Living Outside the Chaos

I’m really quite good at managing chaos. I’ve had lots of practice, and have become a warrior of survival. I’m proud of this, and have learned not to fear much as the confidence in my ability to weather massive storms keeps me in peace.
But.

I’m not good at managing the manageable.

I’ve written about my oldest son and his battle with mental illness. He’s 15 now, and the ebb and flow of his sickness has lasted for more than 13 of those years. I have 3 other children, all younger than him. We have lived in the shadow of his illness for the entirety of their lives. 

Things are better now. While we still have situations that knock the wind out of me (as recently as earlier this week), the violent chaos that was normal in our home for more than a decade has waned. With his maturity has come some ability to push back against coping skills of aggression and destruction. I’ve come to a place of trusting my ability to parent him well, and rather than lean into the storm and exacerbate it with my own fear and anger, I’ve learned to utilize authority and boundaries in a healthier way. The last nine months has been the longest peaceful stretch of my parenting career. Even during this most recent drama, there has been no violence or aggression. 

Yet, I’m struggling.

I’ve been dating a man for the last two years who has seen the dynamics of my family, who has seen the shocking aggression that can pour out of my beautiful first born, who has seen the fear in the faces of my other three, the sometimes unhealthy attachment that has been forged between me and my kids, and who has seen me cry and work and do everything I can to help my family. He’s bided his time, and occasionally he’s spoken up- asking questions and exposing what I already know: I am not good at managing the manageable. Over the last year there have been conversations that he’s initiated that have left me angry, sullen and sobbing. (Never his intention, and always a direct result of the wounds it picks at.) They say that the truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.
Last night was the second time we had a conversation where the things coming from his mouth seemed to be directly from the heart of God- piercing my soul, shredding my heart in the knowing, and rendering me silent as I knew it was sacred. My flesh wanted to rise up and scream in defense, but my soul knew it was everything I needed to face; and I was grateful to have someone willing to face it with me in love. Beauty doesn’t equal pain-free. Love doesn’t mean avoiding hard places. I ached. I sobbed. I heaved with grief and fear and disappointment.

The difficulty now is that while living in a constant state of chaos, I have never learned how to live in the normal. I did everything around the house while trying to keep my kids safe. I never had breathing space to teach them simple chores or provide a structured schedule. And now, I’m exhausted. My children rely on me to do everything. They don’t pick up after themselves, or only do so with my prodding and their attitudes. There isn’t much structure, and what is there, revolves entirely around me. It’s not healthy for any of us, and it’s not feasible for me to keep this up. But the reality is this: I have no idea how to do it. I didn’t start small, with toddlers who were pulling chairs up to the sink beside me to learn how to do dishes. I didn’t have homework time at the kitchen table in the evenings because many evenings were spent fighting darkness and aggression, and sending children into my room to stay out of the path of their brother. I don’t have a family-known set of rules, expectations and consequences because my oldest (who, by default, sets the example for the others) is not motivated by either reward or consequence. Parenting him has been a continual shifting of what might work for this day, this situation, this mood. It’s left the others wondering what the constants are… and, to my grief, they come up empty.

I look at our dynamics, the lack of maturity and skill in my children, and I feel despair. JJ spoke these things- things I’ve already known- things I would rather run from- and called me to action. Part of me wanted to launch myself across the table to shove him to the floor, and part of me wanted to run away and leave the work to someone else, and part of me was broken… but part of me was grateful. His delivery was kind and raw. He reminded me of my strength and ability and asked why I didn’t infuse this situation with those characteristics. I dropped my head into my hands and sobbed. I could barely speak and he had to ask me to repeat myself several times. I don’t know how to fix it. I know the way things are right now is not good for anyone. I know that you telling me I work too hard at home doing things the kids should be doing is true- but I’m telling you I’m afraid, lost, and honestly, I am not sure I believe in myself as much as you do.

I have allowed things spoken to me when I was younger to take deep root and affect my ability to parent the children God gave to me- with my personality, skill set, strength and energy. I can tell you that logically, I know I have been paired with these children for a reason. That they have things to teach me, and I them, but the strangling vines grown from words once thrown into my soul have siphoned off the nutrients meant for healthy growth. I hear Failure. Flaky. Impulsive. Flighty. Unable to finish anything. Easily Bored. Lazy.

My love language is words of affirmation, and I haven’t loved myself well as I’ve given head space to words of destruction instead.
 

So next week, I return to counseling. I’ve given years to stabilize my son, while waiting for the right time to seek stabilization for myself. I can no longer delay that process. His well being and the well being of the others depends on my health. I can see where the cracks are and need help processing the junk that is preventing me from doing what needs to be done. I need someone to help me pull out the vines and learn how to live in the space between chaotic events.
I’m nervous at the level of emotional energy this will take, but I’m ready to move into it and out of it in order to live well the life I’ve been given.