Passion to Help

My grandmother looked on as I sketched. The occasional southwestern breeze served only to ruffle my pages and complicate my attempt at drawing a prickly-pear cactus. “Hannah, why don’t you draw it upside down?” my artistic grandmother suggested. After a challenging ten minutes of curious upside down sketching, I righted my drawing to see a much more realistic sketch of a cactus. Gone were my idealized rounded cacti ears and perfectly spaced thorns; instead, I had moved past preconceptions of what a cactus should look like and had noticed all the beautiful imperfections that gave reality to the plant. Embracing such imperfections and removing the rose-tinted glasses constantly challenges for me. Nevertheless, especially when working with sick or quarrelsome children or mentally disabled individuals, eliminating stereotypes and embracing flaws is vital for compassionate communication. Similar to how I accepted the cacti imperfections, I have found a lasting desire to embrace and to help children and similar innocent and imperfect people.

The roots of passion sometimes contradict everyday practices. Human nature compels people to resist change. Unusual individuals and events meet hostility caused by fears of the unknown. Additionally, the business and scientific worlds suggest we observe without feeling, yet emotions are essential to understanding change and empathizing with others. “By being attuned to how others feel in the moment, a leader can say and do what’s appropriate, whether that means calming fears, assuaging anger, or joining in good spirits.”[1] Indeed, effective leadership depends on emotion. Synonymous with strong emotions and conviction, passion drives improvement of the world and healing of its people, and for me, it took a moment of hostility and resistance to drive my passion for helping children.

In my neighborhood in Houston there was the atypical and the controversial: a group home that boarded mentally disabled adults. A few years ago as the “For Sale” sign of this residence was removed, my neighbors and I awaited the arrival of the new occupants. Following a long period of renovation, this anticipation turned to alarm as we discovered this home was a multi-unit dwelling and found that the owner illegally claimed it as a third personal homestead (the law allows just one). Worried about safety and property values, neighbors tried to drive out the owner by citing health hazards or cases of neglect of its inhabitants. I perpetuated this hostility when I walked or drove past the house and timidly disregarded the friendly waves of the home’s residents. On Halloween night, after a few months of my resistance to the unknown, several of the group home members knocked on my door. Hesitantly, I cracked open the door and found two gentlemen dressed as superheroes who unabashedly shouted, “Trick or Treat!” In that instant, I realized these grown men were actually rather endearing and harmless trick-or-treaters.

Just as I discovered on Halloween, my neighbors soon found that the people living in the home were harmless and, if anything, vulnerable to neglectful care or spiteful people. Although the owners were eventually caught for claiming the illegal homestead, the residents had become central members of my neighborhood and reflected the diversity and helplessness of people in any society.

I unjustly discriminated against the different inhabitants due to my naïve understanding of mental disabilities. Nevertheless, the new interactions and type of people that the group home brought to my life sparked my interest to learn more about mentally disabled individuals. In the following months I attended themed dances for the mentally disabled. For the first time in my life I experienced the exhilarating feeling of not caring what others thought as I danced; I only hoped to help the attendees have fun. The people at those dances were so enthusiastic about life that I could not help but leave with the contagious spirit they effused.
That summer I also decided to volunteer as an overnight summer camp counselor for mentally disabled adults and children. At Camp Champions, I helped care for a cabin of ten thirteen-year old girls and was the specific counselor of one twelve-year old girl named Claire. All the members of the camp were both lovable and difficult in a unique way. Claire, for example, had the mental capacity of a six-year old along with bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. It was my responsibility to help Claire maintain personal hygiene, have an energetic “summer camp experience,” and remain safe while having fun. Claire’s mood-swings and stubborn refusal to change out of her Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup shirt tested my patience. Her desire for only cheese and buttered bread and her hip “aches” from dancing too much kept me busy. Despite such frustrations, I learned a great deal from Claire and the other campers. I learned to be less self-conscious, to listen and be patient, and to kindly influence and discipline. I soon realized that these easy to love individuals deserve to be protected and treated as equal and valued human beings.

Returning the following summer as a paid staff member solidified these realizations. Now with even more responsibility for the campers’ well being, I was a counselor for the same age-group of girls. This time I specifically paid attention to two very different girls named Aryn and Jessica. With them, I believe I experienced the dilemma of many parents: how to give enough love and care to all children when one child requires extra attention. Jessica’s mental disability prevented her from speaking clearly and also made her exceptionally strong and stubborn (for instance, she threw out her counselor’s back the year before). Meanwhile, Aryn’s disability made her shy, sweet, and overly obedient. I felt guilty and stressed for much of the week because Jessica required my full attention while I often left Aryn to her own devices. After playing, eating, swimming, hiking, and spending time with them around the clock, it astonishes me how trusting and lovable mentally disabled people can be despite the many communication hardships and social stigmas encountered daily. Since they are more vulnerable to maliciousness, it saddens me that they often struggle to live fulfilled lives and can burden their families financially and socially. Each time I spend time with the disabled, I believe that I lighten others’ responsibilities and hope that I can improve the individuals’ lives by providing “normal” life experiences.

Furthermore, my passion to care for the disadvantaged extends beyond the mentally disabled to include children who I believe hold much of the same vulnerability, innocence, and enthusiasm as those who are disabled. My service over two summers at the Children’s Museum of Houston reinforced my belief that children must be individually embraced and stimulated. I especially loved playing with the kids in the younger-aged areas such as the “tot spot” because I could entertain and instruct the small children there. Kids seem to hold a certain innocence that we can all aspire to; indeed, “the need for mystery is greater than the need for an answer.”[2] Similar to giving the parents of the campers a break, I enjoyed assisting immigrant parents by looking after kids at the Nehemiah Center in Houston. Even now I act as a big-sister-type Mentor once a week for an eighth-grade girl at a nearby middle school. Last semester, I actually dreaded the weekly visits because I considered them a waste of her time, as well as mine, since I did not appear to improve her problems. I would join her for lunch and sometimes talk to her about family problems and self-esteem issues, but occasionally just chat with her friends. This semester though, the fact that I began to enjoy and actually look forward to the visits as a time to take a break from school and help my student amazed me. I pondered the reason for this sudden change, and I now believe I prefer these semesters’ school time visits to the hurried lunch time visits of the fall semester because I have more time to spend with my student. Now if I go to the middle school feeling tired or grumpy, I always leave feeling fulfilled and happy because I feel I can give genuine advice and lend a listening ear.

Perhaps this desire to support and to instruct grows from my innate personality. Labeled as a nurturer and protector by the Carl Jung’s personality test, I feel most comfortable in environments where I can help out and heal. This desire to help could, of course, be a selfish desire to feel good about myself. In any case, I experience passionate emotion when speaking of and working with children and the mentally disabled, and I hope these emotions go beyond self-satisfaction.

The way a human develops and the inner workings of the brain fascinate me, especially after spending time around the mentally disabled. In fact, for the past few months I have even been considering psychology as an additional major. By learning about human interactions and brain functions, I could continue to help out in investigating the developing process of children and mentally disabled people. Naturally, as a pediatrician I could also help and heal countless children. And on a pre-medicine track already, maybe I am on my pilgrimage toward my passion of helping children.

Regardless of what I do with my life, though, interactions with others will draw my attention. As most people, I often fear change and out-of-the-ordinary, but with the beautiful and imperfect cactus as a reminder, I will continue on my passionate journey to see the beauty in the young and the flawed alike.

Word Count (without quotes): 1560

Image Citations:
Image 1- http://www.paulweiss.bz/Hawaii_web/pages/Prickley%20Pear%20Cactus%20floowers%20on%20Kohala%20Mts%20DSCN0362%20copy.htm
Image 2- personal photo
Image 3- personal photo
Image 4- http://www.baykidsmuseum.org/fileadmin/badm/home/Hi-res/TotSpot.JPG
Image 5-http://www.piperreport.com/archives/Images/Empty%20Hospital%20Corridor.jpg
Image 6- http://www.kgv.net/psychology/Psychology%20images/psychology%20head.jpg


[1] Daniel Goleman. “Leadership: Realizing the Power of Emotional Intelligence,” Composition and Reading in World Literature. Vol. 1. Jerome Bump. (Austin: Jenn’s, 2007.), 64.

[2]Tom Robbins. “Mystery in the 20th C,” 1993. Composition and Reading in World Literature. Vol. 1. Jerome Bump. (Austin: Jenn’s, 2007.), 169.