Little Victories

I know something has happened to her.

Her eyes watch me carefully as I sit down, and then she casts them downward as I try to meet her gaze.

She doesn’t speak. She can, but she for awhile now she has been refusing.

My mind races. Mentally reviewing the assessment. Hearing the words of past therapists.

Not sure there’s anything to be done, one said.

I sit in the stillness with her.

I hear the gentle ticking of the clock. The reminder of time quickly passing us by.

My own anxiety creeping into my brain.

The voice of doubt slithers into the silence, if they couldn’t do anything, what do they expect me to do? I’m not a miracle worker, I’m just another social worker.

I move my body slowly to the floor.

She follows my movement, ever vigilant.

I get out a bucket of crayons and begin to spread colors across a blank slate.

The whoosh of my crayons fills the silence.

I give a sly, sideways glance toward the little girl.

A smile is playing at the corner of her lips.

I place a crayon near her, with a fresh piece of paper.

Minutes go by as I color, painfully aware of the silence. Of the stillness.

And then in a swift movement, she takes the crayon and begins to draw her story.

I exhale with the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Little victories.