Healing a Childhood Memory

Email originally sent on Monday, October 27, 2025

Ahoy!

Wherever you go today, whatever it is you do, please know that there is a part of your soul that is asking for a little love and attention. Maybe it’s the young version of you that is still inside of you, asking for something she didn’t get when she was little - attention, a hug, understanding.

We all have moments when our stories and experiences were not supported by those around us.

I have had a memory plaguing me for a few weeks, maybe months. I know that I will be putting some of the details of it in the novel I haven’t worked on in some time. I know it’s the next moment in the plot point. I have been finding myself cringing from it. So, instead, I’ve been hiding behind reading Norse mythology before writing the scene - yes, it’s feeding what I will write, but it’s definitely delayed me from what I am to write next.

So, I’m going to tell the whole story here. I’m going to ask Little Kimmy to crawl up in my lap and tell the story as she remembers it and you can judge for yourselves.... You can give her a hug with me... But more, we ask you to find that memory that you are struggling with and allow yourself to swim around in it, give yourself a hug, and lift yourself up out of it -- give it a different ending, one that feels so much better and loving. You will see what I mean in a moment.

When I was in the 5th grade, Mrs. Latino was my teacher. We stayed in her class for everything, except we left for specials - art, computers, gym.... But for the most part, she taught us all the core subjects. Maybe we had tiered English and some students switched for math maybe. But we lived in her room. And she hated me. HATED ME.

I was the only divorced kid in class at that time. I was processing my dad’s house, my mom’s house. I was processing the fact I was being sexually abused and I wasn’t talking to anyone about these things. In fact, there were a couple of days in there I just stopped talking in school all together.

At my dad’s house, he had a shelf made of little boxes specifically for tiny pewter things. I had a turtle at his house. This tiny smiling little pewter turtle that had a big hump for a shell. It reminded me of my dad and his love for me. I asked him if I could take it home to my mom’s all the time and he said, “No,” as he was afraid it would never come back.

One day, he said yes and I kept it my pocket all the time. I only saw my dad every other weekend and having the turtle in my pocket reminded me he loved me.

One day, in 5th grade, just days after he let me bring the turtle to my mom’s, instead of taking the turtle to a special, I put it in my desk.

When I came back from the special it was gone. Not there. I pulled my desk apart. Not there. I searched everywhere. Not there. I turned to Mrs. Latino, who was yelling at me for not doing work and told her it was missing. I asked her to have everyone stay where we were until it was given back. I said that it was in the room, but if anyone left the room, then the turtle would have a chance to escape.

She yelled at me again and told me that I shouldn’t have brought it to school in the first place.

Like I said, she hated me.

I never saw the turtle again. Some little bastard in my Stanhope Elementary School took it and I know for certain that little turtle did not mean to them what it meant to me. Even now, as I’m writing this almost 40 years later, my eyes are tearing and Little Kimmy feels betrayed. And so so so angry with Mrs. Latino. (So angry, that I’m using her real name.)

So, let’s rewrite this. What could Little Kimmy have done differently?

Now, looking back, when she started to yell at me, I could have walked out of the room, down the halls, and straight to the Principal’s office. (But that was never set up as a safe place either.) I didn’t have an ally teacher at that time, but maybe I could have gone to the nurse, someone I did see as an ally when I little.

Maybe I could have told my mom or dad that this happened that night. Said that she yelled at me. Told me it was my fault it was stolen out of my desk. Repeated the mean tone and words she yelled at me. Maybe mom could have stormed the principal’s office for me, instead of me being resigned that some little kid walked off with the symbol of my dad’s love.

I reimagine this and tell the nurse. Because I tell the nurse, it gives me the courage to tell my mom. But my mom wasn’t safe back then. She was wrapped up in her stuff and I can hear her and my sibling saying the same thing Mrs. Latino said, which was it way my own fault for bringing it to school in the first place.

You know what does bring Little Kimmy comfort? The idea of Archangel Michael standing behind me and spreading his wings out and around me. That though I felt alone, I wasn’t alone.

You know what else brings me comfort in this memory? Me, as an adult, standing over Little Kimmy, turning to Mrs. Latino, her red face and shouty mouth saying, “Every student in this room is under your protection. Every student in this room deserves care and respect. As a teacher who was flawed and didn’t always do it well -- as a teacher who has regrets for some circumstances I never made right --- I get that you probably need a little grace and love too. I get that you are probably out of your depth and find Kim’s erratic struggles with divorce and sexual abuse and trauma more than you can handle. But at least try, honey. And really? A pewter turtle is going to upend you?” I would then walk around and stare every kid in the face - especially, Danny, Brett, Stacy, and maybe Dustin. I would say, “If you are ashamed of taking it and don’t want people to know, I want it to appear on the chalk tray. We are all going to take a walk around the classroom and play some games until it just appears up there. Are we ready?”

Once the turtle is back in Kim’s pocket the day can resume under its normal scheduling.

And in a way really weird way, the turtle is back in Little Kimmy’s pocket.

This email was originally sent on October 27, 2025. Visit my website where you can sign up for these emails in direct time, sign up for a private session, sign up to be on my podcast, or find out where I will be live. I look forward to finding out how I can support you on your journey.

Big Love xxx,