Finding Healing through Service

Unexpected ways that junior high kids helped me

As I juggled a bag of cheddar popcorn the size of my arm, a family-size box of chocolate chip cookies, two cans of Pringles, chocolate, marshmallows and graham crackers, I worried that I didn’t have enough food to feed the teenagers that would descend on my house in an hour.

You might wonder why I’d be excited about hosting junior high girls on a Friday night. Many middle-aged moms would prefer to kick back with friends, appetizers and red wine, far away from teenagers. While I enjoy hanging out with friends, I jump at the chance to host informal parties for preteens and teens. It feels like what I was made for. 

This time around, I sent emails to parents and threw out invitations to kids at the middle school youth group where I volunteer. I’m hosting a worship night for 7th and 8th grade girls, anyone is welcome, bring a friend. My thirteen-year-old daughter, Leah, agreed to help with invitations, as long as it didn’t feel weird. At the youth group, Josie¹ asked if we could please have s’mores again because she liked those last time. Gemma asked if she could play with our tiny dollhouse figures again. I checked with Kate and Nell, our thirteen-year-old musicians, to make sure they were ready to lead worship, and they nodded, we’ve got this.  As girls dropped into our home, two by two, with shy smiles, I took coats and restrained the dog. I kneeled next to them as we worked on a puzzle on the coffee table. They talked about spring break plans, school drama, weird boys. Gemma told me why she likes Snapchat. I learned how nervous she is about getting into a good high school, since her neighborhood high school has a bad reputation, and the city’s lottery system is both selective and unpredictable. Jasmin flipped her braids and told me that she’s already in a selective public school, which she likes except that she’s taking hard advanced classes as a seventh grader. Laney laid on the rug because she didn’t sleep well last night. Kate complained that her mom won’t let her have a phone and won’t let her listen to music without screening it first. Cory, Kate and Anna, who are all passionate about theater and go to different junior high schools, wished they could star in a play together someday.

Another group huddled together at the dining room table, inhaling potato chips, popcorn, apples and strawberries. At one point, someone said, “Do you ever feel like doing something, and then your mom asks you to do that thing, and you don’t want to do it anymore?” This was met by a wave of nods and yeses. Girls talked about how they were about to practice an instrument, clean a room, take care of laundry, and then their mom’s nagging negated the desire. “I just want to be independent and do it myself, without her telling me to,” said Laney.

I slipped in and out, sidling next to them to chat as it felt natural, then refilling snacks and throwing away garbage. When they began singing, I disappeared so they could have their own space to share.

When the last guest left, two hours later, I yawned. Leah and I finished sweeping up chips and washing serving bowls. Part of me wondered, why did I do this? Then I remembered Jasmin saying how much fun she had as she stepped out the doorway and the way Leah lit up with her friends. And I thought, when can we do this again?

For the past ten years, I’ve volunteered with our church’s large, diverse middle school youth group, which spans fifth through eighth grade. Many people wouldn’t want to spend one day, let alone a decade, serving junior high kids. I joined the team to serve my own kids and their friends, starting a year before Ellie turned eleven through my youngest daughter’s eighth grade year now. I wanted to do whatever I could to help kids connect with God and our church family.

You might wonder how I’ve made time to volunteer while supporting a teen with mental health challenges. While it has been challenging at times, there are two main reasons why I didn’t quit. One reason was that I made a commitment to lead a small group of fifth grade girls, including my daughter Leah, in a monthly gathering. A few months after the group began, Ellie’s depression came to light. Of all the things I needed to cut back on, I couldn’t swallow breaking my commitment to my younger daughter and her sweet friends. Years earlier, I led a group for Ellie and her friends, a group that lasted four years, a group that built intimate friendships, provided a space for spiritual conversations, and brought a lot of laughter. I wanted to do the same for Leah. But the other reason was that these girls brought me joy. Serving them gave me a break from the constant focus on eating disorders, depression and anxiety, which I desperately needed. Their giggles reminded me that I could smile too. I could show up for an hour once a month and feel like I made a difference in kids’ lives. In contrast, my efforts to support Ellie’s healing, day after day, felt agonizingly, painfully slow.

But there’s another underlying reason why I have stayed in it this long, one I don’t talk about much.

My (Not-so-secret) Past

Junior high marked the beginning of my struggles with mental health. During my middle school years, the social landscape became confusing, exclusionary and lonely. My close knit friend group scattered, due to one family’s move and a teacher’s painful decision to split us up into different classes because we were “too cliquey” (I’m not sure I have forgiven that teacher).  As a result, I searched for a place to belong and chose some unhealthy spaces. Puberty felt like a slap in the face that I tried to control by fixating on diets and body image. The hormones associated with puberty also affected my mental health.  My parents understandably assumed I was ready for more independence and became less available. My mom went back to work. For the first time, I came home to an empty house. My father’s demanding job kept him away from home more than ever. When he was home, he didn’t know how to engage with his firstborn teenage daughter, especially when I shaved the sides of my head and dressed like a boy and argued about everything. Even my relationship with my teachers changed. In elementary school, Mr. P.’s eyes sparkled as he invited our families to hike sections of the Appalachian trail with him on Sundays. In seventh grade, I barely talked with my teachers as I switched rooms every forty minutes. If they were interested in getting to know me beyond grading my work, it didn’t register in my thirteen-year-old brain.

So as Ellie approached junior high, I felt drawn to serve middle-school kids. At first, I thought I was just checking out the scene before Ellie got there, so I could hear what she was hearing and watch how she adjusted to middle school life. 

But soon, I realized that perhaps I unconsciously chose to volunteer with middle schoolers for my own healing. Being around middle schoolers meant facing the pain I had buried from that lonely season. Each time I walked into a room with kids, I remembered how insecure I once felt, how awkward friendships had been, how hard it was to fit in. Going back to junior high meant wrestling with the self-hatred that drove me to bulimia as a way to escape and self-destruct. Often, I dreaded showing up.  Plus, an active junior high group is a challenging animal, often represented by screaming energy, endless friend drama, sassiness, constant movement, and everyone’s inability to focus on anything serious for more than fifteen minutes. I had to breathe and pray my way through many Sunday mornings.

Finding Peace

Over the past ten years, I’ve found my way with the junior high kids. When I sit at the check-in table, I try to remember kids’ names and look into their eyes as I ask them about their lives. Even if our interaction is brief, I want them to feel the care of an adult who sees them with love and acceptance. I’m not a sports girl; you won’t find me playing Nine Square or gaga ball. To be honest, I still struggle to connect with junior high boys. My favorite place is connecting with girls at the craft table or while icing cookies at my kitchen table, as I invite them to tell me about themselves. I finally figured out how to lead a short enough Bible study to fit preteens, and how to create a communities of belonging. Half the time, my girls want to play hide and seek or talk about their favorite musicians. But I’m grateful for the moments when girls have felt safe enough to share their deepest hurts, to cry and allow a group of us to hold them in their pain. Once, a preteen confided in me about a deep and scary trauma that she had not been able to share with her parents. What a privilege to welcome her story and support her in finding help. 

For me, healing has come subtly and organically. Gaining the trust of preteens feels unexpectedly redemptive in the face of my history. Finding my belonging as a leader has erased some of the hurts of the past. Watching kids navigate a multitude of emotional, mental and physical changes throughout junior high, I am filled with compassion. They join us in short, prepubescent bodies with high-pitched voices and leave us as tall, deep-throated teenagers ready to take on high school. Compassion for the kids comes easily, but compassion for myself has been a different story. Over time and with therapy, I have found the grace to replace self-hatred for my younger self with compassion. As I teach preteens about God’s love for them, I wonder how my story might have turned out differently if I had experienced the same thing. Now I believe that God did love me as an awkward, punk, chubby preteen, even if I didn’t love myself. I used to feel ashamed of myself as a preteen with a bigger body, who lied and rebelled and befriended off-beat teens. Now I wonder if instead I could feel proud of the ways I showed independence, determination, and strength at age thirteen.

When Leah graduates this spring from eighth grade, I’ll probably end my time with the middle school group. But I won’t forget the gifts the junior high kids gave me along the way. And I’m sure I’ll keep hosting teen parties for many years to come. 

I’d love to hear your stories, as you’d like to share. Thanks for joining me in the journey - I’m grateful for each of you who reads and cheers me on.

p.s. My close friend just told me that she didn’t realize that she could “like” one of these posts from her email inbox, since she’s only done that on social media platforms. But it’s true! If you’re reading this by email, if you click the little heart, that will let me know that this is resonating with you. Thanks! :)

1. I changed all of these girls’ names for privacy, especially since they are minors.