"I don't want to be Irish anymore," she cried as I sat with her. The silence deepened. "Tell me why," I said. Day turned to night as out tumbled a lifetime of hurts, neglect and abuse. Secrets spilled out on the floor in a jumble of pain and anger. Silence fell again. We were in London. It was finally safe enough for this pained Irish woman to talk about what had driven her out of her home and her country.
My heart went out to her. She had carried her burdens alone and in silence for so many years. "How do you feel now?" I asked. "Relieved, cold, scared, scared something awful will happen now that I have spoken out" she whispered. I got a blanket for her and made some tea. I reminded her that what she said in the room would remain in the room. She studied me long and hard. Then she nodded when she knew I was telling the truth.
She asked me then "But what will I do?" I chose my words carefully. I wanted to honour the moment, her courage, her pain. "If being Irish means being hurt, neglected and abused, I'm not surprised you don't want to be Irish" I said quietly. She looked surprised, and then nodded again as if to say go on. Again I paused, we were now at a crossroads in this journey together. All the compassion I felt for her was in my voice as I said softly and gently, "Is it true that being Irish means ONLY bad things?" Silence again, then a slow beautiful smile unfurled across her face as she said "No, no...it does not."
My heart went out to her. She had carried her burdens alone and in silence for so many years. "How do you feel now?" I asked. "Relieved, cold, scared, scared something awful will happen now that I have spoken out" she whispered. I got a blanket for her and made some tea. I reminded her that what she said in the room would remain in the room. She studied me long and hard. Then she nodded when she knew I was telling the truth.
She asked me then "But what will I do?" I chose my words carefully. I wanted to honour the moment, her courage, her pain. "If being Irish means being hurt, neglected and abused, I'm not surprised you don't want to be Irish" I said quietly. She looked surprised, and then nodded again as if to say go on. Again I paused, we were now at a crossroads in this journey together. All the compassion I felt for her was in my voice as I said softly and gently, "Is it true that being Irish means ONLY bad things?" Silence again, then a slow beautiful smile unfurled across her face as she said "No, no...it does not."
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