Whew, Gratitude

I’m just grateful to have had the stamina to make it to this point to be honest. For me, a single mom with my own life tragedies and traumas this year that are largely invisible, still standing s its own miracle.

I forget my single mom label sometimes. Sometimes I’ll hear about other parents struggling with their aging kids, and it might sound so much worse. Yeah, me, comparing the weight of most parents’ worst nightmares. Then I remember to give myself grace. I’m winging this parenting ish.

I finally found good resources to help me find my way to a new faith. I want to give more energy to this personal work. My ongoing spiritual journey is rapidly evolving internally while appearing tortoise-like externally.

Anyway, before this drifts into a premature end of year” post, I’ll just say I need the recent developments to show a continued upward trend.

Advertisement

Turning the Corner

We seem to have really, genuinely turned the corner at Casa d’ABM! I lowkey had kinda lost hope that we would ever get back to some semblence of normalcy around here after so much drama this year.

And yet we have.

After so many months of festering anger, bickering, fighting, crying and so much more, Hope and I are clawing our way to our version of normal. And it feels so good.

You barely remember how gloriously boring normal is unless you’ve been mired in conflict for so long. I finally feel like I can breathe.

It’s been a few weeks since Hope finally seemed to emotionally regulate. I’m not fooling myself into believing all the angsty, emotional feelings are gone, but it seems she has a much better handle on things these days.

In fact, she recently decided to try out some medication. She hasn’t agreed to therapy yet, but I’m totally gassed up that she was able to decide that she needed some help through medication. I am optimistic that a return to therapy will happen in time.

Moving out has been removed from the discussion now. She’s not ready, not to mention she’s still unemployed. The skill set just isn’t there yet. She’s also been able to better articulate what’s overwhelming her. What I’m trying to say is, I finally see effort from her. That effort is allowing me to stretch a lot more than I’ve been willing to in recent months.

It also means I’m able to make some holiday decisions and move forward with other plans I need to make about 2023. These last few months just made me feel trapped with respect to planning things for next year. I finally feel like I can plan without upsetting her in ways that will set us back.

The big lesson learned: connection. It always comes back to connection. More than anything, Hope wants to feel connected and accepted as she is. I know that there will be more boundary pushing, but I think I’m a bit better equipped to handle it now.

My biggest hope for 2023 at this point is for Hope to fully embrace needing help with some things, that neither of us feel trapped in a toxic cycle, and that we will continue to work to be our version of normal and something akin to happy.

That still feels like a lot to hope for. The pain and trauma of this year are real, and my heart still hurts a lot. But I do have hope for the direction we’re headed in. And for now, that’s a good thing.


Better

I was a mess in my last post, but I was also honest. I hit a bottom; I’m not sure yet if it was the bottom. I was in trouble.

My primary care doc wrote me a new script and gave me good parenting advice, good medical advice regarding Hope and some great suggestions for getting through this period. He has been my PC for pretty much my whole adult life. He knows me and I trust him.

I bought tickets to go to a play. I invited a friend to go, but she got sick. I took a chance and invited Hope. She said yes and we had a great time. It was a vibe. You really don’t understand…I internally bought last minute tickets and invited a guest, all so I wouldn’t be alone with my thoughts. They’ve been dark. And I was afraid. So to end up going with my daughter and having an amazing night… It saved me.

It also gave me courage to send my Hope an email saying some things I really needed to say to her. I don’t trust us to attempt an in-person discussion. If we had another incident like the one we had this summer, I might need to check myself in somewhere for a short term stay. In any case, I was able to say things that I needed to say in a way that I thought she might understand.

She never acknowledged receiving it, but she’s been more engaging and reasonable since I sent it. I had work travel for the last 4 days, and while she had stopped saying she loves me, she’s back to calling me mom. I got in tonight, and I was treated to her just needing to vent about a problem. It was a treat indeed; when it ended in the sweetest hug and an apology for bending my ear. I legit would have stood there all night.

Things are better. I’m so gunshy; I don’t want to be too optimistic. I’ve racked up a lot off my own trauma this year especially parenting related trauma. But I’m hopeful we will forge a relationship with mutual respect and connectuon. I am hopeful we grow out of all of this


Ugh

Does everything feel hard to you?

Just me? Huh…

Everything is hard.

My respite in the Bahamas was short-lived. I was back in the office last week and feel like I’ve been on the usual rollercoaster ever since.

Hope basically kept the house and Yappy in order while I was away, but something just felt…off when I got home. The energy in the house hasn’t been good since the beginning of the pandemic, but there were all sorts of little things around the house that didn’t seem quite right when I returned. I just let it go and pressed forward because, really, what else am I going to do?

The moving-out deadline looms, and it’s freaking me out. Hope remains unemployed and unmotivated. We are currently in the very slow-moving car crash. Like, you can see it happening. This week the psychiatrist asked if I would be willing to put a pause on things. It was hard, but I said no, not without some kind of effort from Hope.

I take no pleasure in how all of this is shaking out. I’m miserable, totally and utterly miserable. And I’m realizing that everything is just feeling harder and harder to do every single day.

I’m scared that everything is going to fall apart, and that I don’t know how to stop it. I do not believe dropping the step-up or move-out requirement is going to change much at this point. I believe that we both need a lot of help and support, and we’re not getting those needs met. 1) They are hard needs to meet,2) getting the help and support we need is hard to access even with resources and 3) Hope is resistant to help. It’s all making me an increasingly nervous wreck.

I managed to make an appointment with a psychiatrist for me this week. It’s been a while in the making, and now I just have to wait two effing months before I can go. Fun times. I plan to call my own primary care doc by the end of this week to see if I can get another medication bump in the meantime. I am miserable.

Communication in the house is still tip-toe driven. And I’m constantly facing what feels like quiet resistance from Hope. It feels like we are utterly light years away from the close relationship we once had. Occasionally I’ll see glimmers of it, but it’s largely hidden.

I just want to see my daughter fully functional, able to better self-manage, emotionally regulate, and maybe, just maybe happy. I haven’t given up hope and I never will, but it just seems so impossible to achieve at this point. I know this moment will pass, but it would be really nice to know when.


Recovering


I’m currently in the Islands boozing with wild abandon…and then falling asleep on the beach.
I’m grateful to my mom friend who reminded me that I suggested we take a trip for some R&R about 2 months ago. I needed this. The pandemic has thrown off my vacation schedule, which has historically been March, July for family visits, and October.

For the past two years of pandemic travel, I’ve only ventured to Mexico and the Caribbean. I think I’m ready to resume wider travel in 2023.
But given the traumas of the summer I needed this reset.

Parenting has been a relative challenge. This chapter of ushering Hope into young adulthood has weathered me, and that’s saying something because the previous 2 years have also been doozies. I just want to get to some sense of normalcy again.

In good news, Hope has finally emotionally regulated a lot in the last month or so. She’s also coming to a place where she might be willing to seek counseling and meds—cross your fingers and say prayers folks. We *might* be on the verge of of a breakthru! She still hasn’t expressed any interest in renegotiating terms for moving out or staying at the end of the year. Pride cometh before the fall.

Yeah, yeah, I’ll be here to catch her.

I worry about her a lot. More than I thought was possible sometimes. I want so much for her, and I know she feels betrayed by my decision that she will need to move out. I’m realizing as we come closer to the deadline that not only is she not ready—she’s not even close. She got a job with Shipt some time ago, but never actually did any shopping or deliveries. When I asked her about it, she said she had so many questions about grocery shopping that she was just overwhelmed.

Yeah, it’s been rare that she’s joined me to do the household shopping. An occasional trip to Costco or Walmart does not give you the life skills to buy other people groceries—even with their list. She’s never made a delivery.


In any case, I know that the realization of adulting is starting to sink in, and it’s not pretty. Hell, I hate adulting myself. Bills, work, responsibilities! It’s a lot!


The last month also found me spiraling from a breakup I didn’t see coming at all. I’m devastated. I’m past the crying—which I didn’t do much of, but the questions, the rationale, the sadness…yeah, I’m still in the thick of it.


And then there’s work…whew. DEI work in the last, what 7ish years, has been brutal. Since that buffoon announced he was running for office, my work has required so much more of me. And bless your hearts White folks…seriously, if you ever considered yourself an ally to any marginalized groups, please go get your people together. I’ve got 10 more years of work before I can retire comfortably and deaing with White folk foolishness is just…whew…never-ending. I love my work, but real talk, I can honestly say I haven’t *liked* it in over 5 years. Working against oppression is effing exhausting.


So, beach time has been a nice balm to my latest emotional upheavals.


I head back to reality in a couple of days. Somehow, I’ve got a presentation due. Two dog sweaters (because somewhere along the way I had the brilliant idea to open an Etsy shop in honor of Yappy), a new order just came in and a zillion other projects that seemed like a good idea, but are now just feeling like time sucks.
I’ll also be calling the doc for a referral to a medication check in and also stepping up my exercise. The stress has done a number on my body and I need to get that under control as well. No joy in retiring early if I’m hobbling around.


I’m also going to start looking at dates to see if I can swing working remotely from the Caribbean for a month or two in 2023. I want to get a taste of my retirement fantasy and also explore some properties. I want to switch up my lifestyle a bit, and it just sounds like a radical thing to just pick up and move for a month and try it out. Just gotta figure out how to bring Yappy!


Anyway, back to the sunbathing.


Onward

It’s the day after Labor Day in the US, and that marks the beginning of fall. It’s my least favorite season. I mean, I love the clothing evolution–booties and cozy sweaters–but emotionally it tends to be one of my most challenging times of any year.

Despite my best efforts, I usually succumb to depression by the time winter rolls in. I’m kinda nervous because I know I’m already a bit down, so it’s going to take extra effort and intention not to fall down the rabbit hole.

I kinda chuckle at the irony of needing to fight depression, when the absolutely LAST thing you feel like doing when you’re depressed is to fight anything. It’s just so much easier to lay down into it.

But, I’m pushing forward and creating some things to look forward to and work on.

I relaunched my little crochet Etsy storefront–I sell sweaters, blankets, and other handmade items for dogs/cats. I also do baby blankets on commission as well.

I’ve initiated a modest master bath renovation. I’m costing it out and of course “modest” is really, really subjective. The highlight of the upgrades is an electric bidet on a “comfort height” toilet. Seriously, I’ve had a non-electric one for years and love it, but I DESERVE less of a squat, heated water, and warm air on my aging tushie.

I’ve scheduled a beach trip for next month, and if I can get my Mr. to take a few days off, I’m hoping we can do a long weekend in a glamping situation.

I’m also trying to pull myself together to modestly increase my workouts, schedule massages, and check out a local stretching studio. (If you are on Fitbit, hit me up. I’m all about the weekly challenges!)

I’m trying y’all. I’m doing what I can to keep my head up.

And yet, things still are what they are in terms of the home. I miss the way things were with Hope. I hate that we have this conflict that has cracked us apart. Last week in therapy I started out saying, “Hey, I think I’m doing ok; I seem to have a handle on things.”

Narrator: And then she cried for an hour.

The grief is just overwhelming sometimes. I’m constantly hoping on the 3 days I go into the office, that things will be and feel different at home when I return. They don’t.

I know some of this is growing pains. I know that some of it is the long tenacles of trauma–hers and mine. I know some of this is untreated mental health. I know some of it is both of us being headstrong and deeply, deeply hurt.

I’ve written many times about being a fixer. Daily, I have to talk myself down from *fixing* us. I know that this is something I can’t fix. I know that all the things I would usually do to fix things will not work; they would potentially make things easier in the short term, but I doubt a “fix” would hold more than a few days. I also know that “fixing” things would mean that I would have to go back on my word; I know for a variety of reasons that would not help things in the long haul.

So, while I grieve the loss of the closeness I had with my daughter, I feel helpless too.

I anticipate that the intensity of these feels will only grow the closer we get to the end of the year. I seriously have no idea what will happen to us on New Years 2023. I do not know if Hope will be ready to move out. She has made it clear she doesn’t want to discuss it, so it just looms over us…kind of like a guillotine. And it makes me feel guilty, not because I do not believe the consequences are appropriate. No, I feel guilty because I fear she really isn’t ready and that she is willing failure to prove to both of us that all she’s capable of. I stay researching alternatives, solutions that will head us off to a different resolution.

And yet, I know that the course we are on…is what it is right now. I’m really trying to be helpful, loving, affirming and a believer in her capacity to do great things. I know she can, but I don’t know if she knows she can.

So, another week has passed. There are other updates, but they aren’t mine to share. I can say that I know that Hope has had great opportunities for explanation and healing of past trauma recently. I’m hopeful that seeds are planted and that they will bloom in the coming months. I’m hopeful for the continued sense of peace, or at least detente, in our home. I’m hopeful for a lot right now.

So, for this week, the motto is simply: Onward.


Nothing New

Not much has changed around the house.

Not much has changed between me and Hope. We are polite, sometimes almost close to lovingly so. We might occasionally laugh about something together; I live for those moments. I feel like they give me a peek into the good times. I usually choke back a few tears when we laugh together or she wants to tell me something. We both have some very clear boundaries that we have quietly constructed. I give hers extra wide berth, while she likes to nudge mine just to see how far she can go.

I’m doing more cooking than I have in a long time. I cook on the weekends so there are options until about Thursday. I really cook for Hope. I might get a spoonful or bowl full when I’m cooking, but I generally will have smoothies, cereal, yogurt, bread, etc all week. I am only this week realizing how obsessive I’ve become about this weekend cooking ritual. Clearly some emotional stuff happening there. I also just know that I unconsciously increased the amounts I’m cooking It’s wild.

I wish things were different. I wish Hope truly believed and understood that we are forever. I wish after all these years she could enjoy some peace in permanence. I believe that there were many authentically joyful times, but I also believe her when she says it was fleeting or an act to meet what she thought were my expectations. I wish things were different in so many ways.

In 125 days, everything changes. It may make things horribly worse or it could be the beginning of another beginning for Hope. Only time will tell. I daily caution myself not to think that far out. I know it will zoom here sooner than I’m willing to acknowledge.

I’m keeping the faith that something will change, something will change.

Cheers to the week.


Just Breathe…

Time flies, doesn’t it? Seems like posted more recently, but alas, almost two weeks!

Things are kinda stable right now. I guess.

It’s hard to definitively say that they are because I so traumatized by the events of the last couple of months. It’s hard to buy into the fact that there hasn’t been an eruption in a couple of weeks.

I’ve been trying to resume normal activities, but it’s hard, My anxiety is high. My depression is dark. I’m exhausted, always exhausted. I break out in hives every day because I’m so stressed.

A few posts ago a follower inboxed me to suggest looking into a particular mental health issue. At the time, I just couldn’t because I was so overwhelmed. Ha! I’m still overwhelmed, but it kept swirling in the back of my mind. At the beginning of last week, another mental health provider suggested the same potential diagnosis, and so like the nerd I am, I got to reading.

I devoured websites, podcasts, Instagram, and TikTok accounts. I joined an online FB group for parents. I felt like this information was so helpful in trying to understand what was happening with my daughter. I consulted with Hope’s provider, who said, yeah, she meets the criteria, but he wasn’t ready to diagnose.

For serious?

Oh, ok. I mean, I get it but help me out here dude.

In any case, I know that Hope would reject the diagnosis anyway, so….yeah.

As for me, I’m proceeding with approaches that are consistent with what I’ve read. It’s hard, but I needed some kind of framework to move forward. I’m not *looking* to pathologize my daughter; I’m just really trying to give myself some scaffolding to help me meet her current needs. And after a couple of months of feeling completely lost, information about a possible diagnosis feels like a gotdamn GPS appeared out of thin air.

Hope has been going through a lot. She’s really emotional. She occasionally does things to try to provoke me (So far I’ve successfully kept my cool), but mostly she’s just moving the way she usually does. Of course, all that had me concerned before the summer started. I’m sadly not new to this; I’m true to this.

My family has so many questions:

Why are you sitting down with her to make monthly goals? (Because I do not have a deathwish.)

Should she really go visit her biological family? (I’ve made the primary contact fully aware of the current situation; we’re on the same page and Hope needs all the love and support she can get right now.)

Why doesn’t she have a job? (Because she doesn’t.)

Why isn’t she in school? (Because she isn’t.)

No. No you may not.

It’s honestly my least favorite part about this whole thing. I told my peeps right at the outset, there were going to be decisions that you won’t agree with, decisions that seem tough or harsh, and I don’t want to hear your thoughts on them because you ain’t living 24-7 in this here house. It’s just like biting into a cake that appears to be drizzled with chocolate, but upon tasting you realize it’s really motor oil. Ugh. Just say you love us and send love and chocolate without all the questions.

But, here we are. I’m just trying to be as gracious as possible because without them I would crumble. So, I take the good with the questioning and make it work.

I don’t know what will happen next. I still am reeling from the trauma of it all. My heart hurts because I have new knowledge of what Hope’s thought processes underpin her behavior: It’s fear. It’s always been fear. It might always be fear. I’m consumed with fear as well. I’m just hopeful that at some point I can steer us towards a path that offers us more support.

For now I’m counting breaths and just trying to push forward.


So Many Shoes

Things are mimicking something akin to normal. The time I had away last week was good for me and Hope.

Hope attempted to push some boundaries, and I decided to just give no reaction. One boundary really, really pissed me off, but I just kept those emotions to myself.

It’s been a quiet week.

But I’m still so incredibly anxious. My partner got to see the full scope of my anxiety in the last week. It’s good he’s a calming presence because I can only imagine he was a bit like, whoa!

For her part, Hope was just…something like normal?

No.

No really.

I got home to a totally different person.

So, yeah. It’s fine. We’re fine. It’s fine.

Narrator: It isn’t fine, tho.

I’m kind of having a mini-meltdown every day because I’m so traumatized by the last few months that I am unable to cope with this sudden change.

It’s like, if you were to see life in a mirror. It’s all the same, right? Wrong, everything is there and totally backwards.

That’s what I feel like I’m experiencing right now.

I swear I felt like there was a possibility that she might disappear while I was gone, and I’d never see or hear from her again. It was that fraught in our home.

I’m trying to enjoy the calm, but the energy is way off.

I’m trying to enjoy the calm, but I’m waiting for another shoe to drop on what feels like conjoined octopi. #somanyfeet #somanyshoes #somanydropping

My nerves are bad y’all. My muscles feel like rubber bands. My shoulders could double as earlobes. And those neck muscles that run behind the ear down the neck? They just ache.

But I’m working on keeping it all together. My gut tells me I can’t afford to have my own emotional meltdown at the moment.

Beyond my own reactions to this chapter, I worry incessantly about Hope I have no idea how she’s experiencing all this, how it feels for her. It’s disorienting to me, so I imagine it must be really hard for her to navigate all her feelings and behaviors.

I’m hopeful that this period of peace is long and settles into an authentic peace.

Hopeful. It’s also feels naively ridiculous because I *know* there is a shoe dropping somewhere in a forest right now. I might not hear it or see it, but I know that ripple will hit our doorstep at some point.

I really hope things get better, that she has the opportunity to make different choices, and to learn to give herself some love and help. I hope she chooses to find support in health ways, with healthy people.

I’m just so worried.

In other news, the one steady freddy in the house is Yappy. He was pretty freaked out by a few significant episodes over these last few weeks, but he’s the most resilient of all of us. He just serves up unconditional love all the time. He is more bonded with me, but he always makes time to see about Hope, napping in her room and getting super excided when she comes home or out of the bathroom (yeah, the bathroom. He’s got terrible separation anxiety.) He’s been a common focus the whole time, so Hope and I do have that.


The Wild Fire Continues

I wish I could say things are improving at Casa d’ABM, but alas things continue to decline.

In our most recent episode, I had to lay down a consequence that I wish wasn’t necessary. I knew it would be devastating. I knew it would feel like rejection for my daughter. I knew it would likely damage our relationship, hopefully only temporarily.

I consulted with medical and mental health professionals beforehand.

Of all the things Hope and I have been through, this is without question the most difficult, the most hurtful, the most damaging, and just the most heartbreaking.

I feel helpless.

I feel rejected.

I hurt so bad that it physically hurts.

I can’t fix anything.

And so I just have to keep going.

I know that Hope feels all this too, probably more and probably even more intensely, if that’s possible.

These next few months will be so hard. I don’t know what to expect. I have no template, no guideposts.

I have a great support team at the ready. I have resources that could be used to ease things, but it would be like papering over the challenges. We have the support of our family and friends.

And yet, I know that both of us feel very alone.

There are a lot of things I wish I had done differently over the last few months, but I don’t know if it would change our outcomes. I saw this collision coming, and it always seemed unavoidable. I did my best. I’m trying to play the long game.

I love Hope. I want her to be safe. I wish she could be happy; she’s told me before that she’s had moments of happiness, but generally it’s never been a persistent state. I want her to have the life she deserves, which is more than I could ever dream of. She deserves the universe.

I’ve learned these last few months that she doesn’t believe she deserves that. I’ve learned that her belief in our permanence as a family was always questionable. I’ve learned that she sees herself as broken beyond repair. I’ve learned that despite everything, she doesn’t believe she is worthy.

These revelations are just devastating on so many levels. I thought I knew how she was really doing. I thought I had created space for her healing somewhat. I thought if nothing, she knew I was her forever ride or die, even if I had to allow her to feel the full impact of consequences for her behavior. I also naively thought we had sidestepped so many challenges other families had experienced.

And yet, here we are, in a place having the experience that I tried my best to prevent.

Trauma is a whole bitch.

I believe Hope and I will get through this. I know the relationship will probably look so different in the future—though right now, my priority is to maintain any connection she will agree to. I believe she will go on to have a good life after this chapter. But right now, we are in the chapter that has all of the conflict, all of the sadness, all of the brokenness, all of the devastation.

Our home is currently not an oasis for either of us.

This weekend I’m away on business. I was excused from the trip, given all that is going on at home. I chose to go in order to give both of us a bit of space and time to just breathe without being on top of one another. We’re just doing “proof of life” communications at the moment.

Please continue to keep us, especially my beautiful girl, in your positive thoughts and prayers if you’re into that kind of thing. We need every shred of positive energy we can gather.


K E Garland

Inspirational kwotes, stories and images

Riddle from the Middle

real life with a side of snark

Dmy Inspires

Changing The World, With My Story...

Learning to Mama

Never perfect, always learning.

The Boeskool

Jesus, Politics, and Bathroom Humor...

Erica Roman Blog

I write so that my healing may bring healing to others.

My Mind on Paper

The Inspired Writing of Kevin D. Hofmann

My Wonderfully Unexpected Journey

When Life Grabbed Me By The Ears

imashleymi.wordpress.com/

things are glam in mommyhood

wearefamily

an adoption support community

Fighting for Answers

Tales From an Adoption Journey

Transracialeyes

Because of course race and culture matter.

SJW - Stuck in the Middle

The Life of Biracial Transracial Adoptee

%d bloggers like this: