It is not difficult for me to be a single parent in terms that most people would apply. Financially we are quite capable of living within the means of my paycheck unless something unforeseen happens (therapy bills, new roof, etc.) that set us back. Otherwise, we do just fine.
Except that we don't. I lied. That whole paragraph above is how I want it to be but with a teen, it isn't working out so well. It's not entirely his fault. It's not entirely my fault. But I dread the part that IS my fault because I already watched my own mother do this and I can't understand why I'm doing it too. It's not because it's easy to do it as I watched and learned it from her, it's because it's easy to do it this way. Let me explain.
My son and I have a wonderful relationship. While he used to tell me everything, now he withholds some of himself, holding "secrets" that he believes I do not understand because he's a teen and I'm not anymore. I remember this happening to me as well. I remember feeling completely alone, isolated, and worst of all, my mother was my worst enemy because she picked on me and raged at me. Even at my age now, I hear from people that she knew that I was the best child but the worst teenager and my brother was the exact opposite. However, people also ask if I'm the "smart one" because they measure intelligence according to schooling. I didn't get bad grades, but I was no math brain and I'm still not. A fish told to climb a tree will always be a failure. I am good at many other things that people do not seem to measure as important. I'm fine with that.
I remember one of the only compliments my mother gave me was that I was a better mother than she had been. At the time, I held terrible secrets. I protected this child's father when I should have turned him in for child abuse. I did leave and take our son, but not before beating myself up to the point that I was no good as a mother in my own head. As much as I'd like to have lived up to my mother's compliment, I can say that I am a better friend than a mother at this point. My son and I are friends and that's what's getting us into trouble. You see, Mom always said that you couldn't be friends with your child and be their parent also. I disagreed then and I disagree now. Problem is, I don't have a manual on how to do this. It is my deepest gut feeling that this view on parent/friend relationships being impossible is flat wrong. Just like always though, I can only tell you it is a gut feeling, I cannot tell you WHY. Not just yet. Not until I've pondered through it and can give it to you in words. In the meantime, I'm battling my son. I'm battling me. I'm battling to survive.
My son is 13. He will be 14 in just a few months. With terrible depression and his grades crashing, I pulled him from public school, put him in homeschool and therapy. It was my fondest hope that I could get him into an online public school, but it didn't work out. Anyway. Per agreement with his therapist, my son is supposed to set his alarm for 7:30 or so, call me. Do his studies (this should be a few hours with some breaks when he needs them), call me again. Do two chores, call me again. Then finally he'd have free time. Per discussion with my fiancé, my son is to go to bed at 9:30 so his depression is not affected by lack of sleep. Young son does not like the 9:30 idea and I must admit that he is generally up when I am trying to get ready for bed at 10 and 10:30. I tell him to go to bed and then I'm in bed and once I sleep with Prince Xanax, there is nothing that awakens me til nearly 2 a.m.
I don't leave my son lists. I expect him to call me when his alarm goes off like he's supposed to do. I expect him to do his studies and write down EXACTLY what he did in his study notebook. When he calls me, I tell him his chores. Except he doesn't. He doesn't set his alarm. He sleeps in the computer room now, where there is no alarm. He doesn't write his studies in his notebook. I don't think he's really doing them. He's on the internet late at night when I wasn't aware that he was doing such a thing. He doesn't call me. Then he doesn't do his chores either. In order for him to do what he's agreed to do, what he's SUPPOSED to do, it is apparent that I must get angry once a week (preferably on Monday morning) and yell a lot. He has to be thoroughly cowed (embarrassed, subdued, strong-armed, terrorized, crushed, humbled, scared) and THEN he will do as he is told.
This is infuriating. Why should I have to get angry for him to do as he is told? Surely there is another way that will not have me fidgeting, questioning myself, anxiety-ridden and guilt-ridden. Surely there is a way to do this that won't make me question my already extensively battle scarred self... those scars are from me, myself and I. I put them there. I am my own worst enemy. Then the guilt at that.
Guilt! I am overwhelmed by guilt. I'm not making my son stay on task. Sometimes I lack the energy. Sometimes I lack the "give-a-shit." Sometimes I just think to myself, "Tomorrow. There is always tomorrow... I will have the energy then." Weekends come and I use those to rest and get housework done. Sometimes my house is fairly clean. Within days I wonder what the hell exploded in my kitchen that shit is now all over the place. I am a good part of the problem. At the end of all this, I end up with sores all over my body, the feeling that I'm not good enough and feeling completely overwhelmed by life in general. I suck as a mother, I'm a much better friend.
I let this happen. My mother did this with my brother. She was much harder on me. I swore I wouldn't treat my child the way my mother treated me and I don't. But I do treat him like she treated my brother, and the spoiled little brat is still a spoiled little brat.
It's not that my son is a bad person or a bad child, or even a bad teenager. It is that I let him do things that I should not. When I am given a directive such as making him go to bed at 9:30 at night, I tell young son to do so and then the arguing starts. Oh god. The arguing. The only way to end that is to either walk away and say "Fuck it," and go the fuck to sleep feeling guilty that I'm a shitty mother, or to end up yelling and vanquishing him completely, then going to bed full of anxiety and guilt that I'm a shitty mother for yelling. I'm not nice when I yell. Once I'm yelling, it means I lost my temper and when I lose my temper, pain is fair game, even dealing emotional, forever type pain. I say things when I'm angry that are hurtful and full of hate and rage, things that take people to their knees, then bash them to the ground and make them hurt forever. I say things that never go away. I know... Mom did that to me as well.
There is the problem. It's not Mom. It's that when I lose my temper (which I try so very very hard NOT to do, to the point of passive-aggressiveness) I haven't managed to learn to control myself. Wow. 42 and still a bitch when I'm angry. I don't just get angry, I am sudden full fury. There is no inbetween for me.
While I'm busy trying not to lose my temper, life goes on. My son gets older. He dives into his PS3 or movies from Netflix and disappears from life. He doesn't walk the dog every day. Sometimes I'm fine with that because I remember that there's a pedophile living on our block. Sometimes I'm not fine with that because he COULD go another direction, but then he could still get picked up or stolen. *deep sigh* Life goes on. My son gets taller. He is rough with me. I start it, he doesn't rein in his strength. He says he doesn't know that he's that strong. I understand because he has grown so much so fast and I remember suddenly being strong enough to control a horse better and not quite having the hang of things yet, overdoing it here and there. I remember bloodying my little brother's nose when I only meant to give him a light slap. Yikes. I know.
Life goes on while I wrestle with my interior demons. My son grows and learns bad habits from me because I do not rein him in, with me feeling caught in a web because I cannot find the borderline. This isn't about him, it's about me. But it's affecting him terribly. My god I'm a horrible mother. I die in my guilt when I get to this point. I feel horrible. Like a horrible worthless person. I do not deserve to raise a child. It is a great honor to do so and yet I'm screwing it up.
Once in a while, I see the high points. I see that my son has the capacity for great gentleness and empathy. He can handle the smallest animal with compassion and gentleness, and the oldest human with compassion and tenderness. When I am hurt or scared, he cares for me completely, cooking for me, bringing me medicine that he knows I need (inhaler for asthma, xanax for panic attack, etc.), or covers me with his blankets, gives me his stuffed frog and calling the dogs to surround me during a lightning storm when I freeze in the hallway. If I get sick and cannot do something, he will go out and weed, or take out the trash, or do the dishes, or do the cooking, or a combination of any of these things. I know that's the adult in him that comes out. I also know that I am part of the reason for that adult behavior and that gives me hope for both myself and for him.
In the meantime, my son is also a teen. So while he pushes the boundaries like a normal teen, all I can hope for is the best while I do my best; that he will survive into and through adulthood as a thriving happy being with the skills to adapt with positivity to any situation. Because in the end, that's all that really counts. It isn't grades or regurgitated information in public school. It isn't math. It isn't chemistry or geography. (Those can help depending on work field, but are not ultimately connected to positivity nor happiness.)
Off I go to wrestle with myself while I work through self imposed guilt and try to raise my son. Wish me luck.
