From Trauma to Healing: And the Soul Felt Its Worth

The California Violence Prevention Annual Conference on October 10th opened with voices of youth who had experienced severe trauma.  Their stories included grim tales of abuse, neglect, bullying, family chaos, drug and alcohol abuse, running away, trafficking, living in contexts replete with guns and violence, lack of community caring, no future, hopelessness.   

Each had tortuously moved from trauma to healing.   That they survived, that they were able to tell their stories was remarkable in itself –that they were on their feet and in some cases helping others get on their feet, made their testimonies even more remarkable.  Their voices seared.  Listen to a few:  “The hardest thing is to start because you feel so terrible about yourself, what you’ve done.”  “You have to, just have to believe that what you’ve done is not who you are, down deep.”  “I had to get over that the past was past. Behind me.”

Their stories shared a common motif: “I had to believe in me, and that took people who believed in me.”  “People who believed in me…” is the key phrase. Yes, therapy, anger management, education, job training were all needed, but for those who’ve been traumatized,  none of these “services” would have adhered unless they had someone in their lives who believed in them, who convinced them they were worthy of a future.  Healing begins with a relationship. That they felt worthy had to be the starting point – services could then follow.

Their stories brought home to me the words of Kevin Grant, one of the Oakland, California, premier street workers who told me at about 11:30 one night in West Oakland after watching him talk with gang members, “You don’t start with fixing them,” he said, “They’re too embarrassed. They have too many needs.” To Kevin, it starts with a relationship, convincing them to believe in themselves because he believes in them.  “They’re too proud and scared and tough to admit that they need help,” said Kevin, “We’re conduits of trust.  People have given up on them.  They’re veterans of every service out there.”  

“Why didn’t these services take?” I ask.  Kevin says, “Cause nobody walked with them and stayed with them at night when there were scared or drunk or couldn’t figure out how to read the tests or fill out a driver’s license application.”

Many years ago, I started an initiative that called on youth to spot social issues about which they were concerned and to design and spearhead projects that would address these problems.  Youths As Resources –YAR—worked beautifully with average youth, but would it work with kids on the edge or over the edge, abused kids, runaways, youth on probation or even in jail? That’s where I met Erin Jacoba.  Erin had served time in the Indiana Girls School. Would YAR work even for the Erins of the world?   Erin’s service project: she with two other inmates at the Girls School served as companions for a few hours every day for kids in an institution with terminal cerebral palsy.   “Jack,” she told me years later, “when I came into the institution to work with the kids, they would fling out their arms to welcome me.  It’s the only time that I can remember anyone calling my name positively.” They trusted Erin, thought she was worth the risk.  And the kids in the institution loved Erin.

 

I wondered where Erin’s name had been. I was certain her name appeared on truancy lists, stubborn children lists, police blotters, court dockets, prison intake forms.  Her name was sullied.  She was ashamed of it, ashamed of herself.  But after feeling that she had something of worth to give, she began to see herself as worthy. Eventually released from prison, Erin attended school, got her degree and became a social worker.

While writing Christmas cards over the holidays, I happened to be listening to Luciano Pavarotti sing the soaring “O Holy Night.” The beautiful phrase from that Christmas carol, “…and the soul felt its worth,” touched me as never before.  It evoked Kevin and Erin and spurred this post.

I have designed and run programs on the local, state, and national levels.  I have helped to design and run all sorts of intervention programs, among them interventions in the education, employment and clinical services arenas. But I am convinced a soul feeling “its worth” must be where we start.  To me, worth lies at the very heart of both theology and social policy.   Isaiah (43:1) says it beautifully: “I have called you by name; you are mine,” And from a secular perspective, Kevin echoes the same when he tells his boys, “I love you.  I won’t leave you.”

On the foundation of a soul feeling “its worth” almost anything can be built.