In Memory of Carmen Weekley
When I was a little girl, probably in third grade or so, I had pretty bad anxiety. I was a homebody. I was the kid who called her mom to come get her from sleepovers. I just wanted to go home. Our nanny, Carmen, would sometimes take my brothers and me to her home in La Puente. Going to Carmen’s house made me anxious. It wasn’t actually about her or her house; it was that I was anxious and wanted to be at home. One day, I got really brave and asked Carmen if I could talk to her. But as a child, I didn’t have the vocabulary or understanding to explain my anxious feelings to Carmen. So instead, it came out of my mouth to the effect of, “I don’t want to go to your house anymore.” I remember that day so vividly because I had hurt her feelings. I made her cry. I made sweet, sweet Carmen cry. 27 years later, and I still feel awful about it. I’m not sure I ever apologized to her for it. But I know she forgave me, and I know that’s the lesson I need to walk away with. What to say abo...