teaching

The D Word

Recently, I talked to some teens and younger kids, even adults and coworkers, and asked them this question: Of all the words you hear from your parents, guardians, or care givers – perhaps a girl/boy friend, hero or mentor, which one affects you the most? Which word cuts deep and brings you stress, anxiety or pain? A word that you never want to hear or experience? Just one word?

Do you think you know what that word is? It begins with a “D”. This word is so powerful, that once in a family discussion, all of my kids said I was actually not to ever use it, and threatened massive anxiety attacks and pain from the mere mention of it. One of my kids said that when I had used it once, it had changed his life and path forever.

Is there really one word that can change this generations entire path in life? So strong that it can reduce someone to harmful thoughts and distress? Well, I’m telling you there is.

Disappointment. A very simple word that carries a tremendous amount of power.

I remember the moment I used that word with my son. We were having a conversation last week and I asked him what made him change his mind, and make different decisions? “Mom, you told me you were disappointed in me. I couldn’t deal with that, and never wanted to see the hurt in your face again. I knew what I had done was wrong, but when I saw your face and heard that word, that was it.”

I was surprised. How often do we sit with our friends and discuss how on earth do we get through to people? I had made an impact that I never even knew till 3 years later.

Today, once again I’m Disappointed. Truly – with a capital “D”.

I’m disappointed that no matter how hard we try as parents, our kids don’t seem to trust us. I’m disappointed that I can be asked to leave a room so officials can speak to my teen because of privacy. Seems like when my parenting comes in to question everyone will know, but when they’re behavior comes in to question we can only know minimal details, if any.

I’m didappointed that I can take my child to a health care professional for help, that I pay for everything they need to recover, spend time away from my life to deal with their issues, and yet important information, that could waste my time and cause me deep humiliation – even turn me in to a liar, is not released until it becomes life threatening.

I feel I’m a very empathetic person, but it hurts me that no matter how hard I try, I’m blind sided with information over and over again, that should have been shared at the beginning, not sprung on me in the 13th hour.

We entrust our loved ones to professionals that use deception as part of their course of treatment. I have to sign a group field trip permission form for school and give consent to eat lunch in a different spot, but at the age of 12 my child can walk in to any health care facility and be treated for something I have no idea about. To make matters worse, when I rush in to see what’s going on, they all look at me and say nothing, leaving me to find out accidentally.

I don’t believe people want to do bad stuff at all. Assume positive intent – that’s my motto day in, and day out. However, I find that when presented with opportunity that wouldn’t normally be there, they make a split decision that does not actually represent the character of who they are. Most people don’t set out to rob a bank today. They’re presented with an opportunity and make a bad decision that usually has pretty strong consequences, and then funny enough, are surprised when they’re caught.

Why do I have to sign a consent form under 16 for a tattoo, but my child can enter a craft store, buy a stick and poke, tattoo themselves, and end up needing tests for infection, HEP and who know what else?! Why can a 15 year old enter a huff and puff store, buy vaporizers, pipes, and other paraphernalia and yet its illegal for them to obtain the substances the tools are used for? Yet somehow…….some way…..they do.

“D”.

Deceit.

Double-standard.

Doubt.

Deterioration.

Disappointment.

February 19, 2016 0

Freaky Friday

“Hi mom? I need to go to Urgent Care. I threw up and I’m not feeling well. I’m just going to get a ride there, ok?”

These are not the words you want to hear in the middle of the afternoon on a Friday. Why on earth would you need to go to urgent care because you threw up? That just doesn’t make sense. Pluse, since when do you just “get a ride” to urgent care, in the middle of a school day, when you’re that young?

“Urgent Care? Really? Is it that bad? I’ll come get you.”

“No mom. I need to take care of this myself. I just want to go by myself.”

“By yourself? You can’t go by yourself? You’re too young. Plus you need your health care info and stuff. I’m on my way to get you.”

“No mom, please. It’s too stressful when you’re with me. They said I don’t need the card.”

“You don’t need your health card? I’m too stressful? I’m your mom. I’m on my way.”

“But….”

“I’m on my way!”

Something wasn’t right. Since when do you need Urgent Health Care when you throw up? And get a ride? With who? Go by yourself? Yeah – right! Not after what we’ve been through! 2 years of hospital visits, pain, complaining, excuses, and mystery issues. I’m not anywhere near being done with this, and I’m not getting cut out of the picture now.

I drove up to the school, my mind racing with what the issue could really be. Did something happen at school? Had she been in classes? Had someone said something or done something to upset her? Work is only 4 minutes away, and I got there fairly quickly. The teacher walked her to my car, and a very unhappy girl, pale but with flushed cheeks and teary eyes got into the car.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I just don’t feel well”

“Okay – no worries. Let’s go get things checked out”

The short drive was very quiet. She was pushed in to the corner of her seat, knees to her chest and visibly agitated. We pulled up to the doors of Urgent Care and the freak out began.

“I can’t go in there! Get me out of here! This is way too awful. I can never go in there again!!! I’ll be fine – why couldn’t I do this by myself. You coming in just makes terrible memories! Just take me back to school! I probably just have the flu.”

“Okay. Calm down. We don’t have to go in. Do you want to just go for a drive? Maybe go get a drink, or go for a walk somewhere? Maybe you just got overwhelmed and need to cool down a little?”

“Just take me back to school.”

“I’m not sure if you should be there if you’re throwing up. Did you make yourself throw up? Is there anything you’re not telling me that I need to know?”

“No. I swear I didn’t – I don’t do that anymore. Just take me back.”

We drove back to the school – perhaps 15 or 20 minutes had passed. I walked her in to the zen room and the teacher looked at me with wide eyes. “What, Urgent Care is working at record speeds now?” I explained that she felt it was maybe unnecessary, so we decided to come back. We continued to talk a little while longer and I expressed my concern. I felt something was fishy here but wasn’t sure what. I hadn’t seen this kind of behavior for a very long time, and it wasn’t sitting well with me. I asked them to just keep an eye on her, and asked her to check in with me in a few hours.

I went to my car, and immediately called her YCUSP counselor. “Something just isn’t right. She’s acting erratic, irrational, and very agitated. I’ve been to every appointment for 2 years, and now I stress her out? I don’t get it. She hasn’t been to classes for 2 days. She seems so lonely and unhappy. This isn’t a transition – it’s a plunge, and things are starting to unwind. The stomach pain is back and she’s overwhelmed. It’s just too much. We can’t go back there.”

We decided to set some appointments with the school, and reevaluate what things needed to look like. If things continued on like this, we both agreed it would be a one way ticket back to program, or even hospital, and we couldn’t let that happen. Then my other line rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’ve just been having a long chat with your daughter, and she’s told me some information that you need to know. She’s very afraid you’re going to be mad.”

“Mad? Why would I be mad? Can I talk to her?”

“Hi mom? I’m really sorry. I wasn’t feeling well, and this girl at school gave me a pill. I think it was gravol – I’m almost sure of it, but I don’t know . Then I started feeling sicker, and I got really scared. I don’t know what I took for sure, and I don’t know the girl. I’m scared it might be drugs or something bad.”

“Ok, well why don’t we go get it checked out?”

“Don’t be mad at me!”

“I’m not mad. Not at all. Let’s just go and get it checked.”
“I said I’m not perfect!!! I can’t always do everything perfect. You don’t have to be mad.”

“Oooookay – I said I’m not mad. Not at all. We need to just go and find out. I’m sure you’re fine, but better safe then sorry.”

“Why are you yelling at me!!!! I said I screwed up, ok?!!”

Now I’m not sure what conversation she was on, but it definitely wasn’t the conversation we were currently having. I could only imagine the look on her teachers face as she was yelling at me on the phone. She was clearly stressed beyond belief, and was having her own conversation in her head, aside of the one we were having on the phone.

“My friend will drive me, ok? I’m just going to go get checked out.”

“I haven’t even left the parking lot yet – I’m still here. I’ll take you. You can take your health care card and go in on your own if it’s that important to you, but I’m not leaving. I’m taking you myself, and will be there for you.”

She got back in the car, and we drove to Urgent Care once again. Reluctantly, I gave her her card, and sent her in on her own. I couldn’t believe, that after all this time, and all we’d been through, that I was being shoved to the side as a stresser, rather than a supporter. I was hurt. What were the Dr’s going to think? What would she tell them? What kind of parent lets a young teenager go in to emerg on their own?

A few hours passed by, and I just got more annoyed. The odd text would come through. “They’re not worried. Just taking precautions.” “They’ve done a drug screen and are testing me for mono again because I don’t feel well”. “They’re not concerned.” “I’m sorry mom.” I told her this was the last time this would ever happen. She needed to understand that I’m her supporter, nothing else. Then came the in. It’s amazing how we’re no good as parents until our kids need food, shelter, or money. “I’m hungry. Can you get me food?”

Lol. Hungry. Of course you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten all day, and now the stress is going down and you’re starving. “Yes, I can bring you food. I’ll be right back.” I ran to her favorite stop, and brought back some protein and veggies for her to have. “You don’t have to come in, I’ll only be 10 more minutes.”

Ok, that’s it. “Excuse me ma’am. Can you tell me where my daughter is? I went to get some food for her while she waits.” “Well of course. Just give me a moment……..she’s in room 3. Right that way.” I’d had it. I wasn’t going to be cut out for one more second. It’s bad enough when the Dr’s ask you to leave, but when your own kids shuts you out?

I walked through the curtain and she was surprised to see me. Not quite as surprised as I was. She had an IV going in to her arm, with fluids for dehydration, Toradol for pain, and an antacid for her stomach. “Here’s your food. Excuse me, nurse? Can you please tell me what all of this is for? I’m surprised you don’t need consent from a parent for all of this. At what age do you need consent? I’m not upset – I just want to know.” The nurse stood there looking at me, stunned. “Uuuum, well, actually – I don’t really know. She came in by herself, so we juuuust…..are you ok with this?” “Well, I guess, but it doesn’t really matter at this point. I just want an explanation of what’s happening please.” She explained there were complaints of stomach and head pain. They said she seemed a little dehydrated, and there was evidence of some acid reflux bothering her throat, so they were giving her something for that. They didn’t want to bother her stomach, so IV was the way to go. And, we were still waiting for the results of a drug screen and had taken pictures of her stomach.

Great. Perfect. IV pain killers – here we go again. Drug screening? Perfect. Dehydrated. Lovely. I looked at my daughter and sat down next to her.

“We are not going to be here for 10 more minutes. This is going to take some time.”

“Really? I’m sorry. I hate this place. I’m not a sick kid. I’m not a sick kid. I hate this place.”

“This place was made to help people who feel sick. It doesn’t mean you are sick. The past is the past – we don’t need to worry about that anymore.”

“YCUSP offered me to come stay the night.”

“Do you feel you need that?”

“Pffff! No! I’m not going there to stay the night. I’m safe. I’m not going to hurt myself. I don’t do that anymore. I just got scared. I thought it was a gravol and then started feeling sicker and realized I didn’t even know the girl and I could have taken anything and I didn’t know what to do so I just wanted to come here and take care of anything and…”

“You need to realize I’m here for you. I’m not perfect, but I will do what I can to stay calm and help you. Let’s make a plan. How about no taking anything from anyone.”

“Except you.”

“Except me. With the amount of things going on, and your other medications, let’s just keep it simple. Use your oils. Use your head and call me if things are out of control. Don’t take drugs of any kind from anyone, and certainly don’t drink alcohol. We don’t know how any of that would interact with everything else. I know you want your independence, but you’re only 14. You have plenty of years to be on your own when you’ll have to make decisions by yourself. You’re young enough that I still need to be involved. It’s ok to be a kid. You don’t ever have to do any of this alone.”

“Ok. When can we go?”

The Dr. came in and gave the all clear. 2 more hours had passed, (10 minutes – yeah right!), and we finally go the the IV removed and went home. 7 hours in total.

“Can I go hang out with a friend?”

(Chuckle)”I don’t think so. We’ve had enough excitement for today. I think we’ll just lay low for the rest of the evening.”

“Yeah. Ok. Probably a good idea. I’m going to clean my room.”

“Whatever makes you happy doll. Whatever makes you happy.”

We were lucky. She could have taken anything. I’m pretty sure that’s why she threw up. A momentary impulse could have been much, much worse. You would think with all the advertising, the warnings, school education, pamphlets and extra classes – plus exposure to kids who really have taken something bad, that our kids would know better. Talk to your kids, and make a plan. Do they really know? Pause before you proceed.

The hardest part of parenting isn’t just protecting our kids, it’s protecting our kids from themselves.

September 19, 2015 0

Insignificance

“I remember things going dark.

Eventually all I could hear was my heart beat.

Behind my eyes would turn spotted, then red……

And eventually things would go dark.

Sometimes I’d feel as if I started to slip away.

And then they would come running in and find me.”

“How was school today sweetie? Did it go ok? How was it seeing everyone again?”

“Ummmmm. Not great.”

That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for. We have waited a very long time for this day to come. The first day of school. The first day back. The first day going forward. She’s in a new school now. We decided the old one wasn’t a place we wanted to go back to, with all the stressful memories. Although we say that someday we’ll look back, and some of the stories will seem humorous, they are all very deep, and still very raw. Much more raw than I thought.

I was hoping for a great story. She was terribly excited. We have private transportation right now, as the stress of being on a cheese wagon loaded with K-12 kids is overwhelming on any given day. Our school division has been kind enough to provide secure door to door transportation so there are no worries. She was dressed beautifully, with a flowery baby-doll top and leggings, softly colored candy floss hair, and her signature dark pink lipstick. The driver told me she was shaking a little, and talking tremendously fast. She hesitated a little, and then went in to face the day. Everything was planned and charted out, with friends texting her directions to her first classes.

The thing is, one whole year has passed, with at least a half year before that one missed. Time goes by whether you are present or not, and fitting back in isn’t so easy. Add some disassociation to that and you have a feeling of being very alone. It’s amazing how you can walk in to an environment of a lot of people, and feel more alone then when you’re actually by yourself. It doesn’t seem possible, but it’s very true. Social anxiety is just that – being alone in the midst of the craziness, and not knowing really how to change it. I would describe it as an out of body experience, inside of your body. Feeling like you are absolutely unimportant, and nothing.

“I cried today.”

“Why sweetie? Why did you cry? Were you alone?”

“No, I was with my teacher. I just feel insignificant. And uncomfortable. And….overwhelmed.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that this is so hard. I’m sure it will get better. You’ll get back in to it.”

“The thing is, I don’t want to get “back in to it”. I don’t want to fit in and be a part of the way things used to be. I don’t want things to be the way they used to be. I’m not that person anymore. I don’t want the same nick name. I’m not anorexic anymore. I don’t want to sit and be part of the drama, talk about who did what to who, and how much of a witch that other girl is. I want to love people, and talk about wonderful things. I want to sit with bare feet, eat raw corn and not be made fun of. I want to stand in the mud and feel the earth in my toes and feel the rain on my face. I want to talk about life and how amazing things are. I’m not sick anymore. As a matter of fact, I’m the least sick person I know. I just want to show love to people.”

I sat and looked at her for a moment. I know how she feels. We have come so far and have changed so much. I don’t want her to be part of that world either. She isn’t suicidal anymore – and those days may haunt her but they do not define who she is. She has turned in to this amazingly confident, sensitive, feeling, empath – but suffers with anxiety, stress, OCD, PTSD, unspecified eating disorders and a few other unmentionable things that circle above her head, threatening to land on her shoulder and speak fear quietly into her ear. She requires support still, in very significant ways, but she has fought very hard, and grown up perhaps a bit too quickly.

Her smile will light up a room. She sings with unabandon in the shower, in her room, to the radio, and just about anywhere we go. She plays in the sand, walks barefoot most of the time, plays in the rain and dances as she bounds up and down the stairs. Her eyes twinkle while she tells corny jokes, and she has taken a strange pleasure in discovering great new lipstick colors. Her clothes are usually soft and flowy, sprayed with colorful flowers and the odd piece of lace or ruffle. At the end of the day she flops down on the couch talking about her many plans to travel the world her VW or PT Cruiser – she can’t decide. She is definitely not the girl she used to be.

“I don’t know what to say doll. I wish I could tell you it will be easy, just give it time and things will be better. Instead, how about this. Just give it some time – things will be different. You’ll find your way, whatever that is. Thank you for telling me you cried. Thank you for having the courage to share with me how you’re really feeling, because one of my fears is thinking it’s all just ok when it’s really not. You and I have come a very long way. Let’s make it our goal just to love the people around us, and if they don’t accept that, well, we can always move on. There’s always someone who needs some love.”

September 4, 2015 2

Not This Time

It could have happened, many times. There were plans and notes. We went through 5 different attempts, and not one succeeded. There were escalations – but nothing ended in tragedy. I have watched all 3 of my children suffer with depression, go through bullying, battle with poor self image, and yet somehow we have come through on the other side.

Today, a family in our community didn’t come through the other side. For some reason, what ever was going on, was just too much, and an intercession didn’t happen soon enough to help. Why us? How did I get so fortunate? I don’t think there’s an answer.

When we were in the days at the hospital, I remember talking to the Dr.’s and nurses, and asking if anyone ever succeeded at an attempt while there. I was told that twice kids had succeeded. Last week, there was one more success. It breaks my heart to think of what that family must be going through. I hugged my daughter a little tighter all week.

Over the last year, I have seen countless numbers of kids struggling with gender and sexual identity. I’ve learned words I didn’t even know existed. Bi Gender, Pan Gender, Trans Gender, Trans Sexual, Pan Sexual, Omni Sexual, Bi Sexual, A Sexual- I don’t even remember talking about that kind of stuff when I was a teen. I know there were and are many reasons that this topic isn’t talked about, but why the pressure to be defined in one category at such a young age? I’ve seen countless girls victims of sexual assault or mental and physical abuse, that are now afraid of men, so they feel they must be different. The word “lesbian” isn’t used because of the stigma, but because of the fear, they struggle with thinking they must be different, and it’s not much different for boys.

I’ve met a young girl, so beautiful, that is almost 17, but has already had a heart attack at age 15 from being so thin, and tonight is fighting to get past a drug over dose. Her step dad can’t understand her struggles, so her mom kicked her out and sent her to her grandmas. She’s sad, confused and obviously hurting enough to repeatedly try and take her own life – and there’s so many more like her. I watched a young girl cry out of control at having to eat one pea on her plate. One….small……pea. The terror in her face was unreal, and the pain was so evident, and yet I couldn’t understand where those feelings came from.

We met a boy, gang raped by the foster kids in his house for being gay. What’s the big deal? He’s gay, so why shouldn’t he take it? His parents kicked him out when he was just 12, because they couldn’t take the fact that he didn’t feel like the boy they wanted him to be. Pushed from home to home, the feelings of self hate had him cutting so deep that he ended up bandaged with stiches all over. Button pusher? Yes. But the cries for attention were just so obvious, and when he asked me to take him home I almost cried.

Speechless yet? Feeling shocked? This is the world we live in. Kids don’t get the film we did in grade 5 about what happens when you get fuzz in your special spots, and that having a shower is important. Sex ed for 14 year olds talks about 50 shades of grey, and topics like fisting. Yup – that’s right – fisting. Or even more shocking – double fisting. Don’t know what that is? Find out – I bet you’ll be horrified. Maybe not all teachers are talking about it, but I guarantee you our kids are.

There is a bombardment on our kids of negative, provocative, depressing information. A constant onslaught is hitting them from every direction. When I was that age, the bullying stopped when I got off the bus after school, and didn’t start again till the next day when I got back on the bus. I went home, did chores, homework, helped with dinner, went to lessons, complained about practicing, went to church clubs – I was busy. If someone wanted to bully me, they had to call on the phone, which meant my dad would probably answer, and then the house would probably hear. It just didn’t happen. Yes, I was afraid to go back to school sometimes, but one of the worst bullies was a teacher so being around other kids wasn’t even always the problem.

The onslaught of constant information is 24/7. How do we make it stop? How do we take the pressure off, and change the environment so our kids have a fighting chance? How do we inspire our kids to feel that life is worth it? This is a serious question, and is going to take some serious thought. There have been anti bullying campaigns for ages and I’m not sure they really even work. If they did, would these things really happen? Would kids be taking their lives? Would there be waiting lists for programs with a lot of kids not having any hope of getting help?

When will this insanity stop? We can’t just continue on and not say or do anything. Not this time.

My family is reeling today. 3 tragic deaths in 3 weeks. The ripples of these tragedies go far. We need to do something different. Something has to change.

August 10, 2015 1

My Story

It was 4 months and 4 days after “The Event” that I started blogging. I’m pretty sure I started doing it, because I thought that by sharing, other parents going through the same thing might have a little head start on what they were going to experience. When I wrote my very first small blurb, I was pretty nervous, but it came out fairly quick and easy as it didn’t really have much meat in it. It wasn’t until I actually started writing the beginning of the the events that I really started to feel what was happening.

As I started writing that first piece, I started to cry. At points, I was crying so hard, I was typing by memory because I couldn’t see the screen. I felt almost feverish as I typed, banging out the words as I relived the terror, grief and fear of the different things I had experienced. Before I posted, I read the blog through, making sure I had not disclosed names, or anything else I thought might reveal sensitive identities or issues. I wanted to really make sure I was ok with what would be in print. I remember one day, reading my words back to myself, curled up in my bed, as the tears poured down my face for 2 straight hours. I was exhausted, weak, and felt broken, but what happened next was pretty surprising, and quite unexpected. I wasn’t upset anymore. I was done. No feeling, no more tears, no extreme fear – I was done. By being open with myself, and perhaps others I dealt with the trauma and it was gone.

About a month ago, my daughter and I decided to have a girls night. We made popcorn, got our favorite beverage ready along with some fresh fruit, and picked a movie to watch on tv. We usually pick our favorite essential oil to diffuse to add a beautiful atmosphere, and that night was no different. About 20 minutes in, both of us fell asleep. One and a half hours later, I woke up, and realizing what had happened, got her to bed and then followed suit quite quickly. The next morning, she came upstairs and asked how I slept. “Not well, I had really bad dreams.” “Me too. What were your dreams about?” “I dreamed about one of the escalations that happened at the hospital.” “No way!!! No way!!! Really? I did too, just my dream was my side of it.” We both dreamed about the same event, through the entire night. The amazing thing? Since then, that night is no longer frightening and I have a hard time even thinking about it. It’s gone. Done. Over. It’s no longer part of my life – just part of the story.

Over the last month, as my daughter has been digging deeper in to the issues that hurt and continue to haunt her, my own truths have been rising to the surface. Perhaps the topics and feelings are too reminiscent of my own, or perhaps its being in so many different counseling sessions, but I’m being forced to think about pieces of my past that I’m not comfortable re-living. I have learned that through merely writing my words in a blog, I can speak the past, and the pain disappears, but when faced with dealing with my own demons, I become weak, scared, and the anxiety overwhelms me. I’m a thankful person, and know I’m blessed in many ways, but there are also things I can’t ignore.

I was molested by a neighborhood girl when I was in elementary school. I was tormented as I grew up about my body by people I should have been able to trust, and I struggle every day with feelings of inadequacy – that my value as a person is based on what my body looks like. When I see these people as an adult, I’m still paralyzed as I was when I was a child. I was verbally abused by a teacher at school, and mentally over and over again in a bad relationship until all I could think of was letting go of the steering wheel and having it all be over. I don’t want to hear about laying it at God’s feet and He’ll just take it away. I don’t believe that – and I’ve never seen evidence of it. I don’t want to go to more counselors, because they just want to talk about my daughter. Talking to sympathetic people means hearing how I should just get over it, and empathetic people want to sit and feel bad together, which I’m not in to either. I don’t want to feel sorry for myself, and I certainly don’t want others to feel sorry for me either. How can I feel so strong most days, and still be struggling with the same things? I would really love, to JUST….BE….OVER IT. Absolutely….. all of it.

You can walk on splinters and get where you’re going, but you’re feet will still be infected. I’m strong, and I know I’ll get where I’m going, no matter what, but the splinters are festering, and the blisters are rising to the surface. I’m just not quite sure what it will take for me to heal.

August 1, 2015 0

Check-In’s

Part of any program, is a mandatory family meeting held usually every second week, with the counselor, or in this case, counselors involved with your child. Family can mean anything really, but on this journey, it’s just me and my daughter. Basically we go to a meeting, in a sound proof room. We strategically set up enough of the many chairs in the room that everyone has a seat in close proximity, but so that no one really has to look at anyone in the eye, except the main counselor or leader. You know that saying, “Never look a gorilla straight in the eye”? Well, there’s a reason for that. We’re given a topic ahead of time, so each person has time to think, and to try and avoid any big surprises – but there’s always a surprise. Typically I sit, look calm, try to stay comfortable and not look awkward, and keep my expressions neutral so not to reveal what I’m really thinking as I listen to the answers.

“So let’s start by asking the regular questions, are you ready?”

“Yup”.

“So. How’s your mood?”

“Same.”

“yup, seems pretty good to me. I’d agree”.

“And sleep. How’s that going for you. Are you sleeping ok?”

“Yup. Pretty much.”

“If she get’s to bed. Getting to bed is impossible”

“Ok. Thoughts about suicide?”

“About the same.”

“So…..3 or 4?”

“Nah, probably 4 or 5?”

“Wait, that’s not the same. Last time it was 3 or 4, not 4 or 5. Really?”

“Ok, how about your eating? Are you eating?”

“I’m trying. If I can get the food to my mouth, and actually in my mouth, I realize I’m kind of hungry, but I can’t handle the thought of food otherwise. Sometimes I actually feel sick, and then I force myself to eat something. I eat fruit. And I hold my breath while I eat other stuff.”

“Why do you hold your breath?”

“So I don’t have to think about it being in my mouth. I don’t want to taste it – it grosses me out.”

” I knew it! I knew it! One day after our spot at the eating disorder program expires. I knew it. I thought I noticed changes again……………i feel fat.”

“How about self harm? I know your mom knows you self-harmed last night.”

“Yup”

“And when did that happen?”

“During the night”

“And what did you use?”

“An old razor”

“Really? Where is she getting this stuff? That’s it – I’m searching the room. Next time she’s out. I’m going through every inch. She’s probably booby trapped everything…”

“Where did you get the razor? Did you wake up, see it and use it, or did you wake up and decide to self harm, so look for something to use?”

“I woke up and decided. I knew I had it in a junk drawer.”

“She doesn’t have a junk drawer. She re-cleans her room every week.”

“Can you tell your mom where you cut?”

“Always the same. Always on the legs.”

“NO! Why does she have to know?”

“She’s covering her chest. She carved her chest. She’s covering it while she answers the question. Dear God, this time it was her chest.”

“Ok. You don’t have to say. We just thought…..”

“No.”

“It’s hot in here. I need to take my shoes off. I wonder if they’d notice. I’m taking my shoes off. Be discreet. They’ll never know. I need water.”

No matter how many check in’s we have, for some reason, I always expect the answers to be the same as the ones in my head, and I’m always surprised on at least one of the answers when it’s not. I have gut instincts, but it’s gotten to the point where I’m so tired I don’t even know what is paranoia, and what I really need to step back and listen to. I’m constantly at war with myself and it’s exhausting.

For now? Trust the programming, keep communication channels open, stay close to the gorilla and watch carefully, and earn trust just a little at a time. At some point……well, we will get past this.

July 31, 2015 0

“Miss” – Communication

Last week I was supposed to be on holidays. I had 12 days I had to use up prior to the end of summer, so I booked a week off to go to the lake. I knew it might be a little complicated because my daughter has been so busy, but I was really looking forward to some down time, and maybe a little normalicy. I had arranged with her program that she could miss 2 days, and just said we’re headed out of town.

The first derailer was unavoidable. We had a family emergency, and my fiance had to head overseas, so I took all the kids. No problem. One more kid in the mix? I’ve done it before, I can do it again. Then we had the school reunion melt down night. After that whole incident, I decided that at least 1 day of program would be necessary to try and straighten things out. The problem came with 2 teens discussing suicide via text. Then one puts her phone away, the other freaks out, and the police are now involved. That was not the best moment and was definitely a very stressful start to the week. We could still potentially have almost 2 days away, and get my daughter back to her job on Friday and Saturday. The next issue came with more appointments, taking up the other days of the week. Oh well. That’s kind of how it works – not going to sweat it.

Thursday came, and my daughter was supposed to be at program. Fairly early, she came up the stairs and said she didn’t have to go. She had texted a counselor and said she was tired, and they said she didn’t have to be there. We were supposed to be on vacation anyways, and I had numerous other appointments, so I was a bit relieved. There was a little voice inside of me saying check the phone, but I dismissed it and went on with the day.

The week passed, and Monday came with work, appointments, cleaning, laundry and all the other fun that goes with a busy family. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I go to work at 6 am, leave at 915 to get her to her program, head back to work, go back to pick her up at about 4, and then back to work to finish off what I missed and put in my time during the day. As I drove to the program, I received a text asking me to come in and touch base when I dropped her off. Sure – I could do that.

“Did you think it was ok for your daughter to miss Thursday?”

“She said the other counselor said it was ok.”

“No, it wasn’t ok and that’s not what he said.”

“I’m sorry – I’ll take responsibility. I didn’t check her phone and just took her word for it. I should have checked.”

“Everyone was asking where she was. It’s not ok to miss as this is part of her therapy.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I should have checked. I did kind of wonder, but we were supposed to be on holidays anyways, and I had a crazy day so I just took her word for it. It won’t happen again.”

“On Thursday we’d like to have a family counseling session and talk about communication. There seems to be a lot of problems with that lately.”

“Yes, I think that would be a good idea. There are things I’d like to discuss around that as well.”

“Ok, Thursday at 4?”

“Sure. Thursday at 4.”

That conversation bugged me the rest of the day. I want to trust my daughter, I really do, but this was putting me in the position of a major trust breach and feeling that she lied to get her way.

“How was your day?”

“Good.”

“How was your testing today?”

“Long. I have a headache.”

“We have a family session on Tuesday.”

“I know – about my “mis-communication. I’m sure I have the text mom. I swear they said I could miss. I don’t understand why I’m in trouble. I swear they said yes.”

“Can I see the text?”

“I’ll read it to you.”

She proceeded to read a conversation to me between herself and a counselor, who had said he preferred she come to program that day, and it’s part of her treatment, but if she felt she needed to rest he was in approval and “by all means you should stay home and rest prior to work tomorrow.” That sounds to me like they said it was ok for her to stay home. We took a screenshot of the conversation, and I sent it to the other therapist. I wanted her to see it prior to our counseling session.

Part of me is relieved. Part of me is saying “whewf. She didn’t lie.” Part of me is saying, “you should have checked the phone! You felt it in your gut, why are you still ignoring that?”. And then a large part of me says, “Here we go again. I can’t believe this. A counselor threw her under the bus, and now we get to have a counseling session and discuss a text. Are the counselors telling each other stories? Why can’t we get this right?”

When we came in to the program, they told us the door was always open in an emergency. An emergency happened, and we were turned away. Bad communication? On who’s part?

We were told go ahead and send a text to reach us. The text was sent, an answer given, and now we’ve been called in. Bad communication again? Our fault?

4 tomorrow. Here we go again.

July 30, 2015 0

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?

July 27, 2015 0

routerecalculation

mental health blog

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