Trying to find comfort...

I help teens. Its what I do.

Not only is it my job, but it just so happens to be my passion.

I’m good at what I do, I have been given a gift in building relationships with young people that so many adults think are rebellious and carry a who-gives-a-shit attitude on their shoulders, but in reality the teens are just confused and in desperate need of love, support, and empathy. Real, unconditional love. Real, unconditional support. Real, unconditional empathy. 

These kids really do give a shit, but they have no platform to voice their concerns and many cant do anything about their situation because the adults in their lives are the ones who don't give a shit, which, in turn, teaches the teens to become adults who don’t give a shit. 

Today I had a scheduled meeting with a new kid I’d never met, but instead of him coming to the non-confrontational and safe library to meet me, his mother came because he refused to get out of bed. No biggie - most of the kids I work with are still sleeping at 10:00 am on any given Wednesday, but instead of rescheduling, I went to his house. Located in run-down apartments with sheets for curtains, trash overflowing out of the one dumpster for 20 families, barefoot and dirty babies playing outside next to broken corona bottles and tagged on walls. No slumlords or gangsters were able to be seen, but I made sure to grab my valuables out of the car nonetheless. Secretly crossing my fingers to ward off lice, cooties, bed bugs, roaches, and any other thing I didn’t want jumping onto my clothes, I was welcomed into a wonderfully clean apartment that smelled like lemons and a hint of fresh tortillas. The kid was up and we chatted as he sat on mattresses laying on the floor and I sat in a plastic lawn chair. After about 45 minutes of conversation, I met with his mother downstairs and have never wanted to hug someone as bad as I did that moment. She looked even more helpless and desperate than I did coming out of his room.

Keep in mind that I’m damn good at what I do, but I have never felt so powerless in trying to help a young person as I did after our visit. I suppose in my mind that I feel I can help each teen with something, but today I left there feeling that there is absolutely nothing that can be done for him. Prison time will hopefully open his eyes.

Here’s my whole point:

Its so strangely comforting however feelings of guilt rise up within me when I think of my realization that I’ve just met the first teen I can’t do anything for. Comfort because I know I wont be exhausting my time and emotions on someone who doesn’t want to change, yet guilt because maybe, just maybe, I’m being the adult who doesn’t give-a-shit.