This morning I lost my ever-loving shit. Fortunately, no one else was around, not even the dog (and the cat was outside, otherwise she'd bite my ankle).
I was SO ANGRY. SO FUCKING ANGRY. At no one and at everyone.
I threw the freezer pack across the room so hard the frost crystals bounced off and landed on the couch, stunned.
I stomped my foot so forcefully in the shower that the ligaments are sore.
I screamed into my towel, into the hallway, across the bedroom. I'm sure that the folks arriving for class at the Christian school next door heard my explatives.
I am so tired.
C had surgery for tubes on Tuesday and he's on his fifth round of antibiotics for ear infections this year. Apparently he's not back to 100 percent because yesterday I got a call from the principal that he threw food at his friend in the cafeteria and then kicked him.
B coughed much of the night but made it to school anyway. I braided her hair and found her an outfit and dressed her in my old snowpants and got her cereal. I kissed her and said I loved her, but I harped on her too. Her ADD is wildly out of control, and probably her anxiety too.
I can't find the time to rest and finish my continuing legal education courses and get my hours in for my new job.
Every day, multiple times a day, I say to myself: I can't do this. This is too much. I need help. And then I remember it's just me. I need to split myself into two: the person who can lose it and crumble and the person who can handle it.
I was angry at extended family members for judging my decision to quit law, for judging my inability to work full-time while I juggle the kids. I want to justify myself: Guess what? I made it through undergrad and two years of teaching with severe depression and suicidal ideation. I made it through law school with untreated bulemia and OCD. I had a successful legal career, and now I'm tired and I want to follow my passion and help people in a different way. But that will never be enough. I can never prove myself. It doesn't matter that we have multiple doctor's appointments a week and that C is home sick more often than naught.
I was angry at the judgment, the lack of empathy, the absolute inability to provide even a modicum of emotional support. Not that I've asked for any in a decade, but it still makes me angry to think about. What if I had family I could call them in the middle of the night in an emergency? What if I wasn't shamed for crying? What if I didn't still feel like a scared little girl at age 41? What if I had support during my children's infancy when I was struggling with postpartum depression? What if instead of names calling and anger, I received support for my big emotions and eating disorder. What if, early on, I didn't think that I would never find a romantic partner because I was "too emotionally needy"?
My decision to have children was as deliberate as decisions come. I wanted my children desperately, forever. I wanted them even if they were born with a significant disability. I want them with all of my being. But the one thing I didn't realize is that I would be raising my children completely alone, for all intents and purposes, divorced from help from my family of origin. And guess what? Fuck it. I'm doing it, I've created my own family, my own community. I don't even think about them that often. But every once in a while, when things are really hard, and I really need help, I get sad, and then I get angry.
It's 17 degrees out this morning. C had on six shirts, four pairs of pants, two pairs of gloves, and at least six pairs of socks. While struggling with his boots, he fell backward on the recliner and bumped his head with a loud smack. And then, the smooth morning went south. I did ask for help this morning, thank god, and J brought him to school. But I can't take another day of meltdowns from C. I can't take any more incompetency from his school. I can, though. And I have to. And I will. Maybe I should quit my job, but I don't want to.
I am tired, and I am angry, but I am healthier than I have ever been before. The eating disorder, the depression, the OCD ~ they occasionally haunt me, but they are like ghosts and they scatter with the sunlight. I know that if something isn't working, I can fix it: through sleep, or a conversation with a friend, or a good meal, or exercise, or an adjustment to my medication.
~ ~ ~
After I calmed down this morning, I allowed myself a reprieve: I did a Christmas errand and then sat at Starbucks for thirty minutes to work. On the way home, a phone call from the school principal. "C is having a hard time. He doesn't feel good." "Ok. Send him to the nurse for an ice pack and I will drop off ibuprofen later." "Oh, ok." JFC.
Thirty minutes later: another call from the school. "C is not being safe. You need to come down." At the school, C was crying in the principal's office. I administered the ibuprofen, gave him a hug. Where is the behavior plan?!
I tried to express my concerns privately ~ not following the IEP, hanging out in the principal's, receiving multiple calls a day/week. I don't understand why he's missing so much class. I don't understand why I'm being called by an administrator instead of the Special Ed teacher or BCBA or aide reaching out with cold, hard data.
This is similar to the elopement two years ago. We have a safety plan in place. He should not be missing classroom time because of his disability. Hanging out in the principal's office when he feels discomfort is not part of the safety plan, the IEP, or the behavior plan. We are reinforcing the wrong behavior here. He needs to be in class. And for any incidents that do occur, they should be addressed in the moment then dropped.
After I administered the ibuprofen, I left. I felt like a real asshole, but more than that it seemed like I'd be doing C a disservice if I allowed him to come home. And guess what? One hour later, at pickup (today was early release), he was all smiles.
Is this a discipline issue? Or is it a behavioral issue that should be addressed by following the behavior plan outlined in his IEP? Am I totally missing the mark? Is my anger justified? Am I a shit parent?
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