Worry

This is from an email my brother forwarded to me in 2006. I don’t know who the author is, but I like it.

Is there a magic cutoff period when offspring become accountable for their own actions? Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become detached spectators in the lives of their children and shrug, "It's their life," and feel nothing?
 

 When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for doctors to put a few stitches in my son's head. I asked, "When do you stop worrying?" The nurse said,
 "When they get out of the accident stage." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
 

When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted the class, and was headed for a career making license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher said, "Don't worry, they all go through this stage and then you can sit back, relax, and enjoy them." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
 

When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come home, the front door to open. A friend said, "They're trying to find themselves. Don't worry, in a few years, you can stop worrying.  They'll be adults." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
 

By the time I was 50, I was sick and tired of being vulnerable. I was still worrying over my children, but there was a new wrinkle. There was nothing I could do about it. My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

I continued to anguish over their failures, be tormented by their frustrations, and absorbed in their disappointments.  My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother's warm smile and her occasional, "You look pale. Are you all right?  Call me the minute you get home. Are you depressed about something?"

Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of human frailties and the fears of the unknown? Is concern a curse or is it a virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life?
 

One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, "Where were you? I've been calling for 3 days, and no one answered I was worried." I smiled a warm smile.

The torch has been passed.

Thoughts on Teen Boot Camps, Therapeutic Boarding Schools, Wilderness Programs, and Residential Treatment Programs

Trust me, there were plenty of times I considered “getting rid” of my daughter and the strife she was causing by sending her away to some faraway boot camp for troubled teens. In my fantasies and from cursory glances at Internet sites, these places seemed like the answer. Even thought financially they were way out of my reach, I’d find a way to pay for it. They’d find out exactly what the problem was, fix her, do magical things to make her behave, and send her back a changed young woman. She’d come back into the fold and become a productive member of the family, a star student, and a model citizen. I called a boarding school or two and talked to their headmasters, and was told that I could expect a newer, happier, healthier version of my child in just a semester or two. The way I heard it, they’d love on her like she was their own, and when we were reunited, it would be like the mothers and daughters you see in the commercials.

Then I came across a book that snapped me out of that fantasy. At first, it wasn’t the subject matter or the title that caught my attention, it was the author’s name: Maia Szalavitz. I recognized that name from grade school back in the 70s, in the teensy town where I grew up. We were childhood schoolmates and here she was, seemingly talking directly to me about my kid, my thoughts, and my misconceptions. It was destiny that I read her expose, Help at Any Cost: How the Troubled-Teen Industry Cons Parents and Hurts Kids.

I was shocked out of my ignorance after reading about the world of harsh tactics, prison-like conditions, and unregulated residential treatment facilities I was actually thinking of exposing my daughter, my flesh and blood, my baby to. Instead of helping her become a better human being, she very likely could’ve been abused, neglected, psychologically damaged, and had her tendencies amplified.

It’s entirely possible that there are good programs available for troubled teens, and some have come out better for their experience. But, as a parent, it is wise to do your homework, read all the books and literature, visit facilities before committing to one, and talk to other parents whenever possible. It’s not just anybody, it’s your child.

You Say GED, I Say Diploma!

Here’s a little known fact in my world: I let my sixteen-year-old leave school after her sophomore year and take the GED exam. She had always had issues at school getting along with her peers and enjoying being a teenager. It just wasn’t happening. She felt a different kind of pressure than wanting to be popular or get good grades. She couldn’t relate to kids her own age, and she made problems and misery for herself for as long as I could remember. It broke my heart to see her feel so much like a square peg in a teeny, tiny round hole. She tried joining things, but inevitably failed—she got kicked off the basketball team, had fights with other kids, and forgot to go to various club meetings. You name it, she tried it and she blew it.

 I could see my child would try to make friends, but they would inevitably tire of her attitude and how tough she was to get along with, and would phase out of her life—usually with negative repercussions to her reputation. My daughter would end up an outcast, would retreat to her negative behaviors, become angry and isolated, and act out somehow. I’d see her do anything from overeating to sneaking onto off-limits websites.

We did some things that were proactive; for example, she got her guidance counselor to approve her for a half day in school with the remainder of her classes to be conducted online. In addition, she would take more online classes to fulfill her senior level requirements so she could graduate a year early. This idea started off with a bang, but little by little the enormity of the workload and responsibility this required blew her mind and overwhelmed her. She was failing half the classes, and feeling more worthless, hopeless, and isolated than ever.

Out of the blue, I had a conversation with an objective friend of mine, who didn’t had never even met my daughter. I explained what we were going through, and he suggested, as if it was a no-brainer, that she get her GED. It was clear that she hated high school and was getting nothing out of it, and that she was smart (in fact, she had tested as gifted). It was against my grain, as I value education, have an education, and have worked in the field of education since 1989. My daughter get her GED? That was preposterous!

Nevertheless, I looked into it, and brought up the idea to my daughter. She was wild with excitement over the idea. We found out when, where, how much, etc. and got ready. She even prepped for the testing ON HER OWN! While others struggled with the exam, she passed everything on the first try and was officially done with high school in a few short hours. She was elated—no, that’s not even a strong enough word.

There have been some happy changes since she left high school and got her GED, so I know in my heart it was a good move. However, it’s still a secret that I don’t even tell my best friend. Everyone knew my daughter was taking online classes, but no one knew she was failing and stopped. So, we lie! We tell everyone that she graduated early because that’s just how smart and clever she is! I’m not a liar in general, but in this case, I’m making an exception for the good of the order.

Curled Up in a Ball

Sunday, November 21, 2010

No sleep came for me, and I was up early, feeling sick and dizzy. My thoughts are all over the place at the moment. Everything from, "How/where/when did I screw up this motherhood thing, God?" to "What a loser my daughter is, Goddamnit!"

We have breakfast every Sunday together, have been for a while, and I wasn't going to let her out of it today. The ride was a nightmare. Maybe I could've said things differently, but you don't always think when you're feeling so intensely. We had quite the screaming match on the freeway on the way to…wherever…we bypassed our normal location because she was threatening to jump out of the car. I just kept driving on the freeway. The argument doesn't even matter because it was all nonsense and juvenile. She was angry, I was angry, she was hurt, I was hurt. It goes on and on when emotions are high and nerves are exposed.

To summarize her thinking, SHE (not I) decided that it would be better for everyone if she got a second job and found a friend to live with. I wouldn't have anyone to "ruin" my life, because she'd be out of my hair. She said it would enable me to have a happy life once and for all without the embarrassment of having her as my child. She's apparently got something up her sleeve – perhaps she has all along.

Bam, pow, smack. IN MY FACE. All I've ever wanted was to be a mom, and I want my children with me. I want HER with me. I want to take care of her and give her love and parenting and to worry about her and be there for her. Why would she want to give it up? So she could f-up without consequences? Do whatever she wants, whenever she wants? Just to bring me pain? I don't trust her reasoning, but she doesn't give me anything else.

She's off looking for that second job right now and I've been home curled up in a ball of nausea and despair. Writing this is all I've got. I have no one to talk to about this. Her father is useless and lives 1500 miles away, plus she hates him and he is of no consequence to her. My mother adores her and, at 74, doesn't need this information about her beloved granddaughter. I'm single and I don't want any of my friends to know what a terrible mother I must be. They'll only try to tell me otherwise, but I know it's true.

She just called to tell me she made it to her first location to fill out applications and she's safe. She signed off with "I love you, and I'll talk to you later."

Irony Is Not Always Sweet

Saturday night, 11/20/10

How ironic, I was posting the old articles I wrote back in the day when I was first contemplating writing a blog, thinking, "Wow, my daughter and I have come such a long way!" She'd doing great and we've been getting along like I've always dreamed we could. I signed out of the dashboard, and within ten minutes there was a call from the police.

Long story short, I had to go to Wal-Mart, where they had arrested my daughter for shoplifting toothpaste, a toothbrush, and some makeup. It was exactly 70 cents under the amount required to put her in jail. The security people saw her come in with a flat shoulder bag, so she was immediately considered suspicious. Lo and behold, that same bag became nice and thick, and they watched her bypass the register and walk out the door.

By the time I got to the store, she had been there for quite a while, being treated no differently than any other low-life shoplifter. The security guy was waiting for me, and took me into the holding room where I saw my daughter crying tears of shame---in handcuffs. Handcuffs!! I couldn't help it when I said, "I'm so ashamed. Disgusted and ashamed."

I didn't think it could get worse, but it did, it did. The police officer told me that when he asked her for identification, she gave him a fake ID (that she said she "found"), and when they searched her car, there was a marijuana pipe and bags with pot residue in them, PLUS as a bonus, the car reeked of pot smoke. So she has criminal charges for the fake ID and the pot paraphernalia, and civil charges for the shoplifting.

I asked why they didn’t arrest her and take her to the jail with the prostitutes and other losers? The Wal-Mart people said I was lucky to have had this officer come or else she would have. I said, "Lucky? They keep letting her get away with stuff. She's been caught for violating curfew. Why do I have to keep taking her home? I'm a big supporter of law enforcement and if you had taken her to jail, that's exactly where she'd stay."

The Wal-Mart people explained that the restitution could be up to $1,000. I told my daughter that she'd be getting a second job because I wasn't going to pay her fine this time. She was crying the whole time with her head down. I just don't understand why she'd steal freakin' toothpaste when we have (and I counted) seven tubes of it at home. More was said back and forth, but it doesn’t even matter what. There was nothing positive.

She came home, not much talking, some apologizing, and a shameful walk to her room to go to sleep.

8/28/2009 My Troubled Teen – Part IV

The Big Confrontation
I just came out with it. I outlined everything I found and what I know about what it all meant. I told her I knew that she had told me dozens of lies over the past year, that it was not acceptable, that I would press charges if I caught her involved in any further illegal activities. I explained that stealing checks and prescription pads was illegal and I wouldn’t hesitate to turn her in if I found out she has actually attempted to use any of them. I told her I knew about the sneaking out – every last bit of it. I made it clear that I’m very black and white about breaking the law.

I asked direct questions and she answered them truthfully. She admitted to using Ecstasy, smoking cigarettes and pot, drinking beer and other alcoholic beverages, and to sleeping with about five boys already. She knew all about the risks and side effects, and told me things that I hadn’t yet learned about her experimentation. I was relieved at her truthfulness, as well as her willingness to make changes.

It has been 22 days since that night, and she has been clean and compliant. We’ve had many very deep conversations and she has made the decision to change. I make it nearly impossible to be bad, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t opportunities. While she’s doing things to elevate my trust in her, she doesn’t quite have it yet. The Total Transformation and my new therapist tell me I have to give her opportunities to prove herself, even when there’s temptation. For example, I work all day and she’s at home alone. Anything and everything can happen. So far, so good. That’s all I can say. I come home at lunch and she’d doing what she’s supposed to. Her attitude is sometimes the old one, but I’m more concerned with her behaviors. When she gets obnoxious, I walk away from the flame.

I try to keep her busy. She does a few days a week of community service, will be taking cooking classes for a few days, and will visit with my sister and help my brother-in-law with some construction projects. One thing that keeps her motivated is getting her driver’s license. She has her permit and loves to drive. She knows I will NOT allow anyone who is drunk, stoned, or otherwise impaired to drive any car I own. If she has one single incident between now and December, when she’s eligible for the license, she’s done.

Another thing I’ve learned is that there will be good days and bad days, good moods and bad moods. That’s life, especially as a parent!

8/15/2009 My Troubled Teen – Part III

Doing Things Differently – At Least Wising Up for a Change

Me, being a knowledge addict, went directly online and tried to learn about Ecstasy and what glow sticks and pacifiers had to do with anything. I found some sites that not only cleared all that up, but scared the hell out of me. She was in danger – the whole scene revolves around heightened sensations and loss of inhibitions. That’s beyond dangerous for a fifteen-year-old who already thinks she’s invincible.

I researched for the entire two weeks she was gone. I decided to stop crying and feeling sorry for myself and make a plan of some sort. Even if it was the wrong one, it was better than what I was doing before with my head in the sand. She had texted me during her trip and revealed that she felt depressed and stressed. I didn’t know if it was true depression or a result of coming down from the drugs. I called teen lines, drug centers, counselors, other parents; I opened up to friends and family and asked for their support and advice; I spoke with wilderness camps and boarding schools. You name it, I looked into it.

The first hurdle was making it known to my daughter that I knew everything. I didn’t need her sister to tell me a thing, because the clues were right there for the taking. I formulated what I was going to say to her and when. My thought was to tell her straight out what I found, what I learned, and what the new rules were going to be. Those rules included no sleepovers and having me drive her to and from outings with friends with a time limit. It isn’t convenient or fun for me, but her health and safety matters more. I bought a home drug testing kit just in case the need ever arises, and made an appointment with a gynecologist to check for STDs and pregnancy. You never know. I bought The Total Transformation program as well (which I’m following and loving. See my post on this program).

It didn’t work out exactly as planned, but it wasn’t bad. She came home unexpectedly early from her trip and was in a lovable, mellow mood. My real child underneath all the nonsense. She got to texting her friends almost immediately and asked to go over to a friend’s house – the one in particular I was wary of. I told her no, and when she questioned it, I explained that we would talk about that and other things at another time, when she was settled in and had some rest. She didn’t want to wait; she wanted to get through this as soon as possible. I tried to postpone the discussion, but she insisted.

8/5/2009 My Troubled Teen Part II con't

The only way I can explain how I felt at the moment is the scene that flashed in my mind, like a movie camera that was focused on me suddenly pans way out and I’m tiny and alone, a mere dot in the universe. Who is prepared for this? How do you reconcile that you’ve been an involved, attentive mother for 15 years, and this is going on right under your nose and you have been the last one to know? You, who was an 8th grade teacher and trained to look for the signs? Who do you tell? Will they still be your friend, still respect you? Will your family still love your daughter when they find out what she’s done? Will they allow her in their house?

8/1/2009 My Troubled Teen Part II con't

Over time, her attitude became really surly with me and she slept sometimes for 15 straight hours, only waking up when I made her. She had no energy and lost weight. I chalked it up to growing and just being a teenager. I had no suspicions and no one told me anything.

It took her leaving on a community service caravan to get to the bottom of things. I searched her room and found a cache of disturbing items:

• Condoms
• Cigarettes
• Glow Sticks
• Pacifiers
• Blank checks from her grandparents and me
• Blank prescription pad from my stepfather, a retired physician
• Multiple pages visited on a dating website
• Subscription to a rave-type social networking site, with her rave name as her userid

Everywhere I looked, there was more stuff stashed away, but the stolen checks and prescription pad was practically in plain sight. I took that to mean that she wanted me to find them. I was pretty upset, more like frantic. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew it wasn’t good. I could only ask one person – her sister. I pushed and pushed because it was clear she knew something. She cried out of guilt, both for not telling me and for ratting out her sister. I explained that it was my problem, not hers, and to unburden herself. It literally took 45 minutes for her to tell me that her sister had been sneaking out, going to raves, and using Ecstasy. It was the reason she was desperate to find jobs to make money, and why so much of her stuff was missing (explained away as stolen at the pool). Everything bad had to do with the raves.

7/28/2009 My Troubled Teen – Part II

New Life, New Problems, Many Revelations

It had been several years since the three of us had lived together without my boyfriend and his children. My older daughter and I had a lot of adjusting to do. The “troubled” daughter was happy as a clam. She was out of there, away from the one man she despised most in this world. It turns out she truly hated him and never had any intention of trying to get along. In a way, she sabotaged the situation, pushing his buttons and making him react poorly. He, in turn, acted as much like a child as she did half the time. They were incompatible, but neither would make the first move toward a workable relationship for the good of the order. I thought our new life would be the perfect answer. Again, what I thought and what it was were two different things.

The younger daughter and I got along on the surface, but little did I know she had entered into a period of major experimentation. I found clues along the way because I often cleaned and combed her room, but didn’t pick up on them collectively as a major problem. When I found cigarettes, she gave me a wild story about a friend who was a smoker and wanted to hide them from her abusive father. I told her I thought she was lying, but took her word for it when she said he wouldn’t have cigarettes in her room anymore. I found a half dozen lighters and bought it when she said she used them to soften her eyeliner pencil. I saw that she changed the spelling of her name and believed her when she said she just wanted to stand out. When I noticed that the two bottles of beer that kept for tenderizing pot roast were gone, I didn’t think much of it when she told me that she threw them away because she thought they went bad. The kicker was when she left her email box open at my mom’s who found a message that included a picture of a naked boy. She explained that it came in her spam email, she had no idea who sent it, and she clicked on delete – end of story. I let that one go, too.

Stupid? I’m a total moron and I sometimes can’t believe how much of one I was. I simply didn’t see what I didn’t want to see. Bad stuff wasn’t supposed to happen in my family. I’m as straight-laced as they come and she didn’t see me doing anything unseemly.

7/24/10 My Troubled Teen (con't)

One morning, my boyfriend of nine years began yelling at my daughter, and I, who had been told to stay out of all matters between them, couldn’t stand it anymore. I insisted that he stop that instant or we were through. He wouldn’t, didn’t think he had to, and actually thought that he had the right. It was my boiling point. It was too much and I didn’t want my daughter to suffer anymore. I made a decision on the spot to leave, to move out and take my children with me.

In a very short amount of time, I had packed, arranged for movers, and was gone. My older daughter went along with it, but she was angry about the disruption. But I couldn’t leave her behind. We’ve been out of that living arrangement for more than a year, and we’ve been through even more than I ever thought, and there have been many revelations.

7/23/2009 My Troubled Teen (Con't)

I caved and allowed her to come home, asking to please have her father call me before making any final decisions or arrangements. Not only did he never call me, but he booked her on a flight home for the next day. The guy who has never paid a dime in child support suddenly has money for a next-day fare. He couldn’t boot her fast enough, apparently. My heart broke for her right then and there.

My mother and I went to pick her up the next day, so emotional and full of hope. When I finally saw her, I was shocked at her appearance. She had put on about 25 pounds, had her now short hair in a weird spiked haircut, was wearing punk clothing and heavy black makeup, and generally looked like a street kid. I try not to judge by appearance or clothing, but she was startling. This was not the daughter I sent to live with her father, and she was making some statement or another. Bringing her home to the house was going to be horrible.

My daughter was shunned at the house. My boyfriend, his kids, even her sister wouldn’t talk to her. They were angry with her for leaving and angry that she thought she could just come home – just like that. For the next month, things went from bad to worse. She started out so happy to be home, but soon the weight of this terrible treatment began to affect her. She spent more and more time in her room, starting sneaking pounds and pounds of junk food and eating alone and cramming the wrappers in drawers, under her mattress and in her boots. I spend a lot of time yelling for everyone to knock it off and to understand that she was struggling and confused and not to hold a grudge. They just wouldn’t stop their behavior and my defense of her escalated.

7/21/2009 My Troubled Teen Con't

At best, she had a marginal relationship with her father at the time. Unbeknownst to me, she had been plotting this for some time, even picking fights with me so I would be desperate to send her there. Nevertheless, I allowed it and off she went in March of 2007, in the last quarter of seventh grade. It was one of the most heartbreaking days of my entire life, worse than any funeral I’ve been to. Because it was so emotionally and scholastically disruptive, the deal was that she had to stay until the end of middle school and then could decide whether she would attend high school in our state or his. I made up contracts and she and both parents signed it.

It turned out to be both the worst and most educational experience of her life. She learned that she loved her father, but had very little respect for him. He couldn’t cut it as a parent and vacillated between neglecting her and hitting her out of anger. I could understand the getting angry at her part – even the wanting to hit her part – but I certainly would never lay a hand on her. In short, by the tenth month away from home, she was done. She called me the night before Valentine’s Day in 2008, crying and begging to come home. Right away. That second. I was taken aback, as she barely ever called, texted, or emailed me that whole time. I was a veritable stalker, but she kept her distance. I even visited her at the six-month mark, and she hardly talked to me.

I had to make sure she was sure about it, and that she wasn’t being emotional or affected by PMS. She just told me she couldn’t take the bad treatment anymore and she needed me, needed her mommy, and even missed me. She also told me that the reason she didn’t reveal this before was that she felt embarrassed and like a failure, that what she wanted to accomplish was never going to happen.

July 20, 2009 My Troubled Teen Part I

Back Story: Tough Decisions
This is about my daughter mostly, but also about the struggles of being her mother and making tough decisions. My now fifteen-year-old-daughter has always been one to challenge me – my authority, my intelligence, my patience, my temper. She was born strong-willed. Born with her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and totally blue, she fought through it without missing a beat. She was always tough, and intimidated the boys in elementary school when she stepped onto the four-square court.

Fast-forward to age twelve, when she was in full blown adolescence with the moodiness and surliness that goes with it. I thought I had at least another year before it hit, but she was ahead of schedule. Her talking back and defiance became rather pronounced, and she started to wear black and be interested in a more edgy crowd. I didn’t allow it to go to far as far as dressing, but her attitude was difficult for me to combat and harder for me to cope with. We began fighting quite a bit, and just not relating at all. I still didn’t think much of it, and didn’t realize that she needed (and still needs) me to be a different kind of parent.

At age thirteen, she was so difficult to live with, alternating between dark moods, alienating herself, and total defiance, that I allowed her to move to another state to live with her father. In one of her more lucid moments, she had me believing that what she was after was to get to know him better. In my mind, I thought this was the root of her problems and this might just be the answer. Perhaps she was uncomfortable or frustrated living with me – and my long-time boyfriend, and a total of four teenagers (she being the youngest) – and needed to find out for herself what life was like with her bio-dad.