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“Yes! Yes, definitely." She sighed in relief. "Sometimes I feel like…fake or something. Like I don’t have the right to feel as sad as herrealfriends.”
“And that’s also normative. Grief can—”
“Why do you keep saying normative instead of normal?”
“Because there’s no such thing as normal. Only societal consensus on what we consider typical or normative behavior. Now, grief can often make us feel conflicted. We’re gonna work on that as well. But for now, how you feel is how you feel, and I want you to know that pain, sadness, guilt, anger…those are all valid emotions. And it’s okay.”
Bria was crying now, but they weren’t sad tears this time. She was feeling more relief. Dr. Meriwether pointed to Bria’s right where a pink box of tissues rested on the side table. Bria grabbed several.
“Let’s talk about your confusion.”
She nodded. "I guess I just don’t understand what happened, or why, and…all my friends call me sheltered and spoiled and naive. And maybe I am sheltered, because I don’t understand what would make somebody do something like this. I’ve never known anybody who got murdered. I know it happens. I just…I don’t know.” She blew her nose.
“And do you think confusion is an appropriate response to what you saw?”
“I think so.”
Dr. Meriwether smiled warmly. “I think so, too. And let me tell you, those names people call you? I know they hurt. And in this case, they’re particularly unfounded. Nothing about this is normative or logical. People aren’t supposed to be desensitized to violence and trauma, but we often are, because many of us grow up seeing it in our neighborhoods, Or we watch it on TV, or see it the news or on social media. Do you understand what I’m saying, hon’?”
Bria nodded slowly.
“It’s not your fault you haven’t been exposed to some of the harsh realities of life. Your parents did a good job of shielding you. And while there will always be people who want you to feel bad about that, donotgive in to the temptation.” Dr. Meriwether paused and lowered her voice. “Bria, it’s okay to be an innocent black girl. It really is.”
Again, Bria nodded, and she wished she had a tape recorder so that she could play this back every day. She always felt good in the sessions, but it seemed like the moment she stepped out the office door, she forgot everything she’d learned. She decided to bring a notebook next time.
“Now, tell me about feeling ashamed.”
Bria tapped her bandage. “When I saw…her…I freaked out. She was just…hanging. Her eyes were bulging out…" she trailed off, squeezing her eyes shut. "I didn’t go to help her. I just ran away. I tried to run away. But it’s like my body gave out on me. And then I…” she trailed off again.
“Take your time.”
Tears filled her eyes. She felt silly. And embarrassed. “I peed on myself. And then I almost fell down the stairs. I just feel so…weak. Like I’m a punk. Like I can’t handle anything.” She sobbed quietly. It would have been nice if Dr. Meriwether came over to hug her, but Bria assumed she wasn’t allowed to do that.
Dr. Meriwether cleared her throat and waited. When Bria finally finished crying, she dabbed at her eyes and took several deep breaths to calm herself. “I guess I’m ashamed of being so weak. I could have done more, or at least not freaked out the way I did.”
“Okay. Let’s break this down a bit. Do you know CPR?”
“No.”
“Did you have your phone with you?”
“No.”
“So then it seems to me that there wasn’t anything you could have done differently at that moment. Right?”
“I guess not.”
“And if you couldn’t have done things differently, it doesn’t make sense to feel shame about it, right?”
Bria thought for a moment. She’d been beating herself about that for months. It couldn’t be that simple, could it? “I guess not.”
“Are you familiar with the way adrenaline works?”
“Fight or flight.”
“Good. It’s a hormone that secretes into your body in response to elevated stress levels. Listen to me, Bria. It’s an involuntary response. So what does that mean?”
“You can’t control it.”
