There are moments in this profession that remind me that therapy does not always happen while sitting across from someone in a perfectly arranged office with a cute little couch or chair,. Truth be told I don’t even have a couch in my office or a pretty chair 😂. Sometimes, the most meaningful lessons I have experienced has happened in the ordinary moments, in a child looking for reassurance, seeking closeness, or simply wanting to know that someone is going to be there. As a Black woman working in a school with children from backgrounds different from my own, I have found myself thinking more deeply about race, relationships, attachment, and the things children learn from the world around them.
One relationship in particular has made me reflect and for confidentiality, I will not share identifying details about this student. What matters is not who she is, but what this relationship has taught me.
She is White. I am Black. And she knows that! I don't believe children simply "don't see color," because children absolutely notice differences, and she reminds me of that almost daily. Seriously, this little girl will tell me about myself! LBVS. She notices my skin. She notices the different hairstyles I wear, because apparently I need to be prepared for a full review every time I switch it up. 😂 She notices my voice, my expressions, my long nails that she loves to tamper with 😂, and countless other things that make me who I am. And I've come to appreciate that, like for real, for real I honestly do!
What Are They Taught Those Differences Mean? Racism Is Learned!
Children are not raised in a vacuum or in an empty room with no exit. They receive messages about race from family, friends, television, social media, schools, communities, and the larger culture surrounding them. Sometimes those messages are spoken directly. Other times, they are communicated through jokes, assumptions, fear, avoidance, stereotypes, or even silence. This little girl sees me. She sees a Black woman. But she has also experienced me as someone who listens to her, reassures her, sets boundaries with her, encourages her, and remains present. Somewhere along the way, I became one of the adults she began looking toward for nurturing and reassurance.
I Am Not Her Mother
This has also required reflection on my own role. When a child gravitates toward you for nurturing, especially when you know there may be important relationships missing from their life, it can stir something deeply human inside of you. I want to protect. I want to comfort. I want to give. Being a caring professional also means understanding the difference between being important to a child and attempting to replace someone in a child's life. I am not her mother. I cannot fill every empty space in her story, and it would not be appropriate for me to try. What I can be is a consistent adult who demonstrates that relationships can be safe.
I can listen. I can provide reassurance. I can maintain appropriate boundaries.
I can celebrate her progress. I can model healthy communication. And I can show her, through consistency rather than empty promises, that there are adults who care about what happens to her
And Then There Is Race...
I would be ignoring part of my own experience if I pretended race never crossed my mind. I am aware that when she looks at me, she is looking at someone who does not look like her.
Yet she seeks comfort from me.
She trusts me.
She looks for reassurance from me.
That has made me think about how much influence adults have over what children eventually believe about people who are different from them. What happens when a child's meaningful experiences with difference are rooted in safety instead of fear? What happens when a White child grows up remembering that one of the adults who made her feel seen happened to be a Black woman? And what happens when a Black woman gets to experience being seen not through a stereotype, assumption, or racial narrative, but simply as a person who made a child feel safe?
What I have Learned as a Therapist
Therapists spend years learning theories about attachment, development, family systems, trauma, boundaries, and relationships. Then sometimes a child walks into your life and reminds you what those theories look like in real time. Connection matters. Consistency matters. Representation matters. Boundaries matter.
Children are constantly learning from the relationships surrounding them. I hope the children I work with learn that people can look different from them and still be safe. I hope they learn that acknowledging race doesn't have to divide us. I hope they learn that differences can be noticed, discussed, respected, and celebrated without being used to determine someone's worth. I hope they learn that healthy relationships aren't defined only by who stays in our lives forever. Sometimes they are defined by the people who show up consistently during the season when we need them. As a therapist, I know I am supposed to teach. But some of the most important lessons I've learned have come from the children sitting on the other side of the relationship.
This little girl reminded me of something I hope I never forget:
She doesn't need me to replace anyone. She just needs me to be who I am, show up appropriately, and make the time we have together matter!
Comments ()