Springtime

Spring season - a time of new growth, new shoots, new beginnings, new hope.  From the wasteland, a speck of green appears, and although its lifecycle is predetermined, the optimism that the first new shoot brings to the observer, lightens the heart, lifts the spirit and energises the mind.

I've waited eight long months.  Silently waited.  I've silently endured the ignominy of my Ex's family's opprobrium at things going so badly wrong with my son.  I've crumpled countless times from the frustration at my Out-laws' audacity to insist beyond reasonable or legal or moral bounds that if they had my son under their roof, they - and he - must have nothing to do with me.  Of their insistence - largely acquiesced to by the educational institution - that they could act as his guardians and be in control of all pastoral and other matters despite there being absolutely no agreement in this regard.  I've received messages telling me not to contact my son (I text him twice a week to say hi and wish him a good week/end - nothing more, nothing less); they have trumpeted down to the school demanding redress when they heard I had been in touch with the school administrator - the one person in this whole nasty twisted mess who saw through them all from the moment they met.

It's all so dysfunctional. And yet still I try to make sense of it.

I waited silently because to do otherwise would have meant the risk of him losing what is essentially a safe roof over his head (the alternative being quite the opposite of a warm home and food on the table). It would also have meant I had to be prepared to take him back, and as it took me almost three months to recover physically, I was not ready for that then, nor has he been ready to come back.

And in the middle of all of this, a yawning and cold silence from my son.

Until recently.

His birthday was on the evening of a dress rehearsal performance by Teen 2, which T1 attended with us.  A week later, he came for dinner then to the airport to pick up T2 from a school trip.  Today, he came to his brother's paint-balling 'birthday party' (in the pouring rain!), followed by dinner here at home.  And best of all, at his suggestion, we played a card game after dinner, when I sat there distractedly losing, while attentively watching, listening and loving having my three sons with me around the table.

In the car on the way to take him back to the Out-laws (whose Power/Control issues seemed to dissipate from my mind with every minute I spent at the dinner table this evening with my three boys), a conversational break through: he offered an unsolicited admission of his bad behaviour, and, an apology.  A simple, small, heartfelt apology: "I'm really sorry mum".  Followed by a small feeler put out that should he get on track, could he maybe come home next year?

Yes! Yes! Yes! cried my inner Mother Goddess.
No! cautioned my hurt self, not unless we set some ground rules first.  Drugs are still part of his life.  And commitment to working towards a goal would be needed first.

I remained silent on the detail.  I told him that his home is here with me and his brothers and would always be so.  When he is ready, he and I can sit and talk about what this might look like.

I wonder if from these small beginnings, a flourishing, new relationship with my son will occur.  My heart warms at the thought.

Mining for Gold 3

EVENT #4: SCHOOL’S OUT!

The High School decided they would not have Teen1 back.

I was not surprised by the decision, but, I was devastated.  It was the end of the road – correction: the end of ONE road, but a road I had so hoped he’d stay on for the next few formative years.

He had burned too many bridges and lost a lot of goodwill at the school by offending too many people too often.  He had shown no remorse for or understanding of his actions, but even if he had, I am not sure it would have been a safe move by the school to allow him back anyway. There were no guarantees or indications of a change in behaviour coming from him. The school took the courageous step, and I know from my time spent with the Principal, it was made having explored options, worked on strategies and generally having done the best they could for him.  He had been shown occasional leniency, as well as some strong boundaries over the short time he attended the school.  He self-sabotaged his opportunities for success at school, and I hope this won't continue to be a pattern for him.

In sum, 2011 wasn’t a great one for T1’s resumé: expelled from two schools; minimal credits at NCEA Level 1; arrested then dismissed for possession charges; and in the same week as being expelled and in Court, his mother tells him he can’t live at home given the lack of improvement in his behaviour and attitude.

That’s pretty heavy stuff for a 16 year old.  Certainly, it just about did my head in.

That’s the gist of the specific events.  In the background, there was a new 'power and control' game unfolding that I was not aware of, as well as some significant heartache as I saw my son go - more on that later.

THE GOLD

Without enough credits for Polytech, and no employment, there was one opportunity that re-presented itself.  The School suggested T1 apply to get into the “Service Academy”.

Service Academies are Ministry of Education funded programmes, delivered under the managerial auspices of the School Board and Principal, but with a separate campus (adjoining the School in this case), separate classes, independent teachers and a strong physical component.  This Academy has a Director appointed who is a former British army man.  The Academies are aimed at Year 12 and 13 students who have ‘disengaged’ from school. The Academy aims to keep students engaged in learning, help them improve their qualifications, and prepare them for the workforce, for further training, and potentially for a career in the armed services. 

Twice in the last 18 months in my search for alternatives for T1, I had spoken to the Academy, but at those times, he did not qualify (age restriction, and too late for orientation). 

This time, he got in.  Ironically, despite not allowing him back for the mainstream school programme, the School still has him on their books.

But more than that, he agreed to go.  This was a breakthrough, a significant advance - and one that a friend suggested I should credit my Ex for achieving. 

That was an interesting, unexpected perspective. I struggled with the concept that after years of single parenting and doing all I could, suddenly this development was to be seen as a credit to T1's father.   

I am, however, mining for gold, so, yes, it was fortunate T1's Dad followed up on the opportunity and took T1 to enrol  (is that credit enough?!  I really don't want to crawl over broken glass!).  I must say that it was, however, T1's decision alone to step forward into the opportunity, and as his parents, our contribution was to take him where he needed to go.  He had this one definitive option left: and he took it.  Whew.

Back to THE GOLD:  I’m pleased for T1, delighted that he’s enrolled in something that gives him a reason to get up each day and that he has boundaries around his day.  Finally, I am utterly relieved that for now, today, he's not on the streets.

There is gold in everything and I'm working hard to mine it.

Next posts: Out in the cold - the swiftness of the transition between daily contact with my child..... and being cut right off.

Mining for Gold 2

EVENT #3: CHANGE OF ABODE

I told my son he had to leave home.

It pains me to write that.  The layers of emotion around my action are the stuff of a book on the ‘psychology of the transitioning parent/child relationship’ or some such title.  It would take a multitude of blog posts to explore such matters. 

In between vicious bouts of viral fevers, I had time to reflect on the situation in my family home:  an abusive, angry, misbehaving, drug smoking, thieving, drinking, largely absent teenager ('a devil in the home and an angel on the streets' was how a friend described T1 - actually she described my Ex as that, and added T1 as an afterthought); and two younger brothers still finding their way.  

Maybe the virus I contracted had nothing to do with the strain of the last few years I thought, but then again, on a mind-body-spirit level, how could it not?

It was untenable to continue to have T1 live in my house and behave the way he had been for so long.  For the time I was in hospital and sick at home, all abuse and disrespect stopped.  It was like a cloud had lifted.  Something had changed and the something was that my son was not in my house.

My nearest and dearest were telling me in different ways that T1’s behaviour could not continue to be tolerated (much as we all love him), and he needed to be responsible for his actions and to face the consequences.  I had had the same message from my Ex and his brother back in October: kick him out they told me, toughen up, throw him out on the curb. 

I didn’t.  Couldn’t.  And didn’t know how to do that anyway.  He was just 16 and despite the way he treated me and his family and home, he also didn’t seem to want to leave (good food, warm bed). 

I thought it would come right if I could just stick it out a bit longer (a scary repetition of my marriage!).  I was hanging on to some generalized wisdom from the nation’s popular parenting personality*, that if this behaviour starts young (say 12 or 13 years old) given the good home he had all his life, the chances are it would have blown over in a few years.  (*Nigel Latta’s comedic timing is getting better all the time I thought, watching him on the tv tonight!).

Yeah, nah, it hasn’t happened. 

With T1 away from home while I was sick, and while his father was here, I knew that I had to do something to protect myself and my other sons, and there had to be some kind of change. 

Making a decision to tell your 16 year old to leave home is just not easy.  It was horrible.  But I had to have the courage to let myself be heard, and to refuse to allow my home and heart be trampled on, regardless of the age of the person doing it. 

I ended up telling him.  ‘Son’, I said, ‘you have forfeited your right to live here’. 

“What the fuck, that’s bullshit” was the response, and has remained so to this day.

I tend to agree with him, but that’s on a whole different level.

THE GOLD

There has to be some gold in amongst all this:  my house is calm and peaceful; I’m enjoying my two other gorgeous boys; there are no late nights waiting up, no abuse.  Best of all, I no longer have my room under lock and key, nor do I have to lock my wallet and other possessions away when I have a shower.  I don’t worry so much about where he is, or if the police will call first.  I don’t wake in the morning to find the kitchen a mess of left over late night munchies  and I don’t get told to fuck off if I ask for it to be cleaned up. 

There’s a newfound or regained freedom to live in my own home without threat to property or person.

The worry has, however, been replaced by a new, foreign emotion I am still trying to understand: something about a mother having to  tell her son, a young boy, not yet grown up or mature, to leave the family home.  To paraphrase T1: that sucks.

Next posts – new 'school'; new digs; and new family dynamics... updates to come….

  

Mining for Gold 1

It's been a long time between blog posts, and a lot has happened lately in this journey of parenting this particular Teenager.  

There is gold in every event if you choose to look for it.  I’m going to post a summary of key events since December, and some reflections on them in hindsight: I have mined for the gold in each of them.  And maybe the stories will help others either gain another perspective on their family situation, or, learn from my mistakes!  Good luck…

EVENT #1: FAMILY GROUP CONFERENCE  

Before sentencing, the Youth Court released Teen1 on various conditions, including a curfew, bailed to my home address, no drug or alcohol consumption, and possible random alcohol breath testing.  Another of these was that he attend a FGC. 

Social Workers strongly advise that both parents are present at FGC and that both bring support people.  Up until the morning of the FGC, my Ex had indicated that he would teleconference into the meeting. 

As it was, the meeting occurred when I was into day 4 of my hospital admission and in no fit state to attend anything.  It was decided that two close family members would attend on my behalf.  Some hours before the meeting, my Ex arrived unexpectedly from overseas. From what I heard, it was not a particularly pleasant meeting.

GOLD: Let others step in to help  

I had to let go.  I was forced, in fact, by Mother Nature to accept that my presence or otherwise was not going to affect any outcome.  In the end, I was hugely relieved not to have been there: I was worn out by trying to manage everything alone – and look where it got me: in a hospital bed.  Handing over responsibility to others was challenging, but unavoidable.

SUB EVENT #2: 

As a result of my Ex turning up unexpectedly, the alternate bail address the Court demanded became my Ex's, or rather his sister's address where he stays when in town.  

MORE GOLD: unexpected events result in unexpected outcomes 

Ironically, T1’s arrest and bail conditions meant that he could not insist on staying at home while I was away, as the Court had decreed otherwise. 

I was worried about T1 being at home while I was in hospital, and I had no solution to this problem.  T1 had a longstanding offer to stay with family on a farm in Central Otago and work through there, and another family member in town offered to have him stay.  He had refused to go to either, of course preferring the run of the house in my absence.

T1 by default ended up with his father, which would, eventually, bring about a complete change in our living arrangements.

SUB EVENT #3: 

While I was in hospital, T1 took the spare key to my car and drove it for a few days.  His terrible parking gave him away.  In the end, it was a family member who saw him driving down the street and pulled him over.  Luckily, this happened before he was pulled up for being an unlicensed driver, or for causing worse harm.  (typical teenager?!… in other circumstances, he might get a dressing down and grounded for a while, but on top of everything else on his card: it was not a great move on his part!).

MORE GOLD: Live in a small town/ It takes a village to raise a child

My brother took charge, managed to persuade the man whose car was ‘bumped’ when T1 pulled over not to press charges, and he dealt with the spare key issue.  Car returned, noone hurt.   I didn’t have to deal with it, or at least not on my own. 

EVENT #2: COURT SENTENCING

The Court dismissed the charges.  Teen1 had compiled with bail conditions.  The Judge talked with him about T1’s options, he encouraged continuing education and questioned him about his plans.  T1 was polite and said what he needed to say.   The Judge told him that after years on the bench, he’s seen too many young men regretful for having given up their education early, and for their behaviour.  He told T1 he didn’t want to see him again in Court.

GOLD: Punitive measures don’t always work, but leniency comes with a responsibility to do better.

T1 has been given another chance.  I hope he uses it wisely. 

Next posts to come – updates on home and school….

Crash and Burn

Here's what parents, particularly mothers, must not do: care so much for others and attend to so many external demands that they forget to take care of their precious Self.

I crashed and burned.  I knew I was running on empty back in October.  By the time I stood in Youth Court in November staring out that window, I was beginning to feel the impact of being depleted mentally, emotionally, psychologically, spiritually.  What I had left was my physical health, and guess what? … that soon took a hit too.

It’s hard to keep practicing self care when the parts of Self that sustain how we live in the world are constantly challenged, threatened, abused.  I thought I was managing but the last few years took their toll. I became so focused on trying to hold everything together - as I envisaged it should be - I exhausted myself.  

Ordered into Emergency by my Doctor, I was admitted to hospital, donated vials of blood to the lab for testing on a regular basis, had numerous tests, and was too sick for weeks after a relapse to care much about anything or for anyone.  Medically, it was an undiagnosed viral illness.  My self diagnosis is adrenal fatigue brought about by prolonged anxiety and stress.  I hate admitting it, but there it is.  

My naturopath and herbalist asks me at most of my sessions with her: ‘how full is your cup, Claire?”.  She asks that I visualize my life essence in that cup: is it full and brimming over with possibility and vitality?  does it needing topping up? is there only dregs in the bottom?

My cup of vitality was low. But the cup is not broken, those dregs in the bottom are the seeds for change and replenishment.  I was fortunate that I was sent a gentle message from Mother Nature, and not a life threatening illness. 

My responsibility to my Self and to those I love is to change the paradigm…

... to humm along quietly for a while and not strive to keep the whole choir in tune. 

How have you been humming along lately?