Babysitting Woes

I’m a babysitter. I like to title myself “nanny” because it sounds a lot more professional. Let me tell you something about watching someone else’s kids. It’s tough work. It’s ironic that it’s so tough because this job is given out to teenagers who barely know how to discipline themselves like t-shirt cannons at a baseball game. Okay it’s like that but the payment is money instead of a t-shirt. Let’s take a moment and fantasize about money canons. Yeah, I’d like a wad of money shot at me at a baseball game. Heck, anywhere. That would be the one time I would be cool with staring down a barrel of a gun. Money always changes the game. 

Right, so babysitting is tough work. It’s rough. It’s a roller coaster. Sometimes you become a doormat and you try to reason it out, right, like for instance, this kid only sees me once a week, right? Okay so what’s so wrong with him/her getting away with this one teensy thing one time a week? I’m going to answer this rhetorical question. Everything. Everything is wrong with this. Man, kids are so freakin’ wily and sneaky and they’re like lawyers, always looking for a loophole. You better word your rules carefully, man. They will see the way out.

The thing about me is that I get attached to these kids. I love them like they are my own. I say this and would like to take the time to recognize all the mothers and fathers out there who have a real connection, simply because of biology and the way they are connected to the Being that comes from their bodies. I do not know love like this. But I do know of unconditional love. Love for someone who screams and kicks and yells when they do not get what they want. Love for someone who can be manipulative and is real good at the Blame Game. Love for someone who loves to play, love for someone who loves to play when they should be laying down to sleep. Love for someone who is grumpy just to be grumpy. Love for someone who does not seem to love you.

I’ve felt like a punching bag for some time now, with these kids. And somehow I think all of the punches I took have made me stronger. I’m able to show tough love, as kids should be receiving, and I’m able to stay present until they can understand. Until they can understand that this is love. I want to do right by you, kid. I really really do.

So, yeah, I’m not one of those babysitters who comes and bosses you around until you’re in bed and I can have my sweet sweet freedom. I’m your adoptive sister. I’m the big sister you never had and never knew you always needed. I’m the one who will feel with you, stay with you, encourage you, cuddle you, I’m the one who will ask for your permission and include you in the deciding process.

It’s so lonely to live as a kid with someone governing everything you do.

I understand.

And I need you to understand that it’s because we love you. 

I think one day you will understand as I am starting to. 

The things we do don’t make sense in the moment, and I’m sorry for it. If I could breathe wisdom and knowledge into you, you know I would.

Sometimes as a babysitter, we feel lost and alone, too. Disconected and unsure if we’re really doing right by you. Until that one day, that bright day that will go into my memory bank when you say the words, “I love you.”

You told me when you weren’t asking for something. You told me after you had cried and we made up. You told me with a smile on your face, light in your eyes, and a glow about you. 

Babysitting can be a roller coaster, one with lots of steep hills, high and low. But honestly, the highs make this job so totally and completely worth it.
This is Sabrina, signing out.

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Me

Hi. My name is Sabrina and I want to explain why exactly it is that I feel I relate to Wendy Darling. The truth is, I’m a space traveler. And not the kind of space you might initially think of, the vast open void of balls of gas and nothingness but rather, the space of my mind. I often get lost amongst the stars in there, but luckily I almost always find my way back. I’ve been through somethings in my life thus far, and I suppose I’ve learned quite a great amount from all the trials and tribulations. This is my first real personal “introduction” post and I’m not sure exactly how much to disclose here. But, the whole point of me starting this blog was to reach out to people and find all the other lost boys to maybe share a piece of myself and my wisdom, give a little something to someone that they maybe never thought they needed. So, gonna get right into it.

I am a rape survivor. I have been dealing with the repercussions of PTSD for two years now and I’m proud to say that I’m on the uphill direction of my journey. It hasn’t always been that way, though. I spiraled down, and quickly at that, about 8 months ago. June 2015. That’s when it all came crashing down.

I was in denial for a long time. It happened while I was studying abroad. I didn’t want to face the facts. I wanted to be fine and normal and healthy, when I was anything but.

This is a long story.

Sigh.

I have been somewhat alone in this and at the same time not alone at all. People have listened and well, “helped” when they could. But what do you say, really? You’re going about your normal life with your normal friends where nothing but normalcy is part of the routine. You call your normal sister with whom you have normal sister issues with and then you say goodbye and go along with your normal, average college life. And then one day you find out she was raped. And then everyone’s like, now what?

So, people hugged me and they told me I didn’t have to worry anymore. The danger was gone, I was so very far away. (An ocean between me and the perpetrator, to be vaguely exact).

But the thing is, the danger wasn’t gone. I wasn’t safe. My mind became this battlefield, and my heart and throat became twisted around each other. I lost my voice and became part of the void that became my sense of presence. I had no identity except that “I was raped.” No one gave it to me, let me make that clear. No one told me that that was what defined me from here on out. I did. I told myself this. I spoke to myself with such hatred for months and months on end.. And to this day I struggle to keep the self-hating voice down to a low volume. A “dull roar” is what my dad would call it.

So, I’ve got this dull roar of hatred in my head about 24/7, and that has become my danger. I have become my own threat.

My anxiety and my PTSD is telling me to stop. There is danger in sharing this with you. There is danger and risk in sharing anything with anyone. We are such fragile creatures, sticks and stones don’t break my bones as much as words do.

I want to conclude abruptly by bringing back the idea of Wendy Darling here. Once this terrible thing happened to me, I felt as though I couldn’t go on. But, I have managed to find a way. I’ve picked up pieces of wisdom along the way and I have also formed some bits of wisdom of my own. I know now how I ought to be treated and I feel also that many boys don’t know how to treat a girl properly. And I also know that this often isn’t entirely their fault. We live in a society, in a world where demeaning each other is flirting and where the competition to be dominant is real. It happens between men and women, women and women, and men and men. The thing that I want all you lost children to take away from this essay is that maybe, just for a second, take a pause and consider. Consider who you are speaking with and consider what that other person might need. And if it is out of your means or out of your desires, then move on.

There is so much that I want to tell you.

And I think this is a good start for us today.

Thanks and nice to meet you,

Sabrina.