Ending the Year

I'd like to say that I will look back on this year with fond memories, but I really can't say it.  However, I believe this year has produced the most growth for me in all of my years to date.  I credit this fully to handing my life to God in 2010...and I mean handing EVERYTHING.  I have always tried to defer to God, but in 2010 I said I was willing to give it ALL, and what a ride it's been.

There is a song, sung by the most excellent Lindsay McCaul, called "Take My Hand."  When I first heard it, live in concert, I could barely breathe for my sobbing.  I felt as though all of my thoughts and feelings were pouring out of her powerful song to us.  I definitely had a moment of bravery, and I definitely wasn't ready for what has occurred.  SO many things have changed, my life barely resembles what it was before 2010.  There have been times I have been absolutely TERRIFIED, and crying out, "Why is this happening?"  Always, God gently whispers, "It will be okay."  A lot of days, I'm still not sure.  But I'm willing to stay the course.

I want to extend heartfelt thanks to all of the people who have so willingly shared their difficult journeys with a larger audience in the name of hope.  Or, at the very least, letting others know they are not alone.  Special thanks to Lori Schilling, Randye Kaye, Kay Redfield Jamison, Jay Neugeboren and Ken Steele.  You have helped me so much.  Thanks also goes to the people at NAMI DuPage, for volunteering, showing up, and listening.  It has been really comforting to have you all.

Sometimes we realize things about ourselves that we don't want to know.  I have learned a lot more about my weaknesses this year.  I have a lot of work left to do.  I have to remember all the time, constantly remind myself, "Soften your heart."  It is easy to get angry, overwhelmed, frustrated, sad and desperate.  Those are the times I have to recite the mantra to myself, "It's not about me."  I think one of the key things to do in a situation you are totally unfamiliar with is to first put yourself in the other persons shoes.  What might they be thinking?  How might they be hurting?  How can I help this end as positively as possible?  Not easy work, but it is helpful.

I have also learned something about my strengths, and that knowledge is somewhat comforting.

My oldest is still in transition, and things may not get better.  Then again, maybe they will.  All I know now is that I must meet him where he is and try to deal as best I can.  There is still so much judgement from some other people.  It is discouraging, but then I remember, "Yes!  This is why I have loosened the tie."  I can't change others, so I need to change myself.

To Dr. Henry Cloud, you have done wonderful things for me this year through your writing, so thank you.

There are some special people that have tried their utmost to walk with me through this.  I want to thank, very sincerely, Colleen, Tom and Lisa, Ruth and Shelly.  I love you all.

Though I can't say I'm sorry to see this year end, I am trying to remain positive about the future, after all, God's got it covered. :)

Lessons

I thought about it today, when I read my last post.  I tend to write at my most down moments.  But, while it is therapeutic, I also want to make sure I include some bright moments, and things that I am truly grateful for.

I am continually humbled by the people appearing as "angels in disguise."  I have had some real, true blessed experiences.  I have a renewed friendship that I have missed.  I have some people extending me grace from afar, and people praying for us.  God is good.

While it might not seem like a benefit, because no one wants to have a mental illness, I thank God for the support  that my son is getting in certain places, ones not even he expected.

I am continually getting the opportunity to look at things in a new light, and I might not have had this experience otherwise.  I feel like I am able to really live in brokenness, and it is making me even more grateful for what we have.

I struggle, daily.  But, there is hope.  It may not look like I thought it would, and I know there will be plenty more really rough days, but for now, I wanted to express my gratitude.  I am grateful for the lessons I am learning, because I might not learn them otherwise.  I do believe this journey is making me a better person for all of the trials.  I wish that I could help my son, though, to understand that I would take away his torment and pain, if I could.  That is a lesson he will take a long time to learn, but I hope he does learn it.

Who's there?

It's really hard for me to believe it's almost Christmas.  Time here has flown by, and sometimes I feel like I live the same week over and over.  


This journey has become more difficult because although I am taking responsibility for the life of another person, my son, I cannot get inside his head, know his thoughts.  I am chipping away at a wall that has been built over several years, and I didn't even know how bad things were.  Many of the things I let myself believe because of the advice of those around me (including doctors, therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists, friends, family) were just WRONG.  I have always had an issue with self-doubt, and over the years I had believed it was getting better.  It didn't get better in time for my son.  If I had trusted my gut, I believe we both would have been better off, sooner.  But, I also have to remind myself daily that God has a plan, and I don't know best.  


Advocating is a full time job.  It is taking every last ounce of my energy.  I spoke with a state advocacy agency about helping me advocate, and the director told me I should work for him.  It was a great compliment, and I appreciated it, and it is a job I would normally volunteer for, because I believe in this so much.  Yet, I thought, I can't even manage a shower, so obviously, this is taking an inordinate amount of my time.  


My seven year old said to me today, "Mom, you missed the races at school before Halloween, and you missed the Christmas party today."  I almost cried.  I can't be everywhere I want to be, or even need to be some days.  I am at the hospital two to three times a day, every weekday. I have to get one child on and off the bus, and two others homeschooled.  I have to take care of bills, cleaning, laundry, business items, shopping, etc., etc.  It is absolutely overwhelming.  I can't be enough for everyone, not even me some days.


The school is telling me they really have my son's best interests at heart, and I want to believe them, but I don't.  I mean, I know they think they do, but in the end, everything comes down to money, precedent setting and lawyers.  Heck, even my interests are skewed sometimes because I am so overwhelmed, how could theirs not be?


I am going to go touring day schools and residential facilities in the next month, something I NEVER thought I'd do.  I am reading and absorbing again, The Quiet Room by Lori Schiller, and using it to eek out little thoughts from my son about his experiences.  Seemingly, a lot is very similar.  It makes me afraid for him.


My seven year old is now visually hallucinating, confirmed.  My oldest tells me the voices preceded that for him.  I am trying to intervene NOW, heavily, to see if my seven year old can learn about how to deal with things beyond his control.  This has been a ride like one I've never had.  God bless my children.


Who's there?  Not a question you want to have to ask your seven year old.  Hopefully, there will be grace and mercy for him, too.


Thanks to all the people I have come across who have made this journey just a little bit easier by their kindness and caring.  I am thanking God for you all.

Muddling Through

My son has been re-hospitalized, and my 7 year old just spent two weeks in partial hospitalization.  My daughter is depressed, and I'm concerned that it is becoming serious.  My five (almost six) year old is having tantrums and crying fits he never had before.  My husband and I are disconnected and overwhelmed.  I don't know what to do next.


I never thought I could feel this depressed ON medication.  I struggle with Major Depression, but that is why I take medication.  I can't even IMAGINE what things would be like if I wasn't on meds at this point.  My panic attacks are happening more frequently, and I feel so lost.


It is very difficult for so many things to be out of control.  When I told God I would give Him over total control, I didn't expect quite this ride.  I am still not sorry I did it, but I am feeling like I am drowning.  I had the privilege of  being able to see the Casting Crowns concert, which of course, was amazing, but a new artist, Lindsay McCaul, performed a song that left me sobbing.  It is called, "Take My Hand" and I feel like it was written about me.  I guess that's the great thing about songs, they can really show you that other people share deep struggles right along with you, same or not.


I want to sleep, I want to huddle up, stay home, and do nothing for days.  My "manager" as my friend calls the same part of her, is still in working order and won't let me do it, and I'm grateful.  There is this pit that I'm just inches from that I feel I could fall in at any time.  There are times I am scared it could really happen.


I can almost understand why it is so much easier for my son to deal with hospitalization.  Things are very simple there, and they don't require a whole lot of him.  At home, it is a different story.  We had a visit the other day, and he told me that when he gets off the elevator and sees us waiting to visit, it is like a dark cloud descends on him, one of anger and agitation.  That was hard to hear, but I know it's true....I've seen that dark cloud since he was 7.  He would never verbalize anything like this before now, and I wonder if the medication is allowing him to explain a little more of what is going on inside.


For now, life is about therapy sessions three times a week, visiting, staffings, and juggling everything else along with it.  I think that's why they call it "muddling through."  There are no clear cut boundaries to all the things that have to get done.  They all have to get done, sometimes at the same time, and you just have to do it, make it work somehow.


I am reminded daily to "Praise You In This Storm," and I'm trying, I really am.

Painful journey

This is a very painful journey.  I am not saying that for myself, although it is true as well.  Watching a mentally ill child try and make sense of what is happening to them is truly difficult.  It is also extremely painful to watch your healthy children deteriorate before your eyes because of all they have gone through, and not know how to help.  It is painful to realize you yourself have been the cause of too much of this pain, because you have tried to handle things yourself instead of "letting go."  


Recently, I bought myself a print to hang on my wall.  It shows a winter scene with a barren tree along a fence, and says, simply, "Be still, and know that I am God."  I bought it because it is a reminder to me that I need to "let go."  I can trust God, especially when things are immensely difficult.  The winter scene reminds me of how we are barren, and come spring, the tree will bloom beautifully again.  It is a season of difficulty, not a lifelong state.  


I am able to cling to God during this time.  I have been able to do so since I was a little girl.  Of course, there were plenty of times that I strayed from God, and others that I thought I knew better, but in the end, I know I can trust God.  I am having a hard time convincing my children that they can trust Him, too.  My son, unable to cope with how he feels, is angry, sad, scared and frustrated.  The last thing he wants to do is believe that there is a plan for him.  I try to gently remind him that God has a plan for each of us, because God is in us.


I don't know what these coming days will bring.  My son is being released from the hospital after 43 days, and he isn't better.  He has the same issues that brought him there, and has not made much progress.  The doctors feel that they will be able to get through to him better in a partial hospitalization, because he only wants to talk about going home.  This is not setting well with most of us here.  Those in denial are happy he is coming home, the rest of us are uneasy.  So many long years of chaos, stress, unsafe behavior, torment and threatening have left me empty.  I don't have much strength to muster to have him returning already, but I also don't have a choice.


I can definitely empathize with the many families that have traveled this road before me.  Even as terrible as the state of mental health care is today, surely it was much worse before.  The feeling of being alone is an enormous burden it itself, and all the other challenges are next to impossible to effectively deal with.


I am heavily in prayer today that as unaware as I am of what the "plan" is for my family, that God will hold us through it.  Being "still" isn't easy.

Looking Up

There is not a day that goes by anymore that I do not think about how we got to this place.  I mean, this place of uncertainty, fear and feeling a bit hopeless.  I am always judging myself, and always trying to be "better".  Years and years ago when I knew something wasn't right, but no one was listening to me, and they all believed that I was reading too much into things, I judged myself.  I thought I was fatalistic and a bad parent.  I did press on, though, and the part of me that would not let "it" go, kept me reading and reading.  I probably read 150 books over the course of two years, trying to figure out what was wrong.


As a homeschooler, I got to be around my son all the time.  This, of course, had good and bad parts to it.  As I read about kids with mood disorders (whatever the kind) that grow up in a family of "high expressed" emotion, it isn't positive for them.  Yet, knowing my son as well as I do, helped me to really look in depth and find what might be wrong.  I have learned that "gut instinct", "intuition", "discernment", whatever you want to call it, is the key to success in any endeavour.  Even amidst the conflicting advice, I persevered in the way that I knew how, and I feel that I did not let my son down in this way.  If he had not had a neuropsychological evaluation at age 10, we would have nothing to compare to now, to see how far he has deteriorated, and it might have taken longer to get on the right track.  I say this, not to be boastful (certainly nothing to boast about), but to remind everyone that it is possible that a mother, who spends all of her time with her child,  might know better than doctors, friends, peers, specialists and therapists.


When one thing doesn't work, try another, and another, and another.  There are times when answers are not forthcoming.  Keep trying.  Don't give up.  We are the only advocates our children have at these ages.  It is difficult.  Heartbreaking.  Chaotic.  I would encourage every parent who has other children along with a mentally ill child, to create boundaries.  Do so for yourself, your other children, and for the ill child.  It will save a lot of grief and your sanity.


One thing a therapist friend of mine mentioned to me, differently than I had thought of it, was that my son has now been in the hospital for 37 days.  He is also on a "last resort" medication in Clozaril.  I have been dealing with all of this, at home, previously.  Now you know why I say to create boundaries. You probably can't, unless you have experience with having a mentally ill family member, imagine the devastation left behind.


I labeled this post: Looking Up.  I am doing a lot of that these days.  I am looking up toward God to guide me in my decision making and to help me to persevere in the midst of this crisis.    It's funny (not really) that therapists keep calling this a "crisis".  One thing that gets really skewed is tolerance and expectations.  I was, what Dr. Henry Cloud calls, "Acclimated to the misery."  Yes, I expected every day to be difficult, and it was.  I wasn't taking responsibility in the way I should have, to say, "This is more than I can handle."  I have always feared being seen as a parent who is lacking.  I wanted my kids to know that I was there and always available to them.  I made a mistake.  By not setting necessary boundaries in our household because of being overwhelmed, exhausted, and hopeless, I created a very unsafe and miserable environment.  I relied on my own desire to "do it all," and now, the other children are paying the price for that decision.  I'm not feeling sorry for myself, I'm just taking responsibility.  I am also committed to not letting it happen again.


It's hard to know the right things to do.  There are indications that my son's type of illness, and the way he presents may suggest a very poor outcome.  What I have to do now, is face the reality that things might not get any better than they are now.  I have to be realistic, and take in the evidence and what is being said.  But I can also pray.  I can pray that whatever happens, my son will be held through all of this, and we will be too.  I also have something else that I am striving for.  No matter how bad the circumstances, I need to keep looking up.

Wishing

Yesterday was a difficult day.  There was a staffing at the hospital for progress on my son, and for the next steps to be determined.  All of the decisions are impossible ones, it seems.

I have never been pro-medication.  I am, at my core, a huge believer in holistic and alternative medicine.  I think we approach medicine in a way that is counterproductive much of the time.  How, then, am I faced with having to put my son on Clozaril?  Like other antipsychotic drugs, the side effects are troubling at the very least, deadly, possibly.  

When we started this journey with my son over 7 years ago, I did everything I knew, and then sought out more.  I changed diet for him, I took him to an alternative doctor, I went to the renowned Pfeiffer Clinic.  I read literally hundred's of books.  We didn't even come into medication till a little over three years ago.  Most of the medications have not been successful, one or two have had moderate success.  We have turned a corner, I think.  We are kind of at a "big gun" medication, and if it doesn't produce good results, I'm not sure what the options are from here.  

Seeing my son in so much emotional and mental pain is the only reason I consider using medication.  If you cannot be free of hallucinations, anxiety, depression, worthlessness and  a cognitive jumble, I'm not too sure how to call it living.  Existing, sure.  Living, no.  

I was driving by my son's high school today, and watching the freshmen practice soccer.  Immediately, a wave of sadness came over me.  I wish that I could see Ryan out there, practicing on the field and having fun.  Instead, he is in the hospital, not enjoying himself very much.  Yet, I know, deep down, he is glad to be there.  He feels safer in a place where he is constantly watched, and knows that there are always several people knowing what he is doing.  It feels sad to know that he is so torn.  Yet, there is no lack of pain here.  My daughter is still having a really rough time.  My seven year old had an epic meltdown this evening, and my little guy is having trouble coping.  I am working on paperwork.  An ICG grant application, applications for Social Security Disability, and scheduling assessments for my other two boys.  

I wish that I could fix everything for the family.  I wish that I could take away the pain.  I wish that I could stop managing, and just "be" for awhile.  I wish that I could hear what God wants, so I don't have to guess.  I have faith in God, but I struggle to know my place, what to do and what not to do.  I wish I knew better how to bear this burden.

At the end of the day, no matter what I "wish", I am the only one who can approach these trials with an attitude of understanding that life is painful, but even in pain there are blessings.

I am taking heart in a quote from someone I admire and respect, and have so enjoyed the privilege of meeting: Neale Donald Walsch.  In 'Friendship With God, An Uncommon Dialogue,' he writes: "I tell you, the day will come when you will review your life and be thankful for every minute of it. Every hurt, every sorrow, every joy, every celebration, every moment of your life will be a treasure to you, for you will see the utter perfection of the design. You will stand back from the weaving and see the tapestry, and you will weep at the beauty of it."  That is what keeps me hanging on.

Realizations

I was reading my son's psychological evaluation the other day, more thoroughly than I had the first time.  Reading it brought out all kinds of feelings from within me, mostly sadness and frustration.  I am sad that my son is dealing with so many issues beyond anyone's control, including his own.  I am frustrated that we went so long without knowing exactly what was wrong, though this was for a variety of reasons, and cannot be put down to one factor. Then, I reached the end. 


First, I felt incredulity dawning, then ANGER.  I am REALLY angry.  The reason I am SO angry, is that, on the recommendations portion of the evaluation, the family is given a "suggested" list of things to do at home.  Things like, i.e., put alarms on all of the doors, install voice monitors, and set a constant supervision schedule.  Also, create a better set of life circumstances for my son.  Then, "Parent in a positive, rather than negative way, keeping things upbeat, but being careful not to ignore mistakes or negativity."  Ummm....yeah.  Well, sometimes, when I receive these little "suggestions", I'd love to tell the person doing the evaluation to come to my house and try that advice amid the daily chaos of raising four children.  It's funny to me that they need several staff and cameras and all kinds of other things at the hospital, but think my son can just come back home, and we'll see how it goes.  Two of my other children are so traumatized, they do not want him to come back at all.


One thing the states, the Government, and many professionals in the field have not figured out yet is that mental illness RAVAGES families.  It does not roam sweetly throughout the house, in bliss; it is angry, violent, malicious and unrelenting.  There are days that I absolutely think, "I'm not going to make it." But, I have to. These are my children and if I cannot be there for them, who will?  Not my family of origin, to be sure.  I have recently been effected by several panic attacks a day.  The amount of stress at this time in my life is like nothing I have ever known.  I feel for my son, and am broken over the fact that I know he is so tormented.  I hurt for my daughter, who is a sweet and gentle girl, yet has become sullen and isolated, and is not sleeping.  I am worried about my seven year old son, because I see him struggling all of the time.  My five year old still makes us laugh, but I hope behind that silly facade, he isn't suffering too much.


There are few options.  Many residential group settings are reserved for DCFS wards, and I totally understand it, there are, unfortunately, SO many.  Other facilities are really for the wealthier families, who are able to afford payment of the $30,000 or more a year for their children to be there.  Right now, our only hope is an ICG grant and maybe some social security for my son.  I know that if he has to come home, he will again be overwhelmed and unable to cope.  The reason I know this is because he exhibits the exact same feelings and issues when we visit as when he left home.  I don't want the return for any of us.  I don't want my son to be struggling every day.  I don't want my other kids to be afraid.  No one looks at home as the safe haven it should be, or, they didn't.  My seven year old, who went to school for the first time for 1st grade said, "School is better than home."  Let that sink in.  


Now that my son has been gone for a few weeks, everyone is starting to relax a little.  There is tangible relief.  I am not saying this to be cruel.  People who are not subject to how a mentally ill person functions cannot understand the stress and chaos that each day brings,  not to mention the depression and anxiety.


I realize now how much effort and managing I have provided my oldest son.  I realize how neglectful I've been of  my other children.  I realize how neglectful I've been of myself.  These realizations are difficult, and don't feel good.  Then, there is the realization that my son may not come home.  I realize that is a decision that will have to be made, and it will end up in my lap.  I realize I have to have the strength to do the right thing for all of us.  The question is, can I?

Losing Control

I am admittedly a control freak.  Well, I will say, I was.  For the last year and a half, I have given up control of absolutely everything to God.  Ironically, this has been absolutely, by far, the most difficult year of my life.  I think that there is a time, when you can become so dissatisfied with numbness and apathy, you get desperate.  It has happened to me twice in my life that I can think of.  


During my early twenties, at the ending of my first marriage, my ongoing depression hit me full force.  I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  Most of the people I knew then, with the exception of two of my closest friends, thought that it was because of my divorce; even my family believed so. That was not the truth.  My absolute self loathing and desperation not to return to my family of origin was the cause of my debilitating depression.  It took years for me to dig out of the hole I had dug for myself since I was 15.  I spiraled myself into a two year long absence from life.  I went to work, and I came home.  I watched t.v. endlessly.  I hopped from relationship to relationship desperate to hide from what might be awaiting me.  I didn't know how to be alone.  At the end of my two year spiral, I did something out of the ordinary.  I was on the verge of an end to another relationship, and I said, to God, out loud, "God, if this is not what I am supposed to have, please just give me what I am supposed to have."  And He did.  I got married to the love of my life, and had four beautiful children.


The second time was far more recent.  My apathy and numbness stemmed, I think, from the overwhelming feeling that I was missing something.  Not someone, something.  Sure, I was busy with the kids, homeschooling, and the business we own, but I felt really disconnected.  I had read a book, called Crazy Love, by Francis Chan.  Then, I read Forgotten God, also by Francis Chan.  The latter led me to give up and over control to God.  I said, "You can have everything.  I'm tired of feeling so empty, and I need to believe I can do something in this world, something to make a difference. "  Thus began our journey of Safe Families, and 13 placements in 1 year.  Children to love on and nurture.  Families to keep together, or help be apart safely and with compassion.  My introduction to Kolfe orphanage in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, bore fruit in a son to love and care for via email and contact with other Kolfe Moms.  I have learned how to care for someone very deeply, but at a distance I'm not sure I will be able to bridge in the next few years. I gave up control of my life as I knew it, and I was blessed.


Then, something happened.  My WHOLE LIFE turned absolutely upside down.  We lost our home, moved in with my mother (family of origin from earlier in the post ;) ) and had to give up every semblance of normal that we had as a family, known.  Because of the field we are in, the economy hit us hard.  We have had to struggle with money and debt more than I ever thought possible.  Really, monetarily, we have lost everything, with no safety net. (Even though I tried to keep one in place, it had to be burned through to move forward.)  My husband has had the most difficult three years in probably his whole life and struggles every day to keep it together. My son is hospitalized for threatening suicide with a knife.  My daughter is suffering from years of watching and experiencing the effects of her brother's illness.  My seven year old is seemingly running down the same path as my oldest son who is in the hospital.  My five year old, normally jolly and full of laughter, cries at the drop of a hat, and holds his hands over his ears whenever someone raises their voice.  Now, I have to wonder, is this what I asked for?  Is this what giving up control means?  I mean, in terms of being broken, this is BROKEN.  There are days that I can barely stand.  I am consumed by the burdens all around me, waiting to be swallowed up.  I am crying out every moment of every day, lately.  I am lost and have no idea what to do, or how to fix this.  Then, I realize, I can't.  I can't fix it.  This is beyond any kind of fixing I could ever hope to do.  So, where does that leave me?  In God's hands, I guess.


I pray for my oldest son, that he will find strength and courage within himself, and find a way to love himself through all of his problems.  I pray for my husband, who needs deep love and compassion to heal his life long struggles.  I pray for my daughter, who suffers silently and never complains.  I pray for my seven year old, that he will realize his full potential no matter what struggles may come.  I pray for relief and laughter for my five year old, that he will again know safety and happiness completely.  I pray for myself, that I can find strength, compassion and patience, even when I feel like I'm drowning.  I pray for friends who are family, and the world at large, that even in struggles, blessings abound. 


I'm not sure of God's plan, but I know that my controlling things all these years has not done much except to make me realize that I have not had the effect I've been looking for.  Since I gave up my life to God, things have become more difficult than I could ever have imagined.  But then, I think, what if I hadn't?  Maybe my son wouldn't be in a hospital, maybe he'd still be struggling and come to a point that crying out for help was not an option.  Maybe my daughter would still be grappling with all of the family problems alone in herself, without the help of a compassionate therapist to help her through.  Maybe my seven year old would have run away like he has drawn himself doing so many times.  Maybe my five year old would have lost his laughter entirely.  Maybe I would have become so disconnected and selfish that I couldn't see what was happening all around me.


I honestly never believed things would have changed to the degree that they have.  Good or bad, who's to say?  What looks bad in the short term can actually turn for good in the long run.  Without our terrible financial situation, my son might not be getting the level of help and advocacy he is afforded now because of our situation.  As a control freak, I am used to doing things all on my own, all of the time.  It is difficult to accept help without strings attached, because that is what I learned in my family of origin; everything comes with strings.  


The question is, then, is this losing control, or gaining freedom?  I am still learning.  I am advocating for my son, but I am no longer doing it alone.  I have resources never available before.  I have seen people come from unexpected places to help me.  Maybe losing control is the key to being free.


As I navigate these next months with uncertainty, I know still that we are blessed, even when I grieve that things are not as I would have them.  I hope, in years to come, my son will feel that I did the right thing in giving up control.  I hope that he believes that God is holding him, the way I did when he was so very little.  God, I hope so.

Light and Dark

Opposites.  Light and dark, healthy and unhealthy, big and small.  Everything is relative.  It seems that at times, it is easy to distinguish between the opposites, but I am finding every day it gets more difficult with a child with a mental illness.  While on the outside, the child may look fine, reasonably "normal", there can be a war raging on the inside of that same child.  


It's hard to watch any child suffer, much less your own.  One thing I have found most difficult to deal with, is the wealth of advice that come from others about my own children.  If you just did "this" or "that", then things would be better.  I've heard it ALL..."too strict", "too permissive", "too busy", "not busy enough", "shouldn't have homeschooled", "don't put him in school", and the list goes on.  Not only does it come from strangers, but friends and family, too.  Everyone knows more about my child than me.  Even some of the professionals have had less than sage advice.


Right now, unfolding before my eyes, my child is grappling with enormous difficulty.  A difficulty no child should have to suffer through.  He is now in a hospital setting, for a time, for safety reasons, and while there is some relief for the other children, there is none for me.  I worry all the time about these children, and my son in the hospital.  I know that I cannot control the situation, and I must leave much of my faith in God, that He will be with my son.


While we speak every evening, and visit the allowed three times a week, it is dismaying to see the lack of progress, and realize how ill he really is.  There is relief, too, mostly in the form of validation.  I am pleased to see all the testing being done, and the compassion with which many of the professionals handle my son.  I have dealt with this for so long, being the primary one knowing there was an issue, but getting others to see, next to impossible.  Even with testing I had done on my own, progress was very slow.  It is very sad to know the level of advocacy it takes to be taken seriously when talking about a mental illness.


Speaking of dark, that's what this has been, a dark journey for my son, and for our family as well.  But there is light, too.


The "Light" exists in friendships, support, faith and generosity of others.  I have friends who are willing to back me and help me when I need it.  I have a therapist working with me, gratis, because we don't have the resources to pay her at this time.  I have people all over praying for Ryan and our family, and I am so grateful for them.  There are people on my son's "team" of professionals who go way above and beyond to support him, and our family.  I am so grateful for them as well.


This journey began over seven years ago, and is nowhere near its end.  I have struggled, waited, worried and stressed over the situation.  I have been very broken.  I have questioned myself, the mental health profession, and God.  Hearing that the problem is likely "biological" certainly doesn't ease the burden, on my son, or our family.  When I look at my other children, and have another son exhibiting the same behaviors at the same age, I fret, and worry, and pray.  Can I do this again?  How do I do this?


Sometimes, things are too difficult.  I wake up, and realize I don't want to get out of bed for what the day might bring.  But, then, I think of the Horn of Africa, and our adopted son in Ethiopia, and know, however difficult things are here at the moment, we are blessed beyond measure.  It is so easy to give into pity for one's self, but contributing to work for the hardships of others can be a path to balance.  It's okay to feel sad, and angry, and even depressed.  But, move through it, don't avoid it, let yourself grieve and feel pain when it comes, and then re-focus and move forward.


I won't give up.  I have been entrusted with precious gifts of children, and they will have all my will and effort.