Being a child psychologist and therapist was a lot of hard work, a lot harder than I ever thought possible. Of course I knew that going into it, I just never thought it'd be as emotionally and physically demanding as it was. Yes, I knew I'd have plenty of tough cases and not everything was going to be easy because if anyone knew half of what my patients were going through, it was me. I endured things as a child that no person, let alone child, should ever have to endure. 

But no matter how stressful and demanding the job could get, I loved it. I loved everything about it. I loved my patients and I'd do anything for them. So finding myself punching a bag of sand in an overheated gym filled with sweaty huffing people on a Sunday afternoon was not at all surprising.

“How’s he doing?” Denver asked as he kicked the punching bag. He was much more fluid in his movements than I was. I was tired and weak and I just wanted to sit down and talk, but if exercising was the only way I could get Denver to talk, then so be it.

“He’s coping,” I answered punching the bag. My blows to it gradually becoming weaker and weaker as my arms felt like noodles.

“That’s all you’re going to tell me?” Denver angrily questioned.

“Denver,” I sighed giving up hitting the bag, “you know I can’t share another patient’s information. It’s private.”

“He’s my brother though,” Denver said punching the bag faster and harder.

“I know,” I said looking down at my shoes.

Denver and his fraternal twin brother, Roy, became my patients six months ago.

The first time I met them, I was intimidated by them to be honest. They were 16 but they were huge. It was clear they worked out a lot. They were both very stoic and neither of them said anything useful during the first five months.

It took me five months to figure out that the brothers only spoke about their feelings and issues when they were working out. It was a breakthrough for me but it also broke my body because I wasn’t used to such strenuous activity like this. Denver liked working out at the gym; lifting weights, hitting and kicking punching bags, martial arts, running on treadmills, the whole shebang. Roy, however, hated the gym. He liked playing outdoor sports. He liked football, tennis, soccer, swimming. He even liked dancing.

The boys hadn’t revealed too much about themselves, but with each session they were opening up more and more. I knew they had issues with their father, who was in prison for abusing their mother. I knew they’d fought off their dad in order to protect their mom and that was why they had an obsession with the gym and staying fit. They knew their dad would get out in a couple of years and they wanted to be ready for anything.

That was all I knew about them. Some information I picked up and some I just assumed, but I knew there was more to it and if I had to burn what felt like 5000 calories a day to do it, then so be it.

“I think we’re done for today,” I said removing the boxing gloves from his hands.

“We have half an hour left,” Denver said glancing at the wall clock just above the mirror where all the dumbbells were.  

“I know,” I sighed. “I thought we could get some ice cream. My treat.”

“I gotta watch my figure,” Denver refused tapping his stomach with his ungloved hand.

I thought he was serious until I saw a little tick from the corner of his lips.

“Ha ha, very funny. I should make you pay for them now.”

Well at least I thought I was, until my mom called me at 7am in the morning begging me to come by to the house to do her a favour.

“Mom, call Selena,” I groaned into the phone. “She’ll be glad to help you.”

Selena was my adoptive sister who was adopted about a year after I was. She was born in Mexico. Her parents had given her up right after birth because they were not wealthy enough to give her the life they wished they could.

Our adoptive parents were amazing and Selena and I loved them so much but sometimes we couldn’t help but think of our real parents’. Selena had it worse than me. I knew my parents’. I grew up around them and they, along with my brother Omar, were my everything and I loved them so much. I still do. I lived for them.

Selena however never met her biological parents’. She never got to experience anything with them. She has no idea where they are and she has no idea if she has any siblings.

Selena and I bonded right away. She was like the little sister (though she was technically older, but I was adopted first so that had to count for something), I never wanted but loved anyways. It took Selena and I roughly 3 years before we started calling our adopted parents mom and dad.

“Selena’s busy,” mom said losing her patience.

“I bet you $500 she’s not,” I said pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Noah, get here now,” she ordered before hanging up.

I huffed and sat up in my bed. This was ridiculous. I’d made sure to let everyone know I was on holiday and I didn’t want anyone to bother me for a week. Yes, it sounded bratty but I was really tired. Especially from all the exercise I did with Denver the day before.

I got ready and out of my small apartment in record time. On my short walk to my car, I called Selena to see if she was really truly busy.

“Hello,” Selena groaned into the phone.

“Are you in bed?” I asked incredulously. Of course she was busy…busy sleeping. “You told mom you were busy?!” I yelled into the phone. I got a few glares from the people on the street that were making their way to work on this fine Monday morning.

“What are you talking about?” Selena asked, her voice sounding more awake.

“Mom called me to come help her with something, -“

“But you’re on vacation,” Selena said.

“Yes, I know!”

“Why didn’t she ask me?” Selena asked.

“I know, wait,” I said opening my car door and getting in. “She didn’t call you?”

“No,” Selena answered.

“She told me she did and that you were busy.”

“Well, she lied. Tell me how it goes,” Selena said hanging up and most likely going back to sleep. Did anyone in my family say goodbye on the phone anymore?

With the heavy traffic, it took about half an hour to get to my parents’ house, it usually took 10 minutes.

“My baby,” mom shrieked when she saw me, her attitude very different from when we were on the phone earlier. “How’s my baby doing,” she said giving me a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m 30 mom, I’m not a baby. Where’s dad?” I asked looking around.

“Oh he went to work a bit early,” she said ushering me to the kitchen and handing me a plate of waffles.

“Thanks,” I said immediately digging in.

“So I called you today because I’d like you to come to work with me,” she said getting right to the chase.

“I’m not taking a break from work to do work of another kind,” I said around my food.

“Please,” she begged giving me her classic puppy dog eyes. I could feel myself breaking. “It’s Mental Health Awareness Week and I’d like you to come to the school to talk to the kids about mental health.”

“Okay fine,” I agreed too easily.

“For the entire week,” she added. I opened my mouth to reject that but she put her palm up. “Our guidance counselors are on maternity and paternity leave so there’s no one else qualified to do it.”

“At both schools?” I asked shocked.

“Yeah, they’re married. You didn’t know?”

Mom taught at a school that was so large, they had two separate buildings. One building was dedicated to children from pre-kindergarten to grade 8. The other building was for grades 9-12.  Mom taught the grade 6 students.

“The school could’ve hired someone,” I said finishing my breakfast.

“I know, I just thought it’d be nice if we could give back to the school somehow,” she pouted. “I just love that school so much and I love you so much and I thought you loved the school too.”

“Fine,” I sighed shaking my head to clear my thoughts. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Noah,” she said giving me a tight hug.

“Anything I can do to help.”

It was.

It was pretty bad.

I thought the school was going to hold an assembly and I’d just say hi, introduce myself and tell the kids I was available to help them with any issues all week and that’d be it. But no, that was not the case. They had me go into every single classroom and make a speech.

I was currently in one of the two grade 3 classes were the kids were very curious as to what I did and who I was.

After I did my little speech and asked the kids if they had any questions, a lot of the started to shout their questions at me.

“One at a time,” their teacher said. He sat at his desk and pointed at the kids one by one after they’d settled down and raised their hands for their questions.

“My mommy says that therapists have problems of their own and they don’t like to admit to it so they look at other peoples’ problems to feel better.”

“Well that sounds practiced,” I whispered to myself. “Your mom says that a lot?” I asked the little girl. She nodded. “Everyone has problems,” I told the little girl, “Even me, but wanting to help someone does not mean you don’t or cannot help yourself. Having problems of your own does not mean you cannot help someone else. When you do homework,” I asked her trying to give her an example, “and you’re stuck on a question you don’t understand but then your friend needs help with her homework too. She’s on a different question that you know the answer to, you help her, right?” when she nodded, I said, “Well, that’s what my job is like.”

“My daddy says that people like you try to make people hate their mommies and daddies.”

“Oh that’s not true bud,” this was not the first time I was hearing this crap. “Sometimes problems happen when you’re really little and sometimes it’s because of mommies and daddies, but you have to remember, mommies and daddies make mistakes too and they’re not perfect just like us. But I don’t want you to hate them. No one wants you to hate them.”

The rest of the questions I got were similar. Parents, grandparents, guardians and even siblings telling these kids outrageous things such as how I wasn’t a real doctor. How I tell people to blame their childhood and parents’ for their messed up lives and not themselves. People telling these children how a person such as myself, was ashamed of their own life so they invaded the lives of other people.

Apart from that, the kids were great and really funny.

I was in a good mood as I walked across the huge field that divided the two schools. The older kids would ask some in depth questions but I knew a few of them were going to say the same stereotypical thing everyone says when they meet a psychiatrist or therapist.

The rest of the classes I visited were a breeze. In some of the classes, no one had any questions or concerns so I was in and out of them in 2 minutes or less.

There were ten more minutes until the students would be let out at 3:30pm and I had one more class to go to. It was a grade 12 biology class.

“Hi,” I said knocking on the already open door. “I’m Noah Yaseen. I’m the psychologist here for Mental Health Awareness Week.”

“Oh yes,” the teacher said putting her chalk down and rubbing the excess chalk dust off her hands. “I’m Miss.Greene. Welcome.”

Miss. Greene looked to be about my age if a little older. She had dark skin and her hair was braided. She was short and a bit chubby and she had an air of confidence to her.  She had a tiny gap in between her two front teeth when she smiled. It was kind of cute.

“Class, we’ll continue our lesson on meiosis next class. For now, please give your attention to Mr. Yaseen.” She said stepping aside as I started my speech.

Like I did in every classroom, as I was saying my speech, I carefully looked at each child to try to read them. It was the psychologist in me. A few of the boys in the back were on their phones not paying any attention to what I was saying and some of the girls in the front were looking at me with heart eyes, which made me very uncomfortable. But there was one kid, who sat near the back that looked at me in a way I couldn’t describe. I wanted to say it was skepticism. He looked at me like I was wrong and I knew nothing. He looked hurt. He looked like a kid in need.

I knew that look all too well.

Just like most of the older grades, the students’ didn’t have any questions for me. “Alright,” I said clapping my hands. “Thank you for your attention, except for the three guys in the back who were on their phones the entire time,” I said. The class turned around to look at them and laugh. “I will be in the guidance office all week if anyone needs anything.”

“Alright, thank you Mr. Yaseen,” Miss. Greene said clapping and getting the students to also clap along with her.

I nodded my head and made my way out the door when I heard a voice say, “How can someone so happy and perfect, who has never had any problems, understand how someone else can be miserable?” I followed the voice to look straight at the kid who I thought looked hurt.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Fin,” he answered. Fin looked wore a black shirt and glasses. He was of average built and looked to be 5’10. He was black too but he wasn’t as dark as Miss. Greene.

“Well Fin, I don’t know what you see when you look at me but I’m not always happy.”

“If you’re not happy,” Fin challenged, “then shouldn’t you work on yourself first before you attempt to help others?”

I nodded at what he said to show him I understood where he was coming from. “Fin, you gotta understand that not all is black and white. I’ve been through a lot. A lot more than you can imagine. I know what I’m doing and I know how to help people, especially young children and youth. I can do it because I’ve been through it.”

I didn’t want to go through this in front of the other students because this seemed more like a conversation Fin and I should have in private.

“I’m here all week, Fin. Come see me.”

Fin stared at me quietly before he shook his head and said, “Nah, I don’t need help.”

“How was everything?” mom asked as I waited for her to pack her stuff so we could leave together and I could drop her off at her house.

“Fine I guess,” I shrugged. “I said my speech so many times today I think I’m going to dream saying it all night.”

Mom laughed at me. She’d finally found her keys to lock the classroom door.

“Did you meet Nala?” she asked as we climbed down the stairs.

“No, who’s that?” I asked taking her bags from her so she didn’t have to hold them.

“Miss. Greene,” she answered.

I shook my head when the name didn’t ring a bell.

“She teaches grade 12 biology,” mom explained further.

“Oh right,” I remembered snapping my fingers. “Sorry I forgot. I met this kid in her class named Fin though.”

“You did?” mom asked a little too quickly.

“Yes,” I said suspiciously.

“He’s a good kid,” she said.

“He looked troubled. I told him to come see me, but he refused,” I told her.

Mom frowned before she shrugged and opened the doors leading to the parking lot. “I’m sure he’ll come to you.”

“Hey, Noah?” mom said after we go into the car. “I’m glad you’re doing this.”

“Me too,” I agreed.

I was surprised to see I actually meant it.

Maybe this wasn’t how I saw myself spending my staycation but it wasn’t so bad after all.