Lesson Number One: Love One Another

After so many years of teaching, this had to be my hardest challenge, for sure.

I had come to Spain to teach my mother language, English, thirty years ago, with my whole life ahead of me, but I had never felt as nervous as I did now. I was a teacher and could hold myself pretty well in front of the students but I was growing quieter and becoming more of an introvert with the years. So, one month ago, I received the bright news that I was going to coach a fresh-from-college young woman who studied to be a teacher. She was to help me in my classes and be guided by me for a few months. I already had it all planned out: how the classes would be, when and how she would participate and until when I was expected to keep her. No, this wasn’t my ideal way to start a new year with twelve year olds, but it would have to be done.

Our first meeting was somewhat peculiar. She was on time, which I appreciated, but something about her didn’t click right on. Thinking back, I don’t know what struck me first, the light self-made curve on her back as she walked or the distant look in her eyes. Ever since the first time I saw her I knew her tutoring wasn’t the only thing that was going to keep me busy. I just wished I wasn’t so intuitive because I could have saved myself a whole lot of anticipated discomfort. It was like I was constantly expecting trouble from her. That day, she agreed to take a coffee with me. There was a small bakery next to our school and I thought it was perfect to a less formal start between us two. Maybe she felt nervous because this would be her first professional experience, and I was no less hesitant. I wanted to make things right and let the job shine on its own. I truly loved my occupation and I wanted to reveal to this future tutor the perks of teaching.

She wasn’t a coffee person like me. She asked for a cold sweet drink and tried to start a conversation.
“I’m Lauren,” she said.
“I’m Emily. Thanks for joining me.”
Her smile was small and polite but her eyes kept looking away and down to her hands. I explained her when she should start and what she should do during the classes. She told me her expectations and her fears towards this new chapter of her life, but very briefly. We exchanged our cellphone numbers and e-mails and agreed to start a week from there.
“8AM Sharp!” I had said to her.
The first classes with her went just as planned. The students reacted positively and things were happening smoothly. They were curious about what she had to say and I was able to help her in some occasions when they would smother her with too many questions or their bad behavior.

One day, probably in the beginning of her second week, Lauren had her first panic attack during one of the classes. We were teaching the students family vocabulary and they were all quiet and focused. Lauren gave them a task: they would write between three or five lines about their own family. Suddenly, she sat down in her chair and began trembling. Her hands held her head as she sat and bent over her knees. I went towards her as fast as I could, hoping the students would be concentrated enough on their assignments.
“I’m going to throw up,” Lauren said, agitated.
I wanted to take her out of the classroom so she could calm down in a less crowded room, but I had never experienced a panic attack nor witnessed one before. I took her hands trying to help her up but she was shaking too much for standing up by herself.
“Come, I can help you,” I tried one more time. Her body grew stiffer and she bent over even more, placing her head between her knees. I tried to speak to her as gently as I could but she just sat still.
The students began asking questions and making a big fuss. I tried as hard as I could to keep them sitting down and quiet. Lauren was coughing and seemed to be having trouble breathing.

“Listen to me, Lauren,” I began right next to her, trying to make her react and move, “it’s alright. Look at me…Talk to me…”
I began stroking her back with even moves. After a while she relaxed a bit and started to sit up straight. She was still shaking, though, and her voice was just a whisper. She was calling for someone but I couldn’t understand a word she said. I continued speaking gently, slowly grasping her attention, and when she finally looked at me, her eyes were wide and frightened. It was like she suddenly realized where she really was - and she wasn’t ready for it.

“I can’t…breathe…” Lauren was looking everywhere and nowhere in specific. Lastly, I walked her out of the classroom and took her to the professors’ room where she could, hopefully, relax. I remember I asked the students to stay still. Fortunately, when we stepped into the room there were a couple of professors inside and I hurried asking if one of them could go and watch over my class for a while. I helped Lauren to sit down and began preparing tea for her. I let her pull herself together those first minutes and only spoke when I already had a hot cup for her.
“Can you talk to me, now? How are you feeling?” I tried to speak smoothly but I was too nervous.
“I am so sorry, Emily, so sorry,” she was clearly shaken but I was glad she was talking, “it won’t happen again.”
“It’s ok, just tell me what happened. Are you feeling better?”
“We should go back to the classroom!” She snapped. “They’re waiting for us!”
“Right now, you’re staying here and we’re having this conversation,” I pulled the hot cup towards her. “This is for you, drink it. And tell me what happened.”
She was confused and explained that it had been a while since this had happened to her. She truly had believed she was through with the panic attacks and felt very ashamed. Then, she started to cry. It was such a deep cry that she was having trouble talking and breathing again.
“I’m sick of this!” She sobbed. “I’m never going to get my normal life back!”
“Hey, it’s alright. These things happen. Why don’t you go home and rest? Tomorrow we’ll talk about this if you feel comfortable…”
“This is all his fault, you know?” Her eyes were on mine now, wide. She continued to cry. “I wish we had never met!”
“Who, Lauren? What are you talking about?” I had no idea what to do anymore. I thought about my students and how scared they must had been, too. “You should rest.”
Finally, she nodded. She excused herself, asking to go home for the day. I agreed it was a good idea and watched her leave. The curve on her back was more prominent as she went away, wiping her eyes.

Later that night she had called me, saying she was sorry and that she hoped it would not interfere in my idea of her and her work. After that, things began to run more smoothly and she was stepping up in her communication skills with the students as well as meeting other teachers.
It was when she had her second panic attack, once at lunch time, that she really started talking to me more about her past and what was affecting her. She explained to me all about her previous four year long relationship. How he had treated her with no sense of humanity and how she had no freedom while with him. As she told me some mean episodes of their life together, such as him controlling her every move and conversation, I realized how young she was, and how damaged she must have been.
“You were very brave when you left him, my dear,” I reassured her. I gave her a tight hug and stroke her back for a while. “You’re alright and you don’t have to live that life anymore. You’re a strong young woman with a lot to live!” I smiled to her, cupping her face. “You, my friend, are going to be a fantastic professional. Think about that. The kids adore you.”

From that moment on, she would open up to me daily and I would listen carefully, feeling useful and happy to help. She was trying harder to have a normal life and would invite me out for a coffee or an evening walk almost every week. She just really needed to talk. For me, it was refreshing to have someone rely on me.
I had never had kids and my husband had died ten years before, in a Christmas’ Eve. Having Lauren trust me and ask for my advice was a blessing. I guess she felt better talking to me but she still would arrive every day at school with her head down. “Chin up!” I would say, but I would feel her getting more and more depressed. She seemed fine as long as she was distracted and talking, but then she would curl and close herself away from any interactions. Still, I felt she was the answer to my longing prayers of being a mother. Every week, on Fridays, I’d go to my dear husband’s grave and talk to him and pray for him. I would replace the flowers I brought him every week and I would tell him about my job and new acquaintances. At 54, my life was making turns I wasn’t expecting or controlling, but I was enjoying the ride.

One time, though, Lauren called late at night. I got instantly alarmed. She was crying and speaking too fast.
“Just breathe, darling. Do you want me to come over?”
“I’m not home,” she spoke between hiccups, “I’m just calling to thank you for everything. You’ve been an incredible friend to me.”
“Lauren, where are you?” I was already grabbing my car keys and a coat, terrified of what she would try to do. I ran to my car. “I want to talk to you, please, tell me where you are.”
“I can’t control myself, anymore. I’m tired of him still controlling everything I do,” there was anger in her voice.
“That is already in the past, Lauren. It’s enough, you’re strong and you’re going to get through with it. Listen, you’re the most courageous woman I know! You can do this!” I started the car and began driving. It was pouring and it was hard to see. My heart was pounding. “Where are you?” I asked but she just cried. “Look, let me get you and we’ll come over to my house. It’ll be fine, please.”
“No, it won’t!” She shouted. “It always ends up the same way!”
On the phone, I could hear cars passing by. So she was outside in the rain, but it didn’t help me finding her. Then I heard it on the other side of the phone, the sick Christmas’ song they played outside the mall. I knew that street too well: the cemetery was just a few miles ahead. And I knew that right after passing the cemetery there was the main bridge.

I drove faster, looking for her in every street. She had to be close to the mall. Though it was raining, the streets were crowded outside the mall, an awful confusion of umbrellas everywhere. “Lauren,” I called for her again, “talk to me. Where are you?”
Suddenly I saw her. She hadn’t an umbrella or a good coat on. I recognized her shape and her walking and, as I drove closer, she became very clear to me. I let go of my cellphone on my car’s sit and stepped outside running towards her.
I shouted her name once more; she didn’t even seem to be aware of her surroundings anymore.
“It’s me, Emily. You’re alright!” I embraced her shaking body and held her there for a minute. “Let me take you home, please.”

And so I did. She was too vulnerable and cold to fight. I took her to my car, moved my cellphone from the sit and helped her in. I put my coat around her, although it was wet too, but it was better than leave her just in her wet sweatshirt. I finally sat down next to her and held her hand. She was silent and looking down. I just started driving back to my place. “Chin up, Lauren. You’re ok.”
There, I helped her take off her wet clothes and gave her one of my winter pajamas. They were huge on her but I knew she would be warm in them. I turned on the oven in the kitchen and helped her sit next to it. Already with a blanket on her, I did my best to dry her hair with a towel.
“Stay the night, alright? We can talk later, but, please, stay here tonight.” I said after handing her a hot cup of tea.

She just nodded and I was just glad she was reacting.
The next morning, she hugged me as soon as she woke up. She said she was too embarrassed to talk about what had happened but she was grateful to have me. I prepared us some breakfast and things just went on like nothing had happened. We would have that conversation, not just at that precise moment. I gave her time and love. And it was just what she needed. Lauren always said I was an angel to her, her guide, but for me, it was precisely the other way around. We continued working on the same school for many years and we became very good friends. She always told me how much I had helped her getting past her fears and insecurities.

Even today, I remember that first encounter as a life changing moment for me. I’m glad we found each other.