“You have travelled too fast over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.
Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.
Become inclined to watch the way of rain
When it falls slow and free.
Imitate the habit of twilight,
Taking time to open the well of color
That fostered the brightness of day.
Draw alongside the silence of stone
Until its calmness can claim you.
Be excessively gentle with yourself”
John O’Donohue
There’s a painful point at which you come to the cold realisation that you’ve become a bystander in your child’s life.
For some, whilst that might feel difficult, even painful, it is the normal course of things and part of the natural process of separation. For others, becoming a bystander is another arrow that strikes the heart and gives rise to yet more fear and anxiety. Either way, it’s our job to let them go.
That loss of control, if indeed we ever really had it, comes slowly. It seeps in, like day becoming night. When at Primary School you are mostly in charge – you will without any shadow of a doubt be overtly or covertly seeking to influence clothing, food, and friendship choices. As they start Secondary School, this dynamic changes. Their opinions and sense of self become stronger, and they become more selective about what they choose to share with you. We see a carefully edited version of their lives, which is all part of the transition from child to adulthood. A resetting of boundaries – a drawing of a line around themselves which marks out personality, territory, privacy. It is an essential separation, as old as the hills, as necessary as the moon’s orbit of Earth. By late teenage years, I think most of us know a fraction of what’s really going on – and to a degree, I’ve concluded that it’s probably a very good thing.
I’ve spent a great deal of time and effort over the last few years in a desperate attempt to piece together a picture of what has really been going on in AJ’s life. After five years, I have come to the conclusion that it is both fruitless and futile, serving little purpose other than to up the ante with him and drive myself mad. I recall one particular day when I was in the throes of obsessively drugs testing him on at least a daily basis when he eyed me from the depths of his bed and said “why do you put yourself through this every day? You know I take drugs. I’ve told you I’m not going to stop. What difference does it make torturing yourself like this?”. A rush of anger, so sudden and forceful it surprised me. Then I thought, you have a point. And so I stopped.
I have pretty much stopped the where-are-you-going-who-will-you-be-seeing-what-time-will-you-be-back-you-wont-be-doing-drugs-will-you thing every time he leaves the house, although every now and then I can’t help myself. Absolutely no point whatsoever. It makes me feel powerless and pitiful, only one step away from begging. I have become keen to retain the shreds of dignity I have remaining.
I couldn’t wait for him to get to 18. I literally fantasised about it. I imagined I could and would divest myself of any responsibility and be free. Free! Silly, silly, me. It just got worse in so many ways, no entitlement to any information, but all the worry of his chaotic presence in the house. You watch as they make poor (or no decisions) with regard to their health, employment, money. Even liberty. More of that to come, at some stage.
It is hard, as someone who has spent a lifetime being a rescuer and a fixer, to watch someone you love with all your heart piss their life up a wall, but that is the role I feel I am essentially relegated to now. The harder you try to intervene, to help, to rescue, the less likely you are to have any impact whatsoever, other than to push them further away. You can’t rescue someone who doesn’t want to be rescued, who doesn’t believe they are worth it. And especially not to be rescued by you. It hurts. Lost children are easy to love, sometimes hard to like, and even harder to help.
AJ was devastated by the loss of a close friend recently. It has shaken him to his core. Their group have long lived by a code of “live fast, die young” – a sense that in the full knowledge of all the risks they choose to take – they will take them anyway as the gift of life is so casual. His fragility has never been so evident. He is overwhelmed with feelings so vast that he seems incapable of beginning to process them. It is almost unbearable to see – yet amidst the pain, the sudden harsh reality of what has happened has brought him up short. I have almost physically restrained myself from stepping in to attempt to rescue him – bearing in mind our poor track record of that- but then a small miracle happened. He took himself off to the GP and asked to be referred into the Adult Mental Health Service. An absolutely monumental step – for it shows for the first time in years a modicum of self care. I dare not take a breath – trying hard to quell any stirrings of hope in case they are dashed again. And yet, and yet…….might this be it, this time?
Christmas is a hard time of year for many, for many different reasons. Made harder by contrived congeniality, a pressure to socialise, to participate, to be merry – whether or not you are. Christmas is a time when many of us feel our loss ever more acutely. For those who are alone or in a house full of people, but feeling alone, Christmas can be a time to be endured, to be got through, a relief when it is done. Very few will admit to feeling lonely, unhappy, or isolated at Christmas, even if you have chosen to isolate yourself from others. Christmas, especially viewed through the lens of social media, can feel as if you are out in the cold. Your nose pressed up at a window, watching the chocolate-box happiness of others, and feeling like you are the only one on the outside looking in, a bystander.
But you aren’t the only one. You are one of a tribe of many. I hope that brings you some comfort, if perhaps little joy. Lots of people don’t feel it at Christmas, for very many reasons. Do things your way, whatever that might look like, you owe neither explanation nor apology to anyone. Pour some water in a pot noodle and stay in your pyjamas. Play some drum and bass and eat a whole box of Heroes (you are a hero). Or you know what? Binge watch some Bridget Jones, have a good howl and then stick some cucumber on your eyes the morning after the night before.
There aren’t any rules. Offer yourself some grace.
This is our sixth Christmas into our journey of chaos and sorrow, happy moments, hopes and fears. After many false starts I have learned to ride the wave of all of those things – and in the main to hold my fewer expectations as loosely as I can. I shall be grateful if this festive season passes without incident, I shall embrace the good moments if we have some, and hope that we surely will. My plan is to roll with it if the clouds descend again – in the knowledge that they come – and they go – and that so far we are all still standing. It’s just another day. I’m neither brave, but nor am I failing, I am putting one foot in front of the other, as carefully as I can. Having a child who is missing makes me no less a mother, at Christmas or any other time.
I’m going to be excessively gentle with myself this Christmas. I hope you are too.
A small positive step is better than no step at all Lisa… perhaps something is dawning; I truly hope so.
Wishing you and yours a peaceful Christmas and a cracker of a 2022 xxx
Thankyou Pam. Fingers crossed! A gentle christmas for you and yours.
Thanks Lisa x
We have been there. Many years later we have reached a state of relative calm, & oh joy oh bliss, a lovely relationship. I have learnt so much about myself, & him. I now except that this role has been my fate xx
That gives me a great deal of hope, Jo. Thankyou x
Thank you for all your raw, heartfelt words this year Lisa. I have cried a lot as your stories read true to me and my daughter. These words below are copied into my notes under ‘read often’
‘You can’t rescue someone who doesn’t want to be rescued, who doesn’t believe they are worth it. And especially not to be rescued by you. It hurts. Lost children are easy to love, sometimes hard to like, and even harder to help’
Lots of love x
Thankyou Chrissie. Hang in there. Lots of love to you, see you before too long I hope.
I utterly sympathise with you having been in a similar situation 10 years ago.
As you say one step at a time, avoid trying to micro manage this (I know almost impossible) and remember to breathe.
At 18 he’s starting to come out of the maelstrom of the terrible teenage years that one’s precious children have to endure to get to adulthood.
He knows you are there and he’ll come to you when he’s ready.
Wishing you and yours all the best.
Thinking of you as a fellow mother ♥️
Thankyou Erika that is incredibly kind. You give me hope!
Over the last 2 years I have learnt the importance of sharing truths and realities so that others may find comfort and a way through. You do this so eloquently Lisa, I hope in some small way it helps you too. X
It really does. It helps me try and make sense of it all. Thankyou ever so much.
I hope you can find a little happiness or a few bright moments over the festive period .
You are such a brave woman to write your blog . It will help you and many others , so well written and I can feel the pain in your words .
Thankyou Julie. You are very kind. It really helps me going, when people write in response, so thankyou
My heart is full for you and the possibility of things improving. You are not alone, we are all here, bystanders, peeking through your window…ready to raise you if you fall xxx
Thankyou Ann, that is so appreciated. x
Your writing is beautifully eloquent. This particularly resonates with me this morning, my child’s birthday. Thank you for sharing what you go through with such raw honesty.
Thankyou so much for getting in touch. Hope the day treats you gently x
Sending you so much love this Christmas. What an incredible of honest, raw writing direct from the soul. You are doing your best and AJ is too. Incredible he went to the GP.
Sometimes we try and rescue people when indeed it is ourselves who needs to be rescued and helped – but it’s easier to help other people- that harsh reality really hit me in my therapy journey… xxx
Ah Sarah, you have so many wise words. Thankyou for being there, take care. Lx
I am with you willing you on, sending you strength, this was my life. For so many years I could hardly believe it might turn around, it took me turning my back, walking away at a time I needed to look after me. It’s been the toughest journey I didn’t believe I had the strength for, it’s been worth every single step. I’m sending you so much love . Amanda
Thankyou Amanda – it is incredibly heartening to hear that you have come out the other side. Thankyou, I am truly grateful.
Truly hope a corner is being turned. Hang in there L. Better days will come I’m sure. Use the break to do lovely things with your boys. Sending love T ❤
Thankyou T. Always. Hope you and the gang have a good break too. Lx
I can testify that this particular type of pain is nearly indescribable. Thank you for your eloquence. We’re 21 years into this pain and have learned to turn our focus to our other children so as not to rob them of their spotlight. It’s such a tightrope walk, as said rope is raised and lowered continually, year after year, alternately dashing hope then restoring it. The elusive goal is peace of mind and mothers of addicts could teach those monks ensconced on mountain tops a thing or two. The Serenity Prayer is wisdom in a nutshell. May you be held by tender mercies this holiday season. 💗
Hello Julie. Thanks so much for taking the time to message me. I have read your message several times, and I wanted to say thankyou. It kind of takes one to know one, huh? Much love.
Keep going, fall down 8, stand up 9 times is my mantra Lisa.
I have a 23 year old, who I have to stand back and watch whilst he has his finger firmly on the I don’t give a ..ck button, I’ve tried everything except just that, standing back, so we shall see
My love to you ❤
Good luck Traci. Standing back takes a superhuman effort, it’s not what we are conditioned to do, is it? Much love.
Wonderfully written Lisa, so relatable but from a different direction. I have lots to write but can’t form the words yet…Christmas can be a tough gig – have the gentlest Christmas you can
Thanks Jason, so much appreciated. You too. Be better when we can both get back out on the water I think? Life looks different on the water!
You express yourself so well Lisa, it’s heart rending to read your very raw emotion.
We went through similar emotions and a tough time with our son 15 years or so ago. He came through it and started to value his life and is now a very caring young man with a wife and child he adores. This brings us much joy.
I wish you a calm and happy festive period with your family 🤗
Hello Kate
Thankyou for taking the time to comment, and it is so good to hear that. That does give me some hope. Take care, and thankyou.
Tread lightly dear Lisa over the silly season. Baby steps and let’s hope AJ’s steps are all ones that move forward.
Thinking of you all and sending gentle good vibes your way.
Lynn xxx
Thankyou Lynn. As always x
I hope you have a gentle Christmas with self care and family time. Your words are so brave in their honesty, my teen has struggled with her mental health and I struggle not to micro-manage: pills, vitamins, sleeping patterns- is she just sleeping late like a teenager or is it worse, sometimes waking after a nightmare and going in to check that it’s alright for another day…… Frustrated because she doesn’t think of anything for herself but knowing I am teaching her dependence on me.
Hard to fight the maternal need to protect.
Wishing you & yours a peaceful Christmas season.
Estelle xxx
Thankyou Estelle. We’ve had a covid filled Christmas, I hope yours has been better! I know exactly what you mean about the fight not to try and micro-manage – I have so been there but have given in now – only after a very long period to eventually realise that I can’t. Do take care, go gently.
Beautifully written. This resonates so much with my experience. My daughter (17), my anxiety, the conflict between love and like and doing the right thing for all your children – and yourself. The destructive powers of mental health, addictions, chaos, unhealthy friendships. And the horrendous choices left to us as parents. Most recently when faced with some of the worst choices and challeneges I’ve ever had to face, and seeking support, I’ve been reminded, I am her mother. As if I don’t know. It would appear that even when one lays themselves bare and asks for help. It’s an uncompromising position and closed door when it is your young person who is the “problem”. Keep going Lisa. Much love.
Much love to you Claire. I’m sorry. What a year you’ve just had. You are a remarkable woman, and you’ve come through so much. We’ve got you. Lx