Today, though, is not one of those days. Today, I got to sit in a staffing with other professionals in a residential treatment center and talk to a young man and his family about what he needed to do to get out. And, today, for the very first time, he seemed to "get" it. I don't think he will be in there much longer.
And, today, I got to sit in a staffing in a juvenile detention facility with a young man, his grandfather, and other people on the treatment team. We all were crying as we all talked about his mother, who is very far along in the process of dying. In fact, she will probably not live out the week. She is only 34. His probation officer is letting him out of jail so he can spend the rest of her life in hospice with her, holding her hand while she leaves this world.
Today, this young man, the same age as my oldest granddaughter, came up to me after the staffing and hugged me, thanking me for being there and for caring about his dying mother.
No, today, the dragon did not win.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
I am not who I thought I would be.
We all have moments of clarity where we see ourselves as we really are and not as others see us. I mostly don't like what I see. When I was a little girl, I saw myself as doing something great for mankind, being a loving wife and parent, pure of heart and mind, unselfish, giving. It's not how the story goes.
My childhood was traumatic, chaotic, violent. My mother was mentally ill. When she became overwhelmed, she would just check out of life and check into mental facilities. My father solved his problems with a bottle, belt, or fist. He often assaulted my mother, who was afraid to leave because my father's parents had told her they would take the children from her. Because they had the means to do so, she knew the threat was real. When you are a child, you don't think that your life is much different than other people's. I didn't really understand until I was an adult and had therapy of my own that most families don't solve problems by screaming and fighting.
My sisters and I did not escape the chaos. All of us have our relationship issues, ranging from promiscuity and drug abuse to distancing and anger. Actually, we are all angry. Most of our children are angry, too, because we never really effectively learned how to communicate without that anger.
The lack of self esteem that defined me as I was growing up continues to this day. I am never enough: not pretty enough; not smart enough; not shapely enough; not talented enough. Sometimes I think that lack of "enough" will kill me, not through suicide, but through physical sickness that reflects the emotional poison inside. I finally, after three failed tries, have the great husband I wanted as a young woman, but the sense of not being good enough for him keeps me continually doubting that he can really love me (though he would protest that statement vigorously). A few years ago, we adopted a boy who had been through a lot. When they chose us to be his parents, I thought to myself, what in the Hell are they thinking? I am not worthy! I am trying hard not to live down to my expectations.
Recently, though I don't know why, I have been going over how I related to my biological children when they were little. It is scary and I don't know how they arrived at adulthood with any sense of stability at all. Maybe some of them don't have that much stability. Seeing their problems actually brings my own to the forefront and I take responsibility for their fears and that same lack of self esteem that they carry. Though I have apologized to each of them for the horrors I put them through, I cannot change anything I did. I failed to listen to their cries for help, even when they were in real danger. I guess I thought, gee, if I made it through, they would too. I really didn't understand that I hadn't made it through whole, but rather in pieces that had been glued back together poorly. And, crying about it doesn't help.
Now, when I see them making the same mistakes I made (aren't we mostly doomed to that?) and I try to say, oh, don't do that because here is where it leads, they see it as interference or affirmation that they are flawed and they resent me. I love them more now as adults than I was able to love them as children but somehow that isn't what comes across.
My children do, however, share something that my sisters and I do not: they have forged a bond that holds them together. They are friends as well as siblings. They have not been pitted against each other or taught to dislike each other as we were. Maybe what my husband says really is true: I am a better parent and more stable than my parents were and my children are better parents and more stable than I was, and, hopefully, their children will be even better and more stable.
Oddly, given my poor parenting, I am, 99.9% of the time, a really good grandmother. All of the failings I had as a parent are gone in my grandparenting. I love them all without limits. They are precious and beautiful to me, and they can feel my love. With them, I am an esteem builder, a lifter-upper, a soft cushion upon which to lean when they are having a tough time. People joke about how it is easier to be a good grandparent than a good parent because you get to send them home, but I don't think that is it. I believe I really see them as the little tiny people they are--the searching, learning, loving beings they were born to be.
If only I could change the past.
My childhood was traumatic, chaotic, violent. My mother was mentally ill. When she became overwhelmed, she would just check out of life and check into mental facilities. My father solved his problems with a bottle, belt, or fist. He often assaulted my mother, who was afraid to leave because my father's parents had told her they would take the children from her. Because they had the means to do so, she knew the threat was real. When you are a child, you don't think that your life is much different than other people's. I didn't really understand until I was an adult and had therapy of my own that most families don't solve problems by screaming and fighting.
My sisters and I did not escape the chaos. All of us have our relationship issues, ranging from promiscuity and drug abuse to distancing and anger. Actually, we are all angry. Most of our children are angry, too, because we never really effectively learned how to communicate without that anger.
The lack of self esteem that defined me as I was growing up continues to this day. I am never enough: not pretty enough; not smart enough; not shapely enough; not talented enough. Sometimes I think that lack of "enough" will kill me, not through suicide, but through physical sickness that reflects the emotional poison inside. I finally, after three failed tries, have the great husband I wanted as a young woman, but the sense of not being good enough for him keeps me continually doubting that he can really love me (though he would protest that statement vigorously). A few years ago, we adopted a boy who had been through a lot. When they chose us to be his parents, I thought to myself, what in the Hell are they thinking? I am not worthy! I am trying hard not to live down to my expectations.
Recently, though I don't know why, I have been going over how I related to my biological children when they were little. It is scary and I don't know how they arrived at adulthood with any sense of stability at all. Maybe some of them don't have that much stability. Seeing their problems actually brings my own to the forefront and I take responsibility for their fears and that same lack of self esteem that they carry. Though I have apologized to each of them for the horrors I put them through, I cannot change anything I did. I failed to listen to their cries for help, even when they were in real danger. I guess I thought, gee, if I made it through, they would too. I really didn't understand that I hadn't made it through whole, but rather in pieces that had been glued back together poorly. And, crying about it doesn't help.
Now, when I see them making the same mistakes I made (aren't we mostly doomed to that?) and I try to say, oh, don't do that because here is where it leads, they see it as interference or affirmation that they are flawed and they resent me. I love them more now as adults than I was able to love them as children but somehow that isn't what comes across.
My children do, however, share something that my sisters and I do not: they have forged a bond that holds them together. They are friends as well as siblings. They have not been pitted against each other or taught to dislike each other as we were. Maybe what my husband says really is true: I am a better parent and more stable than my parents were and my children are better parents and more stable than I was, and, hopefully, their children will be even better and more stable.
Oddly, given my poor parenting, I am, 99.9% of the time, a really good grandmother. All of the failings I had as a parent are gone in my grandparenting. I love them all without limits. They are precious and beautiful to me, and they can feel my love. With them, I am an esteem builder, a lifter-upper, a soft cushion upon which to lean when they are having a tough time. People joke about how it is easier to be a good grandparent than a good parent because you get to send them home, but I don't think that is it. I believe I really see them as the little tiny people they are--the searching, learning, loving beings they were born to be.
If only I could change the past.
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