Sefton’s Mirror

Sefton is very good at solving other people’s clues. Last term he worked out that the dinner lady who’d become so short-tempered had a bad knee, and that the boy who kept shouting out in English was worried he’d forget his answer if he waited. Sefton is patient and kind and fair with everyone.

Everyone except himself.

It was a Thursday when he noticed. He got home after a long day and his little sister, Lily, jumped on him the minute he came through the door, wanting to play horses. And Sefton shouted at her. Properly shouted. “Leave me alone!”

Lily burst into tears and ran to their mum.

Sefton went up to his room and sat on his bed, and the voice in his head started up straight away. You’re a terrible brother. You’re so mean. What’s wrong with you?

He said all of that to himself. Every word of it a judgment word.

At the Clue Club the next week, he told the others. He didn’t mean to. It just came out when Ressa was talking about judgment words.

“You’d never say that to anyone else,” said Ressa. “You’d never call someone a terrible brother after one bad moment.”

“I know,” said Sefton. “But it’s different when it’s me.”

Inez shook her head. “Is it? A behavior is a clue. That’s true for you, too.”

So, slowly, a bit embarrassed, Sefton tried to be his own detective. He looked at his Thursday the way he would look at anybody’s.

Body: he’d had a maths test first thing, PE in the rain, and no time to eat his lunch because of a club. He was starving. Thinking: he had three pieces of homework due the next day and no idea how to start one of them. Feelings: he’d got a bad mark on the maths test, and he was dreading telling his dad.

So when Lily jumped on him, he was hungry, worried and overloaded, all at once.

It didn’t make the shouting okay. But it changed the word. Not a terrible brother. Overloaded.

And once he had a fairer word, he could do something useful instead of just feeling awful. He went downstairs and said sorry to Lily, and explained that he’d had a horrible day and his tank was empty. Then he ate two pieces of toast, and then he played horses for ten minutes, which Lily said was the best horses ever.

Since then, Sefton has a private habit. When he catches himself acting in a way he doesn’t like, snapping, sulking, putting something off, he does a little detective check in his head. Just for him. Nobody else needs to know. Body? Feelings? Thinking? Friends? Something about doing the right thing?

Usually he finds a clue. And then he uses the same fair word he’d give a friend.

Here’s what Sefton tells the Clue Club, when he’s brave enough.

The clue-finding works on you too. You’re allowed to be your own detective. When you act in a way you’re not proud of, look for your own hidden stress, and be as kind to yourself as you’d be to anyone else. It’s your case. You don’t have to share it.

Be your own detective: when you act the way you don’t want to, look for your own clue, kindly.