Category: Momlife

How do parents really feel when their child turns 18? Do they feel sad because their baby isn’t a baby anymore? Do they feel happy because they made a baby and were successfully able raise that baby into adulthood? Or are they sad because an 18th birthday is an undeniable sign that they are getting older?

I’ve had friends say to me, “OMG, you have an 18 year old!” And I’m here like, “I know!” When actually, I don’t really know. Yes, I know she just turned 18, but like, I just met her eight years ago!

I didn’t make her and she didn’t come from me. She and I were introduced and very quickly, I was forced to an early stage of pre-teen parenting. I had no idea what I was doing. I took it day by day, and really, let’s be real, I just wanted her to like me! I liked her Dad, so she HAD to like me or else my plan would be foiled! haha It was as if I was making a friend. I did not have the mother-baby connection and all those years of memories – from waking up for midnight feedings and diaper changes to losing her first tooth and learning how to ride a bike – I am a stranger to those parts of her.

I did get the parts where she was super emotional and extremely jealous that two little sisters were taking her spot light. What was I supposed to do? That part was really hard.

I got the part of her life where she refused to wear her hair curly because her natural curls were hideous to her. I told her this phase would pass and it did; she hasn’t touched a straightener in two years.

One of our favorites parts – the time where she spent all of her elementary years too afraid to defend herself against mean girls to the moment she defended herself by punching a boy who “accidentally” kicked her. She got suspended on the last day of school. Whoops.

I got the parts when she she started hiding stuff from and would sneak out of the house on secret a rendezvous to Beluga point with BOYS she DIDN’T KNOW.  (They didn’t do anything, in case you were wondering.)

I also got the part where she tried out of the volleyball team and didn’t make it. She cried. And when I dropped her off to her first day of work. I cried.

I may have not gotten to bury my face in her baby-powder-smelling neck or bite her chunky baby legs, but man, I really did get the best parts of her. My timing to trap her father could not have been better. haha

I don’t really know how parents feel when their kid turns 18. But me? I’m EXCITED. She thinks parenting is done for me because she’s an adult? Girl please, my parenting just started! I’m looking forward to the relationship parts, the college parts, the career parts, etc. The better parts of her life are yet to come!

Countdown: 67 days till Graduation

Is it just me or is their a social stigma around therapy? If someone is in therapy or has a therapist, something must be severely wrong. For us, Therapy was our Hail Mary; the last possible play we had. It was a scary feeling, holding our breath because we didn’t know if it was going to work. We really needed it to work.

I find myself extremely lucky that we came to this agreement together, but it was no easy feat. I’ve always felt I had a good handle on my emotions; how to talk through them, how to find that invisible line between anger and sadness to describe exactly how I’m feeling.  My husband is quite the opposite; he doesn’t need to talk, he just needs time. Though I don’t like this particular style, I understand that everyone has different coping mechanisms and I respect that. But when it comes to our kids, my first course of action is to try to get them to talk me through their feelings.  My intent is to teach emotional intelligence; give them time to reflect, think about the “why”, and practice control. It’s hit or miss. I know it mostly feels like an interrogation, but it’s extremely important to me that they learn how to explain reasoning behind they’re actions! “Why are you angry?” “Who are you angry with?” “Why did you punch a hole in my wall?” “Why are you crying?” When I ask these questions, they better have some kind of response.  And I don’t care how old you are, “I don’t know.” is NEVER an acceptable answer.

Patient File

To maintain some privacy, I’ve decided to rename this child Patient Z.

Patient Z was probably around seven or eight when they began to break out in these hysterical crying tantrums that may or may not have included yelling and kicking. Honestly, it probably started a lot earlier than this but we wrote it off as normal “spoiled brat” behavior. We thought it would get easier with age, but it truly just got worse. The triggers were easy to point out at first: fighting with a sibling, not wanting to share. But sometimes the tantrums came because I told them to buckle their seat belt or because they couldn’t shower first since it wasn’t their turn; little concepts that they just couldn’t wrap their mind around. I’d say NO and the life as they knew it was completely unfair. On good days, they’re absolutely fantastic. On bad days, I wouldn’t wish them on anyone! I know, that’s so mean, that’s still my child! It was just SO exhausting! We would skip goodnight kisses with the other kids because we were so busy trying to get Patient Z to stop crying. It just wasn’t fair! They would sometimes cry loudly for HOURS. By that time, my husband and I are pissed, tired, and the only thing I remember saying is, “What is wrong with you? Please just f$#!@ stop already!”

This went on a few more years. There was one morning in particular when we got into a fight, I believe about a jacket; they couldn’t find their jacket and I was running late for work.  Patient Z was a mess, I was a mess. I went to work that day, emotionally defeated, crying. I was furious that they could not consider my work time more important than their damn jacket and I scolded the shit out of them before we left the house. And by scolded, I mean to say I did something that could possibly be illegal. haha Kidding…..Or am I?  Truth is, I LOST MY SHIT. Eventually the anger passed.  I thought to myself, “I’m the adult and I just can’t today….I wonder how they are feeling?” I was so sad to think about the bad day Patient Z was about to have at school because we started the morning so badly. In that moment, I wanted to leave work and pick them up so they can recharge at home.

In the same moment, I was like, “ Fuck that. I’m not going to let them win.”

I’m not crazy, You’re crazy

Whoa. Power trip. But that’s totally what it became! We were in a battle of who can endure the longest shit and I was NOT going to let their ass beat me. Don’t cave! Don’t cave! But it was also in that moment where I felt like a mad woman and I started to feel resentment and that whatever was going on with them was beyond my husband and me. We were spending so much time trying to self-correct and 1) it wasn’t working, 2) it wasn’t fair to the other kids. So we made an appointment that same week and in a matter of days we were meeting with a therapist. The first appointment was a parent-only meeting to allow us to express our concerns. The following sessions were just for the therapist and Patient Z; they met for an hour every Saturday. Parent perk – the therapist and I would meet for 10 minutes either before or after their meetings, which provided me 10 minutes to share points of contention and improvements from the previous week. This was really just a way to give their therapist behavioral issues to address, but it felt like mini therapy sessions for me to verbally vomit all of my stress that accumulated that week. These always made me feel better.

Let’s talk about feelings…

How was Patient Z able to share all of their emotions so freely, from feeling jealous of their sisters to being anxious at school everyday, with someone they barely know? How was I not their safe person? As a mother, it pained me to think that I wasn’t able to be that person for them. But, IT IS WHAT IT IS. I can’t be angry or jealous about it. Without a doubt, I know Patient Z loves me and I’m glad we were partnered with an awesome therapist who built such a great relationship with them.  Little by little, we saw small improvements like, more positive attitude, less anger, shorter and quieter tantrums. After a year of therapy, well, of course, things still get rough, it’s never 100%, but we are going on 1.5 years with no major tantrums. Through therapy, they learned how to exercise healthier, more effective coping mechanisms; instead of lashing out, they took time alone.  I know some people may think this change is probably less from therapy and more from maturing and getting older. – While that might be true, Patient Z would leave the therapist’s office feeling great, refreshed, and, more importantly, IN CONTROL of themselves.   It is that exact feeling I need them to remember.

❤

If you are ever on the fence  about therapy, be it behavioral, marital or any other type of therapy you think might help you, therapy was a successful solution for us and it might be for you. And if it isn’t? Hey, at least you tried and ruled it out.

Take care of yourself. Physically, Spiritually, Mentally, Emotionally…always.

Love, Nori

P.S. Patient Z was eventually diagnosed with ADHD. I’m sure a blog about this is coming. Stay tuned!…