TL, my heart is with you. Because, actually, it is. I am going through a version of this now. I used to say when my son was on the street--that my own heart was walking around all over, having jumped out of my body, and I had no control over it at all.
But man oh man I dont really like him living here. Mostly it is the annoyances. And it is that I am now confronted by how he is doing and his depression and his mood.
I know how this is.
his problems when I see them happening. I feel sad for him.
I know. But I also feel sorry for myself. I feel the lack of the ability (and sometimes the possibility) to feel pride in myself, in my own life. I feel the absence of HOPE for myself. I have always had a kernel of hope for myself.
I do not know if you missed it or not, but I told my son to leave, again. Actually, I backed up M who told him to leave. After 2 months delaying a drug test for one reason or another--with lie after lie. He again refused. (It was Sunday morning, exactly 2 weeks ago. I was still in bed when the confrontation happened. Now I know why I woke up depressed this morning.)
You see, I was ambivalent. I loved having my son near me. His presence. We have a several room wing in the house closed off with a glass door, with it's own bathroom. I could sense his presence, but it was not on top of me. He had finally learned to not dominate my kitchen/great room. (We had moved him to another house--but the night before he left, he was here. I had gone to get him because M had not come home. You see, M was going nuts with my son. He felt my son was mocking us with his defiance of his agreements.) Somehow, I kept going along. Because I wanted him to be OK. Because at the bottom of it all, I wanted me to be OK. The two, for me, are ONE THING sometimes.
I loved having him near. The paradox: the marijuana elevated his mood. If he had enough of it, so that he did not cycle down, it was OK. But how could I countenance using hundreds of dollars for marijuana and subsidize it, by offering him a living space? And in the process inviting bad people to approach the other house--who brought down the environment of neighbors--good neighbors. When I had to face that, I had to accept the reality of things. He is no longer my baby boy. When I support him (either by help or any other thing) I support his habits.
I couldn't relax and enjoy my own home because of my daughter's behaviors and how they impacted me
You see, for many years, this was the case for me. Ten minutes with my son around me, and I was a raving lunatic. But something changed in the past year-I believe he did get greater control over himself and his moods. Because even in the residential treatment centers, he was for the most part stable--without marijuana (he was tested) and with medication, yes, but he denied such had an effect.
these living arrangements are best when they are temporary, to give our kids an option so they can get their lives in order......
For us it was open ended, after all, we bought the other house, for him (not in his name.) But surely, we kept extending the possibility for him to do for himself, get things together, do constructive things--and this plaza, he used to continue doing the very things that we could not support--the marijuana--and no other thing.
If he were here he would say:
I went to Voc Rehab and got an appointment. I went to the mental health clinic and got an appointment. I called some creditors. (In 2 months? With no need to work because we had realized that he used the need to work for us, as an excuse to not do one thing for himself.)
If he had said:
Mom. Forget it. I cannot accept living with you or your property with the conditions you want. I chose to use marijuana to the extent I wish. End of story. You can decide if you want me here and the conditions. And I will decide if that works for me.
But I realize more and more, I set him up to act like a child. I would never renounce the role as Mother-of wanting things for him, of wanting him to get better--and imposing what I wanted, because I love him, and I grew to love having him close to me.
When I look at this now, I see how I set things up to infantilize him. I cannot see it in any other way.
It's a very difficult movie to watch in our own homes
I think the root of it is it is their own lives. And there is something about those of us who choose to post here, who seem to have a very hard time letting go.
In my own case it is both cultural and personal and spiritual. I believe my relationship with my son was in part redemptive. I wanted to redeem myself and my life--through my love for him. Of course, this can never work. Which is really, really not useful. I believe I am not alone in this.
Nowadays everybody loves my son: they see him as kind, warm, bien-educado which for the life of me, I cannot translate. Literally, it translates, well-educated but for Latinos it means well-educated in human interaction, not only in manners, but socially, in terms of respect, of humility, boundaries, even grace.
But with us he imposes his conditions on us, but deceptively. M describes it as an aggressivity, that he has learned to exercise covertly, which is really a hidden disrespect. M thinks my son thinks we are just old fools (which may well be the case.)
I know TL this relates only tangentially to your own situation, but I wanted you to know that I am suffering too. Because I love my son, and I want him near me. And now he is gone. He has not called. I do not know where or how he is. I miss him so much. I feel like a large root has been removed from the heart of me. Which is exactly the way I felt after my mother died.
There may not be one thing you take from this post. Except that there is no way we can NOT SUFFER, except for closing the door almost completely which is how many parents have come to grips with their love and loss. But when I did that for six months, in retrospect I closed the door to my own heart. To part of it, at least.
Which is to say, every which way we are
ed.
the parent/child script was often just too hard to let go of when we were living together
On the basis of my own experience, impossible to let go of. To resist being (or feeling) infantilized by my conditions, my son resisted by manipulating, lying, concealing. I set up a master-slave relationship which he rightfully opposed. As adults we need to live as we chose, not as others do.
I see that, but I cannot live it.
TL. You are doing every single thing with the highest intentions. It may be that your son is an alcoholic. To live with the reality of that--in Latin cultures many parents do. They watch their sons (usually) kill themselves. And somehow live through it. There is a man who works with M. His name is Huero. He is 52. He is alcoholic. Has lived always with his younger sister and her family. And now, he told M, I am trying to stop drinking. He wants to help his daughter who is 22 legalize her status here. He is cutting down. Although very damaged by his drinking, he is a very, very good man. I like him very much, and I trust him.
M has said before, that this family demands things of Huero. Demands that he works. Because they are poor (and because there is no free government money, like with my own son) or maybe because they are strong and smart, they insist that Huero step up.
On the basis of my own experience with my son, NOTHING HAPPENS unless we directly control his environment and him. And then? He overcomes much of it. I think that is what M means that I have to make myself directly responsible and accountable to my son. That this is my responsibility as his mother. That EVERY STEP OF THE WAY I insert myself between him and destructive behaviors. And he sees this as my responsibility for the rest of my life.
There must be the concept of detachment in Latino culture, because M says if a child is overtly hostile and disrespectful and rebellious in the house of their parents--even a girl will be ejected. My own son has learned to curb this, but he has not yet learned to thwart the very conditions that he has agreed to, with us. I guess it is because he feels coerced.
Maybe not one word of this post relates to you or your situation, TL. But I wanted to reach out to you in my own suffering, and in my own seemingly complete inability to find my way in this life thicket in which I find myself lost.
I care for you TL and I care for your child. (And your husband and daughter, too.)
Take care.
