I Am Two Mothers—Part 3 of 3

The mother with the troubled daughter is aware that her daughter is manipulative and knows when to turn on the charm. The attitude is sweet and sugary when she wants something or is about to knowingly do something wrong. The sweetness thwarts suspicion and stops this mom like kryptonite. This mother also faces an ugly, black attitude when the daughter doesn't like what she hears. The attitude comes with razor-sharp words, condescension, and flippant disrespect that pushes every button in the mother's consciousness. The things that are said go against everything she stands for and has tried to instill in her children. It puts her at the intersection of anger, despair, pain, and disbelief.

The other mother tells her friends that her daughter and she get along like she's always dreamed they could. Of course, once in a while, that daughter is a little sarcastic, but "Mama Bear" can laugh it off because it's so rare. Her daughter takes "no" rather well, realizing that mother knows best. That kid is such a sweetie and she's a lucky mom.

The mother with the troubled daughter is unnerved by how poorly the girl treats her belongings. Her room is constantly a mess, with trash on the floor, an unmade bed, clothes strewn all over, and a general air of chaos. The same goes for the girl's car—it's a newer model car and was in perfect condition when she bought it. In just a few short months, the back window was smashed in, the windshield is cracked, one tire popped, and there are stains on all the seats; there's trash on the floor, the seats, the trunk, and the console; the entire car smells like cigarette and pot smoke; there's a gash on the door and a dent on the side—the car looks like it's 20 years old.This mom cringes when she she's the disaster that surrounds her daughter, and no amount of nagging, suggesting, or doing it for her makes a difference. It feels hopeless. The worst part is that it probably represents what goes on in her daughter's mind.

The other mother says her daughter has a cute, bright red car that suits her bright personality. As a present (and to keep the car pristine), this mother bought her daughter fun zebra-striped car seat covers, a zebra-striped steering wheel cover, and a zebra-striped license plate frame. They both love how cute it makes the car—really makes that red "pop." She brags that her daughter is so proud of her car—and mom is proud that her daughter pays for the car and insurance all by herself. That girl has really learned the value of a dollar by having to fund this car herself!

I'm two moms, and it's exhausting. I'm aging before everyone's eyes and can't explain to anyone why. No matter what I try—eating well, exercising, being more social—I'm still so stressed out that I have chronic headaches, stomachaches, and backaches. My hair is graying, my skin is dry, and I DO NOT SLEEP. I'm reluctant to bring a man into my life because I'm (a) embarrassed about my daughter and (b) afraid to bring someone into this chaos. Because of my daughter, I'm flat broke, depressed half the time (despite medication), and desperately lonely.

Of course, the other mother puts a smile on her face and says, "This is my year!"

I Am Two Mothers—Part 2 of 3

The mother with the troubled daughter is suspicious of anyone her daughter calls “friend.” Their experience has been almost entirely negative—the daughter plus any one of those friends equals raves, drugs, sexual activity, various illegal activity, curfew violations, smoking, drinking, and general badness. The friendships have not lasted, usually because someone has caused another to get into trouble, and the drama and hard feelings cause the flimsy bonds to disintegrate. The friendships are based on nothing solid—no emotional ties, no history, no common values. Her daughter has virtually no real friends because she can’t maintain the relationships beyond a brief amount of time.

The other mother tries very hard to ignore what is right before her eyes when she meets or hears about the new friends her daughter makes. If they’re from work—well, they have a job and ambition. If she met them through a friend—well, she has a nice social life and is meeting new and interesting people. If they’re older by three or four years—well, she’s always related to older kids; that’s why she graduated high school early. She didn’t relate to the average person at school.

The mother with the troubled daughter couldn’t stand the bad grades, the calls from teachers, the refusal to join anything at school, the failure to complete any program that was made especially for her from the guidance counselor. This mother couldn’t handle watching her daughter become depressed, isolated, and refuse help. This mother let her daughter get her GED at 16 so that they could all escape the torture in hopes that the daughter would be so grateful, that she’d fulfill her promise to get a job, save money, and generally be happier. Her daughter has a job, but is always at risk of losing it because of her behaviors outside work. She’s even been called into the HR department because she was suspected of being high on marijuana.

The other mother tells everyone that her daughter is gifted and school was moving too slowly for her. She was anxious to graduate, so she took online classes and graduated two years early. Her daughter does indeed have a great job and, of course, happily pays for her own car and insurance.

I Am Two Mothers—Part I of 3

I have a split personality, minus the mental illness (though some days I’m not so sure about that). I am two mothers in one body—one mother whose daughter is more of a challenge than she should have to handle, and another mother who hides this reality from the world.

The mother with the troubled daughter worries to the point of having ulcers, muscle aches, heart aches, hours of weeping, and bouts of anxiety. She lies awake at night wondering what she did wrong—evaluating everything from the genetic pool within her child, the environment in which she was raised, the experiences she’s been exposed to—to the friends she’s chosen and the city they live in.

The other mother tells her friends and social contacts that her daughter is doing great! That girl has come so far that she makes her weep for joy just thinking about her. This mother answers the “How’s your daughter doing?” questions with, “I’m so proud of her for her accomplishments. Everyone should have a daughter like mine.”

The mother with the troubled daughter had picked her daughter up from the police a half dozen times because of curfew violations, accidents, shoplifting, being in possession of paraphernalia, and allowing an unlicensed teenager to drive her car. This mother  has paid fines, driven her daughter to court, and given lectures on breaking the law and making good choices. This mother has also found out that her daughter has been sexually active for a long time, with the number of partners ranging from at least five, but more likely around 15.

The other mother tells her friends and social contacts that her daughter is a typical teenager, who has a messy room and is sometimes a little lazy, and if that’s the worst a kid could do, give me my kid every time. This mother goes to brunch with her daughter every Sunday, and takes her on little shopping sprees because it’s their “bonding” time. Her daughter knows that having sex can lead to pregnancy, which she’s seen among people all around her, and has decided she doesn’t want to take that risk. Yep, her daughter is abstinent, doesn’t touch pot, and would never break the law.

Same &^#$% Different Day

Yesterday, I stayed home from work because I didn’t feel well—backache, stomachache, headache. It gave me an opportunity to spend the morning with my daughter in a non-rushed, like-old-times kind of way. She was in a great mood, represented by how gorgeous she looked when she got ready for work. She had such a big smile and looked so pretty that I took a photo of her and posted it on Facebook.

Off to work she went in all her glory, maturity, and confidence. I was proud to have such a magnificent daughter and thought, “Finally, we’ve arrived at a good place. The hard work has paid off.” I continued my day—resting, cleaning, doing whatever I needed to do to feel better.

Fast forward to the evening. My daughter texted me that she would be spending the night at her friend’s house and that she loved me. I responded that it would be okay, and I loved her back. I went about my business, having a mellow evening, watching American Idol, checking my e-mail and Facebook accounts, and relaxing. With everything in order, I took two Advil PMs for the pain, turned the ringer off my phone, and read my book until I fell asleep.

My alarm went off at 6:30 and, groggy though I was, I got started on my day. I happened to look at my cell phone and I saw that my mother had tried to call me at 6! I panicked because that could only mean one thing—that she or my stepfather was in trouble. My stepfather is dying of emphysema and I thought for sure she was calling to tell me some awful news. But there was no message—which is unlike my mother. I called immediately and she said she and my daughter were pulling into the complex.

Turns out, the police called my mother (I told my daughter I would not take any more of these phone calls and would not come to her if she got in trouble). I guess the police insisted on calling someone, so they bothered my 74-year-old mother from her sleep. Really, it was my daughter doing the bothering—the police were doing their job. I told my mom she should’ve let the police take her in, but my mom doesn’t know how many times we’ve been through this because I’ve not told her anything. She thinks it’s the first incident, so she thinks her granddaughter will learn her lesson from this scary incident. Little does she know…

What a surprise—she didn’t sleep over her friend’s house; instead, she was with two boys from work who were up at 5:30 a.m. smoking pot in her car.  An alert neighbor called the police because my daughter lit a sparkler and they were nervous. That’s her story, along with, “I wasn’t smoking; I haven’t in SO long; I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” The truth is in there somewhere, but I’d need a savvy translator to help me find it.

Not sure why she wasn’t allowed to drive her car home since they didn’t give her a citation of any kind, but now it’s her problem how she’s going to pick up that car and get to work, and make sure she saves her job. She earned a promotion that starts in three days. Did she blow it? That’s where it becomes my problem, unfortunately.

When she entered my house, I told her that I’m ashamed of her, that she lied again, that I don’t trust her, that she needs to get her act together, and to simply not talk to me. I don’t deserve this, she doesn’t deserve my support, and I didn’t raise my children this way. At the moment, I don’t care if I was too harsh. I’m disgusted. She agreed with me and was sad, apologetic, and remorseful, and told me this was the last time (this is the fifth last time, by the way). She doesn’t like this and feels ashamed that her beloved grandmother is involved now. I had no time to deal with it because I was getting ready for work.

So I had to write this piece at work because I can’t concentrate until this is out of my head and in black and white. I’m angry, frustrated, disgusted, and don’t want to tell anyone. Everyone thinks I’m such a great mother, but look how my daughter behaves! Same &^#$%, different &^#$% day.

Well, That Was Fast--My Daughter Moved Back Home

Here’s an update I didn’t think I’d be making any time soon. My “troubled teen,” whom I thought had made it in the big world is BACK HOME. I definitely have many mixed feelings about it.

I was beginning to get used to the peace and cleanliness in my house (not the quiet). It was effortless to be home—for over a month it was orderly, organized, clean, and good-smelling. There were no children, big dirty shoes, no litter boxes, no bad attitudes, no arguments, no cat fur in my mascara…but there was hollowness, stark silence, and an empty refrigerator.

The bottom line is, I missed my little girl—but the baggage that she comes her? Not so much. But I’ll take it because I love her in a way that only strong, dedicated parents understand. No matter what she does or says, she can’t break me or my heartstrings. I am, always have been, and always will be her rock. And she’ll always be my love girl.

So anyway, here’s how it went down. I was in Walmart after work, shopping for some goodies for my upcoming book club (one of my passions). I left my phone in the car so I could just get my stuff done without interruption. I didn’t think for one second that my daughter would call, as this was during her work hours, so I rambled around the store at my leisure.

Once back in the car, I saw that there were about five missed calls from her and one sobbing voicemail. I admit, I rolled my eyes in my mind and said, “Shit, what now, damnit?” After several tries, I got in touch her, and she said, “Mommy, can you come help me move out?” The “mommy” title was very telling; she was in great need.

We talked for the duration of the 45 minute trip to her apartment so she could calm down. She told me the details and I became pretty inflamed. There were so many problems that she exposed—first and foremost, she was accused of stealing from the roommate and there were issues over guys squatting in the apartment. My daughter actually took matters into her own hands and threw one of them out (proud of her for taking a stand). The roommate told my daughter that if she didn’t like the ground rules that she set up, she could just get the hell out. This was after the rent was paid for the month, of course.

I put in a call to the roommate, who was at work. It was a formal one stating that if they didn’t work out the issues at hand, that she would owe me for the remaining days of the month as I actually paid the rent for January. A thousand text messages followed, and I just stopped responding. The roommate is intelligent and articulate; she just uses her mind for negative purposes. My daughter tried to convince her that they should sit down and talk about their many issues, but the girl refused and demanded that she leave immediately. To make a long story short, within a couple of hours, both our cars were jam-packed with her belongings and her three cats, and we were on our way home. I was sweating bullets and so very sad for my still-weeping child. “Why am I such a failure?!” she kept crying out.

There has been another barrage of texts, but I’m not entertaining them right now. There are claims about damage, keys, court, etc. and I want to process this, and my daughter needs to as well. There were also issues that the roommate could get into big trouble for—selling pot from the apartment, arrest warrants, and who know what else.

My child and I will discuss this and solve the problems together; she clearly needs my support and I won’t let her down. I don’t agree with everything she’s done, but I give her lots of credit for trying to do well. For now, she needs to kick ass at work and get herself organized. She’s already calmer and happier, and has asked me to forbid her to ever move out again because she always does better at home with me. She broke down and cried about all the trouble she’s caused and to please forgive her. Of course I will. We are strong women in our family, and we’ll move on and put this past us. Life is too short to wallow in misery.

We’re now in the process of moving her back into her room and getting her organized one day at a time. I’ve set ground rules about friends, behaviors, etc. I can do that—I’m the parent/grownup and it’s my home. My daughter doesn’t seem to mind that I’m asserting my well-deserved authority.

This child has a bit of life cleanup to do—she let her car get trashed, she’s not been taking great care of herself, she’s been dressing sloppily for work, she’s not exercising or volunteering, and she hasn’t been eating well. Mama’s stepping in—it’s not a control thing; it’s a “get back to basics” thing. She needs the structure and has come to realize that I’m right again and that she should’ve listened to me in the first place. What’s the expression? Hindsight is 20/20.

New Year--Please No New Trouble!

One thing that has strengthened the relationship between my formerly troubled daughter and me is a regular Sunday brunch together. No matter what, we clear time on our calendars to spend time together. It doesn’t matter if we’re super tired, have a cold, have PMS, or anything else, we make it happen. I’m very proud to say that my daughter initiated this practice, and it has been going strong for several months. She adamantly tells her friends and roommates not to bother her because she’s with her “mommy.” You have no idea how much I love this.

Our time together has morphed from a simple plate of pancakes with a little light conversation to spending hours together—talking, laughing, really getting to know each other. She tells me about “real” things going on in her life, in her mind, and in her heart. The way she’s conducting her life on her own is something for me to be proud of, and I frequently hear my thoughts and philosophy coming out of her mouth. She tells me she’s lucky to have had life training from me because she’s finally putting it to use and it works.

Yesterday was our first Sunday brunch of 2011, and of course the topic of changes and resolutions came up. I don’t need to do much talking, Sunday brunches are her forum for expressing herself. As long as I don’t chime in too much, she tells me everything. I’m so proud of her aspirations for the new year; for one thing, she plans to stay out of trouble. The trouble in 2010—tickets, accidents, fines, car repairs, etc. cost her more than she earned. She owes me over a grand, so she certainly feels it. She has learned not only the value of a dollar, but how hard it is to earn that dollar. She works hard, and that includes the getting up, getting dressed, getting to the office, getting through the day with a good attitude even if she’s in a foul mood, and making a positive impression. After all, she must keep this job—it pays for her past indiscretions and will allow her to continue to be self-reliant. She has also realized that being in trouble costs her her self-respect and dignity.

She is now looking into colleges, which makes my heart skip a beat. She has a distinct plan, and I’m very proud of her for that. Though I’m an educated person, she doesn’t want to necessarily follow my path or that of her sister. She will become an educated person, though, and understands that going to college is much more than just attending a bunch of classes.

She has her own road to travel, and she’s thought it through and I respect that. I have learned that each person is different and I can’t make her be who I think she should be, I have to embrace who she is. Since I’ve been able to do that and look at her without a critical eye, I’ve found that I have a very special daughter, with her own gifts and her own struggles. We are strong women in our family, and if I let her be herself, she can be strong, too. Maybe her life of being a follower is behind her and she ready to lead a better existence, beginning in 2011.

How Did This Happen? Finally Good News!

I did have one incident in the past month with my younger daughter since the shoplifting thing, but thankfully, it really wasn't her doing. Her friend was driving on the freeway at a high speed and was stopped and investigated. My daughter and two teenage boys were in the car and everyone got checked out. The driver was found to have been drinking, speeding, and had several pot pipes in the car. She ultimately had her car impounded. The boys were clean. My daughter had a pot pipe in her purse that "wasn't mine!" Of course. I wasn't born yesterday and neither were the police officers, as I found out after I had to travel 45 minutes to the location at about 1 a.m. She ended up with a fine and a scare and we had a deep conversation on the way home--about her choices, her friend's un-friendlike choices, and so on.

My final statement, and what she heard loud and clear was, "If I'm ever called again by the police in connection with anything you've done...I'm not coming. I'm done."

OK, so since that night in early December 2010, she has turned 17. She also got a raise and a promotion at work, plus bonuses and awards worth almost $1000. They love her there and she loves her job. She has decided that she's going to focus because she likes the positive attention much better. She likes it better when we get along and wants to keep it that way.

My seventeen-year-old daughter now lives in her own apartment with two other roommates and she is so happy. Most people think I'm crazy for allowing it, but she's been handling it wonderfully. She pays her own rent, her own car payment, her own insurance, and her own upkeep. It has doen wonders for our rapport. We see each other every Sunday without fail--for brunch and then we spend the afternnon hanging out. We shop, go to the movies, and best of all--we talk! On this day, at this moment, I have the relationship with this child that I've always wanted. I like the idea of starting 2011 this way. I have an empty nest, but I'm now stress free!

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."

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!

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.