now because I have an appointment at 1 p.m..”
Speechless
My mind goes silent. I am completely speechless.
“Her lover is a toxic alpha male.”
Where has the clumsy but safe High School Drama gone? This was not the intention! This was simply supposed to be an aid for someone with hormones dancing up and down and a lot of brains that sometimes bent their elbows.
Now it will most likely be a wild ride that nothing or no one can stop.
Toxic
Fara’s sweetheart is a toxic alpha male who allows everything and tolerates nothing. Fara suffers and I watch. She takes care of him because he is cute sometimes and talks to her every now and then.
The two see each other every day and have sex very often. Fara tells me that she doesn’t always feel like it. The body she was so ashamed of has become a toy for someone who is extremely manipulative. He walks around with lust and very short-term gratification urges in his head.
‘I try hard not to forced to fall into a kind of fatherly role.’
I weigh my words. At this point I cannot and should not lose her by pushing her. Very difficult, because I keep seeing the Fara who walked into the JAC that first time, shy and hesitant: innocence itself, a smile on her face and using wonderfully dry humor. A teenager with a heart of gold.
I find it terribly unfair that she, of all people, has to deal with such a guest. I try hard not to rush into a kind of fatherly role, but to guide her in making her aware of the toxicity of her relationship. It takes a lot of patience and energy, but somehow I believe she will put an end to this one day.
Done
The point behind the relationship is ultimately a fact. After a very deep valley. After a period with a consuming longing to not be there anymore. After saying goodbye to her school, without a diploma. After an abortion.
I am devastated by what Fara has gone through. Things looked particularly black and hopeless for a while. At the same time, I and her took courage from the relief and breathing space she suddenly had. The toxic boyfriend disappeared. The loaded pressure of high school was gone.
Fara moved mountains in those months. I kept listening, kept motivating and kept having fun. Or what did you think? Gradually it arrived. The moment the brave and cheerful Fara resurfaced. She would obtain her secondary diploma through the examination board not long afterwards. On your own. In the meantime, she had a small but well-paid job at the European Commission.
I saw Fara again recently. She is now studying to become a software programmer. Her smile is completely back. This time she is a proud wearer of her hijab, because her faith has become her hold and strength. She is proud. She’s an adult. And she gave the green light to publish her story in this column because… “I have healed enough to be able to do this.”
2023-11-30 06:04:39
#wild #relief #process #cheerful #Fara #resurfaced
