Home→Forums→Tough Times→Struggling- one step forward, two steps back
- This topic has 4 replies, 2 voices, and was last updated 11 years, 1 month ago by Matt.
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November 15, 2013 at 12:06 pm #45363SarahParticipant
My just turned 17 years old (yesterday ) son decided to go live with his Father after putting us through a hellish year. My 13 year old daughter has chosen to stay in our home, with myself and their stepfather. Their brother/sister relationship has become shaky, but it’s still there.
I have accepted that he’s gone but the circumstances are incredibly painful. The prospect of explaining this change over and over is an awkward one for me- but with the holidays looming, I feel like I’m sinking. While the three of us maintain that this is a poor choice, I realize that my son is 17 years old and believes that he is capable of making his own decision. All attempts at protest and reasoning have fallen upon deaf ears. His poor grades and inactivity at home, negative attitude, and belief that he’s going to find the grass is greener at Dad’s house have been disruptive to the dynamics of our family.
I wished that he would go in peace: that whatever choices he makes from here are good ones. We didn’t turn him away in frustration or from lack of parenting skills: we are letting him make this adjustment because he remains unwilling to demonstrate the maturity of his age and refuses to deviate from this path, all the while being influenced by his biological father. We will remain- at least emotionally- his family
Except he hates me. The poison from his father and him is just awful.
It’s been six months now and I haven’t seen my son at all. The only emails and phone calls I’ve had from him have been hateful and awful. I had to call the police, I’ve reported these incidents but it seems that there is nothing I can do legally to protect myself. And I am so sad. I miss him so much. Because he’s not dead, I don’t know how to grieve this- I don’t know how to keep going from this. I look at my beautiful, brave, strong daughter and I revel in her independence: I see how she has grown without the storm cloud of her brother following her around and holding her back. She misses him too.
And I have always done a good job of holding my head up: but the weight of this is ginormous. We make memories, we laugh, we come together as our new family- but at the same time, sometimes I wind up looking back and it hurts so badly that I’m surprised that I haven’t dropped dead in the wake of this mess.
How do I rise above this? How do I find my way through this in a way that makes sense to me AND the naysayers/rest of the world? How do I stop feeling like every moment is fleeting? How do I let go of the fear of that?
- This topic was modified 11 years, 1 month ago by Sarah.
November 15, 2013 at 12:07 pm #45364SarahParticipantNovember 15, 2013 at 10:33 pm #45379MattParticipantSarah,
I am sorry for the suffering you’re working through, and admire your courage in approaching this with curiosity and hope. Sometimes when we love someone, especially our children, it is difficult to see them stumble on their path. On one hand, we can see them making decisions and understand the way those decisions impact them more clearly than they do, but on the other, they are autonomous beings who have their own journies to make, their own path through the unknown to carve. A few things came to heart as I read your words.
Divorce is tricky for children as they come to realize their autonomy. It gives them a choice to escape the life they had in favor of a life they wish they had. Of course, it won’t work out like he dreamed it, but it allows them to recreate themselves by swapping parents. This is a mixed bag, because on one hand it helps them refresh their perspective… much like switching jobs or moving to a new country can do. A new set of rules, expectations, hopes, possibility. Einstein said that we cannot find solutions to problems by employing the same type of thinking that created the problem… and its possible that whatever exists in him can work itself out within the new environment, because you won’t be there to blame forever. Said differently, it sounds like he’s dissatisfied with who he is (as most teenagers are) and holds you accountable. This worked fine for him while you were in control, but now that he has moved out, the “blame mom game” will only work so far. As he continues to grow, hopefully his angst will subside and he will find that his heart misses momma.
As far as your own peace of mind, a couple things may help. First is that pain is an amazing teacher, and if your son stumbles a little, he’ll get hurt but will learn. Its hard to watch because we love our children, but that’s one of the burdens of being a parent. They have to learn, and when they have a stubbornness that prevents them from learning through being told, they usually have to learn by getting burned a few times. He is obviously stubborn and strong, so trust that he’ll find his way eventually. Patience!
Second, perhaps you could view his harsh words toward you as a catharsis for him, much like a kid having a temper tantrum. They kick and scream and say all sorts of things when the devil mommy won’t give them cookies for dinner, and that’s OK. They just want what they can’t have. Its a little more sophisticated now, because he’s grown and is smarter… but its the same basic tantrum. “Mom, you’re evil and terrible for not giving me everything I want, for being imperfect, for being a person and not just a role” yadda yadda. I know it sucks to hear those things from him, and the space they create between you two, but its just empty griping about the perception of injustice and other things many teens struggle with as they try to figure out their life. You can stop making it about you, taking it personally, a little bit at a time.
As far as the embarrassment over the holidays… respectfully, you have bigger fish to fry. What other people think of the events holds only the power you give it. Said differently, you have enough on your plate just settling your own heartache without worrying about what they’ll think of you. Most people feel compassion for people who are suffering, so don’t be afraid to hug and share and be authentic with others. Of course, perhaps your family isn’t supportive in that way… I don’t really know them very well. 🙂
Namaste, sister, I hope you find peace.
With warmth,
MattNovember 16, 2013 at 3:29 am #45382SarahParticipantMatt,
I wake up every morning to make a cup of tea and wait for the return of the light when the sun comes up. This morning, I’m grateful for your words. They feel like the biggest, warmest, most genuine hug I’ve had in a good long while. Thank you.
I appreciate and I honor the time I had with my son and I remain hopeful that there will be times ahead for us, too, once the struggle of who he is going to be has passed. I try not to sit in a pile of grief and carry the heartache on my sleeve but sometimes- some minutes- it’s right there and it’s so palpable and sharp and awful all at once that I don’t know what to do with myself. I have sought therapy thrice in the past six months- all three times I have been dismissed. The first time I was told that I have exceptional coping skills and that I’m okay. The second, I was told that I should have never let my son go – and I questioned this so loudly to everyone who had ears- because that’s my responsibility as his parent: to let him be who he becomes. And that disagreement made the therapist decide that I was “un-helpable.” The third tried to help me grapple with the second’s wounds and agreed that I have good coping skills, that these things happen and that I’m okay.
While it’s great to have a pro write down “Hey! You’re okay!” the knowledge of full-on awareness that this grief is altering me is powerful and frightening. It seems lonely, this- and trying to share it has only caused me to be looked at funny, or to be dismissed. But not today, not this morning: thank you again. This morning I was heard.
I’m busy finding shelter in myself and in my husband and daughter. The Irish say that it is in the shelter of each other where the people live. We’re laughing, we’re living, we’re making memories and walking a new walk. I try not to look back over my shoulder but I’m only human.
I was a good person before this happened, and though I’m being challenged, that woman is still me. I don’t want to shut the world out just because of a little bit of hurt.
I’m off to watch the dawn, Matt, and I’m raising my cuppa to you this morning for the glimmer of peace you’ve so freely given to me.
Namaste,
SarahNovember 16, 2013 at 7:14 am #45387MattParticipantSarah,
Thank you for such kind words, and I’m happy that we’ve connected too! Therapists aren’t necessarily good at therapy, unfortunately they’re imperfect beings too, and often have rigidness to the perceptions… especially if they’re not supplementing their therapy practice with a meditation practice. Too many carry a “diagnosis” view of people’s tangles. There are great ones out there, though, and im sorry you didnt find one. C’est la vie. A few quick things came to heart as I read your words.
From the way you describe your grief, it sounds like you do have a good handle on it. That being said, grief has a way of producing cycles in the mind. Said differently, when the painfulness of it overwhelms you, it can burst into all sorts of thoughts which can prolong the grief and turn it into a canker. Buddha taught that lamentation, or cyclical grief, was an unnecessary part of our experiences, and that breathing and awareness allows it to settle.
It reminds me of childbirth. Consider these moments that overwhelm you like contractions, where the mind and body tense up and squeeze. Even though at the peak of it, where pain is deep and vibrant, it seems like the moment is forever, and now we are just going to be in pain forever, the moment settles, the muscles relax, and we find some rest. As it happens, if you can just breathe through it, and instead of it producing ideas of failure, loss, and longing, just “this is the hard labor of letting go” and breathe. The mental and emotional outburst settles, and the pain of it subsides.
Another piece that came to mind was how you may consider the pain of it just, as though it honors your love to hold tight to the pain. After all, he’s your son, and you love him, so shouldn’t you be in a constant state of upheaval as he struggles with making his way? This is faulty thinking, because your pain clouds your mind and heart, making it about you, and so there is less space to make it about him. Said differently, when you can accept that its OK to let go of your grief, you can find that it actually honors your son, because you are using the loss and distance to produce a deeper spiritual awareness. This will make you a better person and mother, because when you are healed, your creativity, passion, love and compassion flow more freely, which will make your hugs to him more rich, full of genuine support, and rooted in clarity and health. Said differently, we are more skillful to others when we honor our bodies by letting the wounds heal, which benefits them much greater than “hanging on” to the pain.
Finally, in my estimation, the baby that you’re birthing is the vision of your son as an adult, in body if not yet in maturity. That’s an awkward transition for both of you, but was inevitable also. Its more painful because of the conditions that surrounded it, so make sure you give yourself extra nurturing as your mind and heart settle and grow. You deserve peace, and even though pain is inevitable, lamentation is optional, avoidable. Keep your heart strong, sister, it beats loud and brilliant.
With warmth,
Matt -
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