A few weeks ago, a friend called and asked how I coped with a teenage son with anxiety and depression. She was struggling with her child, and wanted to talk to someone who would understand and not pass judgment on her or her kid.
As I talked about the Boy when he was a young teen, I realized how far he has come since then. I was talking to her about the before. We are now living in the after.
Still, I struggle with what was then and what is now. I wasn't present for a majority of the Boy's recovery, nor was he present for mine. While the Boy was living in Montana going through his therapeutic treatment, I was going through my own.
Because of this gap, I had a hard time differentiating between who Pedro was when he was sent away, and who he is now. Then, he was sleeping all day. In the meantime, he got organized and graduated from high school. He studied, did his homework and took exams, while also going through therapy. He also made friends outside of his therapy group. He did a lot, and just because I wasn't physically present for it doesn't mean it didn't happen.
So how do I honor and recognize my son where he is at now? There is a cliche-trap that moms of kids in treatment fall into: They see their children as the cute, adorable toddlers or first graders that they once were, and then wondered what happened. The adorable kid who made mud pies and finger-painted is now a nineteen year old druggie who stole their car sold it for coke.
"What happened to my sweet baby boy?" they wonder.
Sometimes the past sweetness is what keep us holding on so we don't let go. The hard part is acknowledging and accepting the present. The word "and' helps. For example, "My kid was _____ and now they are ______."
Which brings me to "This too shall pass." I was talking to some friends this week about this topic. "This too shall pass" applies to bad times and good times. As we were talking, I realized this expression also comes with letting go. As we are parents, the ages and stages kids go fly by. The colicky infant becomes a cranky toddler who becomes and curious kindergartener. I can't hold it against my daughter that she was colicky. Sure, it sucked parenting a kid who cried all of the time, but it passed. She is not that way anymore. Likewise, I need to separate who Pedro was from who he is now. Of course, I can hold a dear spot in my heart for the kid who said "waterlemon" and built a "Stomp Drop Rocket" out of legos. Parents build a bank of fond memories of their kids so when the times get tough they remember why they are still a parent and don't sell their child to the circus.
And sometimes the rough times last a long time, seemingly without end. I think of the addictions and mental health issues that persist. I think of chronic, debilitating diseases that won't get better. I think of Viktor Frankl surviving the Holocaust. On a much less impactful situation, I think of when I tore my ACL and spent a year in physical therapy re-learning how to walk. I knew I would become mobile again if I did the work, which at times as painful. I couldn't change the path of my recovery, but I could accept the discomfort and work instead of wallowing in self pity. Once we get to acceptance, we can think about what to do next. I had a choice about my attitude. I had a choice to do the work or not.
I can hold the sweet and the sour, and I can separate the past from the present. I can hold Pedro as the adorable toddler, the angry adolescent, and the depressed teen. I can see him as the leader of the Lego Club and the captain of the soccer team. I can see him as a kid who turned it around and graduated from high school. I can see a kid who is brave and courageous.
And I can see him now as a college freshman, living on his own.
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