routerecalculation

Summer has passed, and we’re 2 weeks in to fall, which brings the start of the school year.  We have waited with great anticipation for this.  What will it be like?  Is she ready?  Will it all be too much?

Times have changed.  My daughter has changed.  For the last year, she has been with kids like her.  All of them have stories – some sadder than others – but they all relate with the common thread of needing extra care to get through.  A year ago, she was so depressed the only hope for her was trying to end her own life.  Now?  Not anymore.  Now she has found herself.  She has had a year to remove herself from the every day pressures of school and peer pressure and get intense therapy.

How do you take a girl with colored hair, fairy clothing, who wears no shoes most days and fit her in to jeans, tshirts, runners, and even worse – teenage drama?

Week 1:

“How was school today sweetie?”

“Ok.”

“Were classes ok?  Did you find your way around?”

“Yeah.  It was ok……I cried today”.

“What?  Where?  Why were you crying?”

“Just overwhelmed.  It’s just really overwhelming.”

“You’ll settle in. It will get better, really it will.”

Week 1 went ok, but just ok. We expected it to be hard.  I thought a transition was supposed to work in to things slowly.  Instead, she has a full load of classes, tons of homework – and it’s just not getting done.

Week 2:

“I heard people talking about me today.”

“Why?  What were they saying?.”

“Well, I have no one to be with at lunch.  I’ve been out of the loop too long, so I pretend I’m going somewhere until lunch is over.  I sat down in a desk with my legs crossed and no shoes on, and the kids were pointing at me.  Talking about how weird I am.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Well, I do get asked to go to the park and do drugs at lunch, but I don’t want to.  I refuse to go there, to go back to trying to fit in.  I’m the quiet one now – can you believe that?  The teachers think I’m shy.  And the kids?  The older ones are nicer to me, but they’re not in my classes.  I’m weird because I look different.  I’m weird because older kids know me and say hi.  I’m weird because I think differently and ask different questions.  I’m weird because I’m more comfortable sitting cross legged than having my feet on the floor.”

“You need to be proud of who you are and how hard you’ve worked.  You’ve come so far and you’re not the same person.  You’re a great person – don’t forget that.

Week 3:

“I can’t get all this homework done mom.  I just can’t do it”

“I don’t understand why you have so much.  You have 2 spares and yet still can’t get it done.  I thought you were supposed to be starting off slowly?”

“I’m feeling overwhelmed.”

“I know.  We need to do something about this.”

Off went the email, stressing that this so called “transition” was more like complete immersion.

“I didn’t go to classes today.  I had a panic attack when I entered the school.  I sat in my counselors room for the entire day.  I have so much homework, I don’t know how I’ll possibly even finish.  My stomach is hurting and I don’t know why.  It’s that pain – it hurts bad.  Maybe I’m sick?  Maybe it’s mono?  I can’t move.  A girl wrote me a letter today, telling me how mean kids are to her yet she’s made it.  I think we will be friends forever.  Can I have my meds?  I need to sleep.”

Three weeks in and we’ve taken a huge step backwards.  The pain is coming back.  Discouragement is creeping it’s ugly fingers back in, and the pile is getting higher and higher.  She’s fighting toothe and nail but it’s getting too hard too quickly.

“Don’t worry sweetie.  I’ve sent an email to the team at the school.  It’s time for a talk.  We need to slow down a bit and make this a transition – not a plunge.  You don’t need to worry.”

“Ok.”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned.  How do we get through a year when we’ve made it 3 weeks and the panic attacks are setting in?   The good thing is she’s a fighter, and so am I.  It’s not too late to make changes.  We can make this what it needs to be, as long as she is allowed to be who she needs to be – not who she is expected to be.