In a Box

How do we negotiate our limitations and our freedom?

This question came to mind in light of the recent events involving my father, Don Ramon. Just a little over a year ago, Don Ramon became a committed vagabond of the Greater Los Angeles area. He called home an encampment community underneath the bridges of Bell Gardens. Having found a place of belonging in this anarchical paradise, he was amongst others who traded social order for nomadic freedoms, and liberation came as drugs, theft, fighting, and the occasional killings of wild animals, and often each other. Despite limitations of order, he would soon find himself under a leadership that demanded one, an unspoken law that those who stayed were to maintain low profiles and keep the ‘pigs’ out. To violate this law meant severe consequences, and my father would soon find out what that meant.

Don Ramon often broke the law of the lawless. On his most extreme occasion, he had a domestic dispute with a fellow female transient that had to involve the police. The involvement of the police meant that the secret society was no more. The situation ‘burned’ the spot and resulted in the forceful relocation of the dispossessed utopia. His legal punishment, a few days in the county jail, with a court case that did little to nothing to prosecute him. The biggest prosecution came from his community members. The desolate deserted him, and if he chose to come back, there would be consequences. My father despises being told what to do and returned without invitation. 

On this day, close to midnight, my mother received a call that Don Ramon was hiding in a box and in need of our saving. The leaders of the community had heard he had come and were now inclined to follow through on their threats. He was scared, so he jumped into a box near the alley dumpsters and patiently waited for help to come. During this call, I did not understand what he wanted us to do. We had warned him not to go back there, and he defied those warnings. My mother panicked because she had to go to work in a few hours, and she feared he would be hurt if she didn’t help him; however, picking him up could make her late to work, jeopardizing her job. We declined his rescue, told him to tough it out, hung up the phone, and said our prayers for a safe night. 

Amid making sense of this telenovela, I couldn’t help but think about how human it was to find ourselves in boxes. The ones we step into, so that we can find safety and comfort to ‘survive’ just as my dad had done that night. I thought of the boxes of our lives, creating a methodological spider web of my current boxes that included things like career, relationships, and emotions.

It’s no secret that I feel boxed in with my career (see last week’s post Gaslighters and Those Who Get Lit), but a bigger secret is where I stand with my romantic relationships. In a recent experience, I had made a date with a guy whom I liked ( and still do). We don’t see each other often, and I was excited to spend a Friday night with him, something we had agreed upon in advance. I allowed myself to think outside the box of where love would take me that evening. Whether that be dinner, a movie, or some Halloween-themed bonanza where we could be silly and free. I imagined it would end with a kiss, and hopefully more. On this night, I had intended to ask him where things were going, and if we could put a label on what this was- no more secrets and just unapologetic companionship. 

My fantasies were just a fairytale. After a long day at the office, I took my phone off ‘do not disturb’ to find a text from him saying something like,

Hey, tonight I got about 90 minutes to spare. Have to finish some schoolwork for tomorrow. Let me know what time to pick you up, and I’ll handle logistics. 

Call it hormones, or an irrational, destructive Lexi, but that text pissed me off. I was surprised by the limitation of time, and I felt like Cinderella, only allowed to be at the ball until the clock struck a certain hour. In hindsight, I should have been grateful, but being blind to my fantasies, this Cinderella became the ugly stepsister. I told him I wasn’t aware we were on a time limit, that I had made myself free, and didn’t understand why he was asking for a pick-up time when he was the one with restrictions. He didn’t like that very much. He explained that my frustrations threw him off, he felt taken for granted, and he recommended we postpone to a night that better fit both of our availabilities. This had me fuming. Just as I had transformed, this response caused him to change from my Prince Charming to a toad that I didn’t want to kiss.

In the end, I was more hurt, more emotionally closed, and frustrated that I had allowed the limitation of time to inhibit my freedom to love and be loved. One can say that we both felt boxed in by the truth of our realities- his, that prioritized his school work, and mine, our future as a couple. I didn’t feel good, and as my brother would put it, I compromised 90 minutes of a date to spend a few days feeling hurt. In this circumstance, confining our relationship to the images of our own self-interest did not keep us safe but caused us harm. I don’t know where we stand, and I hope that this lesson can show me and others that being emotionally boxed in doesn’t equate to safety, and letting your emotions out, in a calm and controlled way, would do you better in the long run. In fact, this past week, I saw this happen while working with a middle school student.   

As a mandated reporter, I have often come across child cases that involve me contacting local authorities for child abuse, neglect, and this week, self-harm. Having recently been trained on conducting assessments for suicidal ideation, a staff member at a local middle school approached me for support as one of our students had shared they had attempted to self-harm over the weekend. We acted quickly and brought the student into a private room where I introduced myself, my purpose, and assured them that their safety was important and that what they shared was courageous. Knowing very well I was a stranger, they trembled at the sight of the assessment document and asked,

Student- Are you going to show this to my Dad? 

Me- No, this is a confidential document shared between you and me. I will share it with the principal, but not your parent. 

Student- Please don’t tell my Dad. 

Me- I cannot make you that promise. Your safety is important, and right now I’m going to ask you these questions, and I need you to answer honestly so we know how to support you. 

It was obvious they were petrified, showing tremors and tears. They responded swiftly to the answers, denying having wanted to self-harm. I told them that we were aware of what they shared with our staff, that I needed to confirm the facts, and asked again if they had tried to self-harm over the weekend. Knowing that we had the information, reluctantly, they admitted that they had tried but didn’t follow through. I thanked them for their cooperation and conducted a student safety plan, which consisted of calmer questions about what support and help would look like for them. To this, they eased up a bit, spoke more earnestly, and shook less. We gave them some snacks, and then their Dad came. 

Per protocol, we need to conduct a parent questionnaire about their knowledge of their child’s suicidal ideations and self-harming behavior. We sat the father down, explained what was told to us, shared our process, and he accepted his participation in answering the questions. We asked the student if they were comfortable being in the space, to which they agreed. In the room, we inquired whether he knew, to which he said he didn’t and burst into tears. He explained that he had a hunch of why they felt the need to hurt themselves, and shared that he was in a custody battle with mom, who was an alcoholic, and was calling the student frequently, making statements to take them away. In the end, we provided them with the mental health resources we had and asked if the parent would like to be connected to the school therapist. He said yes, because he wanted to help their child get through this. 

Despite the student’s plea to keep their confession closed in, we saw that bringing it to light meant they didn’t have to go through this alone. Sharing had brought in a community of individuals wanting to help, and in essence, a safe place for the child to navigate these events openly. Something we can all take away from this is that we don’t have to keep our emotions boxed in, and sometimes letting them out can make the difference in preventing harm in the future. 

When we find ourselves in boxes, we have to ask how we got in there to begin with. In some cases, we might put ourselves there for survival because it feels safer to stay in the box than to come out to the unknown. Perhaps you had to step into a box because someone else put you there, and you stay in because coming out means exposing emotional needs and vulnerabilities. In all cases, being in these boxes is really a conversation about freedoms and limitations, and how these confinements serve to regulate our human behaviors. My fellow Lexicans, I leave you with a question: Where in your life are you in a box, and are you ready to step out of it?