I knew my energy was low, but a spontaneous opportunity to join a small group of friends for a quick drink seemed just about right. Until you notice yourself barely keeping up with conversations, and not really engaging. So after a couple of hours, I excused myself with the need to pick up one of my three teens and get him home.
Seeing through my mood, a close friend who had been there texted around 11:00 pm, “Everything ok? Did you round everyone up?” “Did you see through my stress?” I responded. “Honestly, I don’t know how much more I can cope with,” was my next text. I shared with her the letter I had received earlier in the day from our township with a neighbor complaining about the disrepair to the shed out back (aka, the boys’ “clubhouse”) and rubbish in the yard.
Just another battering in the saga of single-parenting three adoptive boys. The teen years have hit hard. As the testosterone levels have surged on their prenatal toxic stress brains, their fragile coping abilities have been decimated and the impulsive, reckless, scary behaviors have escalated. Ever the introvert who likes to let calls go to voicemail, I now answer every single ring. It could be the police. It could be the hospital. It could be the kid needing extraction from a bad situation. It could be another mom letting me know that she got to the scene first and she’s there for my boy waiting for me as chaos swims around them.
As my body and brain fight to stabilize every wave that comes, I’ve been trying my best to focus on the current day. Focus on taking care of myself. Fill thy cup. Practice self-care. Sleep. Eat. Because if I’m not stable, I can’t co-regulate the emotional spikes of these fragile boys.
But that night, I couldn’t figure out how to stay stable in response to the next onslaught. The neighbor who had warmly welcomed us to the community years ago apparently became tired by the mess that a group of energetic inattentive boys leave in their wake. He had yelled at the middle child a couple weeks ago, but apparently is unable to address me as a human and neighbor.
There are very few parents who can understand the depth and the anguish and the trauma and the stress of parenting these tough children. But those who have walked through this hell also know the deep cavern a parent sinks into when they hit the breaking point. When it all just becomes too much. When the coping is gone. The self-care bucket is empty. The future seems bleak and the brain searches for a way out of it all.
“Don’t let it break you,” my friend responded. It’s 11:35 pm and I feel broken. The eldest is just barely holding on to 11th grade. After a rough year, the middle is refusing all educational attempts (despite homebound, charter school, and a trial of cyber) and the next important IEP meeting is scheduled in two days. The youngest has had a precipitous decline over the past few months and and parenting and life have been beyond scary and stressful. The list of appointments to make, plumbers to call, clutter to clean, and work to be done is just too long. The perception of failure gnaws in the recesses of the mind and I am just barely holding on in the middle of the night.
“Don’t let it break you.” The tears flowed. Scattered texts floated back and forth over the next few hours into the early morning. Not saying much. Many lapses of time. But the words were the lifeline. Flying off to Bermuda was not going to help me (though I do love the beach). Moving to Australia was not currently a viable option (but my friends would welcome me). Being jailed with a book and a puzzle for my truant kid seemed like a beautiful time of respite (but that wouldn’t keep my boys safe and healthy). There’s nothing but to know that I cannot let myself be broken.
I am the parent for these boys. I am the heart that wraps them in love. I am the brain that reads and calls and questions and seeks information and resources for them. I am the voice that fiercely advocates for their needs. I am the arms that prepare the meals, clean the clothes, sweep the fur-balls, fix the breaks and drive the car. I am the legs that bend to the floor to play a game and that rise up to stand against those who would discriminate against or harm them. I am the mom supported by my family and friends and neighbors (though clearly not all the neighbors) and that community is vital. I am the one the Lord has chosen for these boys.
And I will not break.
~ Call or text me when you need a friend. I am here. And be kind to one another 🙂
middleofthemadness 
Please remember those who may not be physically close, but are often thinking about you and hoping that you will let us know how we can help…
Dearest Lynne – – your boys are energetic, learning how to express themselves, challenging any sorts of controls in their lives, and heaven help you, just where they need to be. No, do not be broken, do not even think that there’s a possibility of being broken; but recognize there are times when you need to step back and let others know you need support. Do wish we were closer and could help, but you can always call. And remember, GAK has no sleep cycle – – call, anytime! Hugs, encouragement, and prayers for you!