"Do you think we'll ever lose touch with each other?"
"No. I say no because I think we've built such a strong connection, it's like, it's almost unbreakable."
Anyone who is willing to listen to me talk about it has undoubtedly heard about my friendship with G and how important my role as a mentor has been to me. What I haven't shared as widely yet, is that late last year I grappled with the decision to finish my mentorship term with Reach and Rise, and in February ended my formal participation in the program.
My original commitment to was to spend time with G for 1-3 hours each week for one year. At the outset we had established some goals together with her father and the program coordinator at the Y. Our goals were to help her build confidence, expose her to new experiences, and get her through a difficult loss she had recently experienced.
G and I spent two years together in the program. We seldom, if ever, explicitly referred back to those goals. But as I considered "the end" I thought about what we had done in our time together. Not the activities and the outings but what it all amounted to. Did we reach our objectives? Did I fulfill my role as a mentor?
I did expose her to new experiences, for sure. I got to see her try fish and chips, harvest zucchini, use a DSLR, rock climb, learn to ride a bike, and do countless other things for the first time. I definitely did help her weather the most difficult period of her grief, as one part of a support network that included her dad and a counselor.
The goal of building her confidence is by far the hardest to evaluate. When you're talking about a young person, in some of the most transformative years of her development, it's nearly impossible to say what is real or permanent, because things are evolving so rapidly. I've seen her soar, yet at other times crumble. What is a reasonable level of confidence to expect in a teenage girl anyway? The line between healthy and unhealthy self esteem is quite blurry, and sometimes I'm not sure which side of it I'm on myself. But I've seen her grow in her ability to think for herself, and plan for the future. I've seen her embrace new experiences and conquer her fears. What part I've had in fostering all of that, and how it will manifest itself in the future, I will never know for certain, but I learned to accept that a long time ago.
Evaluating the strides we had made on our goals, I felt comfortable stepping down from my official capacity as her mentor. At the time, I had recently started my new position and knew I would be traveling a lot and dealing with more adjustments in my life than usual. I also, admittedly, wanted to be relieved of my weekly obligation. Being a Reach & Rise mentor has been immensely rewarding, but it does take work to plan activities, to coordinate schedules, to do pick ups and drop offs, to be emotionally present and actively listening. I wanted to take a step back before reaching the point of burnout. And from a programmatic side, the mentorship matches are not meant to be permanent. They are just supposed to bring a friendly, trusted adult into a child's life when they need support the most.
It was an emotional transition, but we talked about it for months in advance. It was very important to me that she knew I was not leaving her life. I made it very clear that I will always be there for her. I will still be her mentor. I will still be her friend. I will still take her out for dinners and coffee dates. It's just not going to be part of a program, and it's not going to be weekly. Since February, I'm proud to say I've made good on that commitment. We've seen each other several times, and really nothing feels different.
We took the transition as an opportunity to have fun and celebrate our friendship. We finalized the last pages of our scrapbook. We went out to eat at Jack's, where we had our "first date". We also went to the San Francisco StoryCorps booth and recorded a conversation, reflecting on our time together, and the paths that led us to who we are today. It was such a unique opportunity to capture us – our dynamic, our memories, our voices – exactly as we are today. It's pretty cool to know our story will live on as a piece of American history at the Library of Congress.
I invite you to listen to a 10-minute version of our conversation. (This was my first time editing audio of any sort, so forgive it for not being NPR-level quality! And for full disclosure, I have gotten permission from G to share this.)
I put off listening to the original CD for a while because it was long (around 35-40 minutes) and I dread hearing my voice recorded, but when I actually sat down to listen to it one night, I was flooded with emotion. I laughed, I cried! I was so grateful to have this. I know the next ten to fifteen years of her life will bring so many changes, and our relationship will inevitably have to shift to match. But no matter what the future holds, I'll know we shared this much.
"No. I say no because I think we've built such a strong connection, it's like, it's almost unbreakable."
Anyone who is willing to listen to me talk about it has undoubtedly heard about my friendship with G and how important my role as a mentor has been to me. What I haven't shared as widely yet, is that late last year I grappled with the decision to finish my mentorship term with Reach and Rise, and in February ended my formal participation in the program.
My original commitment to was to spend time with G for 1-3 hours each week for one year. At the outset we had established some goals together with her father and the program coordinator at the Y. Our goals were to help her build confidence, expose her to new experiences, and get her through a difficult loss she had recently experienced.
G and I spent two years together in the program. We seldom, if ever, explicitly referred back to those goals. But as I considered "the end" I thought about what we had done in our time together. Not the activities and the outings but what it all amounted to. Did we reach our objectives? Did I fulfill my role as a mentor?
I did expose her to new experiences, for sure. I got to see her try fish and chips, harvest zucchini, use a DSLR, rock climb, learn to ride a bike, and do countless other things for the first time. I definitely did help her weather the most difficult period of her grief, as one part of a support network that included her dad and a counselor.
The goal of building her confidence is by far the hardest to evaluate. When you're talking about a young person, in some of the most transformative years of her development, it's nearly impossible to say what is real or permanent, because things are evolving so rapidly. I've seen her soar, yet at other times crumble. What is a reasonable level of confidence to expect in a teenage girl anyway? The line between healthy and unhealthy self esteem is quite blurry, and sometimes I'm not sure which side of it I'm on myself. But I've seen her grow in her ability to think for herself, and plan for the future. I've seen her embrace new experiences and conquer her fears. What part I've had in fostering all of that, and how it will manifest itself in the future, I will never know for certain, but I learned to accept that a long time ago.
Evaluating the strides we had made on our goals, I felt comfortable stepping down from my official capacity as her mentor. At the time, I had recently started my new position and knew I would be traveling a lot and dealing with more adjustments in my life than usual. I also, admittedly, wanted to be relieved of my weekly obligation. Being a Reach & Rise mentor has been immensely rewarding, but it does take work to plan activities, to coordinate schedules, to do pick ups and drop offs, to be emotionally present and actively listening. I wanted to take a step back before reaching the point of burnout. And from a programmatic side, the mentorship matches are not meant to be permanent. They are just supposed to bring a friendly, trusted adult into a child's life when they need support the most.
We took the transition as an opportunity to have fun and celebrate our friendship. We finalized the last pages of our scrapbook. We went out to eat at Jack's, where we had our "first date". We also went to the San Francisco StoryCorps booth and recorded a conversation, reflecting on our time together, and the paths that led us to who we are today. It was such a unique opportunity to capture us – our dynamic, our memories, our voices – exactly as we are today. It's pretty cool to know our story will live on as a piece of American history at the Library of Congress.
I invite you to listen to a 10-minute version of our conversation. (This was my first time editing audio of any sort, so forgive it for not being NPR-level quality! And for full disclosure, I have gotten permission from G to share this.)
I put off listening to the original CD for a while because it was long (around 35-40 minutes) and I dread hearing my voice recorded, but when I actually sat down to listen to it one night, I was flooded with emotion. I laughed, I cried! I was so grateful to have this. I know the next ten to fifteen years of her life will bring so many changes, and our relationship will inevitably have to shift to match. But no matter what the future holds, I'll know we shared this much.
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