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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 624046" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>Actually COM, that is the truth.</p><p></p><p>We just get so used to not saying what is true to our kids. Maybe we don't want to believe they are where they are. Here is the thing: they already know where they are. The conversation you want to have with your child is the right conversation, Child. </p><p></p><p>Cedar</p><p></p><p>****************************************</p><p>The rest of this is speculative material. (I was gong to say stuff, but chose the more impressive "material".) How did we get here kinds of thoughts.</p><p></p><p>Do you think that sense of anger attending those feelings is your way of beating yourself up for where he is in life?</p><p></p><p>This is the latest strange thing my daughter did. Her just-turned-fifteen year old was acting out. Understandable, right? Not to my daughter. She sent her child to live with her half brother. She sent her on a <u>bus</u>. Told her she knew how to take care of herself, that it was going to happen one way or another, and that she could see it as an adventure or however else she wanted to see it. When I questioned her on it (aghast) she said: "Mom. C is like me. Her life will get better when C decides for it to get better and not a minute sooner. She is not making it here. She did not make it with her aunt. She did not make it with her stepfather. Now, she has to choose whether she is going to make it or not. I cannot do that for her. I won't have this rebellious teenager stuff. I won't have it. C is going somewhere, and I don't really care where. She will be fine, Mom. Don't worry. I know what I am doing."</p><p></p><p>And she was right, COM. The fifteen year old spent a night outside the bus station in a city strange to her when, midway through her journey, they closed the station for the night. (!) She caught her bus the next day, made it to her destination...and seems to be doing just fine.</p><p></p><p>So, I have been thinking about that.</p><p></p><p>When difficult child daughter was that age, she had already been in treatment twice. She would go through three more "treatments." Each time, she would go back to what got her into treatment in the first place. It was the same people she went back to now, in her thirties, that she ran with then, when she was a teenager.</p><p></p><p>And she wound up in treatment, again.</p><p></p><p>And our question was always "why". What did we do. How did this happen. Where did we go wrong. Who is to blame. How could she do this, to us and to herself. Again.</p><p></p><p>But what if there is no "why". It isn't like our kids didn't know any better. It isn't like our kids had parents who lived as they do. They had us for parents. So it gets to be, just like you are telling your son in your imaginary conversations with him...you did what you did. These are the consequences. What we have done before has not helped you. This is not what I wanted for you. Call me. Always, call me. I love you so much.</p><p></p><p>All that stuff is what is true.</p><p></p><p>*****</p><p></p><p>I was just thinking about all those years of paying for things, of taking the kids, of doing what we did. It paid off, in a way. I got to show off for a little while there, got to pretend I was one of the fortunate ones whose child was something respectable.</p><p></p><p>But who was all that angst for? Was it because my child was in danger? Or was it because she was not what I wanted her to be.</p><p></p><p>Or was it both. And over time, legitimate and illegitimate fears and rages and worries coalesce. Limbic pathways are created. Response becomes automatic. Even trying to figure out how we feel enough to name how we feel becomes impossible. Everything is all messed up together. We choose the responsible position: Get them on their feet, again. Over time, we resent it. We are aging. Tired. So angry. We rebel. Fall apart. Rebel.</p><p></p><p>Why can't we just say what we mean?</p><p></p><p>Because we are afraid of that mishmash of emotion that we don't understand. Betrayal is in there, too.</p><p></p><p>She is still my same daughter. Only somehow, since I really believed it was over...I don't seem to see her, or myself, the same way.</p><p></p><p>It no longer mattered who was wrong, what I did, what she did.</p><p></p><p>So...who did this to me? Well, I did.</p><p></p><p>I think your son already knows all those things you want to tell him, Child.</p><p></p><p>He probably knows how angry and disappointed you are, too.</p><p></p><p>But whatever happens next, whoever it is he turns out to be, at the heart of it, that is your person. Your son, for better or worse or whatever comes next. It's like, we cannot change that bond we feel. I just wonder, looking at the way I see everything so differently now...how is it I missed that my daughter was her own? </p><p></p><p>That my son is his own? How did I ever let it get to the point that my own son acts and talks like he passionately hates me...and I discount it? </p><p></p><p>Discount him?</p><p></p><p>No, I think our kids deserve true things from us. </p><p></p><p>Not abuse. Not name-calling or labeling. No blaming.</p><p></p><p>It has to go back to that primal connection with a defenseless child. Maybe we never let go of that. Ever. If our son is the President, we still love him as our child, we still protect him, become angry if he is rude and etc. Only the President can say "I'm the President, mom. You did good." Our kids can only say "You are right. I am in jail. You did not do good. Or, I did not do good. Or, who is to blame. Or, why did this happen."</p><p></p><p>And etc.</p><p></p><p>And that primal stuff needs to help them make it, survive it, overcome it.</p><p></p><p>But is that their "stuff" or...ours?</p><p></p><p>So the thing that needs to change is that part of us that judges ourselves <u>or the kids</u> because bad things are happening to our kids. That part of us that categorically refuses to accept what they are doing, who they've become. "How could you have stolen that XBox when you knew...." He did know. Maybe he was hungry...but he has been eating at soup kitchens and so on.</p><p></p><p>So, really...your son picked this.</p><p></p><p>Drug use.... My daughter was using mega drugs. Anything that came along. Really, my response should have been "Not a penny. Love you , love you so much, but not going to do the drug thing or the gambling thing with you." We should have been able to be clear and easy with that decision. But we were filled with rage, with betrayal, with disgust. </p><p></p><p>That money we gave her made it possible for us to take the easy way out. </p><p></p><p>It's all that rage we're afraid of. We don't want to label them further. We believe for them that they are better than they are...but they are the same person. They aren't better or worse, they just are.</p><p></p><p>Looks like I've gone beyond my ability to explain myself, again.</p><p></p><p>It is a really difficult thing to put into words.</p><p></p><p>But...what would happen if you trusted your son enough to tell him the truth? Not to try to destroy him, not to abuse him or rub his face in it. But just to say what you posted, here?</p><p></p><p>What do you think he would feel?</p><p></p><p>The question is simple enough: Will you post bail.</p><p></p><p>Your answer is appropriate Child, because you have already done that for him ~ done all that, and more. </p><p></p><p>You can love him and tell him the truth, both.</p><p></p><p>How could we not be angry? We dreamed such different dreams for our babies, for our little boys and girls. We are so mad at ourselves for something we did that was wrong, or they would not be in danger, now. What if that isn't true? What if the truth is that we loved them strong enough that they operate by a different value system than the one we tried to teach them, altogether?</p><p></p><p>Both my kids say the strangest, brightest things, COM. They see what is going on around them with a clarity of vision that is astonishing. I see that same characteristic in so many of our difficult children. (What about the drug piece, I ask myself, here. I don't know. But I do know our kids know more about drugs and drug use than we do. And they do it again, even after they are clean of the addiction.) </p><p></p><p>I could be wrong. But something more is going on here than we can see, I think. What I do know is that if a mother could change any of this for her children, those parents who ultimately find their ways here are the parents determined enough that those kids should have fallen right into line.</p><p></p><p>But they didn't. Fighting us every step of the way, becoming more and more impossibly hateful and rude, they choose something else altogether.</p><p></p><p>There is something here too about difficult child daughter having had all those things I wanted for her, and throwing every bit of it ~ along with any hope of ever having it back again (maybe), right down the drain.</p><p></p><p>She told us, before this happened, that she didn't think the go-to-work-mow-the-grass-go-to-sleep life was working for her.</p><p></p><p>So...it isn't like they don't know what they are doing.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 624046, member: 17461"] Actually COM, that is the truth. We just get so used to not saying what is true to our kids. Maybe we don't want to believe they are where they are. Here is the thing: they already know where they are. The conversation you want to have with your child is the right conversation, Child. Cedar **************************************** The rest of this is speculative material. (I was gong to say stuff, but chose the more impressive "material".) How did we get here kinds of thoughts. Do you think that sense of anger attending those feelings is your way of beating yourself up for where he is in life? This is the latest strange thing my daughter did. Her just-turned-fifteen year old was acting out. Understandable, right? Not to my daughter. She sent her child to live with her half brother. She sent her on a [U]bus[/U]. Told her she knew how to take care of herself, that it was going to happen one way or another, and that she could see it as an adventure or however else she wanted to see it. When I questioned her on it (aghast) she said: "Mom. C is like me. Her life will get better when C decides for it to get better and not a minute sooner. She is not making it here. She did not make it with her aunt. She did not make it with her stepfather. Now, she has to choose whether she is going to make it or not. I cannot do that for her. I won't have this rebellious teenager stuff. I won't have it. C is going somewhere, and I don't really care where. She will be fine, Mom. Don't worry. I know what I am doing." And she was right, COM. The fifteen year old spent a night outside the bus station in a city strange to her when, midway through her journey, they closed the station for the night. (!) She caught her bus the next day, made it to her destination...and seems to be doing just fine. So, I have been thinking about that. When difficult child daughter was that age, she had already been in treatment twice. She would go through three more "treatments." Each time, she would go back to what got her into treatment in the first place. It was the same people she went back to now, in her thirties, that she ran with then, when she was a teenager. And she wound up in treatment, again. And our question was always "why". What did we do. How did this happen. Where did we go wrong. Who is to blame. How could she do this, to us and to herself. Again. But what if there is no "why". It isn't like our kids didn't know any better. It isn't like our kids had parents who lived as they do. They had us for parents. So it gets to be, just like you are telling your son in your imaginary conversations with him...you did what you did. These are the consequences. What we have done before has not helped you. This is not what I wanted for you. Call me. Always, call me. I love you so much. All that stuff is what is true. ***** I was just thinking about all those years of paying for things, of taking the kids, of doing what we did. It paid off, in a way. I got to show off for a little while there, got to pretend I was one of the fortunate ones whose child was something respectable. But who was all that angst for? Was it because my child was in danger? Or was it because she was not what I wanted her to be. Or was it both. And over time, legitimate and illegitimate fears and rages and worries coalesce. Limbic pathways are created. Response becomes automatic. Even trying to figure out how we feel enough to name how we feel becomes impossible. Everything is all messed up together. We choose the responsible position: Get them on their feet, again. Over time, we resent it. We are aging. Tired. So angry. We rebel. Fall apart. Rebel. Why can't we just say what we mean? Because we are afraid of that mishmash of emotion that we don't understand. Betrayal is in there, too. She is still my same daughter. Only somehow, since I really believed it was over...I don't seem to see her, or myself, the same way. It no longer mattered who was wrong, what I did, what she did. So...who did this to me? Well, I did. I think your son already knows all those things you want to tell him, Child. He probably knows how angry and disappointed you are, too. But whatever happens next, whoever it is he turns out to be, at the heart of it, that is your person. Your son, for better or worse or whatever comes next. It's like, we cannot change that bond we feel. I just wonder, looking at the way I see everything so differently now...how is it I missed that my daughter was her own? That my son is his own? How did I ever let it get to the point that my own son acts and talks like he passionately hates me...and I discount it? Discount him? No, I think our kids deserve true things from us. Not abuse. Not name-calling or labeling. No blaming. It has to go back to that primal connection with a defenseless child. Maybe we never let go of that. Ever. If our son is the President, we still love him as our child, we still protect him, become angry if he is rude and etc. Only the President can say "I'm the President, mom. You did good." Our kids can only say "You are right. I am in jail. You did not do good. Or, I did not do good. Or, who is to blame. Or, why did this happen." And etc. And that primal stuff needs to help them make it, survive it, overcome it. But is that their "stuff" or...ours? So the thing that needs to change is that part of us that judges ourselves [U]or the kids[/U] because bad things are happening to our kids. That part of us that categorically refuses to accept what they are doing, who they've become. "How could you have stolen that XBox when you knew...." He did know. Maybe he was hungry...but he has been eating at soup kitchens and so on. So, really...your son picked this. Drug use.... My daughter was using mega drugs. Anything that came along. Really, my response should have been "Not a penny. Love you , love you so much, but not going to do the drug thing or the gambling thing with you." We should have been able to be clear and easy with that decision. But we were filled with rage, with betrayal, with disgust. That money we gave her made it possible for us to take the easy way out. It's all that rage we're afraid of. We don't want to label them further. We believe for them that they are better than they are...but they are the same person. They aren't better or worse, they just are. Looks like I've gone beyond my ability to explain myself, again. It is a really difficult thing to put into words. But...what would happen if you trusted your son enough to tell him the truth? Not to try to destroy him, not to abuse him or rub his face in it. But just to say what you posted, here? What do you think he would feel? The question is simple enough: Will you post bail. Your answer is appropriate Child, because you have already done that for him ~ done all that, and more. You can love him and tell him the truth, both. How could we not be angry? We dreamed such different dreams for our babies, for our little boys and girls. We are so mad at ourselves for something we did that was wrong, or they would not be in danger, now. What if that isn't true? What if the truth is that we loved them strong enough that they operate by a different value system than the one we tried to teach them, altogether? Both my kids say the strangest, brightest things, COM. They see what is going on around them with a clarity of vision that is astonishing. I see that same characteristic in so many of our difficult children. (What about the drug piece, I ask myself, here. I don't know. But I do know our kids know more about drugs and drug use than we do. And they do it again, even after they are clean of the addiction.) I could be wrong. But something more is going on here than we can see, I think. What I do know is that if a mother could change any of this for her children, those parents who ultimately find their ways here are the parents determined enough that those kids should have fallen right into line. But they didn't. Fighting us every step of the way, becoming more and more impossibly hateful and rude, they choose something else altogether. There is something here too about difficult child daughter having had all those things I wanted for her, and throwing every bit of it ~ along with any hope of ever having it back again (maybe), right down the drain. She told us, before this happened, that she didn't think the go-to-work-mow-the-grass-go-to-sleep life was working for her. So...it isn't like they don't know what they are doing. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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