-
Surprising compassion
Surprising compassion
There are many, many moments when I am bereft of compassion towards My son. Today I experienced a rare moment of the opposite: understanding and empathy for my boy. (It helps that he had a super sweet moment of tenderness toward me last night. Just to give you an idea of the whiplash that is being his mom, about an hour before the tender moment he called me a fucking bitch. So, baby steps.)
My eldest son has been super motivated to earn a new Nintendo switch game. He knew clear ahead of time that cooperating with an evaluation would achieve that goal, and he even put $30 of his saved money toward it. He finished his lessons for the day in record time and with reasonable effort, we went on a mile walk, and had a pretty pleasant experience overall. He cooperated during his 3 hour appointment nearly the entire time… until the evaluator discovered a dead frog in his pocket. Now in his defense, the frog was alive when he put it in his pocket. And in my defense, I didn’t know he brought it inside! But she freaked out and started yelling, which set him off in a major way to where he was reacting— not choosing the next move. He sprayed hand sanitizer in her face and ran out of the office, prompting her to call me to come get him immediately.
Ordinary parenting techniques would say that he didn’t keep his end of the bargain, so I shouldn’t get him the reward. I was really, really torn. He started bawling on our way to the car: “I did my BEST and it wasn’t enough!”
His dejection hit me deep.
This kid is struggling with something so much bigger than he is. I called my husband, and together we arrived at the conclusion that typical if/then scenarios don’t really apply here. I fully believe that he did his level best, not just in the appointment but the night before and earlier today. And I wanted to reward his effort. Because if he loses hope, if he gives up trying… well, I don’t want to think about it.
So I abandoned what I would do with a kid like me and tried to parent the kid that I have in a way that will help him grow. I thank God for the empathy that surfaced today— and pray for more of that in the days to come.
-
Darker Days
There are these darker days.
Days when I wonder what it would be like to ship him off to boarding school.
When I wonder if I could ever give him up for adoption.
When I think that I am wholly, truly, totally at the end of myself. That it’s my existence or his. That I don’t know how to do this and survive and help him survive.
This sounds extreme, I know. But the endless strain… the grief of seeing your child hurt your other child and having to be the protector many times a day… The anxiety of wondering who he will hurt or if he will hurt himself… The pain of believing there is a kid inside of there who truly wants to love and be loved, but there are so many layers of destruction and malice on top of that you can’t be totally sure.
These are my darker days.
-
What is it like to be a mom to a kid with mental illness?
It fucking sucks.
You think you’re going to fulfill your dreams as a woman and mother, raising this Godly man who will be strong and sensitive and socially aware. You believe you’re going to instill in him a spirit of generosity and hospitality. You hope he will be kind and thoughtful and smart and all the things.
Then he hurts you.
Then he hurts his brother.
Then he says he wishes he didn’t exist.
All your beautiful dreams, your admirable hopes have dissipated. Day after day, month after month, you think maybe now you’ve turned the corner— you’ve crossed the threshold into the promised land. But day after day you are disappointed and wondering how you got here.
You see your friends with these kids who make messes, poke their siblings, lie about stealing an Oreo, and they say, “parenting is hard!”
And you want to scream.
You want to shake them and tell them, there’s parenting, and then there’s parenting a kid with mental illness.
Your struggle is not my struggle.
If you can’t relate to my experience, that’s ok. But please affirm what I’ve endured instead of trying to offer platitudes of “parenting is hard.” It’s incredibly disheartening.
If you can relate, well, this is for you.Where are you, mother with the bipolar elementary kid?
Where are you, parent of another suicidal treasure?
This world is messed up and tragic and brutal. I don’t know how to do any of it, but life keeps coming and I keep showing up in messy and weird ways. I am heartbroken at the grief my boys feel, at the adult emotions that fill their childhood. In many way I feel that I’ve failed them… I’ve made so so many mistakes. But I do love them deeply, and I hope to goodness they always remember that.