The storm has broken. At least that's what life feels like lately at my house. After months and months of working on making our son feel good again, I think we are close. There are still some cloudy days with short spurts of storminess, but I feel like we're finally hitting a good stride with him.
That said, my entire body feels exhausted! We've had an entire summer of being on high alert. We've analyzed every move we make, trying to make sense of what might trigger our son's mood swings. Ultimately, there is no one thing that predictably triggers the roiling storms that sometimes take over our house, but we are getting better at battening down the hatches and trying to tame the beast within that looks a lot like my son.
One of the most profound events of the summer happened just last week. My daughter, whom my husband tells people "basically poops sunshine and rainbows," and who has born the brunt of our son's malice for months on end, finally broke down. This bundle of joy has spent months shrugging her shoulders whenever her brother is mean to her and rationalizes "it's not my brother, that's just Bull (the bully in our son's head) acting out again." I've been amazed her how well she's taken the abuse from her brother. I've marveled at how calm she is while I feel like throwing a fit of equal proportions to our son's when he's mean to my daughter. So, when our son finally turned the corner and we started to feel like we were getting our son back a little more each day, a couple of unexpected blow-ups felt especially heart-wrenching for all of us.
Well past bed-time, our some was treating us to a major fit, when I thought to send our daughter up to our room to hopefully get her to sleep. As I walked into her room, I was welcomed by a sobbing girl, so different from her usually amiable self. Between jagged breaths she cried out "I miss Jojo! I miss Jojo!"
I felt the same way, but it was a million times harder to hear her say it. This struggle has affected all of us in different ways, but to see this eternally bright spot in our house finally hit the breaking point was beyond tough. I made our daughter tell her brother what she'd said, then held her, tears streaming down my own cheeks.
The next day, our house free of turmoil, I made sure to tell my son once more what his sister had said, and hoped it would sink in. I don't know if it did, but I feel like my kids are enjoying each others' company more these days. My son is nicer to his little sister. My daughter's glow has returned. And hopefully, just hopefully, the worst of this storm has passed.
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Seeing Your Worst Self in Your Child
In my last blog post, I mentioned the normalcy of basic things related to parenthood. There are things we all go through as parents that are perhaps funny, perhaps mortifying, definitely life-altering. On a walk with my kids I was thinking of the person I was before they were born and who I am now. I know I'm way more patient in some areas and less so in others. I don't flinch (as much) at having to clean up someone else's vomit, poop, or other bodily fluids. I'm way less selfish (not to say I don't have my stash of dark chocolates that I'm hesitant to share). And while it would have been harder for me to advocate for myself pre-babies, I have no qualms about doing so for me or my kids now.
Overall, I know that these two little humans we are raising have changed my life in absolutely amazing ways.
Some days, that must become a mantra.
Over the last few months our family has been faced with challenges bigger than we have ever before had to deal with. In addition to my husband's father's slow decline due to dementia, and our best friends' battle with cancer, my own unexpected surgery, and the normal chaos that comes with the holidays, we've had to fight demons of a different sort altogether.
I have for much, if not all, of my life struggled with depression. When I was a child I didn't know how to be social with other kids and would get teased a lot so I came home crying more days than I can count. My mom was not one to question if this was normal, or if there could be some help for me. She fought my endless tears with spankings and other physical punishments. After many years of therapy and help from doctors I've gotten a pretty good hold on my sadness and anxieties and though they surface once in a while, it's manageable.
To have to deal with these feelings on your own is hard enough, but to see these feelings in your child is heartbreaking. You can't climb into your child's head and hold them and tell them everything will be all right when a monster has taken them over and you no longer see your baby looking through the eyes you know so well. You do all you can to help your child, but everyone just says it will all take time. Small changes are made, which we won't see the results of for weeks, but in the meantime, you are helpless. Your child - your whole family - is a victim of this invisible monster that contorts your child's face and makes it not their own. Your child's voice spouts words that would normally NEVER be said. You are physically and emotionally exhausted and feel like you're walking through a minefield. Which you are.
As a parent, I've punished myself in thinking it's my genes causing this pain in my child. It's so familiar to me - the feelings my child is experiencing, but they are feelings I've always hoped my children would never have to face. Thankfully, I've learned that my feelings largely come thanks to a chemical imbalance, not because I'm a horrible person (as I was taught to believe as a child). I know that that is what my child is experiencing and we are taking a very different approach to combatting the war in that little head.
To anyone out there going through this, know that you aren't alone. Mental health is just as important as physical health. As we've also learned, don't be afraid to be an advocate for your child. If a doc doesn't seem to be the right fit, there are plenty more out there who can help. Don't be afraid to push a little where your child's health is concerned.
For now, we celebrate the little victories. The week without any explosive behavior. The days where we can pull our child out of the darkness and feel almost normal for a while. Things are getting better, but it's like crawling through sand trying to get my child back to who I know he is.
Overall, I know that these two little humans we are raising have changed my life in absolutely amazing ways.
Some days, that must become a mantra.
Over the last few months our family has been faced with challenges bigger than we have ever before had to deal with. In addition to my husband's father's slow decline due to dementia, and our best friends' battle with cancer, my own unexpected surgery, and the normal chaos that comes with the holidays, we've had to fight demons of a different sort altogether.
I have for much, if not all, of my life struggled with depression. When I was a child I didn't know how to be social with other kids and would get teased a lot so I came home crying more days than I can count. My mom was not one to question if this was normal, or if there could be some help for me. She fought my endless tears with spankings and other physical punishments. After many years of therapy and help from doctors I've gotten a pretty good hold on my sadness and anxieties and though they surface once in a while, it's manageable.
To have to deal with these feelings on your own is hard enough, but to see these feelings in your child is heartbreaking. You can't climb into your child's head and hold them and tell them everything will be all right when a monster has taken them over and you no longer see your baby looking through the eyes you know so well. You do all you can to help your child, but everyone just says it will all take time. Small changes are made, which we won't see the results of for weeks, but in the meantime, you are helpless. Your child - your whole family - is a victim of this invisible monster that contorts your child's face and makes it not their own. Your child's voice spouts words that would normally NEVER be said. You are physically and emotionally exhausted and feel like you're walking through a minefield. Which you are.
As a parent, I've punished myself in thinking it's my genes causing this pain in my child. It's so familiar to me - the feelings my child is experiencing, but they are feelings I've always hoped my children would never have to face. Thankfully, I've learned that my feelings largely come thanks to a chemical imbalance, not because I'm a horrible person (as I was taught to believe as a child). I know that that is what my child is experiencing and we are taking a very different approach to combatting the war in that little head.
To anyone out there going through this, know that you aren't alone. Mental health is just as important as physical health. As we've also learned, don't be afraid to be an advocate for your child. If a doc doesn't seem to be the right fit, there are plenty more out there who can help. Don't be afraid to push a little where your child's health is concerned.
For now, we celebrate the little victories. The week without any explosive behavior. The days where we can pull our child out of the darkness and feel almost normal for a while. Things are getting better, but it's like crawling through sand trying to get my child back to who I know he is.
Monday, January 5, 2015
Bursting Through the Parenting Bubble
Whew! The holidays are over and the kids are back in school, and now I have a moment to write.
This topic is one I've had in mind for a while now.
A little more than a month ago I was chatting with a coworker of mine after a baby had done some stealth spitting up in various locations throughout the nursery (just for context, I work part time at a YMCA nursery). I laughed as I told her of how vividly I still remember the day when I realized I no longer smelled like spit-up from my babies. As we laughed and she shared a similar story, she looked at me and said "I wonder if we all have these same experiences and just don't know it!?"
I know it seems like a simple question, but I thought this was quite profound. It's something I've often wondered myself.
In my experience as a stay-at-home mom, I felt like I was parenting in a bubble. I went to all the ECFE classes, and chatted with other moms about things going on with my kids, but largely felt alone and without a village, so to speak. Whether it was because we were all new moms and embarrassed to admit to small uncertainties or what perhaps felt like personal failures, other moms just didn't seem to share in these kinds of experiences when I would mention them at the time.
Now being on the other end of those very young years with my kids, I find myself giving assurances and advice to parents I meet through my job, and I've had a few thank me afterwards for making them feel like what they were going through is normal.
I don't necessarily have a solution for fixing this, but wouldn't it be nice if we knew we weren't alone? Don't we all just want to know that our situations are normal, and tough, and we'll get through it? If anyone out there is feeling this way, just know that you aren't alone.
Happy New Year!
This topic is one I've had in mind for a while now.
A little more than a month ago I was chatting with a coworker of mine after a baby had done some stealth spitting up in various locations throughout the nursery (just for context, I work part time at a YMCA nursery). I laughed as I told her of how vividly I still remember the day when I realized I no longer smelled like spit-up from my babies. As we laughed and she shared a similar story, she looked at me and said "I wonder if we all have these same experiences and just don't know it!?"
I know it seems like a simple question, but I thought this was quite profound. It's something I've often wondered myself.
In my experience as a stay-at-home mom, I felt like I was parenting in a bubble. I went to all the ECFE classes, and chatted with other moms about things going on with my kids, but largely felt alone and without a village, so to speak. Whether it was because we were all new moms and embarrassed to admit to small uncertainties or what perhaps felt like personal failures, other moms just didn't seem to share in these kinds of experiences when I would mention them at the time.
Now being on the other end of those very young years with my kids, I find myself giving assurances and advice to parents I meet through my job, and I've had a few thank me afterwards for making them feel like what they were going through is normal.
I don't necessarily have a solution for fixing this, but wouldn't it be nice if we knew we weren't alone? Don't we all just want to know that our situations are normal, and tough, and we'll get through it? If anyone out there is feeling this way, just know that you aren't alone.
Happy New Year!
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