Catch 22

There is a catch 22 when it comes to parenting and many things that come with adulthood. We are often tossed into life unprepared in some way or another. We’re expected to know who we are, who and what we want to be and how to handle every situation, but most of us don’t. Not everyone is willing to own up to that, but I am. I have a good idea of who I am and who I’d like to continue to grow to be and yes, I am definitely still feeling it all out.

My daughter is 17 and in just a few short months, she’ll be considered a legal adult. She’ll be old enough to vote, go to war, smoke cigarettes. Like her mother at that age, she thinks she knows everything. Oh what I wouldn’t give to know everything again! What a blessing it would be to know how stupid adults must be and have the freedom of a young life stretching out in front of me.

For nearly a year, I have struggled to get her over those last few hurdles that she needs to face before adulthood. I’ve struggled with helping her find a job, pushing to remind her that she is a senior this year and once that’s over with, education becomes her choice. Like any other mom, I’ve struggled with teaching her the skills that she’s going to need like picking up dirty clothes, washing clothes and dishes, how to manage money (kind of hard to do without an income, no?)…Each hurdle I’m faced with an insurmountable resistance.

Now, to be fair to my daughter, she has an under active thyroid which affects her moods and has been dealing with depression. However, since things are rarely fair to me, I am going to be honest and say she has been caught lying multiple times, not just to me, but to other people as well. She appears to be compliant with certain requests or advice that’s tossed her way by myself, her therapist and a few others who care about her and mean well. That appearance is usually short lived and then we start back at square one again.

I am not just her mother, I am a person. I am flawed like anyone else and as I said before I’m trying to feel it all out for myself, and my children. I am, to be frank, doing the best I can without screwing up too much, just like most other parents. Here is that catch 22. Choosing to be a parent or getting surprised, we all get into this not knowing exactly what we’re doing 100% of the time. We are, in the best of times, wise from life experiences that are both good and bad. I have shared as much of my wisdom with my daughter as possible and because I’ve made a lot of bad choices in my life, my biggest hope is that she is able to learn from them before she needs to. I am doing my very best, but I get told far too often that my best isn’t good enough. When I seek out help, I’m told to “deal with it”. This doesn’t just happen with parenting either, this is the catch 22 of being an adult. You go about your life, trying to do your best to make the world a little better and sometimes you need help along the way, but sometimes when you’re unsure and need help, you’re told to deal with it.

I struggle every day to give my daughters what they need not only to be able to survive but to thrive. And then I struggle against thinking I’m a bad parent because I have children and a mother and friends and family who all criticize my parenting. And then I struggle when I have to push my daughter in ways that feel completely foreign to me. After I push, I struggle again to try to remind myself that I’m doing the best I can and I’m a good mom when those same people criticize me again for taking another approach.

I dealt with a very grouchy 17 year old yesterday who decided to stay up all night, yet again. I picked her up from therapy, promptly, only to find that she was in a “mood”. She took her mood out on me, on her sister, my dogs, even my doors. This morning I was met with resistance when she decided she wanted to stay home from school and I had to remind her that she simply can’t miss any more days. Why? Because she lied about being sick for over a week, to me, to three different doctors, to her father, to her therapist….And then I was met with the grouchy 17 year old again. And after I dropped her off at school? I bought myself breakfast (because morning drinking is socially unacceptable), came home, sat down and cried. This has been going on so long now, I just keep hoping for some middle ground, some peace, a little less resistance, a little more of the love and respect and patience I have shown returned to me.

Dear Daughters

My Dear Daughters,

I wish that you could see that some of the things that seem so big right now, really aren’t. I wish that you could see how much life you have yet to experience, the places you will go, the people you will meet and the things that you will do. I wish that you knew you already are part of a much bigger scheme. Without even knowing, you constantly change the world around you just by being you.

I wish you could see all of the beautiful things about yourself that I do. The way you show your affection, the way you style your hair, how your eyes light up when you talk about your passions. I wish you were truly able to see how awesome your body is without feeling the weight of our society trying to tell you that beauty only comes in certain shapes and sizes.

I wish I could make it better. The broken heart, the inner turmoil and angst, the harsh words, fights with friends, that math homework that I just can’t seem to grasp to help you. I wish I could make it all better for you, every time.

I wish for you an incredible future laden with adventures and love and kindness. I hope that you are able to find appreciation for the small things that life has to offer that make it so good. I hope that I have taught you all you need to know before you attempt to make your own path. I hope that you are able to find happiness and that I helped you lay a good foundation to find it. I hope that you someday come to realize that the world really is your oyster and the only thing that can hold you back, is you. Most of all though, above all else, even when my words seem harsher than you think they should, I hope you know that I love you.

 

Teenage Dramatics and Parental Insanity

Today, I have to remind myself to breathe. I don’t just need to breathe, I need to breathe deeply and slowly. I love my children, but today is one of those days that my eldest has me feeling like I’m slowly drowning. Both of my children have their strengths and weaknesses, this is one of those weeks that I’m trying to give her the support she needs with compassion and composure without cracking myself.

It has been a long standing joke about my oldest’s dramatics. Most of the drama that she finds herself surrounded in, is caused by no other, but herself. I’ve worked hard to explain that sometimes there are toxic people that you cannot have in your life and that some people, the ones who truly love you need to be embraced rather than kept at arms length. She is still young though and struggles with the desire to fit somewhere, sometimes anywhere.

Within a three day span I have listened and tried to comfort as she complained about a young man that she games with, who in my opinion fits into that toxic category. There was a blowout with her best friend, something that happens once every week or two. I thought those blowouts were more exclusive to junior high, but apparently I was mistaken, because they’re juniors in high school. Then there are her mixed feelings surrounding her long distance boyfriend. She loves him, but she doesn’t. She wants a break, but she doesn’t. She wants to continue their relationship, but she doesn’t. I’m a strong woman, but lately, when trying to help her through and guide her, I don’t feel strong. I feel like curling up in a ball, crying and yelling at her to get it together.

I understand that 17 is a pivotal age, that transition before we’re considered “adults”. I remember the pressures, to fit in, to be wanted or needed or loved, feeling like I had to decide who I would be for the rest of my life, what I would do… I don’t remember causing myself as much inner turmoil as she does. I don’t fully comprehend it and some days, if I’m being completely honest, to use her words, I. just. can’t. even. Nearly all of her inner turmoil is within her mind, and how do I begin to explain that to her?

I told my daughters once that it was my goal to raise them into mostly well rounded adults without screwing them up too much. I’m starting to wonder though, if my real goal is to do that without going completely insane myself.

What even are you doing?!?!

Recently, I had a very long talk with my oldest daughter about the importance of her education. This comes from a mother who quit high school, obtained a GED only days before her first child was born and made the life altering decision to return to school at the age of 28. It came from someone who has struggled with the dilemma that comes when there is so little food that she chose not to eat so that her children had full bellies. It came from someone who has stressed about bills that were at least a month behind. It came from too many years of stress and worry.

She knows that her education is important, she’s 17. She realizes she has some tough choices ahead of her and life changes that come with adulthood. I’ve not pushed her to get a job like some parents, I’d prefer to know she is focused at school and has her homework done and is able to manage her time in a way that will be reflected not just in her schoolwork, but in her behavior as well.

My daughter had every possible excuse as to why she was doing poorly in her math class, starting with her teacher. It was her teacher’s fault that she didn’t understand the work. When I suggested the learning center to her she exclaimed that it was too loud and she could never get the help she needed. She attends a top notch private high school. The learning center is at the disposal of any student who is struggling with a class. I suggested Google. Google wasn’t available to me as a teenager, but I’ve used it many times as an adult to find the answers to a multitude of questions. Her response was that she couldn’t find the right examples on Google. So I asked about other students in the class, surely some of them would have an understanding of the work. She had an excuse for that as well. I asked why she didn’t come to me for help. I can’t help with all of her math homework, I never took geometry, but I’m resourceful and I was never bad with math. She insisted I “never have time” or “can’t help”. Sometimes, I don’t have time when she asks because it’s often when I have both hands busy with dinner or admittedly, my mind is somewhere else. I do manage to make the time when they need help with homework though. Her boyfriend, who is a couple of years older than her offered his assistance, which she also refused. She was even offered the assistance of a school official. He offered to find another geometry teacher who could sit down with her somewhere quiet during her study hall.

With all of these options open to her, I thought that she could find some help, even if it wasn’t from me. Then yesterday, my beautiful daughter who will soon be an adult sent me an email saying that she failed her mid-semester math test. I am the calm and laid back parent. I am the parent who will speak softly and carefully to make sure my words are not just heard but understood. After I received that email I was a parent filled with rage. How is it possible she failed her test with all of the help available to her? Why wasn’t she utilizing her resources? Why was she trying to give me more excuses about why she couldn’t do the work? She has been given all of these fantastic resources and choices and excuse my language, but she is choosing to piss it away.

I had several hours to think and calm down before I picked her up. I used that time to think about how to handle this, to remind myself how all of the responsibilities of adulthood were weighing on me at that age even if they weren’t mine yet. I tried to step back a little and breathe. We sat down to talk when she got home and I let her know that it was probably a blessing for us both that I had time to think and cool down and just how upset I was. I wasn’t upset that she failed. She’s gotten a few bad grades throughout the years, which I never minded because I knew she had been trying and giving it her best. What made this time different? She wasn’t trying. I’ve seen her toss her hands up and say “I don’t get it. I give up.”

So came another talk about the importance of education. This talk though was more involved, not only is education important, but so is putting forth an earnest effort, doing the hard things that we sometimes don’t want to do. We both talked, we both listened, she cried some, but we both felt better after.

What did I really want to do when she told me that she had failed? I wanted to yell loud enough to rattle the windows, “What even are you doing?”.

My Mother’s Curse

My mother cursed me. She wished when I was younger that I would have children just like me. I did. I have two teenager daughters that I love dearly, even on days when I’m reminded why animals eat their young in the wild. They are like younger (taller) versions of me, beings that I created that carry all of the good and bad traits I do.

My mother would often utter her little curse on days that I was particularly sassy, was probably impossible to deal with and knew all of the things that I don’t seem to know so well now. Little did I know then that I would be facing the same struggles she was with daughters of my own.

It’s a struggle to navigate the rollercoaster of emotions that seem like an endless ride. If we’re being honest here, I’m a woman, I can understand the rollercoaster that comes with the ebb and flow of hormones. I remember the ups and downs and twists and turns that came with being a teenager, but were they really so extreme?

Some days, they are my loving best friends, up for whatever shenanigans we can find to get ourselves into. Other days though, oh those other days it’s like picking up two strange and devilish beings I’ve never encountered who dislike everyone and everything, good ol’ Mom included.

This week has been full of those other days and I’ve come a little undone. I pick them up from school, with fond and not so distant memories of their cheerful faces as they skipped out of school. These are not the same children. No. They have been replaced by angsty, angry, hormonal little imps. Yesterday there was an immediate fight for shotgun. Really? One will be completing high school in just a little over a year and riding shotgun is a problem? When did I ever stutter about sharing with her sister, or vice versa? That was all it really took to set the mood for the evening. I do try to change the mood when we have days like that, but some times, it just is what it is.

I have spent the majority of my time with my daughters this week playing referee. I get the glares of contempt (that I would love to return some times), the standard “But she…”, “I never…”, “You never…”, naturally “You always…” and if I’m especially lucky I get treated to foot stomping and door slamming. I step in when I need to and sometimes just for my own sanity. I correct and coo and soothe and discipline depending on the situation, the reasons for the behavior, what else they might have going on in what they consider to be importantly chaotic lives. If they only knew that a friend not messaging right away isn’t the end of the world, right? I usually do all of these things without complaint and with incredible tolerance and patience. Why? Because I hope that when they’re grown, they have children just like them!