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!
Showing posts with label teenage depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teenage depression. Show all posts
11/20/10
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)