Visibility - by Darylynn Starr Rank
January, 2007

A while ago I was doing a workshop on stress for mothers of young children. A worthwhile topic if there ever was one. A number of women arrived, young children in tow. That’s part of the stress, of course. Trying to do anything but take care of the little loved ones.

But the clever organizers of the workshop had arranged for childcare.  So a dozen adorable toddlers went off to play with the caregivers.

The mothers breathed a sigh of relief and concern (their inevitable combination of emotions), and settled in for a couple of hours that were focused entirely on taking care of themselves.

So we talked about stress. The very particular stress of being mothers of young children. When suddenly, about twenty minutes, into the workshop we were interrupted.

A young woman, all out of breath, three-year-old in tow, came rushing into the room, apologizing as she came. She started spilling out the explanation but we all just smiled at her (what mother of young children doesn’t end up late some of the time…). But alas and alack the other children and the caregivers were nowhere to be found. They were off in another part of the building, playing the way they were supposed to be.

So with apologies for the delay, we set up a small table three feet across from where the women were sitting. We gathered sheets of white paper and crayons galore, settled the young girl into a chair, and watched while she happily started drawing. 

The mother took the chair closest to the child and we continued on with the workshop. We were now discussing various techniques for dealing with stress, everyone sharing their favourites. The child continued to color intently. 

Then came some practice in relaxation techniques. I was leading the women in a breathing, visualization practice.  It started straightforwardly, with what I consider one of the most profound and fundamental ways we cope with stress. ‘Get comfortable, close your eyes, and focus on your own natural act of breathing,” I said.  With hardly any movement or noise or fuss, the women did exactly that. 

The child looked up from her drawing. 

The women continued to breathe quietly, eyes shut. 

The child stared, crayon suspended over a bird she was drawing.

Trying not to get distracted watching the child, I continued. It was less than a minute before she got up from her chair, walked around the table, leaned against her mother’s leg.  The mum’s eyes flew open in concern, to see her child staring up at her. She smiled and caressed her reassuringly then, with her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, closed her eyes again. 

The child pushed against her legs. More pats, but this time with eyes closed. Up into her mother’s lap she climbed, wriggling around, pushing at her mother’s face with her hands. The woman made a valiant effort to reassure her, holding her, rocking her, while trying to continue with the relaxation. But there was no way.

The child would not quiet down until her mother once again opened her eyes and looked at her daughter. Then utter instant calm. And smiling. Contentment.

The rest of the women continued with the relaxation, unaware of the quiet struggle that had taken place, while the mother smiled at me apologetically.

I just stared in wonder. What amazing beings we are. That child needed to be seen. Simple as that. 

But in no way simple. Our need to be seen, to be acknowledged, to be known, is one of the most primal needs we have. Invisibility is a theme that comes up again and again with my clients, my friends, my family. It crushes our spirit.

The need is to be seen is as natural as our natural act of breathing. And almost as painful when it doesn’t happen.

Take care, all.

Darylynn Starr Rank (psychologist/writer) works part-time for Family Services of Greater Vancouver as a group facilitator. Her articles appear bi-weekly in The Record (New Westminster) and the Richmond Review.

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