My Exceptional Family

Being a mom is hard. And rewarding. And confusing. And fulfilling. And lonely. And the best thing I have ever done. I am grateful for the opportunity to have six wonderful and loving children. Each one is unique and amazing and I am blessed to have them call me “Mom.”  

We Just passed the one year anniversary of adoption (May 20, 2024) and life is challenging and rewarding, frustrating and  beautiful, exciting and messy, and, honestly, terrifying. There is trauma history and triggers, ADHD, C-PTSD, anxiety, depression, behavior disorders, epilepsy, and autism.

So yes, I am overwhelmed, exhausted beyond measure, unable to relax, and usually stretched far too thin. I am only one person and am rarely able to give each one of my children the time and attention they deserve. I remain committed to being and doing the best I can for them all. I am focused on loving them, finding joy in the chaos, and celebrating the diversity of my family, while I fight for the support and services they desperately need.

I have heard more often than I want to admit, that I took on too much, I should have spent more time before making the decision to adopt three kids by myself.  What they see as frazzled, non-stop movement, my inability to sit down or be still is actually love amid chaos, being attentive to the emotions of my children, my desire to offer and create a safe and welcoming home, focus on being a loving family, learning to understand who my children are and making sure that I am meeting them where they are with what they need.

My children show me how much they appreciate me, how thankful they are that I am their mother, and how excited they are about our future together as a family. Not a day goes by that I'm not thanked for what I do, in big and small ways. But whatever the future holds, I am here for it and am completely committed to my children. I don't know everything I need to know about autism spectrum disorder, epilepsy, or the myriad other challenges they face, and probably never will. But damn am I thankful for the opportunity to learn and watch them grow and succeed. 

So, yes. Being a mom is hard. And rewarding. And confusing. And fulfilling. And lonely. And the best thing I have ever done.

Adoption Day May 20, 2024

Welcoming 2024 with Grace

 January 23, 2024

What a whirlwind. Becoming a foster parent has brought more joy and pain, excitement and fear, frustration and celebration, than I could have ever imagined. In all, I fostered 12 children in 2023. Most of them were only here for a few days of respite, one for several months. The three I have now have been with me since the end of June. 

The three boys share a birth mother and have been freed for adoption most of their lives. They are 13, 8, and 3. The oldest has had two failed adoptions, the others, one. They are the sweetest kids you could ever meet who also carry a lot of trauma from unspeakable abuse. Their stories are ones of strength, courage, unshakable resilience, kindness, and above all, hope. 

As I reflected on our new lives together, our new normal, my new normal, I recognized that I was pushing myself too hard, judging myself too harshly, and unnecessarily trying to prove myself to others, to convince them, and myself, that I am the right mom for my boys. I spent 2023 trying to be everything to everyone, losing focus of what truly matters. Being in constant motion as a single mom with four boys at home and two adult daughters, working a full-time job, keeping up with cooking and cleaning and laundry, volunteering, friendships, a relationship, and all of the other things life brings, is not sustainable. And that’s okay. 

Heading into the new year, it wasn’t too difficult to choose my word for 2024. Grace. I choose to give myself grace. Grace to let the housework go; grace to take a step back and let them play, even when it gets loud and messy; grace to admit I am still learning, and will always be learning, how to be a mom of autistic children; grace to not try so hard to prove myself; grace to let my significant other step up and take stuff off my plate; grace to be supportive and loving to all of my children by meeting them where there are; grace to accept my failures and celebrate my success; grace to just be.

Grace has brought peace, joy, and rest in ways I didn’t allow for before. And we are just getting started! Don't worry, once the adoption is final you will get to see their faces. Give me a few months, I'm working on that.

December 2023

Choosing to be you

I had an interesting conversation with a colleague the other day. It started with a discussion about poverty. As a white man, who grew up in a Catholic, middle-class family, he never understood how kids needed schools to provide breakfast and lunch free of charge. It wasn’t until he started getting involved in community work that he truly began to understand the impact poverty had on kids and their performance at school.

Somehow the conversation made its way from supporting the youth in our community and then to transgender youth specifically. His believe is that being gay and/or transgender is a choice. He thinks kids do it to fit in or stand out in their communities. He then said something really profound, ran right into the point and didn’t even see it. He said, “with everything happening to transgender people right now, why would you ever choose to identify that way?”

That’s exactly the point. Why would anyone ever choose to be hated, discriminated against, rejected, and threatened? They wouldn’t. No one would say, “I think I am going to be gay or transgender because I want people to threaten my life. I want my life to be extra hard. I want people to stare and spit and swear at me just for being. I want people to reject me, to throw me out of places, to create laws against my existence. Yeah, I think I’ll be trans.”

There is a choice, but not whether one is or is not LGBTQ+. The choice is whether to live as one’s authentic self, to be brave enough to say, “I am going to be me, even if they hate me. Even if they reject me. Even if they make laws to dehumanize me. Because I have to be me.” Or to choose silence. To hide and live life as a lie, being someone you don’t know, in a body you don’t belong in, and hating yourself for it. All in an attempt to avoid the hate, rejection, discrimination, and threats to your life.

So that’s the choice, to hide your authentic self, to isolate and pretend, or to be yourself and face the hate of others. Some choice, huh?

Me? I choose kindness. I choose to believe people are who they show me they are. I choose to encourage others to be their authentic selves and then love and accept them for it. I choose to be a safe place for everyone. Period. 

A place of belonging

I am so thankful I decided to become a foster parent. The 10-day respite visit with B and K was amazing. They are just such good kids. My heart breaks for the situation they are in and the trauma they have endured, but they both take it in stride and prefer to look forward rather than dwell in the past. 

Vader loved having someone to play basketball and video games with. B enjoyed having an adult he could sit and talk to. And boy did he talk! K appreciated having his own space. Overall, we all had a great experience. We have stayed in touch and will continue to do so. 

We are now getting to know another 16-year-old. We started with a short meeting, then an overnight visit, and now we are planning a whole weekend. I am nervous about it. I hope they like me. I hope they see that I am a good person, with an open heart. I want them to know they will have a safe place to be themself in my home. That my home can be their home. I want to give them a place where they feel seen and valued, where they belong. 

I also appreciated the fact that we have the chance to meet and get to know each other a bit before they moves in. Kids in foster care have had everything ripped away from them and I think it is important for them to have some say about where they go and who they live with. It isn’t a perfect system and sometimes there isn’t time or many options to choose from. But for them, for this possible foster relationship, I am thankful they get a voice. I am thankful that we have the ability to choose each other. 

Opening my home to others

In May of 2022 I decided to become a foster parent. After background checks, fingerprinting, months of training, and in-depth personal interviews, I am finally ready to begin accepting children into my home. 

I will begin this Friday with two 16-year-old boys for a 10-day respite stay. I think it is the perfect opportunity to learn and adjust to sharing our home. Vader is excited, both because they enjoy video games and because they share the same taste in snacks - chips, crackers, and smoothies. Who doesn’t though, right? 

I am not naive. I know this journey isn’t going to be easy. I know I am taking on a lot and will be challenged often. It will be harder than I expect at times, I’m sure. There will be a lot of bumps and heartache along the way. But there will also be growth and love and connection too. And when the time comes, it will be hard to say goodbye to each and every child that passes through. But this isn’t about me. It’s about them. 

It’s about providing a safe, loving, and welcoming home for however long they stay. It is about sharing their hopes and dreams with them, and encouraging them to be themselves, fully and completely. It’s being a trusted adult who believes in them and is proud of their achievements, big and small. It’s keeping them connected to their families, friends, faith, and cultures. It is about being a support for their birth families when they need it most and helping them move through the trauma with patience and grace. 

I appreciate all of the love and support along the way and still to come. I am excited for this next step. Whatever it brings, I will face it with my whole heart. 

New Year, New Word

I know it’s been a while since I shared any family news. Years have passed and so much has changed. Vader is in 5th grade, heading to middle school in the fall. Jasmine is about to start the spring semester of her sophomore year in college. She is pursuing a degree in education with the goal of teaching students with autism. MacKenzie is nannying part-time and building her hairdressing/ barbering career at a salon downtown. I started working in corporate communications for a popular Northeast grocery chain as a senior public relations coordinator a few months ago and am loving it!

We didn’t make it through the last few years, and the pandemic, unscathed. There were more trips to the hospital for mental health support, including an extended stay for Jasmine just as the pandemic was hitting. MacKenzie has survived and learned from some pretty toxic relationships and is really focusing on herself now. Both girls are focused on living with Borderline Personality Disorder, PTSD, anxiety, and depression and the rollercoaster it can be. Vader has adjusted well to having two homes, one with me and one with Tony, Tony’s girlfriend and her son. It was really hard on him for a long time, but now it’s just the new normal and it’s working. I credit a lot of that to the friendship that Tony and I have. We may not have been a good couple, but we are great co-parents and, more importantly, friends.

I silently struggled with my own depression and anxiety for years, almost taking my life a few months after losing Grandma in November of 2020. Thankfully, I am still here. I am on medication, in therapy, and thriving. A few of my sisters and I started a podcast (anchor.fm/sister-trip) to address our past, it's impact on our present, and what we hope for the future. I am also in a loving, supportive relationship with a man I adore. Life is by no means perfect, but it sure is pretty damn good right now. 

Each New Year's Eve, rather than coming up with a resolution or several resolutions, I prefer to focus on a single word. Last year my word was growth. I was looking to grow as a person, a mother, a communications leader, and a public relations professional. I believe I accomplished all of those things. I had family, friends, and a boyfriend who encouraged me to grow all year. That's what I did. It's what I continue to do.

Last spring, I decided to pursue foster care and in the next couple of days I will be certified as a therapeutic foster home. That's really what has led to this year's word. Courage. Courage to open my home to children in need. Courage to use my privilege to help others be heard. Courage to challenge others' growth and courage to challenge my own. Courage to step out of my comfort zone. Courage to listen without judgment and love without boundaries. Courage to allow myself to be loved completely and to love completely in return. Courage to step out into the unknown, knowing that I am prepared for whatever it brings. 

Fall 2022

Back at the hospital

I can't believe we are back at the hospital. Back in the mental health and wellness wing. Back to visiting our daughter every day. But this time it's different. This time Tony took her because I was out of state. This time it's summer.  This time the waiting room in CPEP was empty. This time the wait between arrival and admission was eight hours instead of 18-36 or more. And this time, this time it's Jasmine.

Depression really sucks. It's so complex and unexplainable. It is so much more than a deep and heavy sadness. It takes the light, meaning, purpose, hope, and joy out of your life, regardless of what is going on, who you are with, and what you are doing.

The good news is that my girls know that we care. They know that we believe mental illness is real and serious. They know that we believe in help and hope and that we are there for them every step of the way. The fact that my girls can even share a small piece of what they are going through with us, is the reason they are alive today. My heart breaks not only for what my girls deal with, but for all of those hundreds and thousands of people who struggle and have no one.

Help is important. Support is important. Medication, therapy, and treatment are important. And loving, supportive people in your life, people you know you can depend on when things get extra shitty, are often the only thing between life and death. Even just one person can be all the difference. You don't need to know exactly what to say, it's being there that matters most.

So I ask you to open your eyes. See the pain and be the hope. Sometimes it's draining to love and support someone with a mental illness, but the reward is so worth it. They are worth it. Their life is worth it.  You need to be the one to make sure that they know that. Be the person someone else needs right now. Open your eyes and ears to those around you. Even the smallest act of support could be life-changing. And life-saving. So today I ask you to be the reason that someone seeks help or finds hope. It's as simple as letting those around you know that if they need someone, you are there.

So here we go, back to daily visits at the hospital. Doing whatever it takes to be a strong, supportive family for Jasmine, a watchful eye for MacKenzie, and a loving heart for anyone who needs it. As To Write Love on Her Arms says - "we will be the hopeful" because we know that hope and help are real. Whatever it takes, for as long as it takes, we will keep fighting. And there will be better days.

Celebrating success - together

A lot of changes are in store for our family over the next five weeks, and I couldn’t be more proud, or more emotional about it.

May 20 marks one year since MacKenzie returned home from her last trip to the behavioral health unit of the hospital. Her demons are big and ferocious and will always be there, but she is winning the battle. She has matured so much this year, taking her self-care responsibilities seriously and learning to better understand her mental illnesses. Of course, regular therapy and proper medication are extremely important; understanding an illness and the willingness to do the work it takes to stay well are also very important.

I believe her current successes show just how much she has grown and how committed she is to taking care of herself. The cosmetology program she is just about done with has not only prepared her for her future, but it helped her to discover her passion and helped mold her into the confident woman that she is. I give a lot of this credit to her teacher, who saw a lot of lows and is now helping celebrate the highs. MacKenzie places fourth in the Skills USA statewide competition for esthetics; she received the Make All the Difference Scholarship from BOCES to continue her education in the field by attending barber school in the fall; and she will graduate high school with her temporary cosmetology license.

Her senior project focused on ending the stigma around mental health. She not only shared her struggles, but encouraged others to get the help they need. She is determined to help others find the support and success that she has found. She learned a lot about herself and her BPD during the project and has become more adept at using her coping skills and seeking help when she needs it. (We will continue in our advocacy for mental health and getting the attention it needs through action, not just words. Stay tuned.)

On May 10 she received the Youth Hall of Fame Award from our Chamber of Commerce for fighting so hard to overcome her struggles and for helping so many others. Last night was the award ceremony for the scholarship. Next week she is receiving an academic award from the English Department. In two weeks Jasmine has her Moving -up Ceremony as she prepares to enter high school. MacKenzie will also have her BOCES graduation ceremony that week. And as we approach the end of the month Vader will have a graduation ceremony for pre-K and MacKenzie will walk the stage at her high school graduation. 

I will be a complete puddle of emotion by the time summer hits. But here we are. Here we all are as a family celebrating everyone’s milestones together. And MacKenzie is here. A little over a year ago we almost lost her to her demons. We almost didn’t have this. Almost. But we didn’t crawl under a rock; she didn’t crawl under a rock. We fought as a family. We persevered as family. We were her strength when she had none. We kept going because we believe hope is real. Help is out there. It does get better. The battle never ends, but we get stronger and better at fighting it. And now we get to celebrate all of these milestones. Together.

So Proud!

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, but I guess we’ve just been so busy with life, that I haven’t had time for a check-in, but I think this information deserves a little sharing.

The following letter was written by MacKenzie’s school counselor to nominate her for our town’s Youth Hall of Fame Award. I think her words capture how well MacKenzie is doing and the growth she has made, especially this year.

To Whom It May Concern,

It is my honor and privilege to nominate MacKenzie for the [Town] Youth Hall of Fame Award. I am nominating her for this honor because of her tenacity, strength and perseverance. She is an extraordinary young woman who has learned the meaning of hard work and dedication.

MacKenzie started high school just like every other peer in her class, eager, nervous and excited for this new beginning. Shortly into high school, MacKenzie began to struggle with depression and anxiety; a battle that MacKenzie was determined to overcome and fight. Along her high school journey, she struggled to maintain her mental health but never lost sight of her goals and aspirations. Her future goals kept her fighting, seeking out support and using the skill she learned to conquer. As a junior MacKenzie began the Cosmetology program at [BOCES] and accelerated quickly in the program, she gained confidence, poise and more determination than ever before. Today she stands tall and proud of her accomplishments. She is mature, self-reflective and independent. For her senior project, she will be presenting on her mental health struggles highlighting resources for other students.

It has been a journey for MacKenzie that I am proud I was able to witness. The strength and determination this young woman has is remarkable. She is a fighter and after graduation this year she will no doubt go on to do great things. I feel honored to nominate her for the [Town] Youth Hall of Fame Award.

Sincerely,

School Counselor

We were notified this weekend that she was selected as one of two recipients of this award for 2017. Her photo will hang in the town hall for one year. There will be a recognition ceremony next month; I will be sure to share photos.

She really is doing very well. Her grades and attendance are the best they have been in high school. Her commitment to her wellness is unfaltering. And this has been and will be the first year in high school that she has not and will not need to spend time in the hospital. Four years ago at this time we didn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel. But we did not give up. She did not give up. She struggled along the way, nevertheless, she persisted! In less than 10 weeks she will walk the stage at 

graduation and into a very bright, very long, future. And we are so proud!!

Great read

I'd like to think that I can say everything for my daughter, and myself, and mental illness as eloquently or concisely or beautifully as anyone out there. That somehow my words are as strong or stronger or more effective than any other you might read. But that is simply not true. Our story is one of many. Many that we can relate to. Many that speak to us in words better than our own.

This morning I came across the perfect article online to share with friends she has lost due to her anxiety. Words similar to the ones she has shared with me. Words she has not been able to articulate so perfectly herself yet, but I know are in her heart. Words I needed to hear. So today I ask you to read this from The Mighty and think of those around you living with a level of anxiety that we will never understand. And don't walk away. Thank you!

Vacation

It's been a long time coming and I didn't think we'd make it. With everything going on, this vacation we planned in December felt like it would never get here and if it did we would probably miss it. Yet here we are, at the beach. Eight days just the five if us. All five of us. Together. A miracle.

My daughter got out of the hospital on May 20. Can't believe it's been that long already, although some days it feels much longer. Sometimes it feels like everything learned there, everything gained was lost. By all of us. Like we have forgotten what she is dealing with and go back to the everyday, get-through-the-day lives we always had. We forget patience, she forgets her coping skills. We forget her brain is sick and she forgets we support her.

I think her biggest fear is that since she isn't in the hospital that we think she is better. That we think her new medication has solved everything and we don't need to worry about her mental illness anymore. As long as we dole out the proper number of pills everyday and make sure she gets enough sleep, she's fine. It's hard to remind her that we know that isn't true. We know that every day is a struggle. Every day is work. For all of us, just in different ways. Just as we can't fully understand what it is like to be her, she can't fully understand what it is like to be a family member, a parent, of someone with a mental illness.

But we try. We do our best, most days. Most days are good. Most days we are coming into our new normal. A family better understanding and adjusting. Most days, not all days. Many days we argue. Many days we don't want to try. Many days we blame each other.

Yet here we are. Imperfect. All five of us. Together at the beach for eight days. We brought it all with us, but we also left it all behind. Twenty-four hours in and we are enjoying each other again. Carefree and fun. Just what we needed. Re-energizing so that our best days continue to be most days. So that on the bad days, we can forgive each other a little easier. So we can have a little more patience. So we have more better days. This is the perfect reminder that each one of us, all five of us, matter as a part of this family and as individuals. We are the best, strongest, perfectly-imperfect family because we have each other.

This is our life. We are learning to live it. Together. All five of us.

The first day of the rest of her life

I don’t know why it feels that way. She is just out of her junior year and started her job shadowing today. Somehow she is all grown up and still my little girl who needs to be fiercely protected and monitored, watched over like a new baby. And yet there she is. In a salon all grown up and learning as she hopes to soon begin a career in cosmetology.

I have to admit, I am very nervous for her. What if she becomes overwhelmed? What if she talks too much or not enough and the stylists don’t like her? What if she doesn’t answer the phone correctly or forgets to offer a glass of water? Will she feel like a failure? Is she strong enough to try again and again? Or will she want to quit? Will her anxiety overtake her at the worst possible moment? Will she call me crying and wanting to come home early? If not today, when will it happen? Will it happen? What will it mean for the rest of her life? Why am I putting so much worry into one job shadowing experience half-way through her cosmetology education?

I have to remind myself that she is smart. And strong. And talented. And loves this field. I have to remind myself that we are still there when she gets home from the salon and there before she heads out. We are there if she falls and we are there when she succeeds. Because she will. She will struggle and she will excel. She will fall and she will soar. Everyone does. And she will learn how to handle it because we will be there every single step of the way. To support, to encourage, and to celebrate every single step. 

End the Stigma

I believe in the power of words and this Washington Post article is proof of just how powerful they can be. I appreciate the personal stories it includes and am encouraged by the support each person received once they shared their experiences and illnesses.

I could relate to so much of what was said in that article. My daughter has heard it all, especially about being overly dramatic and attention-seeking. My heart broke for her all over again as I read the stories. And I wondered, as a 16-year-old girl, will her peers be as accepting to her as adults have been to those in the article? I hope so, but I fear not.

I believe it is the personal stories that will help end the stigma of mental illness, not just those of the people diagnosed, but of their families, friends, classmates, and co-workers as well. We all are living with the illness. We walk on eggshells and try to console without truly understanding or comprehending the issue. We get verbally attacked and demeaned for not “getting it”. We are expected to come running when needed, but know when to provide space. We hear “I’m sorry” more than anyone on the planet. And sometimes we get blamed for making it worse.

We need to be strong. We need to learn to listen and be patient. We need to accept apologies every time because they are sincere every time. We have a responsibility to support our loved ones with every ounce of our beings. Even when it hurts, because it will. Even when we want to quit, because we will. Even when they push us away, because they will. We need to tell our stories so they know it is okay to tell theirs.

We need to keep the conversation going, to draw attention to the need for better care, not just for the ones we know, but the ones we don’t. Our loved ones, co-workers, friends, and strangers deal with enough most days just trying to be healthy. They can’t escape it. They don’t get a break. They don’t get to walk away from it or go on about their day without it. I don’t think we should either.

We need to be their strength when they have none. We need to listen when the world won’t. We need to be their voice when they don’t have one. We need to step up when they shut down. We need to do more than just listen to their stories, we need to act. We need to make it our job to end the stigma.

We need to do better

It has been a week since my daughter has been out of the mental health unit of the hospital. Last Friday at about this time we walked outside and she took her first breath of fresh air in three weeks. It seems like every day there is an article or report about how mental health benefits of being outside and breathing fresh air, yet there is no place at Strong where kids can do that. With all of the high-tech, stat-of-the-art wings at the University of Rochester’s Strong Hospital, there is no safe place for these kids to get fresh air. I think that needs to change.

I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to improve CPEP (Comprehensive Psychiatric Emergency Program), increase staff and space, provide more beds so kids don’t have to wait days to be admitted and begin treatment, or how to provide a safe outdoor space to aid in their treatment, but it needs to be done.

It breaks my heart that the adolescent side of CPEP is always packed. Kids and parents spread out on every piece of worn furniture, leaning on one another trying to sleep while waiting up to 24 hours or more to be seen. Some are sent home, others are held even longer while they wait for a bed to open up in the all but forgotten R wing. It was 48 hours for us.

It isn’t the fault of the staff. They do their best and are amazing. But the need is big - bigger than CPEP and the R wing can handle. Too many kids with an invisible illness that takes on so many different forms. CPEP and the R wing are the only place these kids get a respite from the stigma of mental illness. Where they can let their guard down and be completely honest with one another and the staff who work with them.

Unfortunately, I believe the stigma outside that wing is too great to get the financial support they need to do better, to provide more. That is our job to correct. We need to get the right people involved so we can do better for our kids. We need to be open about mental illness. We need to end the stigma and talk about treatment. And we need to support that treatment any way we can. It starts here. We need to do better.

Looking for "normal"

I’m at my wits end. To be honest, my house is a disaster. It hasn’t been scrubbed clean in weeks. The baskets of clean laundry are taking over the living room and there is still a mountain waiting to be cleaned. I expected to get so much more done this weekend since we didn’t have to visit the hospital. Instead it was more exhausting that I expected it to be. And I have no energy to do more.

At least my daughter is home. She came home Friday. It was a nice day, albeit busy. We began moving her into and organizing her new room, the kids and I went to the mall so the girls could get their eyebrows threaded and then went out to dinner. By the time we got home my husband was home from work and my sister, her husband and three kids had come out from Syracuse to see MacKenzie and help with the house. And it was right back to work.

As part of keeping a closer eye on MacKenzie and making it easier to check in with her, we decided to swap her room with our four-year-old son’s - moving her downstairs and him up. This was a more involved project than I had hoped – moving every personal item, weeding through clothes to get rid of ones that were no longer wanted or worn; stacking his things in the dining room while we brought down her stuff. Now all of the leftovers and unneeded items are still in there. We can’t eat at the table as a family until I get all of that cleared out.

Between feeling overwhelmed, hoping MacKenzie was okay, and worrying about the state of my house, I haven’t had much sleep the last few nights. Plus, moving my son upstairs and so far away from me has caused more separation anxiety for me than I expected. And I am dragging right now. I don’t want to keep moving forward; I want to crawl into a hole.

I have job, a husband, three kids who need me, and a house that needs my attention. I am working hard to balance it all, and don’t think I am succeeding. I am thankful to have a husband who is my rock and my shoulder to lean on when I want to collapse. I’d be lost without him. I also have three amazing kids who love each other, and us, very much.  I believe we are closer than most families and am thankful we have each other. I am just clinging to the hope that each day will be better and we will find and settle into our new normal. 

The next step….

My daughter is being discharged tomorrow. She is leaving the hospital and round-the-clock care. It is good news, but it doesn’t mean it’s over. For so many getting out of the hospital after a physical illness means you’re well, or mostly well, and the worst is over. Maybe that is, at least in part, true here. Maybe the worst is over, at least for now, but she is not “well”. This is just the next step on the road to understanding and living with a mental illness. Therapy, changes in medication, and extra support have all played a role in getting her to where she is today and getting her discharged tomorrow. She has a lot of work ahead of her; we have a lot of work ahead of us.

We need to do a better job of checking in with her, monitoring her moods and behavior, and setting realistic expectations. We need to do a better job of listening to her verbal and non-verbal cues about how she is doing. She needs to be better about letting us know when she is struggling, managing friendships and maintaining realistic expectations on how much we can do for her because there is so much that she will have to do for herself.

She has the hardest task of all ahead of her. She needs to be her own biggest cheerleader. She needs to speak up for what she needs and accept that there are going to bad days and difficult situations ahead. She needs to hold onto hope through the dark times, knowing that brighter days are ahead. She needs to hold onto the friends who care and realize that they are doing their best to understand her, even when they don’t get it right. She needs to let go of the people who will never understand and never get it right. 

She also has to be her own strength. She has to reenter school and deal with the questions about where she has been, and the comments about how “she always seemed fine.” She has to go to school with teenagers who don’t understand mental illness, don’t believe it is real, or don’t want to deal with someone who has it.  She will have to face busy teachers who are trying hard to prepare students for final exams. She will need strength to get up and face each day. Strength to address the ignorance with patience. Strength to push through it all to do it over again the next day and every day after that. 

People are going to be under the false impression that just because she is no longer in the hospital she is okay. Everything is fine and life is back to normal. That is not true. This is just the next step. And we will continue taking the next step every single day, one day at a time. 

So proud

I know she is really struggling, but I am so proud of my daughter. Proud of her for asking for help. Proud of her for being committed to treatment. Proud of her for not giving up.

Two weeks ago today I took her to the emergency room where 48 hours later she was admitted to the mental health unit. She has watched other kids come and go. Kids she thinks were “way worse” than her. And although she has been struggling with this, she hasn't given up. She has broken down, but she hasn’t given up. She knows she isn’t ready to leave. That her treatment will take longer this time. That the medications will take longer to become effective. That it will not be an easy road.

It breaks my heart that she is looking forward to a time when she will be “better” because she won’t ever be completely “better”. Not in the I-had-the-flu-and-got-better sense. She will improve. She will learn coping skills. She will have more good days than bad. She will value her life. She will be a different kind of “better”. But she isn't there yet.

I had to spend the weekend looking at pictures of her school-mates in all of their prom attire, while her dress hung unworn in her closet. I got a message from someone reaching out because she wasn’t in any of the photos and questioning why. She wouldn’t have been in them anyway. Because just like the person who messaged me, most of the people in those photos turned their back on my daughter months ago. They didn’t want to deal with her.  They didn’t see her illness as an illness and something she had no control over. And while I understand that and am not angry about it, it still hurts.

That is why I starting writing this blog. Because people need to understand that mental illness is real. It isn’t a choice. It isn’t something you can “get over” like a bad mood. I can’t tell you how many friends have told her she has no reason to “be sad”. That is what makes it an illness. It isn’t based on the good or bad things in your life. It doesn’t go away when you get your way or because you spend more time reading your bible or because you decide to be a better person or because you live in a nice house. It improves with treatment, support, and a shit-ton of hard work.

People with a mental illness need as much, if not more support than those dealing with a physical illness. It is invisible. It is invasive. It is relentless. And it is a daily struggle to manage. There is no relief. And there is so little understanding. That needs to change. 

I am so proud of my daughter. She is beautiful and smart. She is loving, accepting, caring and outgoing. She is open-minded and opinionated. She is thoughtful and giving. She is her little brother's best friend. She is so much more than her mental illness. And she is going to use her beautiful life helping others understand, building awareness, and making sure that others know they are not alone. 

No end in sight

Today is day nine. She was admitted to the mental health unit nine days ago. On average patients stay 7-10 days. Not her. Not this time. Today, they are still not ready to start talking about discharge. They don’t want her thinking about getting back into her daily routine, her life, just yet. No driver’s education, no hours in cosmetology classes, no AP tests at school, just getting “better” - whatever that means when you have a mental illness.

We go see her every day in some combination of parents and siblings, but it isn’t easy. Life is still moving forward and we are moving with it. There is work and school and daycare. There is laundry and dishes and grocery shopping. There is making a sandwich or having cereal for dinner. There is rushing to get things together so we can go to the hospital for a few hours. There is little “being home” before 8 p.m., just do it all again the next day.

And as she sits there, getting “better”, I still can’t help but feel that she is largely forgotten. That I have left her to get better on her own so I can go on with life.  That people think she’s fine. She’ll be okay. She isn’t dying in there. I wish people better understood - I wish I better understood - that she is fighting to stay alive. To want to stay alive. To want to be here. To want to be.

And there is no end in sight. No end to the rushing to see her, no end to the cereal and sandwiches, no end to being home at 8 o’clock every night, and no end to doing everything we can to support her and be there for her no matter what. I wouldn’t have it any other way because the alternative is unimaginable.  

And life just keeps moving forward.  

"If you Fall" by JJ Heller

"If You Fall" 

You are a house that's broken down, you are a house that's burning.

And everything in me wants to run, but that's not love.

If you fall, I fall with you.

If you hurt I feel it too.

Even if my heart turns black and blue, I will love you.

I planted seeds down in the ground, not every one is growing.

When I am tempted to give up, I choose love.

If you fall, I fall with you.

If you hurt I feel it too.

Even if my heart turns black and blue, I will love you.

Beauty and light will fight for you.

Goodness will rise, it shines for you.

If you fall, I fall with you.

If you hurt I feel it too.

Even if my heart turns black and blue...

If you fall, I fall with you.

If you hurt I feel it too.

Even if my heart turns black and blue, I will love you... I will love you.

You can hear it here.

My biggest mistake

I admit it. I failed as a mother. Just like so many others I misunderstood what my daughter was dealing with. While I have always sought help for my daughter when she said she needed it, I was never fully supportive. Because I didn’t think I had to be. Because I didn’t fully understand.

Until a week before this recent hospital admission, I believed my daughter could be better if she really wanted to. I believed that she was choosing not to get better because she wanted the attention. I believed she was using her illness to manipulate me and everyone around her to get what she wanted. Whatever that was. I believed she knew she was sick and wanted to use it to get out of trouble or as an excuse to avoid consequences for her choices. I thought I was doing okay because I at least behaved like it was all true, even though I wasn’t sure I fully believed it. I was wrong. I had failed as a mother.

But my beliefs have finally changed. And luckily, before I lost her forever. I believe that her breakdowns are not a choice or an effort to get attention. I believe it is her illness. I believe she says and does the things she says and does because of the illness, not intentional manipulation or deceit. I believe she wants to be better, but her illness won’t let it happen. I believe that every time she apologizes, she means it. I believe she loves her family more than anything in the world and would never intentionally behave in a way that is hurtful or selfish. I believe she is doing the best she can with the cards she has been dealt. And I believe it is exhausting and I don’t blame her for feeling like she just can’t do it anymore. She wants to be free from her head and she can’t catch a break.

I have stopped questioning motive because I know there is none. Now I can honestly put all of my effort, and all of my heart, behind helping her get better. I will encourage and listen, I will sit through the breakdowns and I will talk her through the lows. And she will get better because I believe her.

I know that many people in our lives feel the same way that I did. I get it. I don’t blame anyone for wanting to distance themselves from the drama that encompasses our family. I know that many will still judge me as a parent; saying that I am too lenient or that I am letting her fool me. I don’t care. Because I believe her. Completely. I will stop failing her and be the mother she needs. I will never fully understand what she is going through, but I will fully support her in her treatment and she will get through this because I believe her.