new anxiety battles to fight

Raising children constantly fascinates me. How can someone you love so intensely and so completely, frustrate you so badly that you just want to hide under a pillow for as long as you can, or run away to a secluded beach somewhere? I have been dealing with Patrick’s anxiety on an almost daily basis for around two years now and you’d think I’d be used to it by now. Although we’d known about the anxiety since he was 6 or so, it hadn’t been much of a daily issue for us up until the fire. Before that, he might require a little extra patience and some more planning and such, but basically he was a very trusting soul. We were treating the ADHD and making slow progress with special education and I was beginning to think we had this thing under control. “If you want to hear god laugh, tell him your plans” The fire came into our lives and no area of selves, our lives or our existences were left untouched. A few weeks later his anxiety escalated to previously unseen levels and I ran to take my child back to the psychiatrist, half convinced he was losing his mind. Lord knows I was certain one of us was. With some patience and time and therapy, we found our way to a happy mostly sane place again where the day to day wasn’t fraught with invisible pitfalls and tantrums over the smallest things, and stubborn behavior fueled by fear. Special Ed was working and I was back to getting glowing reports from both his teachers and day care staff. I think I got lazy. I got soft. I stopped keeping an eye out for the potential issues because I thought we have this licked. The coping mechanisms he was learning seemed to be working and all was right. And then…my mom got sick. It was a curveball I wasn’t expecting. Although its not life threatening she will require surgery and some recovery time. This information sent Patrick into a tailspin I haven’t seen in some time. Temper tantrums out of nowhere, anger lashing out, combined with clingy neediness that seems to have to salve to ease it. The more I give the more he seems to need some days. Then followed the emails from his teachers, crying in class, refusal to participate, hiding under his desk, lashing out at other students. This was different from the first time. The first real appearance of the anxiety was more of a panic response. This is clearly more of an anger response. That’s concerns me some, because these behaviors are not tolerated anywhere, whether you’re a kid or not. There are moments I find myself staring at him, asking myself, “Why does this have to be so hard?” People get sick, and many times they get better. In life there will be bumps. It’s just the way it goes. I watch this behavior, tired from weeks of trying to walk him through it and all I can think is “Kid, if you don’t get this under control, the world is going to eat you up and spit you out.” I want so much more for him that what I see now. I have to stop and remind myself that he’s only 10, but on the other side of that he won’t be 10 forever. The time to learn to handle the upsets of life is when you’re young and have someone to hold your hand and walk through them together. Time seems to be passing so quickly these days. There are moments I want to tell him to just cowboy up and deal with it like the rest if us do, but I also get that’s just not possible right now. Of course it could be said its not possible because the people around him aren’t allowing him to demand enough of himself. At what point to we stop catering to the disability and start making him as accountable as everyone else his age is? I struggle with knowing what’s appropriate and knowing what he’s truly capable of. I want to hold him to a high standard because I know how smart he is, but I have to winder if I’m only setting him up for failure when I do that. I can see his potential and I want him to find every bit of it in life. I’m just still stumbling along the right path, following my gut instinct, hoping I’m doing the right thing. That’s the hard part about parenting; you don’t know whether you’ve done it right until after it’s passed. So we make the appointments with the psychiatrist again and hope for the best, and continue on with therapy hoping this time will resolve itself over time like it did before. I try not to worry about the long term coping skills he hasn’t seemed to develop yet too much and keep putting out fires. I’ll be glad when I can get back to life where I’m not holding my breath when I pick him up from school, hoping he’s had a good day. This action plan seemed to work last time, I can only hope the recipe hasn’t changed too much since then. I remind him of what he’s done well so far and give him to opportunity to catch him being good and making the right choices. I know it’s a reminder to me that patience is the main ingredient he needs right now, and hope this too shall pass.

a few small repairs

I’ve spent a good portion of the last few days thinking and re-evaluating my life, and my place in it. When a new role was called for in my family I stepped into it without question, without being so much as asked. I knew it was expected and just filled in, taking on extra responsibilities of more meal planning and transportation to doctors’ appts and researching medical conditions. I step back now and ask myself why I did this. This is the role I play, the caretaker. Why is this my role? Was it handed to me, or was it self-assigned? And as a person in the role of caretaker, why do I not take care of myself? The stress these new assignments gave me was something I was not ready for. I’ve assumed this role before and been able to keep moving without so much as hitch in my stride. What made this one different? It could be this added job was the final straw, the one I couldn’t handle. I don’t like admitting that there’s something I can’t handle. I’ve had my share of bullshit thrown my way over the years and although I’ve stumbled here and there and been sent to my knees more than once, I’ve always managed to find a way to assume the extra weight, re-adjust and get back up. Many times this was not done without the help of those around me. If I could do it before, what makes this time so much different? My mental set is changing this time. I’m finding myself taking a step back from the whole mess and taking in the view with a fresh set of eyes. I have become the person who picks up the slack for the person around me. There was a time I would have had little respect for someone like me, who just does and does and does because that’s what is expected of her. I have very little respect for myself now, it would seem. If I treated someone else the way I have treated myself I would fully expect them to call me on it. Well this time I’m calling myself on it. I have allowed this to happen.


That thought is where the change I’m making begins. I called myself on my behavior towards myself. This is unacceptable. I will not allow me to treat myself this way. I know my worth and I know my value and by allowing myself to continue to struggle under the weight I was currently carrying is not going to continue. With this thought I look again around the world I live in and ask myself what does the world I want to live in look like? It looks like a place where my needs are asked about and respected. It’s a world where I don’t feel the need to be nice all the time and just do what needs to be done. Ok, so we’ve started to get an image of what I want around me, now I compare what I have with what ui think I should have. Little things become glaringly obvious. My boundaries, my places my space is not respected, most of all not respected by me. I begin my respecting my own space and my own boundaries. I draw my line in the sand.

This is not to say I won’t continue to care for and look out for my mother and her medical needs and I won’t care for my children and continue to raise them as I see fit. There’s the key, as I see fit. I’m not going to live to please others, I will try not to silently seek approval for the things I do and say. I’m going to speak my mind. Its as simple as this, if someone else treated me as badly as I treat myself, I would have a problem with that person. So it only makes sense that when I do it to myself, I need to self correct the behavior. This means speaking my mind and giving push back where its deemed needed and not taking so much in stride. People are always going to push, the difference is now I plan on pushing back until I’m heard.

Part of the problem I’ve had with this whole issue has been the fear that taking care of mom has just become a life sentence. I saw myself being mandated to step into the shoes she had to fill when her parents fell ill. Both times she took on the new load and found a way to carry on no matter what it cost her. Even some of the behaviors she adopted were becoming my own, although unconsciously. I am choosing to set down the parts of the load I cannot handle and giving myself a rest. This translates into small things like making myself go to bed at a decent hour and going to the gym to burn off some stress. It also translates into larger things like saying no, and delegating some duties as needed in order to ease the load. It could also mean making more space in my life but easing out the part some people have overtaken in my life in order to have some more elbow room for myself. I allow myself to listen to the voice within me that tells me what I want. I already know what I need, I think we all do. I just need to allow myself to have it. It isn’t easy to stand my ground, but already I’m doing it. And I LOVE the way it feels.

whats too much

How much is too much? I have always believed that God does not hand you anything you are not equipped to handle. I have found myself in a place right about now where I am forced to question that. In the last few weeks I've been handed job stress, money stress, relationship stress, and family stress. Mom is sick and will most likely need surgery. My family demands have grown threefold overnight. I have bills to pay and not enough $$ to cover them. My job makes me document every move I make them gives me grief about taking one day off to take my mom to the radiologist. They ask if I have to have the entire day. My family puts demands on me to cook, clean and keep everything running. And the final straw, Pats been having behavior problems at school. He is a very angry kid and I have no idea why. I question him and run into brick walls. All I know is he's not happy I just can't tell you why. I have moments when I have to wonder why all this is handed to me now. I am only one person and anymore I'm stretched so thin I don't know how I can get anything else done. I would ask for help but there's nothing anyone else can do to help. I have nothing left some days and yet the demands don't ever stop. Moms issue requires a special diet so now I'm cooking two dinners instead of one. I don't know what I even need some moments. My friends listen and that is my salvation. Mom is stressed and she leans on me, getting progressively more clingy as the days pass. And I'm here, because I have to me. There's simply no other choice. I need to be there for her because that's what you do. People think I will continue to do whatever needs to get done, but I have to ask myself where I am in my own life. I've vanished from it completely. At least before I was there a little. Now, I don't even exist. And there's simply no space to fix that. When I'm done with what is needed, I'm too tired for anything else. I find myself craving an escape into books and sleep more and more often. They are the only things that are mine and I prtect them fiercely. They are my refuge in the storm. And for now, I hang onto that.

a little disjointed, bear with me.

I've started and finished this blog entry about four times, I end up deleting it and walking away. Been kind of a weird day and I have to get it out. Many many years ago I loved a man named John. He was my first love and he was my whole world for 4 years. We broke up over rumors of his drug habit and the volatile nature of our relationship. And I must mention, some pressure from my family, who hated him. At the time there was very much a tug of war going on. My parents won. I sit here and try to remember what we were like together, really just a couple of children trying out of sea legs for the first time, feeling like we were very grown up.He appeared in my life like an guardian when I was broken and sad, and he was the first person ever in my life that accepted me exactly as I was, even if I was hopelessly imperfect. In all my life up until that point I'd not had that. He's since passed and I hadn't seen him in close to ten years. I look over the time we had together and wonder what he remembered and what i meant to him in the long run. I ask myself what would have happened to us if we'd both been stronger people and more capable of being mature with each other. I was a whiner and he was self absorbed, and yet even now I ask myself what if. What if I'd tried harder? Then I choose to remember to way we'd fight with each other how vicious we could be and how we'd dig our nails in and not let go for anything.The only goal when we'd fight was to best the other person. His biggest problem with me was my inability to stand up to my parents. My biggest issue with him was his inability to actually use the enormous amount of talent he had. It seems, from information I've gained over the years, that he did indeed find his place in the world and found a circle where he fit and belonged. He was never able to find that place with me. That hurts some. And yet when I compare our lives, I haven't found that place yet, that place where if I were to end my days, people woulds know i had my voice and I found a place in life where I was hopeful and able to be who I am supposed to be. I haven't found that place yet, and I worry sometimes I never will. He found his place sooner because his timeline was much shorter than mine and the powers that be knew that. He had much less time to accomplish what he needed to do. I found a memory page of his on facebook and the pictures triggered a rush of emotions I wasn't ready for. He was so beautiful and damaged and dark. And for a while he was all mine. I believe in every relationship you take something from it, the purpose of being in that relationship. He was my first taste of passion and my first grown up relationship. At times it was dark and twisted at times it was light. More than once he let me down and broke my heart, as I know I broke his. Even now, I finally see the ripple effect his influence has on the current relationships I'm in. That's a little disturbing to me, as I didn't see until now how much power someones first love can have in the scope of their lives. I ask myself did he ever think of me? Did he ever wonder if I was happy? And if the roles were reversed would he find pictures of me online engaging, if even for a short while? He saw me as wild and free and for a while I was untamed around him. He gave me permission to break the binds id grown up in, but in time i allowed too much and things got too out of hand. I never learned how to set boundaries with him, and it would be a long time before i did finally figure it out.

I loved him, I hated him and even many years later, I still miss him.

Ok, I dont know if any of this made any sense, as I broke out of my format and followed train of thought in my writing. Please feel free to let me know if any of this makes any sense to anyone but me.