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Dear Sir(s)

c.c. MLA, School Superintendent, School Trustee, District School Advocate
b.c.c. Step-dad

I’m am writing to you today about my daughter, that is currently enrolled in High School. We are having some issues, and I’d like to give you a bit of background before I ask any questions.

My daughter is 14 years old, currently enrolled in Grade 9. About half way through grade 7, she started to develop chronic stomach pain, and began missing a lot of school. In total, she missed approx. 49 days of the last half of the year – so pretty much all of it. Unknowingly to me, she had developed anorexia, and was suffering from bullying at school. In September of grade 8, she texted her cousin and said this would be her last day. She went to school to say goodbye to her friends, but ended up having a type of nervous breakdown as her brain couldn’t handle the reality of what she had planned. She was taken by ambulance to Alberta Children’s Hospital, where she stayed and received treatment for just over 5 months. I didn’t find out about some other things till January, but once I did, I immediately took action.

My daughter worked incredibly hard to overcome the many issues she was suffering from . While in hospital, she attempted suicide 5 times, was involved in self harm, and her anorexia got worse. Once deeper treatment started, things started to turn around and she rapidly began to improve.

Once hospital was done, she transitioned to ADTP, where she completed 4.5 months of extreme psychotherapy, as well as school classes to complete the core subjects of grade 8. Once she graduated ADTP, she was transitioned to an out patient at YCuSP, where she is still receiving trauma treatment. She has gone through full testing through the specialists at YCuSP, and was found to be “gifted” in many areas, and above average in all the others. Other students averages are her lowest scores. Her diagnoses are: Extreme Anxiety disorder, PTSD, OCD, ADD, and Anorexia with binge/purge tendencies.

Currently, she is at a healthy weight, no longer self harms, is not suicidal, and is bright and optimistic about her future.

Last May she began to transition to high school. The VP was dedicated to her success, and made every effort to help her and make a plan. He assured us that no matter how difficult, the school was there for us and would be dedicated to her success, no matter what. She was given full access to the healing arts program, and the chat room was a great support for her. During the summer, she was tremendously excited to get back to “normal”, knowing there would be challenges, but understanding it would be a gradual transition.

September came, and she was nervous but also excited. She wore some old jeans and a plaid shirt so she wouldn’t bring extra attention to herself. These were kids she’d been with since preschool, and it felt a little weird for her to be back after missing almost 2 years of school.

She started taking a full course load, with flex class for extra help, a guidance counselor as a go to and the chat room for extra support. Unfortunately, there was a new VP as the former one had been moved. The drama teacher took special interest in her, and invited her to participate in his class daily, which took her away from flex. She absolutely loved drama and couldn’t quit talking about it. There wasn’t a single aspect of it that she wasn’t enthused about – but she was missing flex which was an issue. Quite quickly she started getting behind. The exhaustion of a full day of school left her overwhelmed and unable to handle the homework load. I asked the school for a meeting, and we talked strategy for success. Her support teacher made sure that she knew she was to be in flex, and that drama should not be a substitute. It came time for the school play and auditions, and she was elated. She knew her chances of getting a part as a grade 9 were slim, but practiced her audition piece tirelessly, and practiced lines with a friend as much as she could. She did her audition, and was very proud of herself.

Then it started.

The drama teacher posted the part list, and sure enough she didn’t get a part. Other grade 9’s got to work on sets, or lighting, but she was left completely crushed. She went to talk to the drama teacher, and he gave her no excuse. She begged to even mop the floors and clean up after, just to be at practice and watch, but he said no. We could not figure out why, as he took such interest, and then wanted nothing to do with her.

Meet the teacher night came, so I went in to the school to speak with the guidance teacher. My daughter had written a letter to advocate for herself, finished off a huge project, and went to him repeatedly to give her a chance but he just put her off. I waited 1.5 hours to talk to her guidance counselor, and when I did, I was completely shocked. She told me that the drama teacher had heard that my daughter was on drugs, and potentially dealing drugs and wanted nothing to do with her. He’d had a scare the year before with some students, and wanted nothing to do with her. She said her behavior was erratic, and made her think the same. Clearly, they had never seen a teen with her diagnoses.

I went home confused, and very worried, so I immediately called YCuSP to discuss the situation. We set up a meeting quite quickly with the school, in which myself, the team from YCuSP, teachers and administration, and eventually my daughter attended. Her practical nurse explained how not only had she passed every drug test – and she’s had many – but she has never even registered on one. A discussion was had between YCuSP asking why the school had never reached out to YCuSP, and there was no answer. Eventually, the VP asked my daughter to come in to the room, and was fairly insistent on pulling her from the FI program, and aggressively told her she had to start attending. No apology was ever given for the drug accusations, which unfortunately spread to many of the teachers, and other kids in the school.

She couldn’t do anything without someone being suspicious. Stories began to spread about her acquiring crack, that she was sleeping in bank vestibules on weekends, and how she must be using. When I asked for proof of any of this, the VP just said to me that kids had texts, but she had never seen them.

Eventually, my daughter became more and more disheartened, and got further and further behind. She was tremendously lonely, and the kids she had grown up with avoided her in class, hallways, and outdoors. She spoke to me about entering her English class, and being insulted by the teacher in front of everyone, or pointed out in another class how far behind she was, which was terribly embarrassing.

Shortly thereafter, the VP forbid her to use the chat room for support, saying it was only for successful kids that had their work done, even though they had never told her this. The room was presented to her as a support place, not as a place for successful kids. I remember walking in to the office, and seeing the vp with a huge box of smarties candy, and she told me “smartie day” was her favorite day, because she got to hand out treats to all the smart kids. This didn’t sit well with me either. My daughter was forced to sit in the classes, even though she was behind, and was not allowed to be in a separate situation. When I addressed this with administration, she had no answer as to why this was happening, but agreed it was being enforced.

At one point, the counselor, told my daughter that if she maybe changed her appearance and tried to blend in more, she would be more accepted and wouldn’t feel so alone. She came home crying that day. With the bridge burned with her counselor, with teachers and students giving her a hard time, and no support from administration, she would go to school, but sit in the library or hide in the bathroom to avoid feeling bullied and embarrassed.

Approximately 2.5 weeks ago, the school reached out to me to set up a meeting and talk about things. My daughter had made a plan with her science teacher, and was invited to come catch up at the school during exams. I arranged transportation for her every day, and she went to the school and worked. I did not consent to PAT’s, so it seemed like a great plan. On the Thursday of the first week of exams, she had gone to the school and was sitting in the chat room working. One of the school aids came to the class, and in front of the other kids, told her she had to leave the school immediately.

My daughter called me immediately and said they were making her leave the school, and could I come pick her up – she was crying and very upset. None of this made any sense to me, so I came from work as quickly as I could. I went in to the office towards the VP’s office, and she was standing outside of it and threw her hands up in the air when she saw me. They had been in a fighting match, and my daughter had used a swear word in the process, making her even angrier. I asked if we could sit down and talk, and she said no – that she had to run exams. Her support teacher was in one of the offices finishing a meeting, so I insisted we sit down and talk, rather than wait another 4 days.

I asked why we were asked to make these catch up arrangements and then was being asked to leave the school. The VP said she wasn’t done enough work to be at the school, and I argued that that was the reason why she was there. After going back and forth, we found out that administration and teachers had not communicated with each other, causing more embarrassment and stress.

They agreed that they felt my daughter was getting worse rather than better. She had lost her spark and the spring in her step and was acting more and more withdrawn. They told us they didn’t feel they could do anything for her, and that she wasn’t sick enough to attend YCuSP for school, but wasn’t able or ready to attend their school or any other school either. When they asked my daughter what she wanted, she cried and told them how much she hated it there. She described the treatment from teachers and administration as prejudicial and judgemental. She spoke to the fact that just because kids smoke, have pink hair, or dress differently doesn’t mean they’re bad people, and yet they’re harassed and treated as criminals. She was on a modified program that started later, however she was repeatedly confronted in the hallways accused of skipping class, when someone next to her that was a “good student” was not spoken to at all.

The VP suggested we go look at the Learning Center, and suggested she’d do better there. As we left the school, my daughter asked me if she had been expelled, and I answered, “I really don’t know. I don’t know if they can really do that?”

I’ve been to speak to the VP about the program at the learning center, and we’re both concerned it’s really not suited for her at this time of year. Grade 9 is treated as junior high in their program, and all classes are full year. They are also home based, self lead, with heavy reading and writing requirements. She would have to finish 4 core subjects in full within 4.5 months, basically on her own.

I have asked the VP to provide a letter giving reason why they can not accommodate my daughter, and why they have suggested somewhere else for her, but they are saying that this was all our idea. They have told us bridges have been burned, and the VP admitted that she looks at the “parking lot kids” as different. Her statement to us was that she’s an administrator, and when there’s a problem, she has to get rid of it.

The learning center asked me to write you an email, and explain the situation we’re in. Both of us agreed that it may not be the best choice. She needs some support, and to feel some success. She has stated how much she wants to succeed, to graduate, and to move on to post secondary education, but is terrified that no one will take her. if you spoke to her you would see that she’s a bright, well spoken young lady.

With other high schools not being a possibility for various reasons, our high school burning their bridges, and with the learning center not really being set up for grade 9’s, I am at a bit of a loss with what to do. My daughter desperately wants to be given a chance to succeed, but after 2 years out of the system, and the first half of grade 9 being disastrous, I need help to find what another alternative would be. I’m a single mom with no support, and definitely can’t home school – plus home school is definitely not recommended by her counselors and psychiatrist.

Right now we are in a state of limbo. My daughter does not feel welcome, and the paperwork has not yet been done to withdraw. I don’t feel I can honestly advocate for the learning center like the high school wants me to, as I don’t think it will set her up to be successful.

Can you please let us know what options are available for us? The high school has not helped or provided any other suggestions, and as time passes the situation gets more serious. I don’t have the money to just plunk her in to a private school situation. She does not want to be grouped with kids that have been expelled, or doing drugs with behavior issues. Although they may be great kids still, she wants the chance to be serious and surrounded by supportive, caring, positive influences.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read our story. I’m hopeful there is something that can be done, and very determined to find out what that is. She really deserves a chance.

I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Kind regards,

Me

P.S. some details have been left out…..for reasons I can’t say…..

0

Fight or Flight

“Hi, mom?  I’ve hurt my wrist – can you come get me?”

It was near the end of the school year – 2008.  My oldest was in grade 8 at the time – a transition year as the students prepare for grade 9 – the first year of high school.  He was a great athlete, on the volleyball team, and had been playing football since he was 7.  Being tall and built strong and sturdy, he was the treasure of any team that could get him to play. At that time he was almost 6′ tall, maybe even more, had size 13 feet, and spoke fluent french.  Being the tallest in the school had always been hard, and made him a target for bullying, as well as higher expectations.  Just because he was tall, people would treat him like he was older than he was, and I know it was hard for him.

“Are you ok? ”

“Yeah – can you just come right away?”

He seemed pretty upset, so I drove to the school right away.  When I arrived, I went to the office, and saw 6 boys sitting in a row.  Some had torn shirts, a few of them had blood spilled down the front, one had a bloody face, and another was holding an ice pack to his eye.  I knew every one of those boys, which was my first clue this was way more than a sore wrist.

“Hi, can I see my boy?”

“Sure – he’s in the infirmary.  When you’re done, the principle would like to talk to you.”

I went in to the sick room, and there he was, sitting on the bed with an ice pack on his cheek and covered in blood spray across his t-shirt.  He looked at me with that “don’t be mad” kind of look in his eyes.  It wasn’t too hard to figure out what had happened – only the exact details needed to be filled in.

“They attacked me mom.  We were playing football, and they got mad at the play.  I landed on the ground, and they started kicking me in the ribs.  They wouldn’t quit, and one jumped on me.  My adrenaline kicked in and I needed to defend my self, so I threw him off, and I guess he hurt his nose.  I don’t really know what happened next, but all of them came at me – it was self defence.”  I held my fist up, and told him to pound it.  I wasn’t upset at him at all.  The bullying had been happening since he was in elementary, and it had to stop.

I went in to the principles office to discuss what had happened.  He told me how the story was true, and chuckled as he described 6 boys flying through the air.  In-school suspensions were in line for them all, and although they said it wasn’t my boy’s fault, he would have to have the same punishment as well.

None of this really bothered me.  I had been severely bullied when I was young too, and I knew that sometimes things had to come to a head before they got better.  It was what happened next that has stuck with me to this day.

“You know, this was a pretty intense situation.  Your son seems pretty upset, and alone.  You know, I would hate to see anything more serious happen.  Maybe you should keep him home for the last 6 weeks of school.”

“Anything more serious?  Like what?  What do you think is going to happen?”

“Well, I…., I mean I’ve seen kids……..you know, commit suicide from this kind of thing before, and well, I’d hate to see that happen again.  You know – get some space from the situation.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.  I was absolutely stunned. The principals suggestion had nothing to do with concern for my son’s well being. It was completely a way to get rid of a perceived possibility and admonish himself from any responsibility.

Why am I telling this story?  Because it is pretty much the situation we’re in now with my daughter – just 8 years later.  “There is nothing we can do.  Maybe you need to think of an alternative.  She shouldn’t be here – we can’t help her.  We don’t have the time or resources to deal with these issues.  We’re a school, and it has to run a certain way.”

Mental health issues have been coming to the forefront a lot lately.  There are commercials on tv about stigma and empathy.  Facebook is littered with pages of awareness on the topic.  Bell has a “let’s talk about it” platform happening.  All of this focus and attention on a topic, that in my opinion doesn’t seem to change.  The vice principal of our high school even admitted, that when she sees “those kids”, her feelings are different – she see’s them as a problem – and her job is to administrate, and get rid of the problems.

There is an instinct that lies in all of us when we are put in stressful situations.  Some of us run from situations that put us in an uncomfortable amount of stress.  The body and mind say “get out of here”, and we do just about anything to make it happen.  Then there are the people like me.  When faced with stressful or intense situations, we step back, assess the situation, and then make a plan.  The fighters.  I am a fighter.

This story is long from over.  Let the letter writing, the emails, the phone calls, and everything else along with it begin.  I may not be able to make a change today, but the only way change will happen, is if anyone of us that has experiences this type of treatment and prejudice speaks out for change.

This isn’t over.  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

 

0

My Head Has a Heartbeat

“Hello?”
“This is your Dr. Office calling. We’d like to see you as soon as possible.”
“Umm, okay. When?”
“Can you come tomorrow?”
“Really?  Sure, see you then.”

It’s not often my Dr. calls me.  I have a lot of calls from doctors over the last 2 years, but not for me. What could be so urgent?

“HI.   What are you here for today?”
“I don’t know. You called me, remember?”
“Oh, right. We’re going to need your vitals, height and weight.”
“Really? Ok –  vitals yes, I’m very aware of the other two.”
“You won’t have to look.”
“Nope. Not happening. See, I’m having a hard enough time as it is, I don’t need to be depressed more on top of it all.”
“It won’t be long, the Dr. will be in soon.”

My Dr is pretty good – I never usually have to wait long. I wasn’t terribly worried because I haven’t been in for any tests recently, and I figured I was there to hear a lecture on my health, follow up, and the fact it’s time for a check up.

“Hey – how are you?”
“I’m ok.”
“I noticed on your file your prescription needs renewal.”
“Yeah. I guess it does.”
“Are you sleeping?”
“No, not really. I mean I get about 4 hrs on a good night, usually interrupted half way through. Seems I can’t sleep longer than that. Some nights 2 hours, but a lot of nights 4.”
“Have you tried the sleeping pills I gave you?”
“They don’t work”.
“Did you try both prescriptions? ”
“Yup.  No difference. I don’t have trouble falling asleep. I can fall asleep almost anywhere – instantly – I just can’t stay asleep.”
“Hmmmmm. That’s not good.  How’s the anxiety?”
“Better. I don’t shake from morning to night anymore. I still can break out in a full sweat instantly, and I do shake, but it’s better than it was.  I feel sad sometimes – but I think I’m just tired. ”
“You’re over due for a check up.”
“I know.  I was getting to it.”

“How’s work?”
“Fine.  Hard.  New boss has high expectations. Company is expecting major growth which is stressful.”
“In a recession?  How are you supposed to do that?”
“LOL.   How ever I can.”

“How’s your daughter?”

I stared blankly for a moment. How is my daughter?  That’s a good question. A very hard question actually, because I don’t think I really know.

“Ummmmm. Hmmmm. Well.  I’m not really sure what to say. Better…..I guess. She’s not suicidal anymore, and not cutting. She’s at a healthy weight.  She’s gifted actually – she’s been tested – but she’s failing school.  The pendulum has swung full to the other side. We haven’t had police for awhile – that’s a good thing.”
“Police?  Why?”
“Well, there was the time they kicked in my door late at night because she had messaged someone she’d taken sleeping pills.  Then there was the time she was at her dads and her friend couldn’t find her so she called the cops. Then most recently we couldn’t find her and had to get the RCMP to help.”
“Really? And you wonder why you can’t sleep?”
“It could be worse.  We have a ton to be thankful for, really, we do.”
“How are you coping with all of this?”
“We’ll,  that’s why I came to you, remember?   You gave me those bright orange pills?”
“Right.  Do you need someone to talk to?  A counselor or something?”
“No. Well maybe, but I don’t really have time right now. We’re going to YCUSP  later today to talk with the counselors, medics and such.  The thing is, I don’t really know what to say anymore. It’s been 2 years, and I’m kind of at a loss. I’ve run out of potential solutions, and my ideas are pretty much exhausted. I’m exhausted. I can feel my pulse in my head.  I don’t really know what to do to make things better anymore.”

I know what the Dr’s want to hear.  I’m fine, things are great.  The system is awesome and helps so much. The support is incredible, blah, blah, blah.  The truth is that I tell the truth. I don’t hide and say what they want to hear. I don’t have the energy to paint pretty pictures,  so I say it like it is. The truth is uncomfortable sometimes. It’s not that I want to make anyone uncomfortable, the truth is that I really just don’t know what to say anymore. I’m so very thankful because my daughter is home and alive, and we’ve seen so many not make it. I get to see her at night, text her when I want, and hug her whether it’s sincere or not. I just don’t know how to help her anymore.

The Dr and I sat and looked at each other in awkward silence………….
Someone had to say something.

“I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Have you set a date yet to get married?”
“……sigh……no…..  no we haven’t. It just seems so complicated, and between our kids being back and forth from the loonie bin and work and such, we just haven’t figured out how to make it happen. There always seems to be a crisis.”
“(He chuckled) Well,  I guess you’ve got a point.  Things could be worse. It’s a good way to look at it.  Here’s a different prescription – try it for sleep.  If that doesn’t work I don’t think i know really what to say. Here’s 60 days worth. Let me know how it goes.  Is there anything else you need?”

OK. Breathe deep. Don’t say it – just smile, bite your tongue, and leave it alone.
“Nope.  I’m good.”

Back to work.  I have a sore head.  Back to YCUSP.  Maybe they’ll help this time.

There comes a time, when you’re deep in the muck and the mire, that you need to step back and assess yourself. It’s not just our kids that need help – often we do too.  You don’t have to be suicidal to need help. Reach out. Tell a friend. See your Dr. Do something, just don’t leave it too long.

0

Round Hole, Square Peg

tran·si·tion
tranˈziSH(ə)n,tranˈsiSH(ə)n/
noun
noun: transition; plural noun: transitions
  1. 1.
    the process or a period of changing from one state or condition to another.
    “students in transition from one program to another”

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.

0

The Walnut

The bowl of nuts every Christmas sits by the fireplace. The nuts are not the kind you get from a little tin with the metal tab that you peel back.  The nuts in this bowl are carefully hand picked by my dad, making sure they’re all in tact. There’s a wide assortment of Hazelnuts, Brazil Nuts, Cashews, Filberts and Walnuts, all still in the shell needing to be cracked open. Next to the dish, there’s a small metal nutcracker, with a little metal tool used to dig the small bits out of the nooks and crannies of the shell.

I was really never any good at getting the nut out of the shell with those small little crackers.  I didn’t ever get why we couldn’t get the tin, but my dad really enjoyed cracking open those nuts – and he was good at it.  I remember watching and thinking, “He doesn’t even get any pieces anywhere.  They just pop open for him.”

I remember going in to a store one time and seeing a big huge Nutcracker – the kind with the lever on the back of the head.  Seems like a monstrous tool for such a small item, but have you ever tried to crack a nut?  If you’re not careful and don’t do it right, it can make a really huge mess, and even break the nutcracker itself.  It might seem like a very small problem – crack the nut – get the goodies out of the shell but if it’s not done right you have just more of a mess on your hands.  I’m pretty sure at some point my brother tried using a hammer, and I’m sure there’s a story somewhere about a dented table or floor because of it.  The point being – a small nut can seem really hard to crack, and the large tools can seem unnecessary, but really might be needed to do it right.

This last week we took another trip to the hospital, not for my daughter this time, but for another family member.  It seemed so unnecessary.  “Can’t we just talk about this?  Tell us what’s up and we’ll help you fix it”, but mental health doesn’t work that way, and I’ve learned our youth don’t trust us and don’t feel safe sharing.

Why don’t they trust us?  Why can’t they share?  What have our generation, and the ones before us done to loose the trust of youth today?  And even more importantly, why are there so many, many hurting, angry, beaten and broken teens?

I don’t have answers to any of these questions.  I’m as perplexed as the next person, and watch as lives disappear due to a dark moment intensified by intoxication, or being high, taking away the inhibitions that could be that small little piece keeping them from ending it all.  It’s so senseless.

Talk to your children every day, and not from the other room, or while you’re working at something else.  Look them in the eye, ask them how life is.  Talk about issues like drugs, alcohol and sexuality.  Put on your big girl panties and be prepared to calmly answer some tough questions (even when you’re freaking on the inside), and if you don’t have the answers, find a safe place to get them, and then follow up.  Who will your child go to when they’re in trouble?  Do you know?  I’d be willing to guarantee that it won’t be you – at least not at first.  Learn to be ok with that, because it is what it is.  Just make sure, that they have a “go to” adult to use as a support.  A pier is not the right answer.  It needs to be someone that has their life at least a little together, and has some life experience.

“Not my kid”.  Don’t kid yourself.  I said that over and over, and I can’t write about some of the things we’ve been through.  Maybe it seems like a huge sledgehammer for a small walnut, but like those hard shells, our teenagers are no different.  The tools are there – use them – and don’t be ashamed.  At the end of the day, the only thing that matters, is that we have them to hug and hold as long as we possibly can.

As my friends son said to her, “life is a roller coaster mom – lots of twists and turns along the way”.  Eventually we’ll get there.  Stick together and hang on for all you’re worth.

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John Henry

Forms.  Piles and piles of forms.  With every program we’ve been through so far, there have been forms, to agree to sign other forms.  Forms for release of information.  Forms for obtaining information.  Forms for medical tests, and forms for the results.  Forms for classes, forms for communicating, forms for staying, forms for going…really no end of forms.  During an intake to any program, you spend approximately 1 hour at the beginning signing forms, and then usually get presented with many others along the way.

Perhaps it’s my real estate back ground, perhaps it’s having run my own business, or perhaps it’s the fact that I may have trust issues, but when I’m presented with a form, I will read it in full before I put my name on it.  I’m pretty sure many people just accept those forms as is, and never really read through, because they’re always shocked when I read.  I don’t feel pressure, and I don’t rush, I read thoroughly before I go ahead.

One of the forms I’ve signed, and I’m sure many other parents do, is a sex ed form.  Now in every school, there is a sex ed class that they teach that requires approval.  The form is pretty generic, and they say some content such as safe sex, STD’s, and basic topics like that. When I was in grade 4, the school nurse gathered all the girls together, and talked to us about getting our monthly.  The book, “Are you there God, It’s Me , Margaret” had just been released, and everyone was reading it.  We were trying to approach our parents, saying “it” had arrived, and they had no clue what we were talking about. The nurse went in to detail, we were thoroughly grossed out, and very glad when it was all over.  In grade 5, the boys and girls had to sit in the same room and watch “the film”.  It talked about zits, showering, how boys like girls, and girls like boys, and puberty, and all the gross stuff included in the topic.  I remember we were all embarrassed and giggled when the nurse talked about it at the end of the class.  We couldn’t wait to be out of there.

As I said, I read and signed a sex ed form for one of the programs my daughter was recently in.  It didn’t say anything out of the ordinary, and I knew she was one of the youngest there, but I was not prepared for the conversation that followed.

“We talked about all the stuff from 50 shades of grey and that kind of thing.”

“Oh, really?  And how did you feel about that?”

“Well, they described why S&M and all that stuff is dangerous.  That no means no.”

“Ok, well, that’s good.  Anything you have questions about?”

“No.  We had a chance to ask questions, and were all really embarrassed, so, like one of the guys, who’s really good with accents and stuff, read the questions like this….(English accent) teacher, when you fist…)

“When you what?”

“You know, fist. Don’t you know what that is?”

“No?! What is it?”

The description came and I slammed on my brakes. My car came to a screeching halt in the middle of a residential street, and my head thrust forward and almost hit my steering wheel. I couldn’t believe my ears! And double fisting? That’s really possible?  My jaw was literally hanging open, eyes wide, in complete utter shock.

“What?! Are you kidding me? That’s what you’re discussing? That’s what I said yes to? I can’t even believe that’s possible?! What the heck?!!”

Now I might be a little old fashioned, but really? Is that necessary? I’d just like to thank El James for opening up a pile of garbage that we now get to explain to our kids. This is what we get to compare real life to. Our kids don’t come home and ask about “it”. They get to come home and think about being bound and gagged, or beaten, and wonder if that’s normal.

Had I known that those were the topics my child would be exposed to, I would have thought long and hard, and definitely asked more questions, before signing that form. It’s not that I’m opposed to knowledge, but do we really have to know everything?  I really don’t think so.  My life was perfectly fine without ever knowing the terms I’ve learned.

I don’t think everything has to be defined.  I don’t think all knowledge has to be known by all.  I don’t have to experience everything to know my life is great as it is.  I can really take my own experience and standards and filter how far I want to go.  I have a choice – it’s called free will – the ability to choose and say yes or no.  I also have a little life experience that allows me to sit in a room and know when things are going to far, or when the content I’m being exposed to is getting to be too much.  When our kids sit in a classroom and are taught, they are expected to stay, listen and learn.  They become victims of the opinions and potential values of the person at the head of the class.  I am not against learning, but do they have to know everything all at once?

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Set To Fail

As things get better, it gets easier and easier to let my guard down.  I have a knife in the kitchen that actually cuts things.  There’s razors in the shower.  A pair of scissors is in the drawer in the kitchen now – with free access to all.  I have a bottle of Motrin that I don’t carry in my purse anymore, and the medication hasn’t been under lock and key.

Last week, after a difficult therapy session, my daughter asked to hang out with a friend.  She texted me repeatedly, called a few times, and basically begged to meet up with someone (other than myself) that she could talk to.  I agreed, based on the fact that it be someone I approve of.  She said she tried everyone, but could only reach the one person I rather her not hang out with.  Reluctantly, I agreed to her spending 2 hours at a public location close by, and then I would pick her up.  They were to go no where else, just stay at the place we agreed, and then I would pick them up.

Long story short, things didn’t go as planned, and I found out.  We got in the car to head home, and it was very uncomfortable.  My daughter was upset and curled up, mostly I think, because I was not happy.  The crazy thing was that I wasn’t terribly upset with her – I was upset at myself.

I knew she was having a hard time.  I knew the person she chose to spend time with definitely wasn’t my first choice, and yet I said yes.  I could have said no, headed home, and tried to use all the skills I’ve learned to talk through things………but I didn’t.  I basically set her up for failure.

“I’m sorry ok, what do you expect?  I’m sorry!”

“I’m not mad at you sweetie.”

“I said I’m sorry.  I had a hard day.  I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.  I lied.  Ok?  Happy?  I lied – I’m sorry”

“I’m not mad at you.  I’m not even mad that you lied.  I put you in a situation that was impossible for you to succeed in, and I can’t be mad at you for that.  I know you don’t mean to lie, and I know you don’t mean to do the wrong thing.  I don’t think you intend to break my trust, but I have learned that when put in certain situations, you are not strong enough and will make the wrong choice.  I’m sorry for allowing that to happen.”

The car was silent for awhile.  I couldn’t be mad at her, and I think she was a little confused with me.  As soon as we got home, she went in her room and called “The Cottage” help line at YCUSP.  She was on the phone for hours.  When she came upstairs, her face was all swollen from crying, and I think she pretty much cried the rest of the evening until she went to bed.

A day later, when I was taking laundry to her room, I found 2 blades on her bed.  Quickly I went through the house, checking for anything that could have been disassembled, but found nothing.  I looked for the usual tell tale signs like gauze, hydrogen peroxide, polysporin, but didn’t find anything.  I called YCUSP and told them what happened.

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to say anything or not.  I don’t know if I should confront her.  She usually tells me if she self harms and didn’t say anything at all.”

“Well, we will need to know what you decide, so we know how to deal with the information on our end.”

“Ok, I will let you know.”

Tomorrow we have a counselling session at YCUSP.  I finally decided to bring the topic up with her.  Yes, they were her blades (obviously), but they were old.  Yes, she had woken up during the night and self harmed.  No, she didn’t tell me because she was rushed in the morning, and then the next day felt weird because more time had passed.  Yes, she did tell the nurse at YCUSP and they know.

Now my mind gets going.  “They know?  Why didn’t they call me?  Why didn’t they say anything?  Aren’t they supposed to call the parent and confirm when self harm happens? Here we go again.”

The meds have all been put away.  We’ve agreed together it’s the wise choice.  The one knife can stay in the kitchen.  Time with friends will be more monitored and limited, and if I have a funny feeling – I’ll be paying attention to it and doing the hard thing by saying no and sticking to my guns.

Learning can sometimes be painful………and not just for the kids

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Running On Fumes

It’s been awhile since I blogged.  I guess I’m not feeling very inspired lately.  I started this blog to try and help someone – anyone – that might be going through the same journey.  I wanted a form of self therapy – somewhere I could express myself openly and feel a sense of relief.  Lately, I just feel really ticked off at a lot of things.  Maybe it’s just part of the process, maybe it’s a loss of faith in people, and perhaps it’s just exhaustion catching up with me.

So where are we now?  Things are going better – pretty well actually.  I mean it.  We’re down to 2 days a week at a program.  I have to drive as our transportation has been cut off for the summer, and her dad won’t help. That ticks me off, but what can I do. Same old story – so I take care of it myself.  Thank goodness my job is understanding.

Home isn’t too bad.  I’ve been able to take a knife back in to the kitchen so I don’t have to use a butter knife to cut veggies and such anymore.  That’s a real treat we take for granted.  I have a bottle of motrin in the house – call me crazy.  It’s not even locked up in a safe – just in my room.  Strings aren’t being removed from pants anymore, and groceries are disappearing which means she’s eating.  These are all good things.

I’ve made a few mistakes – accurate communication hasn’t been our strong suit.  It can be difficult to separate the normal teenage garbage from mental health drama, and in an effort to be reasonable, I’ve been a little stupid.  Good news is no serious harm done –  at least so far so good.

I find myself getting mad at stupid stuff.  A guy in the mall told me he could tell my skin care doesn’t have collagen in it and I almost popped him in the nose.  I did tell him he was a horrible human and very rude, and abruptly left.  My own fault for taking the free soap sample.  A lady asked me if I wanted to try some shorts on, and I told her I was painfully aware of the shape of my ass so no need.  Not something I’d normally say.  I did try and recover and told her I am a firm user of retail therapy and probably should invest in a shrink instead, but they aren’t open Sunday afternoons, and that’s my only time off lately, so I’ll just pay for the shorts.I’ll probably go return it all tomorrow anyways, as the guilt of retail therapy sets in and I convince myself I don’t deserve it.  Stupid endless cycle.

My house is a disaster.  My yard looks like, well, I can’t see my yard – the weeds and grass are too high.  Better for remodeling I guess.  A chance for a new canvas.  I kinda’ don’t even care right now.  Not the right train to worry about today.

I have some vacation coming up, and I’ll probably use that to try and look at life and perhaps get my own on track.  Have a garage sale.  Clean up.  Fix stuff.  Sell stuff.  Fix more stuff.  That kind of stuff.

I’ve had a headache for 6 days.  Not sure if it’s the weather, or stress, or both.  Probably stress I’m guessing.  Work is tough.  Money is tricky and always somewhat short.  We have another family member suffering from mental health struggles.  My fiance is stressed beyond belief. Seems like everyone around me is struggling.  I can feel their pain, and there’s not much I can do about it.

So why do I blog?  Doesn’t seem like there’s much to say, and I don’t know how this can help any more.  I’ve been told my blogs are wordy.  They’re too long.  They could be blocking God’s blessings on my family.  They’re too cryptic.  They’re too often.  They’re not often enough.  They’re depressing.  I should be doing them for money.  I should be doing them on different sites.  I should be sending them to higher people (whatever that means).

Again, why do I bother?  Maybe, just maybe, this track that I’m on could be shared with someone on a similar journey.  Maybe it will mean something to someone.  Maybe it will mean something to me.  Even if it just happens rarely, maybe, just maybe, one of us will be helped.

Things are getting better……really – they are.

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Tough News

I had the pleasure of having coffee with a friend I went to high school with today.  It was great catching up and just chatting about life, the past, the present – great medicine.  We had some time to discuss what the last year has held, and I told her, the scariest thing right now is letting my guard down.

It’s easy for things to be good, when you get to do everything you want, and not have obvious stressors or pressures.  It’s when life gets a little tough, that you see what is really happening for someone.

Tonight, life got a little tough.  The day seemed to be going great.  My daughter has been meeting up with old friends after her program, and catching up on things.  She gets dropped at my work, meets a friend, and they wander around town, maybe grab a slice of pizza together, and reconnect.  That happened today, and went well.

Along came a bump in the road, when we got some hard information that triggered a lot of emotion.  To make matters more difficult, her dad got laid off, and phoned her to discuss the existential connection to his career choices.  I knew it would be hard, but it was our discussion, or lack thereof that caught me off guard once again.

“Mom, did they call you about my meds today?”

“Nope – they called but said nothing about meds.”

“Really?  They said we would talk about increasing things at night so I sleep better.”

“You need to sleep better?  I thought you were sleeping fine?”

“Nope.  Things have been really hard lately.”

“Really?  You told me yesterday how good you’re feeling.”

“Can I have my meds tonight?”

Of course she could have her meds – we never go without them.  Things have been hard?  Once again, I’m caught by surprise.  No cutting for about 6 weeks.  No restricting, at least nothing major, for quite some time.  Weight is perfect, and so is BMI.  Drug tests clear.  Routine blood tests happening, but the argument has been, “Why should I be in a program when I feel great?”

More phone calls were made.  “I’m calling the cottage”.  “OK, anything I can do?”.  Again, I’m left on the side lines, watching while she struggles.  It’s hard hearing your child cry and having them pull away.  All I want is to wrap my arms around her and tell her it’s going to be ok.  I’m not leaving.  Things will be fine.  We’ll get through it.

Tomorrow is another day.  “Mom, I need to talk to someone tomorrow.  I need to see someone tomorrow.” “Yes, I understand.  We’ll make it happen”.  I gave her a hug and a kiss goodnight, and told her it will be alright.  This is all part of her journey – and it’s been a tough one.

As parents, we need to remember not to take this stuff personally.  Sometimes being a silent but steady bystander is what they need.  There are plenty of resources out there to help – and they’ll use what they need, but it isn’t just anyone that can be there through thick and thin – no matter what.

Take care of yourself.  Talk to a friend, go for a coffee, write a blog, maybe even get some counseling yourself.  Do what you can to keep yourself strong, so you can be the steady rock your child needs in the hard times

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