Open Letter to Jenny

Dear Jenny:


Ever since becoming aware of your existence several years ago, I’ve felt a deep fondness for you. Of all my parts, you are the one closest to the surface. Your strong sense of justice, your concern for everyone in our system (even for the ones who aren’t always so lovable), as well as your tender heart for babies—-all of these unique qualities are dearly missed.


Sometimes I imagine I see you out of the corner of my eye, but it’s not you. Or if it is you, you’re gone before my brain registers the fact of what I’ve just seen. I dreamt of you last night, dreamt that I stumbled across a cowgirl dress of yours which I’d never seen before.


Oh I remember seeing you in my mind’s eye, riding a bike or skating like a fury down that suburban childhood street, unbuttoned coat flapping in the wind as you fled from that dreary roof, wild with grief. You were the ordinary kid I could never be again. You made it possible for me to go to school each day, to sit on the bus with other kids and not fall apart at the apparent normality of it all. I felt your deep longing to belong to kind and gentle parents and felt your stab of anger at how your younger sibling were treated.


Listen Jenny, you’ve kept everyone in this system going more than anyone else. Without you we are at loose ends, and I’m discovering I don’t communicate so well with the others. I guess we’re all used to depending on you to be the go-between. Is this what has driven you away? Are you weary of playing that role? Perhaps we’re also a little too comfortable with letting you carry most of the emotional angst for the group. You handle it so well, never complaining, ever ready with a word of encouragement or cheer. I’ve a sneaking suspicion that you have hidden your woundedness a little too well, and we’ve taken for granted that you are perpetually on an even keel.


Because of you I’ve been able to deal with hard situations without crumbling. You help me retain a certain degree of stability as well as a much-needed sense of humor. If I’ve been remiss in showing my appreciation for all that you do, if I’ve neglected to consider what it must cost you to be everything to everyone, I’m truly sorry. Everyone misses you. We just want you to come back to us, soon.






3 thoughts on “Open Letter to Jenny

  1. i so feel for you! i dont know to what extent you are being assaulted with this invalidation of your experiences, but i know it stings. i have felt such stings myself. they more than minimize your feelings. they minimize you. i am so sorry! its only worse when it comes from someone who is close, who is supposed to take you seriously, act like you matter. it shouldnt matter whether they know what your experience is like or not. we as humans all know what it is to struggle, and also what it is to be humiliated. this makes me really angry on your behalf.

    i just have to guess that the person in question just has no clue how to deal with this. perhaps he is not equiped to confidently respond, so he hides his fear and inadequacy behind ill fashioned humor. either that, or he is simple self centered, and doesnt want to be burdened with some one else. but i will be optomistic, rather than jaded, and vote for the former.

    i understand if you decide not to publish this comment. its hot headed and angry…

  2. ps…this was supposed to go on the ‘giant dispair’ post…i get confused on which ‘comment’ link to use and have chosen the wrong one many times…i usually catch it before i hit submit. oops….

  3. When a keepers missing and it is a keeper who does a lot that throws up red flags all over, we know something has occurred to send them off somewhere else inside. Maybe Jenny is hiding or perhaps searching for others who are “lost” so she can bring them back. Try calling to her when you are relaxed, ask her to follow your voice and come back to “you”. Maybe she has lost her way also.

    Good luck and we do hope she comes back very soon

    peace and hugs


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.