A place to go when you’re broken

30 April 2023

When I was in college, I broke my collarbone playing ultimate frisbee. The quad where we played pickup on Fridays was riddled with Whitworth’s pine trees; the cross-cutting sidewalks served as end zones. People often think I broke it by running into a tree but actually it happened when another player fell on top of me after getting tangled in the air. It was the end of the spring semester of my sophomore year and finals were around the corner. It was also when my parents split up.

As the semester came to a close, I was broken physically and emotionally. I could hardly sleep. I was far away from home. Stress began to mount about how I was going to finish my courses. At an RA meeting, I admitted to my fellow RAs and my mentor Resident Director that I was not okay. I wept in front of them. The RA next to me put his hand on my back.

I’m not exactly sure how the news spread but one of my professors, Dr. Jim Edwards, called me on my flip phone and recommended I come and stay with him and his wife (my ballroom dance instructor) while I recovered. I said I would think about it. My mind was swirling and I felt disoriented.

Then, a day or two later Jim showed up at my dorm unannounced — a quite unusual occurrence — and sternly but gently recommended I pack a bag and come with him. I thought to myself, “what about my courses and finals? What about my RA duties?” They would all be taken care of. I could let them go. I needed to get to a safe place to heal.

At Jim and Janie’s house, I began to recover. My collarbone needed surgery. I can’t remember exactly how long I stayed there but it was around a month. I stayed in their son’s old room and ate three meals a day with them. Since I loved reading and had little else to do, Jim gave me books to read and we discussed them at dinner. I finished one every day or two. One of the first books was The Long Walk by Slavomir Rawicz, the true (but likely embellished) story of Rawicz’s escape from the Russian Gulag and subsequent 700-mile trek across Siberia to freedom. I imagine Jim thought I needed that kind of story to connect me with the journey of life and recovery. I also read Here I Stand about the life of Martin Luther — another account of bravery.

When I wasn’t reading, I was enjoying tea on the back porch overlooking their massive and colorful garden. Janie and I spent many hours in conversation. I loved hearing about their lives and travels. [The next year I would join their study abroad program in Turkey.] We also discussed my parents. One time, I remember she even got out the traditional marriage vows and talked them through with me line-by-line. I appreciated her sincerity and loved her company but I wasn’t particularly moved by the message at that time. That was okay, though.

I continued recovering from surgery, finished my incomplete classes, and returned home to New Jersey.

How fortunate I was to have a place to go when I was broken! How thoughtful and caring it was for Jim and Janie to take me in. American universities originally functioned in loco parentis (in place of a parent), and I experienced that at Whitworth. I am so grateful for their willingness to step into my life. This experience has colored my view of higher education and how important it is to intervene when we witness suffering. I think that bringing people into our lives — sharing our homes, conversations, meals, books, and gardens — is perhaps the most powerful way to support others.

I’m not exactly sure why I thought about writing this today. Part of it is likely because I recently traveled for a few days and stayed in the home of my good friends and former adviser while we worked on a few research projects. I’ve also been getting more involved with undergraduates at LSU, which makes me reflect on my own experience and the responsibility of my role as a faculty member. Life is so short and full of wounds. But healing and recovery are possible through community. I believe this firmly.

Onward.