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Never say never, never judge
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<blockquote data-quote="scent of cedar" data-source="post: 597957" data-attributes="member: 1721"><p>There were so many years when I made that same accusation against myself. I was (still am, I guess!) the mother. If something was wrong, it was my responsibility ~ not only that it happened, but to fix it. And just think of all the years all of us did just that. Little kids, tons of laundry, cooking, doctor's visits, holding down jobs. As the moms, we were the authority on everything medical, on healthy, nutritious foods and mending clothes and budgeting when there was hardly enough money left over to budget with. Everything, everything under the sun was our responsibility.</p><p></p><p>And we thrived on it.</p><p></p><p>We loved it. </p><p></p><p>We did it well and it looked like clear sailing, ahead.</p><p></p><p>And then our difficult children hit adolescence. </p><p></p><p>All those little differences between our difficult children and other kids suddenly made all the difference in the world. As our adolescent difficult child's began taking responsibility for themselves, things started to happen that we couldn't understand and could hardly fix before the difficult child went on to do something worse.</p><p></p><p>I have been so ashamed of myself, for so many years. Like you, Tired of 33, every relative we had believed THEY could talk some sense into difficult child; every friend (whoever was left, after the hellishness of all those years of coping with, and losing, difficult child) thought they knew better, wondered what really went on at our house.</p><p></p><p>Learning that difficult child had a diagnosis was a strange thing. </p><p></p><p>I would rather that it had been something else; something I did or did wrong, something she could recover from. </p><p></p><p>But at the same time...we learned it wasn't something we did. And that meant that, in retrospect? We may actually have had an unusually difficult child to raise.</p><p></p><p>Which would actually mean that we may have been outstanding parents.</p><p></p><p>That is still a new thought, for me. </p><p></p><p>Heartbreaking.</p><p></p><p>The entire situation is heartbreaking. </p><p></p><p>Even before we knew what had really been happening with difficult child, I had learned to be grateful, in my secret heart, that those other parents had no frame of reference for what we had survived.</p><p></p><p>Barbara</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="scent of cedar, post: 597957, member: 1721"] There were so many years when I made that same accusation against myself. I was (still am, I guess!) the mother. If something was wrong, it was my responsibility ~ not only that it happened, but to fix it. And just think of all the years all of us did just that. Little kids, tons of laundry, cooking, doctor's visits, holding down jobs. As the moms, we were the authority on everything medical, on healthy, nutritious foods and mending clothes and budgeting when there was hardly enough money left over to budget with. Everything, everything under the sun was our responsibility. And we thrived on it. We loved it. We did it well and it looked like clear sailing, ahead. And then our difficult children hit adolescence. All those little differences between our difficult children and other kids suddenly made all the difference in the world. As our adolescent difficult child's began taking responsibility for themselves, things started to happen that we couldn't understand and could hardly fix before the difficult child went on to do something worse. I have been so ashamed of myself, for so many years. Like you, Tired of 33, every relative we had believed THEY could talk some sense into difficult child; every friend (whoever was left, after the hellishness of all those years of coping with, and losing, difficult child) thought they knew better, wondered what really went on at our house. Learning that difficult child had a diagnosis was a strange thing. I would rather that it had been something else; something I did or did wrong, something she could recover from. But at the same time...we learned it wasn't something we did. And that meant that, in retrospect? We may actually have had an unusually difficult child to raise. Which would actually mean that we may have been outstanding parents. That is still a new thought, for me. Heartbreaking. The entire situation is heartbreaking. Even before we knew what had really been happening with difficult child, I had learned to be grateful, in my secret heart, that those other parents had no frame of reference for what we had survived. Barbara [/QUOTE]
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