routerecalculation

I’ve been to a lot of counseling and therapy classes over the last year, but I think my favorite was my last care givers support group where we got to have 2 art therapy sessions. I’m not an artist by any means – stick men are my specialty. In high school I was mildly interested in art class, but was told I was meant for music, not drawing, so I didn’t even bother trying.

For some reason, the idea of doing something with art seemed an exciting challenge to me, and for some reason we all thought we’d be doing a family tree project. That wasn’t the case at all. We were put in a large room. With very large pieces of paper. We could use felts, crayons, pastels, chalk or paint. We all sat at our own tables and they turned on soothing music. Then we were given the assignment:

1. Draw a tree to represent you
2. The trunk represents our life, and the top of the tree describes how developed our life is
3. Marks, knots, or holes in the trunk represent trauma or difficult times
4. The roots represent our family history, traditions, and grounding
5. The landscape describes the mood or atmosphere we are planted in
6. Pests and bugs represent problems
7. Animals represent fears
8. Birds or butterflies represent hopes and dreams
9. Branches represent events, triumphs, tragedies, things we are proud of
10. Weather, sky represent current atmosphere or mood
We were given the rest of the night to start the project, and one more night to finish and present our tree to the group, answering any questions.

I’m not sure what came over me, but I found the project tremendously exciting. I sat down at the table, laid out my paper and pastels and began to draw. It was like being suddenly transported to a different world. I was thrilled. The next 40 minutes went so fast and I was really disappointed when the class ended.

For the next two weeks I thought about my tree. I couldn’t wait to finish it, and to my surprise, the other parents were excited too. We all sat down again, and spent another half hour drawing. No one could see what the other was doing, and even the counselors participated. When we were done, we reassembled in the counseling room to present our trees. Some parents got very descriptive and drew trees with words. Some put down colors and didn’t really draw anything that even resembled a tree. Others drew graphs and charts to explain parts of their tree. I took the drawing very literally.

I can’t tell you how therapeutic this was. I would challenge you to get in to a quiet place and try this exercise, uninterrupted. I actually learned so much about myself and the things that have happened to me in my life. As I presented my tree, realizations came to mind that I didn’t even understand while I was drawing. What I really realized is that I have junk I need to deal with that still hurts and could very likely be holding me back in things I want to accomplish.

My tree contained twisted deep roots, knots and broken branches, grass, dirt and ants, squirrels, butterflies and birds held in long, high swaying branches. My sky had daylight and a sunset, and the fruit on my tree was bright and colorful. When all was done, I rolled up my picture and brought it home. Others would look at it and perhaps laugh and not understand, but when I see it, I can feel all the emotion behind the trials and triumphs that have happened all through out my life. To me, it’s a work of art, and what better way to represent life than with art.

I think part of helping others is self discovery, which can be a painful thing, but when you’re ready, it’s beautiful. That’s life.

Every one of us has an escape, a vice we use or some kind of relief for whatever pain it is we’re going through. Some people use drugs or alcohol, some pain killers. Others may use food or exercise, and some use self harm. I think most people would agree that we’ve all been caught in a moment, whether we can explain it or not, that an anxious or maybe just negative moment has caused us to use that vice for escape. “ I could use a drink”. “My body hurts”. “Life sucks. Where’s the ice cream?”. “I’m just going to run till I don’t feel lousy anymore”. Do any of these sound familiar ?

My vice is food. I want to make good choices, I want to do well., however, due to reasons I have recently discovered from my own child hood all the way to my first marriage, I have attached my self worth to what I see in the mirror, not what’s in my soul. Sad, isn’t it? At some point I decided others were right. My pain has caused me to eat, and the result has been hard on my body, and my wallet.

Yesterday my daughter and I had a girls night. We decided supper, a movie, and some fresh fruit and popcorn for a treat. Because she will be turning g working age soon, one of the topics of discussion was finding a part time job. I have a lot of connections in town, so I decided to stop by a local shop to have a chat with the owner and see if they are hiring. We both went in and had a nice discussion with the owner. While he and I caught up on business talk, she got to sit and watch a little to get a feel of the place. Our chat was fairly short,but just long enough to get a feel of the fit. When we got back in the car, we decided this would be a good fit, and then the question. “Do you think I’d have to wear a short sleeved shirt?” “Yes, I believe so. That’s the dress code”. We both looked at eachother, with eyebrows raised. I knew what she was thinking. A short sleeve shirt will show the scars, and people will ask questions. “Well,” I said, “ you have a few choices. You can ask if you can wear a long sleeve shirt underneath, or you can just go with it and let the chips fall where they may. You can’t hide forever.” “You’re right”, she said. “It’s not a big deal.”

We can’t hide forever. Try as we might, there are consequences to our choices. What’s even harder, is we can be ruthless towards things we don’t understand. Although in my head I know why, I can’t begin to understand how someone could carve themselves up with a razor. I don’t understand how someone could shoot a needle in to their vein, or drink till they pass out, but I do understand pain, and I also understand that the only way past it is unconditional love and acceptance. I don’t imagine someone who over exercises, or takes pain killers understands why I over eat.

We are the master of our own decisions, and yet at some point in time, we all make bad ones. In an instant life can change. Consequences can be harsh. The good news is there is always help. Wounds can heal, and we can forgive ourselves, and others if necessary. I’m not saying it’s not hard, I’m just saying it is possible.

Perhaps we could all start by saying sorry – first to ourselves, and maybe to others? How about just being a little more loving and accepting to one another? We could all use a little more love, – couldn’t you?

It’s a very quiet house this morning. Everyone is still asleep. As I lay here in bed, pondering the day, I try to find peace in all the different sounds. I hear the bunnies rustling in their cages after just being fed, and one of the birds is having their breakfast. The furnace clicks in briefly to warm the chilly air. I can hear light traffic on the highway, outside my bedroom window. I hear a siren, and say a quick prayer for wherever it is going. The furnace cycles off, and the house is very quiet once again, but the noise in my head is very loud.

I have a decision to make. The plan for the day was small – perhaps a visit with a friend, and maybe a movie if there’s anything good playing. Now I must chose whether or not to change a light hearted day by having a heavy conversation, and deal with the potential consequences.

Part of the difficulty with having conversations with people is not knowing the outcome. I can play the scenario through my head a hundred different ways, but not knowing the potential outcome can be paralyzing for me.

When I was selling real estate, I would have great closing success because of the dialogs I had running through my head. I would spend the entire preparation time running scenarios, practicing conversations, answering questions, and dealing with obstacles, all silently in my head. It was like practicing a play. By the time I got to the appointment, I was comfortable, confident, and knew pretty much exactly what would happen just by small indicators because I had already seen the whole show – in my head.

I’m a thinker. My mind runs non stop, all the time. “What would happen if…? What if I…? I should….? Should I…….? If I say this, than what would happen? And if I do that, then something else may happen. I could make a business out of that! Hmmmm, what if I …..?” This is how I work, and it can be very noisy, and very exhausting. If channeled properly, it can be very productive and exhilirating, but if not, it can be very destructive, holding me back from making any decision at all. Like I said before. I have a decision to make. On a regular day, in a regular situation, I could ask, ” How’s it going? Everything ok?” I’d get back an answer something like, “Yeah sure. Why?” “No reason – just checking.” Most kids would probably look up and say, “You’re wierd”, and let it go at that. Now, pose that question to a kid that suffers from suicidal thoughts, self harm, severe anxiety and half the time is suffering in an existential crisis. “How’s it going? Everything ok?” “Yeah mom. Everything is ok. Why?” “No reason, just checking in……….” “No really. Why are you asking me that?” Imagine that’s your scenario. How do you answer? ” Because your counselor broke confidence and told me stuff”, or, “I know you’ve been cutting again. Can you tell me why?” Or how about, ” because every day you tell me how great you’re doing with your words, and yet every day I get more scared that you’re a ticking time bomb with no display of how many seconds we have left till everything explodes.” The later one – definitely not appropriate, at least not if I want to stay out of hospital this weekend. The middle one, maybe. Strong but uncomfortable. The first? Probably not the best idea if I ever want her to say anything to anyone again. What do I ask, and how do I answer? That’s not even really the biggest part. The biggest question really, is can I believe her answer?

Every once in awhile, life just seems to be humming along, and things seem to be pretty good.  I find myself humming a tune, perhaps noticing how pretty the sky is, even wanting to bake something.  Then all of a sudden something happens.  Perhaps its a conversation that seems a little forced, a few words said differently than normal, a laugh that’s just a little too loud….something just not quite right.  I’ll stop for a moment, and then this little flag inside of me starts to wave, and I get this strange sensation.  I call it my spidey sense, and I know that when I start to feel it, something in the world is just not quite right.

I remember when I was a teenager, and I had certain chores I had to do.  I always seemed to get things done, however, when it came to my room being cleaned, I always procrastinated.  I’d go ages without doing anything, and then all of a sudden, I got this strange feeling inside, and I knew something was going down.  Before I knew it, I’d hear my mom stomping up the stairs, saying she’d had enough,  she’d swing the door open to my room, but she wouldn’t see what she expected.  Instead of the disaster it normally was, she’d see a clean, organized space and she wouldn’t be able to do anything.  I’m sure it drove her crazy, but somehow I knew that things weren’t right and the time to put things in order would be limited, so I’d better move on it.  That feeling saved my butt many times.

For about a week or so now, that little flag inside of me has been waving.  First slowly, then a little more, and then enough so that it has turned more in to a flapping banner rather than a gentle wave.  Something in my world just doesn’t seem quite right, so I decided today I needed to find out.

“Hello, can I speak to the counselor?”

“Hi there, I was meaning to talk to you today?”

“Really?  I was actually calling you about something I’m concerned about.”

“Oh, ok.  What are you concerned about?”

“Well, that’s just it.  I’m not exactly sure, but things don’t feel right.  I’m concerned I’m being lulled in to a false sense of security,thinking things are really good, like I have nothing to worry about, and yet, I’m feeling worried.”

“Hmmm.  Ok, well perhaps we should talk.  There’s actually something we wanted to call you about.”

That’s all it takes.  Right then and there, the little flag turns in to a huge waving full sized banner, flapping hard in the wind.  I knew it!  I was right!  Something is definitely not in sync.

We proceed to have a conversation and my suspicions are confirmed.

“ We were having a conversation today, and I think the self harming has happened again.  My understanding is that if anything happens and you know, that I’d be notified, but I haven’t heard anything at all, so either she’s lying to me, or the program isn’t calling”

“Oh, I thought you knew?”

“You thought I knew?  How would I know?  Obviously she’s not going to tell me, now matter how much I want her to.  I’m not so upset about that.  I’m more upset that I’m thinking life is just hunkey dorey, when really it’s not.  I’m busy trust building, leaving her alone, letting her see friends and be somewhat normal, when things could be unwinding right under my nose.”

“I guess we didn’t think it was a big deal.  We see this so much, I guess we get desensitized.  We forget how alarming it can be to parents.  The nurse took care of it all and gave her some stuff to take care of things at home.  We thought you knew.”

“No.  You’re not hearing me.  I’m not alarmed at self harm anymore.  I know it’s going to happen.  I’m upset because I think things are fine – and they’re not.  I was caught off guard last time.  I can’t let that happen again.  I just can’t go there again.  The deal was you call me if you find anything like this.  How am I supposed to parent, when I’m not in the loop.”

“We don’t want to break confidentiality if we don’t have to.  It keeps the kids from telling us stuff”.

“Confidentiality?  Really?  My daughter is barely a teen – what confidentiality?”

“We would encourage you not to keep this conversation a secret.  Tell her we talked, and then we can deal with the fallout”.

…………..stunned…………………..

We continued to discuss my concerns until I asked for them to be documented, but that wasn’t it.  We hadn’t even gotten to the part that they were going to talk to me about.  We continued the conversation, and my small little flag, became a huge reality check.  We exchanged emergency plans, potential crisis options, worst and best case scenarios for the weekend and then I hung up.

I think to myself, “Really?  This is where we’re at?”.  Deep breath.  “The Dr. said believe what I see.  I don’t know what to believe anymore.  She looks happy on the outside”.   Wipe away the tears.  Another deep breath.  Quick text home – “things ok?” “yup!  great!  love u mum!”  Put my apron on.  Stand up and tidy myself. Fresh lipstick on.  Go back to work and put on a happy face. “God, I hope things are ok.”

Perhaps when my customers look at me, they’ll believe what they see.

How long will this go on?  How long will I be afraid to leave the phone, take a shower with the door closed, stay in a different room, or run to the corner store?  Will I ever be able to go away for a weekend?  Will I ever not be afraid or break in to a cold sweat when the phone rings?  Will there ever be a conversation that it isn’t mentioned or asked?

What happens when ADTP is over?  Will she be able to adjust to a normal school?  How will the transition straight to high school work?  I’m sure skipping the rest of this year in the last grade is the right decision, right?  What happens when there isn’t a nurse or doctor to run to?  How do we find the right counselor to transition to?

What happens if there’s another escalation?  Do we really have to go back?  Again?  Will the help lines be enough?  Have I learned enough?  Has she?  How can I afford more of this?  Is the medication working?  How will I know?

What about my own mental health?  Will people keep judging me?  Will I always be afraid?  Will my boss judge my capabilities based on what is going on?  Am I missing out on promotions and opportunities based on my personal life?  Is it really fair for other people to decide what I can handle based on what they think, without really asking?  What if someone finds out?

Am I making the right decision changing second jobs?  Will this decision work?  Is being scared ridiculous? Will I be able to make it?  What if I don’t?  What if I can’t pay my bills?  What happens if I don’t do well?  How will I ever be able to replace my dishwasher?  My hot water heater?  My bathroom fan?  My car?

Will I ever be able to go on a holiday?  Will my wedding ever happen?  Will we ever be able to join families?  What if they can’t move here?  What if they won’t move here?  Has this changed everything?

Is it normal to feel sick all the time?  Is it normal to be afraid?  Is it normal not to feel normal?

Can I believe what I see?

What would I do without her?

It’s been about 5 weeks now since discharge from the Children’s Hospital.  How are things going?  That’s a really good question.  Actually, that’s a question I have been asking myself for about 5 weeks.  The styles of communication are so different between programs, and I’ve become so used to the stressful phone calls, that I’m not quite sure how to operate without them.  Would I even know if something is going wrong?

Today, for the first time in over 7 months, my 3 kids and I sat down at the same table and had breakfast together.  As a mom, I can’t tell you how thrilled it made me feel to see all 3 of them conversing respectfully, laughing and having a good time together.  At one point my daughter got out some crayons, and started coloring her placemat, which led to the 4 of us sitting, coloring our placemats and talking about how silly it would look.  We talked about life, politics, work, medication, and many other things.

Once breakfast was over, my oldest went his own way, and the other two loaded themselves in to the car with me to head home.  There was no music in the stereo that all of us could agree on, and neither kid brought their headphones, so once again we had to talk.  The conversation was light, and before you knew it we had reached the decent in to our town.  We passed a information sign that had listed different amenities for the town we live in, and on the same sign, was the 9-1-1 number.  My daughter looked at it and said, “really?  People need to see that?  How would you not know to call 9-1-1?”  I thought to myself, “little does she know.”

My mind raced back over all the different events since last September, and even back to last February. So many times in my life that number has gone through my head, and yet when I most needed it over the last year, it was the last number that went through my head.  I have always thought of myself as very level headed, and yet when it most counted, I didn’t even think of calling that number until someone said it to me.  “Call 9-1-1”!

Next came the question.  “Mom, have you ever called 9-1-1?”.  Really?  Didn’t she know?  I turned and actually looked at her for a moment.  That was probably distracted driving at it’s finest.  Have I ever called 9-1-1.  “Yes.  Yes I have”.  My son did a choke-sputter-laugh-cough in the back seat.  “Who for?” she said.  “Seriously?  Ok, don’t blow it.  Just respond calmly”, I thought.  “Once for your brother when he jumped out of his high chair and knocked himself out cold.  Once for your brother when he took a swan dive off the stairs and knocked himself out.” “How about for me?”  “Yes, twice for you”.  “Really? When?”.  “Once on the day, and once for The Event”.  (That’s how we refer to things – as neutral as possible.)  She stopped for a moment and cheerfully said, “Really?  Oh yeah.  I guess that makes sense”.

The three of us then began a conversation about 9-1-1, when you use it, and what happens.  Then for some reason she said, “I guess it’s like those other hotline numbers – like the kids help line.  Just call, and there will be someone who answers, no matter what the problem is.”  That struck me funny.  Since when did she know about the kids hotline?  I know that part of safety planning was supposed to be having those numbers available, but I haven’t thought about them since then.  So I thought, “what the heck.  I’m asking”.  “Have you ever called the kids hotline?”  “Yep.  One of the days when you left me at home for a bit I figured I should call.  It wasn’t an emergency or anything, but it doesn’t need to be”.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot of the day.  I could panic, be upset, probe further, but I’m not going to be any of those things.  I guess I would love it if I knew that every time my daughter was having an issue, or even a potential issue, she would trust me enough to reach out to me, but I’m learning that doesn’t happen.  I’m also learning it doesn’t really have anything to do with trust. The reality is, kids don’t reach out to their parents, and I’m sure that’s why these hotlines have been created.  What ever the reason is, they don’t feel comfortable saying how they may be feeling at the moment, so instead, they text a friend, email someone, fb a contact, or in this case, they call a hotline.  Instead of being upset, I’m going to be glad that she has learned enough to use the tools that are there when she needs them, and can be comfortable telling me about it after.  8 months ago my daughter wouldn’t hardly even talk to me, and now, she talks to me about so very much.

One of the best counselors I’ve encountered said to me once, “You be the mom – we can’t do that.  Let us be the professionals – you shouldn’t have to do that too”.

My biggest ask today would be, if you have children, program the numbers in to their phones, and post them by your home phone.  There are actual apps that can be on the screen and all they have to do is press the button to talk to someone.  Have the help there that they need, when they need it.  Explain to them that there may be a time when they need someone to talk to, and that you’re ok if it’s not you.  The important thing, is that they know they’re not alone, and that there are many forms of support out there.  Trust the systems that are in place, and then stick to your word, and don’t take it personally if they reach out to someone else.  At least they reached out.

One more thing.  Program emergency numbers into your own phone.  You may be stuck in a situation, and when you most need it, the last number that will come to your head is 9-1-1.  It didn’t come to me – and I don’t know what I would have done without it.

If you would have told me a year ago that my life would have taken this route I would have never believed you. I always have thought I’ve had similar struggles other single parents have. Money is tough somtimes, and time can be sparse. I work a little too much and fall asleep in my chair when I should be in bed. How could things go really badly? I don’t drink hardly at all, don’t smoke, never done drugs, don’t party, and don’t really do a whole lot of anything really. Pretty boring eh? I feel fairly normal most days. I struggle with self image and emotional eating, but that doesn’t make me a bad person, right?

Tonight was the orientation for the next school phase for my daughter. High school – hard to believe. We’ve lived in the same town for 23 years, and when you’re in a small town for that long, you end up knowing everyone. You have the same parents around you from when your kids are in preschool, right through to graduation. Usually at these school type things you find the parents of your kids friends, sit together, joke a bit and hang out after while the kids spend time together and have some fun. Of course, being that there are 3 different schools feeding in to this one, I knew there would be a lot of unknowns there, but surely there’d be a familiar face for me to lean on.

Now I know full well there is a stigma that goes with mental health, but I didn’t really ever think that stigma would be turned towards me. I walked in to the gym, no real seats near anyone I knew so I sat alone. I was alone, and yet, I felt as if a thousand eyes were staring at me. “There she is.”“Look, I didn’t think she’d be here”. Actually, not really sure what they were thinking, but if I could have opened up a secret passage and slipped away I would have. First one dad looked at me. No smile, just some quiet words to the mom next to him. The mom looked at me, raised her eyebrows, and gave me a wonderfully toothy fake grin. Another mom looked my way, more than once, giving me that curious glance – should I ask?

It was a tough night. I ended up with a lump in my throat, and decided to wander the halls looking for my son’s grad picture. At least it would give me a warm fuzzy on a night that should have been exciting. All I could think was “How will she handle this?” I felt very sad, and very alone. The other parents went on their tour, and I went on my own.

I guess I just don’t really understand why people judge, and where the stigma comes from. Oh, I know I’m probably guilty of it to. I know I am. The question is, what are we really afraid of?

About every 3 or 4 months, I go and get a hair cut.  I’d probably go more frequently, but I’m a bit of a snob, and my hair dresser isn’t particularly cheap, so I’d rather go less frequently and get something good, then go often and have a disaster on my hands.  I love how it feels to have my hair washed by someone else.  The scalp massage is always wonderful, and having someone comb and play with your hair a bit always feels nice.

I remember when I was in grade 2, our teacher would read to us in story corner every afternoon.  I can even remember the book she read – “The Hobbit, or There and Back Again”.  It was the first time I had been exposed to J.R.R. Tolkien.  All of the kids gathered in the corner, and during that time, I actually felt a little popular.  I had very long curly hair, and the girls would sit and play with it while she read.  It always made me feel good.

There’s something to be said for having a new “do”, or a new outfit, or even cracking open a new colorful tube of lipstick. It’s not that it defines who you are, but it definitely helps you feel a little bit better about yourself.  It’s easy to feel more confident and sure of who you are when you feel good about how you look.

While my daughter was in the hospital, I spent a great deal of time giving manicures, pedicures, and even doing elaborate hair do’s and new colors.  The best part about the whole process, other than her feeling a bit more revitalized, was the fact that for 1, 2 or even 3 hours, she was all mine.  Want to know how to get your daughter to talk to you?  Paint her nails, give a pedicure, or do her hair. Now I don’t mean just get out a bottle of nail polish and start painting.  I mean get out the file, the cuticle remover, the clippers and scissors, buffers and trimmers, and really pour your heart in to it.  I found that when I really made it a labor of love, she started talking to me.  I would do elaborate designs using as many colors as I could get away with. We did blue hair, green hair, purple hair, and now, bright pink.

At first, only a few words were said.  Next, I spent a little more time, and got permission from nurses to bring in my own materials so I could draw things out more.  Eventually, I asked for a separate room to lay out hair dye colors, tin foil, brushes, and everything I would need for a spa day, just to spend time laboring over her, and showing her that time spent together didn’t have to be threatening.  Before I knew it, our times together were spent discussing huge topics, and before she knew it, she would start asking me questions and discussing things we would have never talked about before.  There were times where I had to choke a swallow pretty hard, but I would rather talk, then have no idea what she was thinking.  There were also times I got to share a little bit of life wisdom, that probably wouldn’t have happened otherwise.

Sometimes the beauty care didn’t work, so I invested in a game of Yahtzee.  What a great way to spend either a short or long period of time together, in an unthreatening way.  Again, conversations would open up, and when they didn’t, we could ease the tension by deciding if we’d go for 6’s or count a score for chance.  Either way, at least we were communicating.  Every time I felt a wall being built between us, I found a way to build a bridge to get to the other side, and if it didn’t work today, I would try again tomorrow.

Now that she’s out of the hospital, I have to find new ways to make this happen.  The hair coloring is still a good one, because it allows me to keep her in one place to chat, and she benefits from having fun and feeling good about herself the next day.

Sometimes working on the outside, can help bring out the beauty that hides within. There’s nothing wrong with that.

“Hello, Kerry?  This is your family counselor calling.  Is this a good time?”

“Hi.  Yes, I guess so.  I was just going on a break.  I have a few minutes”

“I was wondering if we could schedule a session together.  Something has come up that we’d like to talk about”.

“Ok. Anything I can answer now?”

“No. That’s not necessary……”

I can’t tell you how I hate it when conversations end that way.  Now I have to think about the impending news or discussion that will happen any time other than now.  I end up perseverating over something that probably isn’t even worth thinking about.  Is everything ok?  Am I missing something?  Has something happened?

I wait for the date to come, leave work and head for the counselors office.  We sit down, and they turn on white noise so no one on the outside of the room can hear us.  “We have found out that one of the layers of your daughters issues is your divorce.”.  Really?  How amazing.  I never would have thought.  “We asked your daughter if she knows the reason why you ended up divorced and she said she didn’t know.  We think it would be helpful if she knows”.

Silence.  Stunned silence.  While keeping a straight face, I thought to myself, “Hell no.  No way.  No way on God’s green earth. No stinking way am I saying anything to anybody.  It’s nobody’s business why, and what in the world could it matter now”.

I clear my throat.  “It’s complicated”

“All divorce is complicated – we understand that”

“No, it’s really complicated.  I don’t see what good it would do.  I don’t think burdening your kids with the past is any way to get more healthy in the future.  How can saying negative things be good for someone’s mental health?”

“All divorce is complicated.  Was it money?  Maybe you just didn’t get along?  We realize it could be uncomfortable to talk about, but perhaps we could facilitate the conversation, and be supportive to you?”

So where does the line fall between listening to health workers, or following your own instincts?  I’ll tell you where mine fell then, and still does now.  Nothing good can come of telling people you love, negative things about people they love.  It just doesn’t work.

I remember when I filed for my divorce.  I had to attend a “Parenting after Separation/Divorce” class that spanned 2 weekends if I remember correctly.  The room was packed full of bitter people, all fighting over this and that, full of resentment, regret and anger.  We talked, listened to lectures, and had lawyers and legal advisors speak to us and plead to be civil and keep things out of court.  The most impactful part of the course, was the movies we watched at the end with heart broken children talking about how they felt about the whole situation.  I watched kids torn apart by the things their parents did and said, and determined that moment that I would never speak of it.  I knew nothing good could come of it, and when the time came for the kids to know, if ever, it would be a long ways away from that date.

“All divorce is complicated.  If you were having trouble understanding, wouldn’t you want to know?”

Ok, fine,  You think it’s all that simple?  Really?  I proceeded to tell them a basic outlined tale of the accounts of the failure of my marriage.  The counselor sat in awe, asking questions, taking notes, and at the end of it all said, “I really don’t know what to say.  I’m going to have to think about this”.

“Think all you want”, I thought. ” I’m still not saying anything.“  I don’t want to re-live it, and I’m surely not going to make anyone else.

At the end of the meeting, I stood up and said, “I will not be saying anything at this time, and if I do, you’ll have to give me a pretty darn good reason to do so.  Even then, I just don’t see the point.  The reasons aren’t important anymore and won’t change a thing.  Sometimes ignorance is bliss.  Sometimes my own judgment needs to be trusted”.

“We’re going to have to think about this and will get back to you on what we think”.

There are times when as parents, I think we have to listen to our own instincts, even though the professionals seem to think they know what’s best.  I don’t need opinions from other people as to what I should say.  I’ve kept my mouth shut for 10 years and no one has been harmed.  I don’t see the point in harming anyone now.  I don’t need sympathy or pity.  How on earth will details enrich the mental health of someone who is already struggling?

The whole conversation was very irritating to me, so I shared it with my fiancé, and he agreed – what good would come?  How would this not be hurtful?

“Hello, Kerry?  Do you have a moment?  I wanted to discuss our conversation the other day”:

“ I really don’t want to say anything”.

“We feel it would not be in your daughter’s best interest to say anything right now, and your x probably has his side, and it would be really negative, and might push her in the wrong direction………”

“I said I didn’t want to say anything and I’m not going to.  My mind hasn’t changed”

“We aren’t denying your story, and want you to feel validated”.  Great validation.  Wooowhoo.  Just what I wanted.  “We really feel it would not only be bad, but would be very detrimental to her progress, and could possibly be a huge set back.  We are very insistent, but would like to help you with some possible answers if the topic comes up again.”

Hmmmmm.  Seems to me that’s what I’ve been saying all along.  “I don’t want to talk about it with her or anyone.  It’s in the past and really doesn’t matter anymore.  I have no intention of bringing up the topic.  Why would I do that?”

I was right on this one, and have probably been right based on that burning feeling deep down inside on other occasions too.  Nothing good will ever come of saying bad things about anyone.  The person speaking slander will undoubtedly lose ground or respect, or both.  If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.  The reason we say things is out of selfishness – usually hurting others to try and relieve our own hurt or guilt.

I knew I was right then and I still do now.  Sometimes you just have to draw the line.