O Lord, you know everything about me. You know my thoughts even when I’m far away…and when I rest at home. You place your hand of blessing on my head. (Excerpts from Psalm 139:1-5 NLT)

“Welcome back to Kent Academy for second grade,” the Auntie said with a smile. I carefully stepped out of the blue VW van parked on the playground in front of the girls’ dorm in Miango, Nigeria. “Follow me, Debbie, and I’ll show you to your new room.”

“A new room? Why can’t I stay in my old room?”

“You’ll have fun in the second-grade hall,” she said.

Nervous butterflies fluttered in my stomach, but I scurried to keep up with the peppy woman as she marched through the lobby and down a dark corridor.

She stopped in front of a door with the black number 22 painted at her eye level. “I’ve already unpacked your trunk, put your shirts and skirts in the drawers, and hung your dresses in the wardrobe.”

As I stood silently in the doorway behind the Auntie, I noticed a white slip of paper taped to the doorframe with four names typed in black ink. Seeing “Debbie Jones” in print told me this bad dream was real.

I didn’t recognize the other girls, but one had my same last name: Heather Jones.

My heart pounded against my ribs. Who is this Heather? I wondered. I barely got used to my roommates last year—how will I get along with three new ones?

The Auntie peered over my head at the Room List, her eyebrows pinching together with a question. “So, you and Heather Jones are sisters?” she asked.

I shook my head so hard my short hair whipped against my cheeks. “No! We’re not related.” My chest tightened. Doesn’t Auntie remember me? I only have one sister, Baby Cindy, and I had to leave her at home.

So Far From Home

Stepping into the center of the room, I looked with dread at the two big bunk beds against the walls. I hope I have a bottom one this year.

The Auntie put my suitcase on the wooden bench under the window, snapped it open, then pointed in the air toward the right bunk. “That’s your bed. I see your name tag on it.”

Tears sprung up and slipped down my cheeks. “But I had the top bunk last year, and it’s too high and scary,” I said. I wish I had my own little bed like at home.

“Don’t cry, Debbie. This is your home for now.” She stood up straight and patted my shoulder. “You’ll get used to it real soon, and you’ll have lots of fun here.”

The busy lady’s skirt swished as she marched to the doorway. “Please unpack now. I’ve got to help some other girls.”

Too Big to Cry

I bent over my little case on the bench, pulled out two shirts, then spied a small package underneath them. What’s this?

Lifting it to my nose, I sniffed the brown paper. Mmmm! I smell my favorite treat—brownies! The rich scent of chocolate, sugar, and vanilla made my tongue tingle. I took another long whiff. Mmmm!

But when I pictured Mommy’s hands folding the shirts and tucking the snack inside, tears bubbled up again. That morning, I left not only my parents, but my sister and two little brothers at our Egbe station.

Suddenly my shoulders shook with terrible sobs. Why did big Brother Larry and I have to leave home? Why do we have to live here? Can’t I stay with him in his room?

Suddenly, someone stepped through my doorway. Another second grader, also named Debbie, stopped and placed her hands on her hips. “What are you bawling about?”

I blinked and peeked through my tears, as she continued to talk fast. “Stop bawling your eyes out, Debbie Jones. You’re too big to cry. Besides, crying will make your face all red and blotchy.”

Then she turned sideways, jabbed at the Room List with her pointer finger, and read the names out loud. Squinting curiously, she said, “Hey! Are you and Heather twins?”

Immediately, I wiped the back of my hand over my face, smearing the tears dry. “No way. I don’t even know her.”

Debbie skipped in a circle around my room. “Well, soon you’ll meet her, and you won’t miss your mom and dad at all, because you’ll be having so much fun. With your twin.” Then she asked. “Do you want to come outside and play with me?”

I turned my head toward the window. “No thanks.”

Shared Room, Shared Name

After she skipped out to the hallway, I plopped like a glob of silly putty onto the bench beside my suitcase. Pressing my palms into my eyes, I began to worry. I have another Debbie in second grade, and now there’s someone else with my same last name. Why am I so plain? I don’t even have my own special name.

The inside of my nose prickled. Hurtful memories from last year flooded my mind, along with the chant, “Cry Baby. Cry Baby.” My stomach tightened with panic, and I jumped up. I hate that name, so I can’t cry. And I have to relearn all the rules of living here.

I breathed a sad sigh. Reaching in my suitcase, I grabbed the home-made brownie and sunk my teeth into the familiar treat. For a long while I held a chocolatey piece in my mouth and rubbed my tongue back-and-forth over the tiny sugar crystals. As I pictured Mom in her red-checked apron, lifting slices from the baking pan and packaging them, I wished so badly I were back home.

Suddenly, I had a brave thought and sat up straight as a broom handle. I don’t care if I’m just plain Debbie Jones. My parents and brothers think I’m special. And last year I made it through school, all the way until Christmas, when I flew back to see them.

Feeling braver, I scooted off the bench and headed down the hall to find TP for my drippy nose. I’m a big second grader. I’m older and stronger and I don’t want to be called a Cry Baby ever again.

Looking Back

For the first two weeks of every semester at boarding school, tears floated close to the surface and bubbled up whenever I was bumped, either literally or figuratively. During those difficult days after losing the precious bond with my parents and siblings, it hurt me even more to hear, “Don’t cry. You shouldn’t be sad.”

Often in childhood my feelings were minimized or even belittled. Therefore, I internalized the message that my thoughts didn’t matter. I learned to shut off my emotions and work hard to be liked by all the kids and adults around me.

Recently, my brother Grant shared that we learned certain emotional needs, especially having consistency of friends and family, were not valid. Over and over we experienced a dismissal of the need to grieve the loss of “home” as we moved from Egbe to KA, and from KA back to Egbe, four times per year.

What I Know Now

As an adult, I’ve struggled with recognizing the need to change this pattern of demeaning my emotions, because I don’t even see I’m being dishonest about how I feel. I take what others say as the truth and accept what they say I should do, keeping that survival mechanism firmly in place. However, that coping skill is no longer serving me, and it negatively affects every relationship, including my marriage. Sometimes I’ll turn a cold shoulder to Chris instead of articulating what’s hurting me, because I think I’m just a bother.

After writing each of my childhood stories, I find healing from that particular memory, because I’ve walked through it, acknowledged the pain, and validated the feelings of the little girl who is still a part of me. The troubling event no longer grips me with fear, because I’m able to see how God helped and preserved me through those dark times.

I’m learning healthier methods of dealing with my emotions and my relationships, especially with Chris, as I practice ways to share my needs, without blaming. Slowly but surely, I’m learning that God truly sees me and knows me. He understands my thoughts and reactions and even feels them with me.

Other people are exploring in various ways and in different forums, the impact of their boarding school journey. It’s my honor to connect with these individuals and share our healing journey together. Finally, I feel understood.

Link It to Your Life

Was there a time you thought that if you disappeared, no one would notice? Even while surrounded by folks who said they loved you? When have you longed to feel special? How have you been able to sift through and find relief from some of these painful memories?

Delving Deeper

Think of a moment when someone reached out to you with kindness during a dark time. Perhaps you can thank them now or “pay it forward” by giving a comforting word or gesture to someone else.

Thank you, God, that you see me and know me. You know my thoughts, actions, needs, and emotions, and you daily reach out to show your love even when darkness overwhelms.