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Unconditional love?
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<blockquote data-quote="slsh" data-source="post: 653330" data-attributes="member: 8"><p>Lil - I totally relate to where you're at right now. The fear, the frustration, the wanting him to just jump through the darn hoop for once in his life so that he can *have* a life... it's an exercise in futility and will make you crazy.</p><p></p><p>We were frequent fliers to Hades and back throughout my difficult child's childhood, but I have to tell you that age 18-20 with him was like a one-way trip. I cried daily for his first 6 months of his adulthood - no joke. The fear and worry were consuming. He was making one bad choice after another, looked like cr@p, malnourished, sores, drugs, living God knows where, and his wardrobe was ... well, I call it his demented Dr. Seuss stage - trip pants and this bizarre neon green and black striped shirt that he wore 24/7 and was so small he had mended its seams a gazillion times (on the upside, he figured out how to use a needle and thread). Half his head shaved and the other half long hair of unpredictable and ever changing color, and so many roaming piercings on his head I was surprised what was left of his brain didn't leak out. I was so certain he was going to die, intentionally or unintentionally, that I came up with a plan for when the coroner called us. Hubby would leave work, come home and take care of the other kids, and I'd schlep up to the city to do the identification. In a twisted way, that plan gave me peace. I think it was the beginning of acceptance that there were things I could do absolutely nothing about, and the very best I *could* do was to have all the bases covered on my end. Utterly twisted logic, but also, for me anyway, the only thing that let me feel like I was in control of something (anything).</p><p></p><p>It was during this stage I mastered the art of biting my tongue. I think it's a really important skill. Nothing (NOTHING) I said ever resulted in action on his part and only resulted in frustration/sadness/pain/anger on my part. Most of the time it resulted in snarky remarks from my difficult child, who knew everything and had it all under control (allegedly). It boiled down to a very basic choice for me - did I want to be able to see my living son, under any circumstances, or did I want to wait for him to start behaving like a human being and see him then? Given that I was convinced he wasn't going to survive into his 20's, I opted for the former. Yes, he looked awful. Yes, we got stares in public. Nope, he wasn't living life in anything that resembled a reasonable manner. But it wasn't truly my problem anymore. His quality of life was his problem. He was outraged at being picked up by cops because he looked "suspicious", but you know what? You look like Charlie Manson does Demented Dr. Seuss, you're gonna get picked up. He knew better than to call me when he did get picked up because... it wasn't my problem.</p><p></p><p>I stopped asking questions about his life because, let's face it, the answers were gonna be awful. Who needs to know that? I let him decide when to see us. I didn't preach or coach or make suggestions. It was completely on his terms and I think that was the only way we were ever going to have any kind of relationship. I bit my tongue - a LOT!</p><p></p><p>We want our kids to be happy and healthy and safe and clean and .... normal. But as Timer Lady always says, "normal is just a setting on a dryer." Our adult kids get to make their own choices, cr@ppy or not, and chances are excellent that our input, at best, will be ignored. In my kid's case, my input tended to push him in the completely opposite direction. You have absolutely no control over what he does. You have absolutely *no* control. None. If you did, he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. It may well get worse before it gets better, but it is NOT YOUR PROBLEM (aside from the heart-stopping grief you feel over how phenomenally well he can make a bad situation worse). Grief and sadness are your problem, not his. Figure out how to live with this - whatever works for you. It's baby steps and takes practice and diligence and some backsliding, but you and jabber have got to figure out how to make peace with how things are now, remembering that there is absolutely nothing you can do to make him change.</p><p></p><p>Fear is a real bear. It's debilitating and it feeds on itself, and before you know it, you're entire life can be driven by it. It will cripple you. Learn how to let it go. Again, whatever works for you. The Serenity Prayer became my mantra - I have it on a medallion I wear 24/7, for those late night panic attacks when you wake up and wonder where your kid is, what he is doing, is he safe, is he warm. I cannot change those things, I have to accept them.</p><p></p><p>He may well end up in jail for not doing what he's supposed to do. Not your problem. He may look awful at dinner - again, not your problem. If you can stomach it for an hour or two in order to see him, do it. If you can't, don't. No judgement at all. Just as he gets to define his life, you and jabber get to define yours now, and that includes what, if any, prerequisites there are for having dinner with him. If he ends up homeless, without a phone - not your problem. You have given him ample support, emotional and concrete. At some point he has got to figure out how to function on his own two feet. Our kids are ridiculously resourceful. He will figure it out. In the meantime, I would strongly recommend not asking questions about his life. It only opens up doors that you probably don't want to go through. Keep things light and simple.</p><p></p><p>On a really *really* positive note - he's just turning 20. Yes, you and I and most of the parents on the board probably had things a whole lot more together at 20, but... some of our kids take a lot longer to cook. 20 is still a baby in difficult child-land. As a therapist told us when my difficult child was 8, some kids don't change until it becomes too expensive to stay the way they are. What I wish he had added was that some kids have a near-infinite capacity to endure a miserable quality of life and we need to batten down the hatches, 'cuz it's gonna be a wicked long ride.</p><p></p><p>Take care of you. Be gentle to you. Start dismissing some of the fear - it's a very deliberate choice to let it go, but it will help you and, in my humble opinion, in the long term help your son.</p><p></p><p>Charlie Manson/Demented Dr. Seuss is 24 now - he just passed his EMT written exam, is taking his practicals next week, and got a real job as an EMT. He did this on his own, completely. Go figure. Change does happen, in their time, not in ours.</p><p></p><p>Hugs.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="slsh, post: 653330, member: 8"] Lil - I totally relate to where you're at right now. The fear, the frustration, the wanting him to just jump through the darn hoop for once in his life so that he can *have* a life... it's an exercise in futility and will make you crazy. We were frequent fliers to Hades and back throughout my difficult child's childhood, but I have to tell you that age 18-20 with him was like a one-way trip. I cried daily for his first 6 months of his adulthood - no joke. The fear and worry were consuming. He was making one bad choice after another, looked like cr@p, malnourished, sores, drugs, living God knows where, and his wardrobe was ... well, I call it his demented Dr. Seuss stage - trip pants and this bizarre neon green and black striped shirt that he wore 24/7 and was so small he had mended its seams a gazillion times (on the upside, he figured out how to use a needle and thread). Half his head shaved and the other half long hair of unpredictable and ever changing color, and so many roaming piercings on his head I was surprised what was left of his brain didn't leak out. I was so certain he was going to die, intentionally or unintentionally, that I came up with a plan for when the coroner called us. Hubby would leave work, come home and take care of the other kids, and I'd schlep up to the city to do the identification. In a twisted way, that plan gave me peace. I think it was the beginning of acceptance that there were things I could do absolutely nothing about, and the very best I *could* do was to have all the bases covered on my end. Utterly twisted logic, but also, for me anyway, the only thing that let me feel like I was in control of something (anything). It was during this stage I mastered the art of biting my tongue. I think it's a really important skill. Nothing (NOTHING) I said ever resulted in action on his part and only resulted in frustration/sadness/pain/anger on my part. Most of the time it resulted in snarky remarks from my difficult child, who knew everything and had it all under control (allegedly). It boiled down to a very basic choice for me - did I want to be able to see my living son, under any circumstances, or did I want to wait for him to start behaving like a human being and see him then? Given that I was convinced he wasn't going to survive into his 20's, I opted for the former. Yes, he looked awful. Yes, we got stares in public. Nope, he wasn't living life in anything that resembled a reasonable manner. But it wasn't truly my problem anymore. His quality of life was his problem. He was outraged at being picked up by cops because he looked "suspicious", but you know what? You look like Charlie Manson does Demented Dr. Seuss, you're gonna get picked up. He knew better than to call me when he did get picked up because... it wasn't my problem. I stopped asking questions about his life because, let's face it, the answers were gonna be awful. Who needs to know that? I let him decide when to see us. I didn't preach or coach or make suggestions. It was completely on his terms and I think that was the only way we were ever going to have any kind of relationship. I bit my tongue - a LOT! We want our kids to be happy and healthy and safe and clean and .... normal. But as Timer Lady always says, "normal is just a setting on a dryer." Our adult kids get to make their own choices, cr@ppy or not, and chances are excellent that our input, at best, will be ignored. In my kid's case, my input tended to push him in the completely opposite direction. You have absolutely no control over what he does. You have absolutely *no* control. None. If you did, he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. It may well get worse before it gets better, but it is NOT YOUR PROBLEM (aside from the heart-stopping grief you feel over how phenomenally well he can make a bad situation worse). Grief and sadness are your problem, not his. Figure out how to live with this - whatever works for you. It's baby steps and takes practice and diligence and some backsliding, but you and jabber have got to figure out how to make peace with how things are now, remembering that there is absolutely nothing you can do to make him change. Fear is a real bear. It's debilitating and it feeds on itself, and before you know it, you're entire life can be driven by it. It will cripple you. Learn how to let it go. Again, whatever works for you. The Serenity Prayer became my mantra - I have it on a medallion I wear 24/7, for those late night panic attacks when you wake up and wonder where your kid is, what he is doing, is he safe, is he warm. I cannot change those things, I have to accept them. He may well end up in jail for not doing what he's supposed to do. Not your problem. He may look awful at dinner - again, not your problem. If you can stomach it for an hour or two in order to see him, do it. If you can't, don't. No judgement at all. Just as he gets to define his life, you and jabber get to define yours now, and that includes what, if any, prerequisites there are for having dinner with him. If he ends up homeless, without a phone - not your problem. You have given him ample support, emotional and concrete. At some point he has got to figure out how to function on his own two feet. Our kids are ridiculously resourceful. He will figure it out. In the meantime, I would strongly recommend not asking questions about his life. It only opens up doors that you probably don't want to go through. Keep things light and simple. On a really *really* positive note - he's just turning 20. Yes, you and I and most of the parents on the board probably had things a whole lot more together at 20, but... some of our kids take a lot longer to cook. 20 is still a baby in difficult child-land. As a therapist told us when my difficult child was 8, some kids don't change until it becomes too expensive to stay the way they are. What I wish he had added was that some kids have a near-infinite capacity to endure a miserable quality of life and we need to batten down the hatches, 'cuz it's gonna be a wicked long ride. Take care of you. Be gentle to you. Start dismissing some of the fear - it's a very deliberate choice to let it go, but it will help you and, in my humble opinion, in the long term help your son. Charlie Manson/Demented Dr. Seuss is 24 now - he just passed his EMT written exam, is taking his practicals next week, and got a real job as an EMT. He did this on his own, completely. Go figure. Change does happen, in their time, not in ours. Hugs. [/QUOTE]
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