Hope and I are in Glasgow for the week, as I am attending an international education conference. This is our first big trip since Mexico last year and only our second since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020. It is the first trip that has had Hope out, hitting the city alone. I bought her a hop-on-hop-off bus pass and left for my conference this morning.
I don’t really get to spend that much time with Hope these days. Work has just been brutal for me this last year. HR issues, projects, a major grant, more HR issues…it’s a bit of a grind, and honestly, I’m not in a season of job enjoyment. It’s just been one crisis after another for 12 long, grueling months. I get home, walk the dog, get some dinner, and retire to my room, usually my bed. I’m exhausted all the time. Hope often works in the evenings or is out with friends in the evenings, and so we really are kind of ships passing in the night. It’s been nice to have some uninterrupted time with her the last couple of days.
I tried to take her shopping this afternoon. I’ll probably try again tomorrow. I wanted to get her a few nice items she could wear as she hunts for a job better than the movie theatre. I want her to go back to school, but realistically that is unlikely to happen soon. So, I’ve been encouraging her to consider some other options. To support that I’m hoping to pick up some slacks, maybe a couple of blouses, maybe some cute shoes.
And then we got to a shop. And she liked nothing but the sweatshirts and pants. Second store–she didn’t even like the sweats there. I chuckled to myself, bought her two plain t-shirts that would replace a few grimy ones back home, and declared it dinner time. As we walked to a restaurant, I silently fretted that maybe she wouldn’t actually ever get the type of job that would have her wearing office wear. Before you know it, I’ve constructed a whole awful narrative about Hope’s life that’s rooted in my fear for her. I was half listening to her when we were walking, as I was thinking about how we have so little in common with respect to style and trends. And what did these disagreements mean? Like, could not be any more different. It’s times like this when I’m like, wow, have I had any influence on how she sees herself? How she sees the world? Any at all?
And then on the sightseeing bus, she points out a bar that banned the presence of women up until the 1970s. My daughter, Hope said, “Yeah, I think we should go in there and order a few drinks just on GP.”I smiled both to myself and to her. I agreed we should definitely pop in and have a drink before leaving just to be sure Black women have livened up the place before we depart. It reminded me that she, I have had an influence on her; she might only want sweats to wear, but I still managed to raise a feminist. I’m proud of that.
We’re off! We have a few more days here and it should be great fun!
During the pandemic I took up a bunch of hobbies, among them was teaching Yappy to use buttons to communicate. It was a slow process because terriers can be stubborn little terrors and dog moms can have unreasonable expectations.
It was definitely a new lesson in patience. I had to change my behavior, and I had to reward him repeatedly. Dogs processing language time is slower; I had to learn to wait for as long as a minute for Yappy to respond to a query. Eventually I improved and communication was on.
It was almost a year before he took to then. Today he has 18 buttons, and we’ve burned through two treat and play buttons due to frequent/excessive use. 🙄😂
Yappy’s buttons.
I learned a lot from this process. Yappy loves being talked to, and I suspect his actual understood vocabulary is much more vast than his button board. He loves play, is super food motivated, that he hates when I leave but will ask for a treat when I go. His personality has a lot more depth than I ever knew, and when he uses the “love you” button I positively swoon.
Seriously, don’t you want your pet to tell you they love you? It’s frigging amazing.
A few weeks ago, Yappy was begging for treats like he hadn’t eaten in days. I was working from home and found the begging so annoying. During the begging, he said “love you” then, after getting a positive reaction, immediately hit the treat button.
Great, somehow he had learned the art of manipulation. I joked about it with my colleagues who were on zoom at the time. When I ended my call, Yappy said “Concerned. Hungry.”
Y’all, the guilt I felt because I didn’t understand why he was begging for treats. I gave him a communication tool that he used appropriately in his time of need, and I’d gaslit him by saying he was being manipulative.
Well damn. I suck.
At least he checked me on it!
Then I saw this video, and got to thinking about the ways in which I could’ve parented much better. Like, how many times might I have I gaslit Hope when saying she could tell me anything? How many times did I not contextualize her behaviors when she wasn’t able to verbally say what she was feeling? How many times did I jump to a conclusion about what she was trying to say without giving her enough time to process?
This was a brutal reminder of some of my own parenting shortcomings. No worries, I’m ok, not beating myself up too much. But definitely a healthy reality check.
And a reminder of the growth I have seen in myself. Far from anything remotely perfect, but way better than I used to be. Hope has grown too, and after last year’s crazy drama, I feel like we are stronger than ever and more compassionate with one another than ever. That feels good.
But I’m still glad I saw this. I already needed a reminder to be better. Not because I forget but because I never want to.
Things around this neck of the woods have been busy. I’m back to traveling and doing a lot of public speaking. Hope is working more, and she’s still searching for a better job. We are actually busy these days.
Surprisingly, not so busy that we aren’t both home in the evenings just being. Both of us are recovering from relationship drama, and frankly, I’m realizing that I have to really work hard to be the social person I was pre-pandemic. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to friend and go out and have fun.
I reached out to a friend I’ve known for nearly 30 years with whom I trade memes daily but hadn’t seen since before COVID this week. It was great to reconnect–we talked for nearly 4 hours and were texting when we got home about stuff we talked about.
It was wonderful, and I was happy that I reached out and said, let’s go out. We both needed it.
For her part, Hope is becoming a lot more social and trying to learn how to be a good friend. Friendships can be hard for her. Her expectations are super high, which isn’t bad, but her picker hasn’t always been great at choosing folks who share her outlook on friendships. It’s been nice to see her stretch, though.
I, of course, still worry, but I also realize she has a much better recovery skill set than she did before. I am really encouraged.
In fact, I am really starting to think she will be ok. Like, not gonna lie, there have been times when I’ve been like….hmmm, I dunno. But I’m seeing her change a lot this year. It’s pretty cool.
We are still in a good, healthy place. I still wait for shoes to drop, but I’m now convinced that’s because aspects of parenting–and specifically parenting a child with trauma–are just traumatic on their own. I’m still kind of hyper-vigilant. I’m on my own healing journey with that.
Hope recently turned 22. I upgraded her bed from a twin to a queen-sized bed for her birthday. She was like a little kid at Christmas–so excited! We put it together, and I got all new bedding for her. She’s now making plans for how she will make over her room. It really is exciting to see this evolution.
Yappy is doing his thing–being sweet and cuddly. Not sure what I’d do without him; he really is a doll. Did I mention that he inspired my little Etsy shop? Feel free to pop over and check it out. Crochet has become one of my creative outlets during the last year, and Yappy has been sweet enough to indulge me with inspiration.
Anyway, we’re doing our thing and just…doing life!
Hope and I are experiencing a nice peaceful period. It’s nice.
It’s also kind of triggering in its own way. Hope and I have had a difficult few years dealing with major bouts of anxiety, depression, the pandemic, and “fits.” Many of the last 3ish years feel like a bunch of previous challenging years all smooshed together.
It’s been hard.
But we’re still here, and Hope is as close to thriving as I’ve seen in a good long while. She is still employed, but she’s also looking for a different job. We’ve identified a new therapist; everyone has adjusted meds in the last few months. Things are good, something like normal.
And yet, during these drama-lacking periods, I find myself waiting for the bottom to drop out. I don’t trust it. I’ve become so practiced at coping through incredibly difficult periods that I feel like I’ve forgotten what normal feels like. I’m actually still anxious. And because the body doesn’t forget, I know that we are coming up on a triggering time for Hope. Her birthday and the anniversary of her parent’s death. I don’t think that Hope realizes that those few weeks in June/July are the danger zone, but I’ve learned to steel myself.
I’m hopeful that we can stay in this zone. I’ve really got some trauma around this block of time. So I’ve tipped off my therapist, trying to plan some fun things for myself and hoping I can keep this family train on the tracks. I’m so excited by how far we’ve come in the last 5 months, but are we stable enough? We’re not where I’d like us to be, but I’m so grateful for the progress that’s been made. And yet still…Scared!
I’m getting better at picking my battles. I let a lot of things go. I’m also realizing just how much my head injury has affected my life. Sometimes I get so frustrated by how that brief collision changed me. It doesn’t help that I also developed seasonal photophobia. The angle of the sun for several weeks before and after the summer equinox are brutal for me. My brain doesn’t process the light well. These lingering symptoms are super frustrating, especially since they coincide with our family’s most challenging time of the year.
I’m low-key terrified.
Somehow I hope to get reacquainted with normal so that it’s not so scary. I’m hopeful we’ll have a super boring start to our summer.
Anyhoo… Long-timers know that I have done my best to to have a sex positive home. I wanted to promote loving physical relationships, as opposed to things Hope was exposed to early in life. I wanted her to know that sex came with responsibilities, but also that yes it can and should feel good… And safe.
I emphasized the essentialism of practicing safe sex, always. No exceptions.
And then, she met the person I refer to as The Demon. The sheer audacity of that individual. They wreaked so much havoc in our lives. I legit hate the fact that they are in the land of the living.
I encouraged Hope to remember the things I taught her, if you feel overwhelmed, trust your gut. If you feel disrespected, that’s a data point. I begged her to stay safe, and even if you saw their test results.
I remember feeling relief that she said yep, even as my suspicions pressed the issue because you could buy fakes.
And that’s where I lost her.
From Hope’s lens, she had been a responsible young adult, and I was overacting.
I knew a Demon when I clocked one.
But she was right. I had neglected to coach on determining authenticity. Damn. Based on what she knew, I was now nitpicking, possibly even changing the rules so I would remain ‘right.’
In the long story, I now realize that I could’ve coached a bit more around the nuance of physical relationships, also more on power dynamics.
Hope and I have had countless debriefs in the years since The Demon. She wised up fast and now occasionally brags about how she schools some of her friends. It’s that early relationship with someone you make yourself like because *theylikeyou* and before you know it it’s the worst in all kinds of ways but you tell yourself
*theloveofherlifewouldneva…..*
Oh but they would tho.
Would and usually did.
Anyway, my point is, if you’re like me and navigating adolescence/young adulthood while trying to stay sex positive, then peep the article below. Share it, help these kids use those search skills.
In other news, we’re fine. We did our first panel together discussing our attachment journey at a recent adoption conference. It was fun. I was really proud of her.
I have a newly renovated bathroom. I’m so happy. I’ve got a robot toilet and a deep soaking tub.
The new boo is holding his position strong. 😁
Yappy is a loveable pup. He’s starting to show his age a bit, but he’s still my favorite fur-dude.
But I’m not gonna lie, I legit forgot the blog existed for like a week.
I’ve been consumed with raging HR issues in the office (so many meetings, decisions, consensus seeking, drama drama, drama), preparing for our annual meeting, crocheting, and existing.
Here’s a quick rundown of life since I last posted.
I gave Yappy an absurdly bad haircut. He was embarrassed and didn’t stop mean mugging me and hiding under the bed until I put a t-shirt on him.
Hope and I continue to get along pretty well. I think this has allowed us to have some serious revelations about Hope and her needs. I think we can specifically see what we need to focus on with her psychiatrist. In retrospect I realize that I didn’t advocate harder for what I thought needed to be addressed last summer. I don’t blame me, but I still regret it.
The lack of stability early in Hope’s life has created a straight line to our challenges right this moment. That lack of stability stunted various parts of Hope’s executive function development, including the ability to plan. The ADHD makes it worse. And the prospect of actually doing adulthood just took it to another level. She never planned for any of this, not even during the last decade with me. So, not only did she not plan for it, she never really learned how to even create the plan.
That sent me down my own rabbit hole. We shared a life and saw that life so very differently. I just didn’t appreciate how much trauma can result in an inability to dream about a better future. It broke my heart that Hope has lived in constant fear of rejection-such that there didn’t seem a need to bother planning a future. Just devastating.
I just started a bathroom renovation today that has already run my pressure up. I getting luxe upgrades. Electronic bidet! A real soaking tub! A bathroom fan with built in speakers! Quartz countertop! Custom cabinets. I spent so much money today, and even though I have the money and credit to easily absorb it, dropping big coin sends my anxiety into overdrive. I am a mess. They made quick work of the demolition today and I didn’t let myself see the space for 5+ hours after they left. Two weeks of this… And sharing a bathroom with Hope. Pray for me.
I ordered a beautiful dress for a fancy work dinner next week. It was supposed to be here on the 20th, and a week later still not here. I check on my order… The fabric for the dress hasn’t come in. I am done. I have no dress! Also, new beau who will be known as TGM (IYKYK), double booked as my plus one and a whisky tasting thing with the boys. #BlankStare Sooooo, no dress and no date. WTF
So I’m happy that I have a new psychiatrist because bay-,bee!, I don’t know how I’ve been holding it together. I’m stressed. I figure since everyone is safe and generally in a good place has allowed me to cope reasonably well. It’s a struggle tho.
I turned 50. I legit saw a bunch of f*cks leave the building. Sadly I seem to have f*cks to spare. In any case, I like it. I’m fabulous and fifty. I’ve been keeping my hair mostly colored these days; that brings me a bit of joy.
I’m ok. We’re ok. Just plugging along, living life.
This parenting-a young-adult thing is so damn hard. I remember one time a former pastor of mine told me that God actually does give you more than you can handle in order to make you more faithful. It was powerful in the moment, but now I see that interpretation as manipulative, insinuating that everything I was already doing wasn’t sufficient… Give and do more.
Hope is evolving. Spreading her wings a bit. It’s awesome and terrifying. Her judgment is still shaky, and I kid you not, she’s into some new-ish nearly weekly.
Well in her most recent boondoggle, Hope asked me over text could she spend one night a week at her beau’s house. I replied a quick no, and braced for the firestorm.
I’m not even going to pretend to lie; my reasons for not agreeing to Hope staying out all night are complicated. I wish she was doing it from a dorm room, away at school, so I could pretend to not know anything about it, you know, the way God intended. But noooo! I have to take it on the chin and be gracious.
My reasons are a nasty mix of a conservative Baptist upbringing, fortified with a side of respectability politics and a little classism hiding up under my far left-leaning, sex-positive politics. I come from generations of clergy and this feels like the last shred of my own upbringing that I haven’t abandoned. No, bring yourself right home.
She both understands and doesn’t understand, and I totally get that. I’m considering letting her stay out on New Year… Which just sounds lame. Of course, she would stay out at New Years. Duh!
Anyway, we start talking about her adulting plans, and frankly, this is where my brain hurt.
Hope: I mean, I’m practically independent now. I pay my car note and my phone bill.
Me: *jaw drops* Um, the house costs money. I pay for your car insurance. Food?
Hope: Oh right, I need to figure out how to sign up for food stamps.
Wait, what?
This continued until I whispered, ‘Why do you want to be poor when you don’t have to be?’
Look I’ve already admitted to being bougie and sometimes classist… Back to my story…
Long story short, there’s so much she didn’t and doesn’t know that she was parroting things she heard around the way. Bless her heart, it doesn’t seem like she had so much as googled anything related to moving.
So we are starting an email thread where she can ask me questions about what it takes to move out. I suggested email because I don’t trust us not to follow communication rules in person. That said, our mutual self-control in this conversation was damn near Olympic-worthy.
So we are working towards independence in 2023. Ironically, this concept, this path, is literally what triggered our chaos seven months ago.
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.
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.
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.
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