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Sarah Hoffner Eng 122-003 September 22, 2009 Monday Relief I would usually wait outside of school for my mom for at least fifteen minutes, but that day she was there the second I walked outside. It was my sophomore year in high school, and I couldnt drive yet; I had no control over my location. I know youre going to be angry with me, my mom had said to me as we pulled away from the school, keeping her eyes on the road, but were going to do this. I did not need to question her; I knew where we were going. We had argued about it for months, me going to counseling. I had refused, and I had claimed that counseling was only for crazy people, only for people who had serious problems and actually needed help, and I was certain I was not one of those people. We drove to a neighborhood that I had never been to before, and we arrived at a house that I had never seen either. It was a two-story house and there was an entrance on the lower level with a wooden sign hanging over the door that said Re-Leaf. Clever, I snorted bitterly as we walked in. A woman was sitting at the cluttered desk right as we walked in, typing quickly on her keyboard. She handed my mother a clipboard of papers, and we went to sit in the lounge area. I did not look at the papers; I was not the one who answered the questions. I sat in a chair next to my mother as she did all the work, with my arms crossed, angry, and not speaking. She had the paperwork filled out shortly and handed it back to the woman sitting at the desk.

She stood up and stuck her hand out towards me, Im Ruth. Follow me back to my office? The angry, rage-filled teenager I was at the time would have never admitted it, but I certainly was not happy at the time and nearly everything in my life showed it. I had few friends, and I had no interest in making any. I was not involved in anything, in or outside of school. My sophomore year, I struggled in school; I rarely turned assignments in on time or at all, I chose not to go to class a good portion of the time, and my grades were way below average. I lied through my teeth about it to my mom, and had teachers never started calling home, she would have never known. I was failing English, and the school policy was for the teacher to inform the parents of grades below a C. My English teacher called to let my mom know of all my unexcused absences as well as my missing assignments, and she had had it with me. The next week was when I met Ruth. We met on a weekly basis, Ruth and I. Every Monday I sat in the sunken in couch facing Ruth in her rocking chair, having her pry information from me. At first, she was prying; getting me to talk to her was like pulling teeth. I would usually just stare at her, look her up and down, and make judgments. She had big eyes on her small face that frequently gave her a deer-inheadlights look. She was slightly overweight and wore red lipstick that tended to rub off on her front teeth. Her short, dark brown hair was often pushed back by her glasses. Otherwise, her glasses would be on the lower half of her nose as she scribbled notes on her notepad. She wore skirts and clogs most days, and they never did match. It was a look I got used to, though. After a while, it was hard to make judgments about her because it became regular, a norm of my Monday life.

Each and every time we would sit in that office, in the quiet, and after a while she would ask, Whats up? It was a question that I could not see the reasoning behind and something I felt like anyone else could have asked me. A question like that would never make things better. I was certain I did not need to be there with Ruth, and I was sure I did not need to be telling her what was up. I had myself convinced that nothing was up, and I was fine. After a few sessions, though, I decided to start talking. If I had to be there every Monday for an entire hour, I thought I might as well make it worth my time. So I talked, and sometimes I even cried to Ruth. I would pour everything out onto her that I had no idea was inside of me. I started feeling better after each session, and I had finally started to feel genuinely happy. As the school year went on, things had definitely started looking up. I was getting my current school work done, I was getting caught up on everything that I had been missing for the past few weeks, and my appointments with Ruth were quickly coming to an end. By the end of the school year, I had my grades where they needed to be, not perfect, but I was no longer failing. My final sessions with Ruth are what stick out to me the most about going to Re-Leaf. We talked about good things, about what was making me happy. It finally occurred to me, then, that people who go into counseling are not crazy, and they do not necessarily have serious problems. People go to counseling to talk, to put all their thoughts into words, and they just need someone to listen. Our sessions got further apart and less frequent; I was doing just fine. Usually at the end of each session, Ruth would give me her business card and on the back she would write our next appointment and say, See you next time, Sarah. At our final appointment, Ruth handed me her business card without writing anything on the back, there would be no seeing me next time. I was not fixed, by any means, but I could

handle my own without having to see Ruth every Monday. She handed me the card and said, Just in case you ever need to talk, about anything. I was definitely angry at the fact that I went to Re-Leaf in the beginning, but after meeting Ruth, and after seeing what counseling was all about, I am so glad I went. It completely changed my life. I learned to talk about the stresses in my life, rather than let them boil inside of me. Talking about those stresses helped me get school work done, it helped me feel better about making new friends, and it helped me be a happier person in general. Had I never gone, I would have never passed my classes sophomore year, I may not have done well the rest of my high school career, and I may not have gotten into college. I would not be where I am now, and I am far too grateful for the place I am in life to still be unhappy about seeing Ruth nearly every Monday for six months of my life.