A

nd then Baila Marcus showed up at my office early the next morning.

“I had a phone call last night from Tova Lehrer, Michali’s mother,” she said. “She was very distressed about the trip.”

“Tova? Or Michali?” My eyebrows creased. Michali was a sweet girl, but she’d been struggling with anxiety, needed a lot of gentle attention. I knew she was close with Baila, her mechaneches, which was amazing. But….

“Tova. Well, both, really. She wants us to change the trip. Because of her fear of the water.”

Fear of the—

Ohhh.

Pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Way back at the beginning of the year, I’d had a conversation with Baila and Michali’s mother. There had been a traumatic incident in the summer — Michali had witnessed a near-drowning, someone pulled out of the ocean in critical condition — and she’d been very traumatized.

“I know she’s still dealing with a lot of anxiety,” Baila was saying. “She talks to me a lot, but honestly, she hasn’t mentioned that initial incident in so long, and I know she’s in therapy. I actually had no idea that a water park would set it off, actually.”

“Right.” I shook my head. “Poor kid. So she’s still terrified of the water? That’s rough.”

“Apparently. And her mother is begging us to change the trip.” She paused. “Michali worked really hard for this program. She was our class coordinator, collecting scorecards and keeping track of them… it was a lot of responsibility and she did a really good job. I think the mother’s right, she deserves this prize, maybe more than the other girls do.”

Whoa. “I hear that,” I said. “But… I really don’t think the trip can be changed. It cost a lot of money, we had sponsors, it’s all been prepaid and is nonrefundable. And the girls all know about it. They’re excited, this is a really fabulous trip for them. Even if we’d somehow manage to change the trip from our end… it’s unlikely to be something as exciting as a water park. And we’ll get a huge amount of resentment from the rest of the school.”

Baila bit her lip. “We don’t want that. That would be terrible for Michali.”

“Exactly.” I raised a hand. “If the mother calls, you can pass her on to me.”

I

got a call within two hours.

“My daughter literally cried herself to sleep,” Tova Lehrer told me. I believed her. But this wasn’t a situation I could change.

“Mrs. Fein, I don’t understand. The school knew she’s struggling because of a trauma with the water. You know she’s in therapy. Her mechaneches knows the whole story. How could you book a trip to a water park as a prize? She’s crushed. Devastated.”

I could have explained. Could have told her that the extracurricular department plans the trips, not the mechaneches and the school guidance counselor, and that Michali’s traumas weren’t staff room gossip. That the people behind the trip had no idea, and that it was just too late to change things. That even those of us who did know didn’t connect the original trauma at the ocean to her current anxiety, or realize that a supervised, indoor water park would trigger the same terror response as the ocean….

But I didn’t think she would be able to hear all that.

“I’m sorry,” I said simply. “I wish I could help, but there’s not much we can do at this point. Is there any way we can help Michali feel more comfortable on the trip, perhaps? Extra supervision, more lifeguards, a staff member who stays right nearby to reassure her…?”

I wasn’t sure if or how we’d manage those accommodations, but I was definitely ready to try.

“More comfortable?” Tova gave a huff that was almost a laugh. “Mrs. Fein, she can’t come on the trip at all. You should have seen the look on her face, the terror she has. She was literally shaking just talking about it. If you want her to be comfortable, please, please change the trip.”

WE

were stuck.

Changing the trip wasn’t an option. The costs. The disappointment to 85 other girls. The resentment, logistical nightmare, expenses… it simply wasn’t an option.

But Michali was devastated. Crushed. She missed a day of school, and when she came back, she’d clearly regressed. She barely spoke to her friends, and stonewalled her mechaneches entirely. A week later, Baila was back in my office, along with Nava, our guidance counselor.

“We need to do something to help her,” Baila said. She was clearly worried, the lines were etched in her forehead. “She was doing so well, and this trip has backfired so badly. And her mother keeps on calling.”

“She’s still hoping we’ll cancel the trip?” I sighed. “I wish we could figure out how to move forward, rather than getting stuck on the water park thing, which just can’t be changed.”

“I don’t know. I think she’s just desperate.” Baila turned to Nava, who’d been sitting quietly until now. “What do you think? Does this trigger even make sense?”

Nava gave a slight smile. “Trauma doesn’t exactly ‘make sense,’ ” she said. “It’s a body response, a protective mechanism. And it’s pretty understandable, actually. You said she witnessed a traumatic incident in water? So it seems like her body is triggering the alarm when it imagines a water park, with people in the water. Like this is actual danger, and she’s responding to that threat.”

“I just — didn’t realize that was still an issue. I mean, it was months ago,” Baila said. “And she never talks about it. She’s a lot more focused on social anxieties and things like that.”

Nava shook her head. “Time doesn’t actually make a difference here. A trauma trigger is literally the body reacting to the present as if it’s the past. So the fact that it’s been months wouldn’t actually make a difference. If she feels that way, it’s something she really has to work through herself, there isn’t a quick solution.”

“I feel so bad that I didn’t realize.” Baila looked stricken. “Water park, ocean… I mean, I wasn’t really told about the trip in advance either, but maybe if I’d have known….”

“Relax,” Nava said. “This isn’t your fault. And I agree that the best thing we can do is focus forward. What can we actually do to help Michali, now that this has happened?”

“I just wish the mother was a little more positive about this,” I said. “Like if she’d say to the girl, ‘this trip is happening, let’s try and figure out how we can make it work together,’ maybe we’d get a different response.”

“I’m not sure I would push a girl to go on a trip when she’s clearly traumatized at the thought of it,” Nava said slowly. “But canceling the trip is also not an option. That would just make everyone else resent her — it’s the last thing she needs. But at the same time, I can understand the mother. She’s just seeing her daughter suffering, and wants to do something.” She gestured slightly. “If the mother could move past trying to change the trip and look at it as a chance to work together to help her daughter really overcome those challenges, that would definitely be helpful. But the mother isn’t in here.”

“But if all this chasing and trying to change reality to suit Michali’s triggers is unhelpful, we can try give that over,” I said. “Explain that we’re here to support Michali’s healing, but we can’t turn the whole school upside down or change a trip that everyone’s looking forward to.”

“Right. And actually, this trip could be a gift in disguise — it’s highlighting, very clearly, that the girl needs more help,” Nava said slowly. “The best would be if we, along with the mother, can really give over the message to Michali that this is so, so difficult for her, and we want to support her in getting the help she needs so she doesn’t have to suffer like this.”

“She is getting help. It’s just taking time, I think,” Baila said. “In my understanding, the trigger incident must have brought out some anxiety predisposition or something, because the issues aren’t really that specific trauma. There’s more.”

“That could be. But clearly, the trauma is relevant, and is affecting her, and perhaps this can be the catalyst for getting real help and dealing with the actual issue that’s directly affecting her life,” Nava said. “If it’s framed like that, then no, we can’t solve the water park issue, but we can do something better — use it as a learning opportunity to help her really grow and heal.”

“We can definitely try that,” I said. “I just think, with the mother refusing to budge and insisting that the trip has to change… we’re not going to get anywhere.”

If I could tell Tova one thing it would be: Trying to reshape an entire school program around your daughter’s trigger is impossible — and risks teaching her helplessness, not healing.

Tova

“Maaaa! We did it! We won the prize!”

Michali danced through the door, words tumbling over each other in excitement. “We got to twenty thousand points, and they’re going to announce the prize tomorrow, and Ma, I’m telling you, it was because of my class, we got so many points and I’m sure we tipped the balance….”

“Wow, Michali, that’s amazing! So proud of you.” I gave her a quick hug. This middos program was all she’d been talking about recently, and she’d worked really hard — she deserved to see it pay off. Besides, after the difficult summer she’d had, and the ongoing challenges we were dealing with… seeing her happy and excited, with a sparkle in her eyes, was just amazing. Baruch Hashem.

“So… no scorecards to collect, no middos initiatives to spearhead, what are you going to do with your time?” I teased her.

She laughed. Music to my ears.

S

he was still bouncing when she left to school the next morning. I was looking forward to hearing all about it when she came home — the prize, the details, all about the special assembly.

But when she came home, she was no longer laughing. She dragged herself through the door, eyes filling with tears before she even started to speak.

“The trip.” She could hardly get the words out. “It’s— they’re taking us to… the Wave Works Water Park. The midwinter trip.”

A water park.

Oh, no.

I put down what I was doing, sat down near her.

“A water park,” I repeated softly.

“Yes. And I can’t go. I can’t.” The tears flood over now. She’s shaking and terrified. “I can’t go. Something could happen. Someone could… you know. There are never enough lifeguards in these places. Not everyone can swim well. I can’t… I’m scared… what if—” she shook her head, unable to speak now, and let out shuddering sobs.

I put my arm around her. “I know. I know,” I whispered. I tried to stay calm for her sake, but inside, I was so angry. How could they do that to her? The school knew. We’d been very open about the trauma Michali went through in the summer. We’d shared that she’d witnessed a very scary near-drowning, that she was right there when the victim was pulled out of the water, unconscious and in critical condition. She was in therapy weekly because of that trauma and the ensuing anxiety… and now they’re throwing this in her face?

“I can’t go! I can’t! And they’re taking everyone! What if something happens?” Michali couldn’t stop crying, and I could literally see the months of work and therapy going out the window. She was going back in time to the summer, and I was powerless to stop it.

“Michali,” I said. “Michali. Listen. I’m going to call the school. We’ll work something out. Maybe the trip can still change. You won’t go anywhere you can’t go. Don’t worry. Just… breathe. Try to relax. Have an early night, try not to think about this. Let me work on it, and we’ll take it from there.”

AS

soon as I had a quiet moment that night, I picked up my phone. I thought about calling Shifra, Michali’s therapist, right away. But it was after hours, and honestly… what would she even say? That we should desensitize her? Help her manage? This wasn’t something she could be talked out of, not in one call. And I didn’t want to pressure Michali either, not when she was making slow, hard-won progress in therapy.

Instead, I called Mrs. Marcus, Michali’s mechaneches. We’d had plenty of conversations over the year, and I knew Mrs. Marcus was a dedicated, warm teacher who had a great rapport with the girls.

After the initial greeting, Mrs. Marcus herself brought up the subject.

“You know, Michali did a really great job with the middos program! It really built her up, she got the rest of the class motivated, she was so excited by it… I’m so glad they won the grand prize.”

“That’s actually what I’m calling about.” Despite myself, my voice went tight. “The prize. The water park. Michali is — what can I tell you, she’s devastated. Crushed. Crying and crying… she looks like she’s regressed six months.” I swallowed. On the other end of the line, I could hear an intake of breath.

“The water park,” Mrs. Marcus breathed. “Ahh. I didn’t — I had no idea that would be too much for her. But now that you’re saying it… I totally understand.”

“What do you mean? No one thought a girl with a serious trauma around water shouldn’t be given a water park trip as a prize?” I couldn’t help asking.

Mrs. Marcus sighed. “No. And yes. Let me explain. I didn’t — firstly, the extracurricular department plans these trips, and they don’t really know Michali’s story. We didn’t share it with the entire staff. But besides… honestly? Even I didn’t think of it.” She paused, her voice softening. “I care about Michali, Mrs. Lehrer. You know that. We talk a lot. But because we’ve been talking so much about anxiety, about friends and school and managing day to day… I genuinely didn’t make the connection to what happened in the summer. She never talks about it — to me, at least.”

“But she hasn’t forgotten it.”

“I know. I understand, really.” Mrs. Marcus was quiet for a minute. “I think if they’d planned a beach trip, or an ocean boat ride, someone would have flagged it. But an indoor water park… is such a different animal. It wasn’t on purpose. It was just… missed.”

“To Michali,” I said, “it’s not a ‘different animal.’ It’s dangerous. Terrifying. She literally couldn’t do a thing this evening. She cried herself to sleep. She can’t eat. She can’t function. I’m not letting her go to school tomorrow. She can barely speak without crying.”

“I hear that,” Mrs. Marcus’ voice was soft. “I’m so, so sorry. And as soon as she’s up for it, I’m happy to speak to her myself.”

“And what about the trip?”

She sighed. “I’m not sure what can be done, that’s the truth. But I’ll speak to Mrs. Fein first thing tomorrow.”

M

ichali skipped school the next day. I let her sleep in, then made her a late breakfast and tried to just give her some quiet time and attention.

When she asked me what she could do about the trip, I told her I’d spoken to her mechaneches and was waiting to hear back from the school.

When Mrs. Marcus called back, I answered right away.

“I’m afraid I don’t have such good news,” she said. My heart dropped.

“The trip isn’t changeable. The costs… and the fact that the girls all know… there’s nothing we can do about it.” She sounded apologetic. “But I can speak to Michali. Explain that this is fully supervised. Indoor. With trained lifeguards and staff. It will be safe.”

That was not the point.

“Michali doesn’t need someone to explain to her that her fears are invalid,” I said, frustrated. “She needs a prize she can enjoy, not something that terrifies her and threatens half a year of work and progress.”

Mrs. Marcus didn’t reply.

“She worked so hard for this. You know how much effort she invested into the middos program,” I said. “She deserves to enjoy it. And right now, she can’t even go to school, she’s so miserable and traumatized.”

There was a long pause. “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Marcus finally said. “I really am. I just have no choice here. If you’d like, Mrs. Fein is happy for you to call her yourself.”

I

did.

I called Mrs. Fein. I called Mrs. Marcus again. I even tried Mrs. Kraus, head of extracurricular. I begged, pleaded reasoned. Explained over and over that Michali was struggling with trauma and anxiety, that we were working through it with professional intervention, but that in the meantime, it was simply cruel to offer her a prize she couldn’t even enjoy — and one that was setting her back so much in her healing process.

But all I got was a flat-out refusal.

“It’s just too late to change or cancel the trip,” they kept saying.

And my daughter was closing in on herself, spending more and more time alone, crying, helpless. She didn’t want to go to school, where everyone was just talking about the water park trip. She stopped talking to her mechaneches, whom she felt so betrayed by. And it seemed like so much of the slow progress we’d made was evaporating as she slid backward.

E

ventually, I shifted gears. Michali’s therapy appointment was the next morning; maybe she could help?

“Michali, how about you talk to Shifra about the trip?” I suggested. “I can even book you an extra session to work through things. Maybe she can help figure out a way that you can go….”

“I’m not going on that trip,” Michali said flatly. “I’ll go to Shifra. I’m talking to her about it anyway. I want to ask her how she would react if the whole school turned against her and no one even cared. But she can’t make me go to a water park. I’m not going. I’m not.”

I didn’t push. Bad enough she was losing out on the prize. Bad enough the whole school was getting rewarded while she — who had worked so hard — couldn’t even join because it was so traumatic for her to be there. Why did I have to push her to overcome her fears to join? What for? She wouldn’t enjoy it. Best-case scenario, she’d manage her terror. Who needed to put her through that, just because that was the unfortunate reward the school had chosen?

On the day of the trip, I tried one last time.

“You’re sure you don’t want to give it a try? Mrs. Fein and Mrs. Marcus said they could make sure you’d have someone near you all the time. I could even see if I could still join myself. There will be lifeguards….”

Michali rolled over in bed, away from me, pushing her face deep into her pillow. “No. Ma. No.”

And then she broke down and cried again, shoulders heaving while I looked on helplessly.

All I could think about all day was the trip. The buses and the cheering and the excitement and the energy. The entire middle school — her friends, classmates, everyone — partying at the water park, while she cried in her bed, on her own, feeling isolated and abandoned.

How could the school not accommodate a genuine emotional need?

How could they not take her needs into account?

Would they take a class with a wheelchair-bound girl mountain climbing? Then how could they dangle a water park reward in the face of a girl with serious trauma around water?

If I could say one thing it would be: My daughter’s phobia is a limitation that needs to be respected and accommodated so she can enjoy the prize she deserves. 

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1097)