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Letting difficult child go.
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<blockquote data-quote="scent of cedar" data-source="post: 604106" data-attributes="member: 1721"><p>I'm so sorry this is happening, W247. I don't know where the strength to survive it comes from. </p><p></p><p>But I do know that you will survive it. </p><p></p><p>The horror of what is happening, the futility of watching things get worse than you could ever imagine, no matter what you try or how hard you work or how much you spend or what sacrifice you are willing to make is indescribable. </p><p></p><p>The pain and confusion in the eyes of our betrayed grandchildren, unspeakable.</p><p></p><p>But it is what it is. </p><p></p><p>We have to survive it. We don't get to choose.</p><p></p><p>Something similar is happening to us. When it began, we were traumatized, horrified, literally could not stop thinking and rethinking how to help, what to do, how to make all this stop and put things back together the way they were. Among the survival skills we have learned through this horrible time is that, while we cannot control anything having to do with our daughter...we <u>can</u> choose how we define and understand what is happening. We can walk through whatever this is consciously.</p><p></p><p>Once our grandchildren are safe, we can choose our emotional reactions to whatever it is that is going to happen next, to our daughters. </p><p></p><p>It doesn't sound like much, but it makes all the difference in the world.</p><p></p><p>Right now, right this minute, that knowledge, that discipline, is what is saving and preserving my outlook, my marriage, and my life. That ability to choose the tenor of my emotional response to the horror of what is still happening is what enables husband and I to ferret out and negate the resentment we feel at the futility, the stupidity and waste, the pain this past year has brought us all.</p><p></p><p>It is what has given us the strength to cope with knowing our homeless, drunken, drug-addled daughter was being savagely beaten...and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, we could do but prepare ourselves to lose her. </p><p></p><p>Right now, today? There have been some hopeful changes. Our heads are still spinning ~ but in the opposite direction. </p><p></p><p>None of this is easy. There just don't seem to be any right answers. We don't want to enable. We don't want to be lied to. We can't turn away.</p><p></p><p>Winter is coming. </p><p></p><p>Somehow, we have to stand up through all this, and not lose our own emotional lives to our daughter's illness.</p><p></p><p>There have been times during this past year when it felt like we had been physically battered.</p><p></p><p>And we had.</p><p></p><p>But we were doing it to ourselves. </p><p></p><p>We were exhausted, depressed, angry, hopeful, crushed, and terrified by turn. In our minds and hearts, we lost the right to live our time, to claim joy or peace or rest. To understand our daughter was lying to us, was manipulating us ~ the taste of that betrayal left us feeling like the stupidest, most ineffectual people. It was worse, to hear the pain and confusion in her voice, to catch a glimpse of the true horror this all meant for her on those rare occasions when a flash of the truth of what was happening in her brain would come through.</p><p></p><p>It <u>is</u> like living a nightmare.</p><p></p><p>But we're still standing.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="scent of cedar, post: 604106, member: 1721"] I'm so sorry this is happening, W247. I don't know where the strength to survive it comes from. But I do know that you will survive it. The horror of what is happening, the futility of watching things get worse than you could ever imagine, no matter what you try or how hard you work or how much you spend or what sacrifice you are willing to make is indescribable. The pain and confusion in the eyes of our betrayed grandchildren, unspeakable. But it is what it is. We have to survive it. We don't get to choose. Something similar is happening to us. When it began, we were traumatized, horrified, literally could not stop thinking and rethinking how to help, what to do, how to make all this stop and put things back together the way they were. Among the survival skills we have learned through this horrible time is that, while we cannot control anything having to do with our daughter...we [U]can[/U] choose how we define and understand what is happening. We can walk through whatever this is consciously. Once our grandchildren are safe, we can choose our emotional reactions to whatever it is that is going to happen next, to our daughters. It doesn't sound like much, but it makes all the difference in the world. Right now, right this minute, that knowledge, that discipline, is what is saving and preserving my outlook, my marriage, and my life. That ability to choose the tenor of my emotional response to the horror of what is still happening is what enables husband and I to ferret out and negate the resentment we feel at the futility, the stupidity and waste, the pain this past year has brought us all. It is what has given us the strength to cope with knowing our homeless, drunken, drug-addled daughter was being savagely beaten...and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, we could do but prepare ourselves to lose her. Right now, today? There have been some hopeful changes. Our heads are still spinning ~ but in the opposite direction. None of this is easy. There just don't seem to be any right answers. We don't want to enable. We don't want to be lied to. We can't turn away. Winter is coming. Somehow, we have to stand up through all this, and not lose our own emotional lives to our daughter's illness. There have been times during this past year when it felt like we had been physically battered. And we had. But we were doing it to ourselves. We were exhausted, depressed, angry, hopeful, crushed, and terrified by turn. In our minds and hearts, we lost the right to live our time, to claim joy or peace or rest. To understand our daughter was lying to us, was manipulating us ~ the taste of that betrayal left us feeling like the stupidest, most ineffectual people. It was worse, to hear the pain and confusion in her voice, to catch a glimpse of the true horror this all meant for her on those rare occasions when a flash of the truth of what was happening in her brain would come through. It [U]is[/U] like living a nightmare. But we're still standing. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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