What Happens When My Child/Teen Goes to the ER for Psychiatric Care? (Post 1 of 3)

I am part of a private Facebook group for parents of children and teens who have bipolar or other mood disorders. Many caregivers post a frantic cry for support when their child goes into psychiatric hospitalization. I've also received emails, texts, and private messages from friends and friends of friends asking what to expect or looking for reassurance. I've decided to create a series of three blog posts covering some of the most asked questions and offering information to help educate and dispel some of the mystery.
The three posts will cover what to expect when your child/teen is in the emergency room, what acute/short term hospitalization looks like, and our experience with long term/residential treatment. Please share these posts with anyone who can use them!

What To Expect When Your Child or Teen Winds Up in the Emergency Room For Psychiatric Care:

You've found yourself at the ER with your child seeking psychiatric intervention. There are many ways this can happen: Your child is out of control, or has what the system calls "suicidal ideation", or is self harming, seems delusional; the list is endless. They may arrive by ambulance, in a police car, or under police escort, or simply in your personal vehicle. We have been to the ER many times and have arrived in my car, in my car with police escort, and in an ambulance.

Here is what you need to know:

First- don't forget to breathe. I'm very serious. I know that it's scary, and unknown, and heartbreaking to find yourself in this position, but you have to dig deep and stay calm. Your child needs you more than ever and you will need to be able to rationally answer questions, give accurate history, and most likely, spend a lot of time with your child just waiting. Staying calm might be the most difficult thing you do during this experience, especially if you came to the ER due to any violence or destructive behavior directed at you or your family. Anger is the natural response to that, and yet, for the well being of all of you, you must find a way to momentarily compartmentalize those emotions and be a calm presence for your child.

Be prepared to wait. And then wait some more. This can be an incredibly frustrating part of the process. Many hospitals have specific rooms for mental health patients, and will only utilize those rooms unless it is a life or death situation. With the continually growing mental health crisis in our country, this often means that when you arrive, the rooms are already occupied- leaving you and your child in the waiting room- many times for hours on end. Our longest stay was 27 hours from start to finish- but part of that was waiting on a bed to open up in an acute psychiatric hospital (more on that in the next post).

When you arrive and check in, you will register, give proof of insurance if you have it, then you will wait for triage. After triage (where a nurse asks you why you've come and checks your child's vitals) you will probably be sent  back to the waiting room. Your child may be called again for a blood draw, and if so, once again, you most likely will be sent back to the waiting room. Once called into a room you may notice it's different than other rooms in the ER. It may even be in an area that is closed off from the other rooms. Many rooms used for mental health patients have been prepped- often stripped of any extra instruments or objects that you'd see in other rooms to protect patients from potentially hurting themselves or others.

You can expect to see a nurse, a social worker or mental health worker, hospital registrar, and doctor at a minimum. Each time, your child will be asked if they are having thoughts of harming themselves, and if so, if there is a plan. This is tedious. It feels traumatic to have to answer that over and over, or watch your child have to repeatedly answer those questions. Just remind yourself it's part of protocol. There may be police presence. At our local hospital, there is an officer who sits outside of the mental health rooms. This is again, preventative and for protection, but I'll admit, it can make the process feel further stigmatized and removed from 'normal'.
Your child will be under a strict one on one instruction- meaning, they won't be allowed to be left alone. You will have to stay with them the entire time, and they will have to ask to use the restroom. If your child doesn't want you with them (which happens, and you will have to find a way to stand up under the weight of that pain somehow knowing they aren't well in that moment) then they will have a nurse with them constantly. If they are overly agitated or anxious, your child may be offered something to help calm them.

Prepare yourself to know there won't be a diagnosis in the ER. There will be no 'problem solved' or magic bullet. It can feel anticlimactic after the chaos that sent you there. It can be exhausting in every way, and you will likely experience a myriad of emotions. If you know some of this ahead of time, it can help you adjust your expectations so you don't wind up feeling discouraged.

Generally the goal is to create a plan going forward in order to discharge your child. This may be for your child to return home with instructions to follow up with a psychiatrist. Or, it may be that the next step is acute hospitalization at a mental health facility. In the state of VA where I live, you are no longer allowed to self-admit. You must have a medical clearance first- meaning you and your child may know that he/she wants and needs hospitalization, but you must still go through the red tape of the ER visit to justify it. If hospitalization is the next step, you will be waiting again. Hospitals are packed full and many times you are stuck waiting for a bed to open up at a facility. Often those facilities aren't local to you. The younger your child, the fewer options there are, which can mean a longer wait and possibly a facility that is a longer distance from your home. In our state if you are stuck in the ER waiting for more than 24 hours for a bed to become available, they usually admit your child to the hospital while you wait- putting you in limbo until there is space.
While this is frustrating, and shines a spotlight on the scale of psychiatric care needs, it is normal. Discouraging, yes. But sadly, normal. Most of the time a trip to the ER is a marathon, not a sprint. Try to relax if you can. I've told my son jokes, showed him vines on my phone, watched him try to sleep, played music, and calmed him when his anxiety from the wait overtook him.

The good stuff: Remember your child is in a safe place during the visit. That may be the only consolation for you in the moment, but don't discount it. Breathe it in deeply. If this is your first trip to the ER for this level of care, you are now in a good position to continue to advocate for your child in other arenas; school, counseling, testing, possibly ABA therapy or OT (for children with Autism or sensory issues), the option of getting an advocate or case worker; you have now reached a level of need that makes it obvious how desperately you need a support team. Take advantage of this reality and ask as many questions about available resources as you need to before you are discharged.

Finally: I know you feel utterly alone. You may feel as though you've failed somehow. This is a normal reaction, but it's not true. Many of us have been through this with our children- you don't know only because we aren't posting pics of them in the hospital bed on Facebook and Instagram the way parents of physically ill children often do. We're hidden in plain sight- but trust me; you are not alone. Also, you have no obligation to share information with anyone. You don't owe anyone an explanation, and you don't have to try and defend your choice (or, forced action if others were involved). As hard as it may be, find a way to stay calm and set boundaries. Privacy and space is rightfully yours and you are permitted to take all the time you need to decide what (if anything) you desire to share with anyone other than those intimately involved. You are going to get through this- and you, sweet parent or caregiver- are an amazing and loving person who is doing an incredibly difficult and compassionate thing. Much love!

Family Infected

Every family develops dynamics over time- based on birth order, personalities, external stressors, etc. when one of the members of the family has a chronic illness, the dynamics can be skewed in ways that can become unhealthy in the long run in order to operate in the immediate. 

Samuel is doing better overall than he's ever done. We've had rough days, days that stir up latent anxieties simmering below the surface that come hurdling into our throats when his mood or behavior tastes familiar, and we recall older days when the behavior was so unpredictable that none of us felt truly safe in our own home. But as a whole, he's doing so well. I force myself to remember some of the darker days to contrast how well he's doing now- but the dynamics, the structure of the family, the codependent tendencies linger- and pushing back against what has been our norm for so many years is a daunting task. 

For many years, life in our home was survival in a war zone. He was imprisoned in his illness and the rest of us became collateral damage by default. My younger children learned to both revere and fear him- never sure which mood would surface and if they might become caught in the crossfire. When he wasn't stable- not properly diagnosed, nor properly medicated and treated- his behavior was often violent and aggressive. My son Asher was often the focus of his rage, and if he wasn't, then I was. Many many days I would tell the younger three to run to my room and lock themselves in while I worked to calm the volcano of mood explosions and keep all of us safe. That kind of chaos means that simple family things such as delineation of chores and help never happened. I would create chore charts with all of the hope of a fresh spring day, and within days, the volcano erupted again, and the workload fell to me as the younger ones sequestered themselves out of the reach of aggression. 

The result of living in the moment day to day for years on end means that I didn't have practice parenting over time- I didn't learn as I went- to delegate work load, dole out appropriate discipline, and create strong boundaries. I've come so very far- we all have- but I am acutely aware that my kids don't support the running of the household at the level I believe they should. With Samuel's stability, I've been able to enforce more structure and more boundaries- but as foreign as it is for them- it's equally strange to me. I'm not used to living a life that is planned out past today's activities- save for doctor appointments, therapies, and the occasional fun outing. I have become accustomed to making plans and having to cancel them, or asking for help around the house only to be left doing it alone as everyone hides in their rooms. I want to get better at this- I want my kids to get better at this- I know it's my job to prepare them for life outside of my home, and when I think of all they have left to learn, sometimes I feel the crushing weight of failure. I remind myself that comparison of our family dynamic to the perceived dynamics of others is not only ridiculous, but toxic, and that we have struggles and hurdles that other families don't have to take into account- and to remember how far we've come, how much better we're getting at operating in a more healthy way- but it nags at me. 

I wonder when Asher will need therapy for feeling as though I didn't protect him the way he needed me to, or when Tucker will finally express that he feels that Samuel gets the most attention, or when Ivy will get angry at me for being exhausted at times when she wants my energetic attention. The reality is that we all fail our kids somehow- often in ways we aren't aware of- needs they have that they are unable to express that aren't met and create wounds- life is like that for all of us... so I try and talk to them- to let them know I'm aware of these dynamics, and aware that I haven't done it all 'right', or even to their expectations- that I see their hurt and fear, and that I've shared the same hurt for them, to acknowledge that life with a chronically ill sibling feels so unfair- and that it can be confusing to both adore and fear the same person. My prayer is that those conversations will go down deep and work as an inoculation against bitterness or anger festering inside of their souls. I want to believe that the struggles we've endured will create strong character and incredible compassion- but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried at times.

I think that this is an issue for all families with a chronically ill family member. It changes everyone. It alters the fabric of life for everyone woven into the unit. I have no answers other than to encourage those of you in the same place we find ourselves to talk and talk and talk. To choose to call out the pain and injustice and hurt- and give it a place to sit- without judgment, fear, or defensiveness. It's hard, it sucks, it's easier in the moment to avoid those conversations; but somehow, I believe that the ache of the conversations today is far easier than a lifelong sentence of bitterness and a fractured family. If you find yourself here- know that you're not alone, you're not crazy, and doing the best you can is the best you can. <3 

Waiting To Exhale

I keep waiting.

When you've lived in chaos for years and years, you learn to expect the moment when the proverbial 'other shoe will drop'. I hold my breath, wondering when it will fall, when the ease will shift and gusts of harsh winds will blow back into our lives... yet, the atmosphere remains calm.

It's amazing to me how humans can adjust to incredibly overwhelming circumstances; surviving through trauma and danger and stress that you'd expect to level a person. I've written recently about how I found myself submerged in depression last fall, and the heaviness and dark shadows that wouldn't lift. The sun has found its way back into my eyes and when I ruminate on what took me so deeply into the bleak desert, I recognize that while Samuel was away, there was space for me to fall apart. I'd held my breath for 14 years- bracing against all manner of aggression, wildly swinging moods, his sensory overload, the effort to keep everyone safe, and the ongoing fight for the services he needed. When he wasn't there, my brain was able to shut down at some level, preserving itself and refusing to operate at the intensity it had been forced to endure for so long. I'd had high hopes of all I would change and accomplish in his absence; creating the structure and routine in our lives that had been lacking due to the ever changing emotional atmosphere, spending more time being present with my other three kids who have lived under the cloud of mental illness and autism their entire lives, finding space for myself- with yoga and prayer and time in nature. I did some of these things, and we certainly made progress, but by the end of the summer I hit a wall and I couldn't have cared less about much of anything. I had nothing left. I'm an intensely feeling person, and found myself numb to most everything. It was foreign, and only increased the hopelessness.

Bringing him home was scary. He'd done so well in the highly structured environment of the treatment facility and I knew that after 9 months away, there would be many adjustments he'd have to make on a daily basis. His therapist had warned both of us that there was usually a honeymoon period of a couple of weeks and often times her patients would wind up back in the hospital for an acute stay within the first 6 weeks. When she'd said that, my stomach dropped. He's had 5 hospital stays since the age of three, and my naive hope had been that the residential treatment would have vaccinated us against the need to return to acute treatment; yet, I was grateful for the warning. I brought him home with the knowledge that he could completely fall apart in the reintegrating of his life.

Earlier this week he hit the 6 week mark.

The air I'd been hoarding inside my body has found its way out, and the exhale is intoxicating. I've realized that when I've been asked how he's doing, my response is beautiful. He's doing incredible. The work he put in while he was away; educating himself about his illness and autism, learning some of his triggers and how to cope with them or eliminate them, his ability to be self aware of his emotions and the response his body is having to stimuli, his powerfully articulate communication when he's felt hurt, or angry, or confused... it's nothing short of miraculous. Before he left he had been a wreck. He had never had the proper diagnoses- at least, not at the same time- and he wasn't getting the support and services he so desperately needed. He'd unraveled to the place of destruction, and our lives were spent barely surviving the daily trauma of improperly treated mental illness. I'd had the police at our home, he'd been admitted into the hospital after an ER visit that we'd made under police escort, he was failing the 9th grade despite his incredible brilliance, he'd been suspended three times in 5 short months of high school, and he was defiant and mean. I was desperate. Terrified for my child and the road we were headed down.
Residential treatment saved our lives.

I left a broken, angry, ill equipped, improperly treated child with a devastating disease and 9 months later was given a young man who does what I ask him to, serves me even when not asked, is excelling in his new school even in honors classes, and whose laughter that had once died now echoes off of the walls. We've had minor bumps. He's a 16 year old boy after all! But we've navigated them in a way that still takes me by surprise. A couple of weeks after he'd gotten home I'd unknowingly said something one evening that hurt him. I hadn't been aware of it, and had gone to bed as usual. He woke me up before 6 the next morning and said he'd had a hard time sleeping and had to talk. He told me that I'd hurt his feelings, that he knew I hadn't meant to, but he needed me to know. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes in wonder... who is this young man?! We talked it through and had a normal day- free from violence, rage, anger, depression or cursing- old responses he'd had when upset or offended.
Life with him home feels so... normal. Average. Safe. We still work hard, and he has a therapist who comes to the house three times a week for three hours each time. Our lives are still vastly filled with work and school and the management of his illness and autism, but they're also so good. Watching him with his siblings and seeing the anxiety of not knowing what the day would hold for them in regard to his mood begin to fade is beautiful. I'm not living in a fantasy world where I believe that we'll never have another crisis or trauma related to his illness.. Bipolar 1 and Autism cohabiting inside of his brain is a bitch. There's no other way to say it. They work in tandem to exacerbate the symptoms of each disorder; But. I have hope now. I can see the potential for a life for him that isn't driven by chaos and being defined by his illness. I can see the weight lifting off of all of us as we learn to live and love as a family outside of continual trauma and drama. I can see peace in his eyes and his body- peace that has settled deep into his marrow, stilling him and grounding him and allowing him to receive our love. He helped create his own miracle. His incredible effort and positive attitude about getting better fueled the change in him and has been a gift to himself and his family.
I realize I may have a painful post in the future about some possible crisis we may experience- and that's ok, as I know that's how life unfolds for all of us, but for today, for now, the waiting is over, and I can finally breathe in the beauty, and then deliciously.... exhale.

Speak now, or forever hold your peace

I've been going through Beth Moore's Breaking Free study with a couple of friends over the last few months. It's been a good place to examine myself; how I operate- in relationships, in my expectations, and life in general. It's been hard, and painful, and beautiful. (I highly recommend it!).  I'm in the beginning of week five, and the last couple of weeks have had us digging into our backgrounds to discover hard things passed down in our families as well as the really beautiful things. All of us carry both within our families of origin, and all of us will continue to pass on good and bad to the generations coming after us. The goal of the study is to discover, with intention, those things you desire to grab hold of and continue, and those things that have created difficulty, struggle, pain or dysfunction and in identifying those things- let them go.
Interestingly, I watched the video kicking off week five on Friday night. (start at 45:40 for the clip I'm referring to). The night that hate descended publically on my hometown of Charlottesville and made a blatant display of evil personified. The video addressed what Beth considers the most poisonous 'legacy' of many families: Racism. 

She does a great job of calling it out without mincing words, and without painting an ugly, insidious 'tradition' with sugared words to help us digest them. She calls it an abomination. A sickness based in fear and ignorance. She calls us to stand against it- with courage. Knowing for some, standing against the covert and overt racism in family relationships will cost something. She passionately argues that the ideology of being 'color blind' is a disservice, a farce, laughable. I'm with her all the way. She says when we are raised to believe that we are different because of skin color, then by default, it means someone has to be better. Yep. Amen. All things I am on board with. My only disappointment came when I realized she missed an opportunity to make another powerful, needed point. I would add this to her message:
Serving a creator God means we believe He has created all. All creatures, humans, plants, living things. Calling them good. As women, we frequently remind society that when we were created we were also deemed good, and also created in the image of God.
So... for my brain, for my logic, for my reasoning.. this seems a simple analogy. None of us look at the gorgeous blue butterflies flitting around our lawns and think "Man. Those blue butterflies are so much more important and valuable than the orange colored Monarchs. In fact, we should really try to get rid of those Monarch butterflies because they are in the way and annoying me by trying to get all of the nectar from these flowers! Dont they know they don't belong here?! We should make them go back to Mexico." We don't visit the animal shelter and tell the staff that all of the yellow dogs shouldn't be allowed to be adopted because they aren't as good as the other dogs; becoming incensed that the yellow lab is taking up space they could use for a chocolate lab and getting violent when told we are off our rocker for using such warped logic.

This is an overly-simplified analogy, stripping history and pain and wounding from the subject for a moment; but my point is this: Especially for those of us who love our creator God- why would we even consider the thought that skin color determines levels of value?! God is creative. Artistic. Intentional. We have no problem accepting that in the animal world, and with various plants and flowers- yet we stop short of offering the same effortless acceptance to the creatures called humans that He has created in.his.image. 
Beth Moore is correct. In many families of every color (especially here in the United States where our history is marred with horrific crimes against humanity based on skin color), there has been a passing down of racism at some level. It can be difficult to look at. She speaks of her grandmother who faithfully served others, loved her church, spent time in her bible every day and then spoke disparagingly about a group of people- made in the image of God. It's based in fear and ignorance and continues through generations with the subtle (or not so subtle) rhetoric of : if we are different- then someone has to be better. 
Pastor John Pavlovitz posted on his website this weekend calling those of us with white skin to speak up. To call out racism for what it is. To call out our white counterparts engaged in this disgusting display of fear and hate and brutality. To refuse to stay silent in our protected lives, and largely disconnected communities. His message is powerful and necessary- and I want to push it a step further.
I have heard many of my friends of color say that they are tired. They are no longer afraid- knowing God holds them. But they are tired of fighting. Of trying to speak out to deaf ears. Ears deafened by the noise of ignorance- never having faced ugliness directed at them or their families or communities based solely on skin color. Ears deafened by the rally of voices around them telling them that 'the American dream is available to all- if they would just work harder'; or 'black on black crime is worse than white on black crime.', or 'they need to get over it. I never owned any slaves and I don't understand what their problem is. I have tons of black friends.', or the more "accepted" statements such as; 'black people are so much better at sports than white people'; tossed out as though it is a compliment and should be received with gratitude. What about,  'well, he had been arrested before, so I'm not surprised'; and the ever-present: 'why do they have to say black lives matter?! Don't they know ALL lives matter?!'. Those continual sound bites.. perpetuated in our communities, churches, families, friendships, social media, television... they drown out the voices of the oppressed crying out to be heard.
They're tired of competing with the hum of words soothing the nagging worry in those of us with white skin who dare to consider that all of this is so horrifically, terribly wrong... and that maybe, somehow, we have played a part.


Yes, John Pavlovitz. We must speak. It's our turn. It's the responsibility of those of us with white skin to tell our friends and brothers and sisters with brown skin that 'we've got you'. You don't need to keep fighting. You can rest. We will fight FOR you. In love. In honor. And to tell our white brothers and sisters, no. No. We won't stand for this. It's evil.
To my white brothers- your voice carries the most weight. You have the 'in' to those who perpetuate this violence of word and deed. You have the highest probability of being heard by other white men- because you look like them. You have to be brave. Selfless. Honorable. Bold. To call out the coworker who makes a joke that turns your stomach. To challenge your child who makes a blanket statement about 'black people' that he picked up in the lunch room. To tell your family- No. That's not true. And it's hateful.
You have a huge responsibility to use your unearned place of privilege for good. Not to apologize for it, to feel guilty about it, or to try and deny it. No. To use it. For such a time as this.
To whom much is given, much is required. With great power comes great responsibility. Please. For the literal love of God and those created in His image. Use it wisely.

Rerouting

I've started this post several times- not exactly sure how to peel off parts of myself that I often long to hold tight, yet understanding that my heart for change in this world often means allowing discomfort to lead me to share things too many keep hidden.

My oldest son has been in Hampton for almost two months now. He's at a residential treatment center to address the struggles that have plagued us for well over a decade.

I used to read a blog by a mother whose daughter had bipolar disorder. Her daughter lived almost exclusively at a residential treatment facility and will remain there long term. I remember my feelings of confusion, sadness and admittedly; judgment. I couldn't understand how a mother could 'give up' on her child in such a way and leave the raising of her to others.
Life has a funny way of bringing us face to face with our own bias. Our criticism of things we can't possibly understand often sizzles in the fires of similar circumstances later on in our journey.

The truth is that this has been the best thing that has happened to our family in terms of support and treatment. He was ready to go and did so with a positive attitude. I have told him over and over that his willingness to not only go to the program, but to engage in it wholeheartedly, has been a gift to me. I couldn't be more proud of his courage and hard work. Driving away from the building in silence for the several hour trip home, I was grieved over the stark reality of our lives, but filled with gratitude for the support.

Mental health treatment in our country is broken in every way. Millions of people languish under sub standard care, or none at all, and many more of us fight a losing battle to get the help needed for our loved ones. The disconnect between all of the players in his care has led to many misdiagnoses, a lack of support and understanding in the school environment, acute hospitalizations, dozens of medications, chaos at home, and years of hurt and distance in the family relationships. What this incredible facility is providing is a streamlined team of engaged and connected support members. He goes to school there- and his teachers are part of the team. He has a nurse, a caseworker, a counselor, an autism educator (to help him understand how he operates in the world), an art therapist, a doctor, and other support staff to encourage him and push him to be the best young man he can be. The entire team shares what they observe, recommendations and suggestions. It creates a holistic approach that addresses each part of him- mind, body and spirit.
The staff there love him, and, they love working with each other. Their passion for my son and his incredible gifts and abilities make my chest swell with pride. I am aware that many facilities don't have this incredibly wonderful attitude and atmosphere, and I'm ever grateful that our experience is proving positive.

This program is one of the longest in the country. Their success rate is sky high with patients leaving their treatment never again needing acute hospitalizations or bumping up against the law. Their expectation is that this level of treatment is the last stop on the tumultuous ride of health- and they pour everything they have into the patients there to ensure that it happens.

I go to visit and have counseling with him almost every week. The drive is hard and long- but it's a small price to pay for the healing it's bringing. His counselor is a seasoned autism expert and is adept at giving words to dynamics I have felt but couldn't address until identified. The work he is doing through his transparency and openness is bringing incredible change that is even evident on him physically. His eyes are sharp and clear- his growing, muscled body is stilled in peace and self acceptance. His voice is steady, and his ability to articulate his emotions, frustrations and needs is blowing me away. While he works there- we work at home. Undoing dynamics long etched into the structure of our family. I am digging deep into the places of fear, codependency, feelings of failure and defeat and pulling out roots of poisonous paradigms that have no place in a healthy family.

It's disappointing as a mother to come to the place where treatment of this level is necessary- the team-centric support we are getting as a family unit is what I've longed for for many years- however, it's simply not available here outside of residential care. Had he been angry with me for taking him, I may have suffocated under the weight of grief and guilt- thankfully, his eagerness to get better and feel better and do better and be the healthy man he is, has inoculated me against that wounding- and I'm left free to revel in the incredible changes our family is experiencing.

I don't know how long he will be there. While he's doing better than I dared to dream, this isn't a story of unicorns and rainbows. It's hard work for all of us. It's been almost two months now, and we all have a long way to go. It could be up to a year before he comes home again to stay. But I trust the process. I trust God. And, I'm learning to finally trust my ability. The program requires all of us to be ready for him to come home- we get day passes with him to take him out, then move on to overnight passes, then weekend passes. Easing us all back into life where we can try out the new dynamics and process through the changes with the support of the team as we learn. The education for all of us, the family counseling to address years of misunderstanding, the love and care of his team, and the positive attitude of my incredible young man have lifted my heart and soul into hope again. I can see his future now- and feel like I did when he was a chubby, wide-eyed newborn- his future is bright and the sky is the limit.

On Facebook and Healing

Facebook gets a bad rap. It's been around long enough to get a reputation for being a catalyst for cheating, lying, hiding things from loved ones and as a tool to bully and slander. Social media can be a sticky place where truth fades into the reality we want to portray and we have the ability to censor ourselves to allow fringe people in our lives to see only what we wish them to see.
There have been studies done showing FB can provoke anxiety and depression. We look at other people's posts and photos and compare the smiling faces in their photos to our bickering family not captured on film.
Despite all of this, I love social media. I love connecting with people I don't get to see anymore. People I love who would have fallen into the recesses of memory and out of my current life. People I haven't heard from for years show up as a friend request and in moments I get caught up a bit on where they've been and what they're doing now. I've enjoyed the immediate connection to my community that spans continents, socioeconomic class, and age. I've managed to avoid social media drama and instead feel it to be a gift in my life.

Grief has a way of leveling the life you knew, and in the healing there is great opportunity to inventory the life you've known and rebuild the life you were meant to have. Familiarity breeds contempt and in my life, the familiar struggle numbed me against pressing into authenticity and the hard work of looking inward at the broken places needing mending. One of my biggest struggles in my adult years has been the mistaken belief that I was not enough as a mother. I believe this to be a universal struggle for many women and one that can hold us hostage, preventing us from being the mothers we truly are. I've shared before how my first born has had struggles since toddlerhood. At the prompting of a dear friend, I started seeking answers and support when he was just two years old. Sadly, as happens to many mothers, I was brushed off with disdain and told that stricter parenting and the awareness of him 'being a boy' would solve all of the terrifying behavior that I knew at a soul level to be abnormal and dangerous. However, in my vulnerable state, and tender age, I allowed those words to take root and begin growing into a powerfully strong vine that snaked itself around my heart and squeezed the vibrancy out of motherhood. When he was a few short weeks from marking his fourth birthday, well meaning extended ex-family told me the problem was me. If I would change my behavior, and admit my shortcomings then my son would no longer be punished or tormented by the myriad of horrible things he was experiencing. As I had already given space to the other statements by doctors regarding his challenges being a direct result of my parenting inadequacy, the soil of my heart was tilled and ready to receive this final fatal blow to my fragile seed of hope. The story spreads a decade since then and the abbreviated version has me retreating into hurt, anger and sadness. I've since learned none of those things were based in truth. I've since come to realize that God doesn't make mistakes and just as He designed me with purpose, he also gave me the children He gifted me with on purpose. Within me is everything I need to best raise and love the ones I've been honored to birth, and I've worked through the lies of inadequacy and sliced through the poisonous vine that had embedded itself into my heart. I hate that I have spent ten years parenting out of shame and guilt and sadness, but I'm grateful I was able to escape the prison of deception while I still have time to reverse my approach to motherhood.

This is where FB enters the scene. The photos and posts about my children that now forever reside in the interwebs aren't pretend. They aren't staged or prompted. They really happened. The truth is, nothing in life is perfect. No birthday party, no playdate, vacation or outing. There will always be sand in the bathing suit, ants at the picnic, siblings who bicker more than they smile and hug one another, and dirty dishes in the sink after a beautiful birthday supper. But the good stuff is there too. Life then becomes where we put our focus. The photos of my kids playing cards together was real. There may have been arguing three minutes after I snapped it, but that doesn't negate the reality that for a moment, peace hovered like a bird, spreading calm with each thrust of its wings. For me, FB has reminded me I've done something right. It shines bright on a screen and belies my inadequacy. Living with the belief that I'm not enough is a lie that only ties me to being less than I am capable of. My treasure of photos and posts that span years speak to the beauty that really happens when I least expect it. Mothering for me has been messy and hard and at times discouraging, but there is a tangible reminder on my FB page that it's also beautiful and funny and sweet and powerful. I'm grateful for FB. It's helped me stay the course in recovery from drinking in lies never meant for my soul. It's been the antidote for my weary mother's heart and brought a smile where a furrowed brow once was. It's revived the passion I once carried in my chest that was aflame with hope and dreams and expectation. Now those gifts are tempered by age and experience and I'm learning to look to the mundane to find the extraordinary. Facebook is one of the tools that has led me out of that darkness, and I'm forever grateful for its gift.

What Is Normal Anyhow?

In the wake of the collapse of my marriage, there have been many more lessons to experience than just ones that originate within our family.
I've been stretched and pulled and taught and humbled in more ways than I can recount through the last two and half years, and more recently, as the fog has cleared, have begun to see some of the stigma and judgement that presses in around us in subtle, but sometimes hurtful ways.

I have become aware as a woman inside of christian culture, I had judgement deep seated in my heart about divorce.  I certainly never thought it would come knocking at my own door, and am ashamed to admit now that most of the time I heard word of a family divorcing, or a woman on her second marriage, my thoughts towards them weren't filled with grace and compassion. While I'd love to title myself as a woman who believes in equal rights, I had fallen into the culture of thinking that women were often to blame and had they prayed harder, gone to counseling, or just worked harder and longer at their marriages, they often could have prevented the breakup of their families.  And then the most awful information poured from the mouth of my husband and as time passed beyond that day, it became quite clear that no prayer from me, no pleading for counseling and no extra-submissive behavior would right the wrongs that had been done nor illicit remorse and change from the heart of another human being.  I was faced with a reality I never anticipated, and now, have joined the ranks of divorced women.

I have been treated with incredible grace by my friends and family and my church has been loving in ways I didn't expect… but there have been others in the shadows who watch and judge and attach presuppositions onto our family.  Sometimes I can see it in their eyes.. the way that other mothers know I am alone with four children and that my level of strictness might be softer than theirs. I know that when you add an ex to the circumstance, others wonder what awful thing happened to make him an ex, and concerns about safety for their own children playing with mine arise.
The truth is, I have discovered some of the stereotypes about single mothers do apply to me, and for good reason.  I am parenting alone. Parenting is a challenging job even for two people working together.  I get some (not much) support from their father and he sees them every other weekend during the day on Saturday and during the day on Sunday. I am never without my kids for more than a few hours at a time. To provide for them, I work multiple jobs and my schedule is jagged and busy. I also clean the house, pay the bills, drive my kids to activities, and run this household alone.  I am often tired.  I make it a point to go to bed at a decent hour whenever I can because I need sleep and know I am better when I get enough.  But many things fall through the cracks.  Things that would be part of shared work if I were married.  Homework, chores, cracking down on the computer and television and video games.  Discipline.  I don't get to tap out when I have a standoff with a child.  Sometimes they wear me down, and I give up out of sheer exhaustion.  I know too, that in the divorce, my children have been around other adults who live differently than we do. While all of these things are things I would have worked hard to protect my kids against being exposed to pre-divorce, there are things now that simply just are because of the ways our lives have changed.  I know my kids have said curse words, and, gasp! have heard me say a couple myself.  Grief and anger can do that to a person. While my kids might not be as innocent as they once were, they are growing in compassion and character. We have heavy conversations in ways we would have been buffered from had divorce never entered our  lives.

I understand that desperate desire to protect our children.  I am still a concerned mother. I can appreciate that some families see ours as a potential bad influence based on ideas they have concerning what happens inside of a family through divorce.  But I can tell you, we are so normal. We aren't a broken family, we're a family who has walked through brokenness.  It doesn't feel weird any longer to be here with my children without a man. There is a great deal of peace in my house and also the normal struggles of parenting younger children. We love loud, we fight loud, and we are growing and learning and changing. I wish I had had the gift of this awareness before I went through a divorce in order to offer greater compassion to families I had seen as 'broken'. But usually, life doesn't offer you the wisdom without the experience.  I'm grateful for the families who trust us. Who can overlook the fact that my sons might say something dumb or inappropriate or rude out of anger and keep it moving. For other adults and children who love us right where we are- knowing all of us on this earth are in the process of growing and changing. I'm grateful for grace.  We have definitely been scarred and bruised and stripped of innocence through our journey, but I still think we have much to offer and am learning to smile into the eyes of cautious parents knowing that pain comes to each of us in time… and we're all doing the very best we can.

This Little Light of Mine, I'm Gonna Let it Shine

In the two-plus years since my ex-husband left, I have been through a myriad of lessons, layers of healing, moments of panic and, seasons of hopelessness.  I have felt most every emotion I can think of and some I have no descriptive words for.  I've screamed and cursed at God, and wept into my pillow at the overwhelming realization that my dream had crumbled.
As I pressed through the painful places, I began to rise into new areas of brokenness in me that needed attention.  I had lived inside of an unhealthy marriage for fourteen years, and somewhere in that relationship I laid down who I was and walked away from her.  I worked hard, in the sick, codependent way that we sometimes do, to ensure everyone around me was ok.  I scanned faces and body language, held my breath to listen for subtle vocal nuances, and then would adjust myself accordingly so those around me would be ok. I was dying for everyone around me to be ok. But I have realized that I was never ok.

The earlier years of raising my children were filled with chaos and fear.  My oldest son was aggressive and unpredictable and I lived in a precarious place of fight or flight for multiple years.  I was hyper aware of his moods, and worked hard to try and make him ok.  As more years passed, and more children joined our brood; resentment, irritability, and frustration became my go-to emotions, and as guilty as I felt living in that skin, there was nothing lasting I could do to soften those edges and give me the deep exhale that my entire being was screaming for.  I was suffocating under the dirt that had been piled on top of my heart in a powerful effort to snuff out the light I had been given to share.

This year, as I've moved past the hurt of losing my marriage, and walked away from that initial wounding, I've headed into the deep work of finding my voice, looking for who I am, who I want to be, and learning to love her.

I am rediscovering things I enjoy, and finding that I can be a lot of fun. I have intense emotions both high and low and feel everything deeply.  I like to laugh, and be silly, but I enjoy nothing more than deep conversations that fly down low into depths of struggle and flit back high into laughter together.  My friends and family have been heroes in my personal revolution as I scrape harshly with my words and moods while I learn to uncover the authentic self.   I am learning how to say no to people, how to stand up for my opinions at the risk of rejection by others but incredible peace with myself.  I'm finding out how to look people in the eyes and tell them I disagree while lacing it with all of the love and grace I can muster.  I am discovering that my voice matters, and that the things I feel and love to do are worthy simply because they live inside of the woman I have been created to be.  I am embracing my oddities and finding joy in activities that others might find worthless.  I sing and dance around my kitchen, make silly jokes with my kids and have relearned that I am not quiet or calm.  The energy and passion I worked so hard to cover up for so many years is spilling out into my life again and I'm finding the light in my children's faces as they see my heart thawing and shining.
I have made mistakes and thrown heavy burdens on friends and family as I learn boundaries and relational honesty, but when I see the scrapes I've caused, I go back to acknowledge them.  I am so very flawed and yet so very beautifully made, and even in those places I hope to grow and change, I am finding I enjoy my own company.  I never dreamed I would be one of the statistical women who would lose herself inside of a relationship, but I did.  I consider it an incredible gift to get the chance to learn who I am and to get to learn to love myself away from the toxic confines of that place.  I'm finally growing up and into who I was made to be, and learning that I have a path created just for me and all I can give.

Camping anyone?

I don't always have to write with a deep, brooding tone.  I can be silly. In fact, in real life, I'm pretty hyper and silly a lot of the time.  So to lighten the mood a bit- here's a post about my adventure.

I took the kids camping last night. Alone. For the first time.
I really love being outside.  I love hiking, and swimming, and being in the forest. I always wanted to go camping as a family in years past,  but often I was the only one who wanted to go.  Since life has changed, and I can make the decisions now, I decided I would take it upon myself to get out there and do it.  It was awesome. It was enlightening. Fun. A good education.

Here is my fun list of our Family's Camping 101.

1.  When setting up your tent, either be super humble and ask someone for help, or be super confident and just pretend like you know exactly what you're doing.  Sneak glances around you to see if it looks like everyone else's and pray that no big wind comes and carries it away.  (I did both. I set it up very confidently, and then asked one of the guys in the registration office to pop on by and make sure I did it right.  Guess that thought that I needed a man to tell me if it was right or not is taking a bit to go away. He came by and guess what? I had done a great job!)

2.  I can make a fire.  Really!  I can.  And not a smoky, smoldering mess.  A real roaring fire that calmed into a slow burn for hot dog cooking and s'mores. It was beautiful. And yes, I'm very proud.

3.  Remind your almost-a-teen son not to wander around the site with his swiss army knife drawn.  He said he was looking for wood to whittle, but all I could see was us getting kicked out of the campsite for brandishing a weapon.  Next time I'll remind him before he goes exploring.

4.  I'm not too prissy to sleep on the ground.  I may however, be too old and bony.  I took my yoga mat, a blanket and my sleeping bag. My hips didn't like digging into the earth and while I did sleep some, I think I will need more padding in the future.

5.  Birds are noisy in late evening and early morning- and I loved it.  So many songs joining, and so incredibly beautiful.

6.  I like the smell of fire, earth and even sweaty kids all mingled together.

7. Drunk people were annoying in college and drunk people are still annoying now.  (Go to sleep you silly annoying drunk people! )

8.  Sleeping through the night in a tent with four other people under the age of 13 will not happen. You will be awakened at 3am by a naked child standing over you shivering and loudly whispering that he has had an accident and is now frozen and wet.  You will sit up and realize that your 'extra' blanket choices are limited and will try to bundle him up as best you can, without waking anyone else, and then pray that he doesn't die of hypothermia as you settle back into sleep.

9. Take more blankets next time.

10.  The thought to take .97 cent solar torches was brilliant.  I used one set on top of a jug of water (which softly illuminated the whole thing) as well as one in two different corners as really low nightlights.  It helped the kids a ton.

11.  None of my children are too old to be sung to sleep.  My lullabies saved the night.

12.  Bug spray. Even more than you think.  Ticks? Oh they are already having parties.. some of them were having parties in my kids underwear. yeah.  For real.  Thank heavens for the tweezers on the swiss army knife.

13.  I should have asked for more help setting up our site, but I was so excited to be alone in the QUIET that I kicked them out. Made them go play. It was heaven.

14.  Insist that every child use the bathroom before bedding down.  See #8.  Enough said.

15.  Don't let the kids go in and out of the tent in excitement before it's time to bed down. What seems so fun will turn your tent into a bowl of sand and dirt, and you will be using your car broom to try and get it as clean as you can before realizing you're just going to be lying in it all night and what the heck, we're made from dust, we go back to dust and tonight? We sleep in dust.

16.  Keep expectations low.

17.  Remind children at 6am that it is still time to be quiet and the sides of the tents are not, in fact, solid walls. Whisper loudly to them that their exclamations of 'There's a tick on my testicles' and 'I need to throw away my pull-up' can be heard by everyone within a 1/2 mile radius.

18.  Don't make eye contact with anyone after you emerge from your tent when everyone has just heard about the tick and its choice of location.

19.  Decide that the tent WILL in fact go back in the bag. Refuse defeat.  You will do this. Shake it out, fold it up, pull it into the bag where one lip of the bag will always slide off until you realize that you do not, in fact, have the super power needed to do this particular camping task, ball it up and put it into your car. With the bag on top.  To fix at home. Or, to ask your neighbor to help you fix it.

20.  Cheer the kids on and tell them how wonderful they did.  Chuckle at the preteen who arrived with an attitude that it wasn't rustic enough who is now sitting by a morning fire with a mouth full of pop tarts exclaiming that 'This is my most favorite place ever'. Decide to do this. Again, and again.  Healing comes amongst the trees.

christmas musings

it's christmas.  the end of the day.  the presents have been opened, food eaten, kids spent time with their paternal grandparents, and this mama napped some.

when life changes... when the structure of the life you've created somehow slips and cracks, and begins to hurdle towards leveling... holidays have no choice but to follow. changes have to happen, and new patterns emerge, and everyone wriggles towards the most recognizable normal that can be grasped.
i have to admit, i was a bit nervous.
this is the third house we've been in on the third christmas in a row, and the likelihood of being in yet another house next year is quite high.  i feel dizzy with the speed of change that we've experienced, and like my children, i yearn for some stability, some solid ground on which to get my footing.  all of the change, and difference smears together into one big blur, and i try hard to pull out some thread of familiarirty that i can offer my kids to assure their hearts that we are ok.

their dad spent time with us last night and again today.  it went better than i had anticipated, and i'm thankful for that.  i pray that the two of us can find a road to navigate that will be paved with friendship and shared love for our kids and that we can provide some landscape of familial love for our kids. i feel that we did the very best we could this year, and the kids seemed fairly adjusted.

but then they return home after an evening with him and his family, and the oldest son starts wailing away at us both emotionally and physically.  i've learned that this is his coping skill when he's angry and hurting, and i am learning to speak honestly and firmly to him to try to allow space for his hurt and anger while also protecting the hearts and souls of the other children who often become the target of his pain. it's a complicated dance we have here now... with me as the dj- trying to offer melodies that will bring joy and peace rather than dissonance and grief.  i work hard to allow him to have space to hurt, but to recognize that we are not the enemy, and as sweet Jesus reminds us in his word- we can be angry and still not sin.  we managed to bumble through this hurt and get to the other end of it where he was tucked in warmly and loved, and i pray his wounded heart would be carried by the father as he sleeps.  this life of fractured family has tentacles of pain that reach far and wind hard and i beg God to please extract my children from the pain and grief and try hard to instill in them the solid knowledge that they are dearly loved.

i was loved graciously today by people who don't know us.. and in God's amazingly creative way... we were given a net on which to fall.  presents and gifts and love poured in and they cradled us in the physical which reminds us that we are also held tightly in his arms.

i'm filled with gratitude, and yet also ache. glennon melton, who writes so beautifully at the blog called momastary, calls life like this 'brutiful'.... and i couldn't agree more.  i am living proof that this messy, bloody, painful, beautiful life is both gorgeous and brutal.  i am laying claim tonight to that title over my family.  we are in the the very center of bruitful.  and while that hurts... and while it rubs, and gapes, and bleeds... there is also such grace here... and i'm not sure this amazingly close fragrance of God can be experienced outside of the brutiful life. it is here that we find not only ourselves... but the essence of Him.

merry christmas dear ones.